Luminescent (Inheritance Cycle and Beyond)

Chapter Sixty-One: Blinding

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It was well past sunset by the time Eragon lumbered back over to the makeshift camp. The three dragon's had yet to return, but Eragon knew that the three of them were going to fill their bellies full for the trip to Vroenguard.

Eragon walked over to the campfire and sat down with a grunt. Looking across the fire, he frowned when he couldn't find Mal.

"Murtagh, where did—" Eragon cut himself off when he looked at Murtagh and found Mal curled up against his half-brother. Mal's face was buried into Murtagh's tunic while her right hand had one of Murtagh's in a death grip, tucked tightly to her chest.

"She doesn't sleep well alone," Murtagh replied quietly. "hasn't for a while."

Eragon frowned before thinking back to all the times he had found her curled up with a dragon. Now that he thought about it, he never saw her sleeping alone.

"She never told me," Eragon muttered, feeling slightly ashamed that he never noticed Mal's plight.

"Mal was never particularly good at sharing her problems with others. I had to force it out of her when I confronted her about it." Murtagh explained as the fire cracked in a shower of sparks.

"You managed to actually get her to talk about it?" Eragon asked, his brows pulling together. "She may not be related to Garrow, but she certainly has his stubborn streak."

Murtagh grunted in agreement before looking down at the raven-haired woman settled against his chest.

"She wasn't exactly in a position to resist." Murtagh murmured back as he thought back to the night.

Murtagh sat on his bed, playing with a small throwing dagger.

Toss, catch. Toss, catch. Toss, catch.

He couldn't find it in himself to sleep, the thoughts of the raven-haired beauty consumed his mind.

When he had first heard that Galbatorix was throwing another ball, Murtagh had instantly hoped that he didn't have to attend. They were dull, dry of decent conversation, and the stench and pasty faces of the noble ladies gave him a headache.

He didn't get out of it, but once a certain woman entered the room, stealing the spotlight from the noblewoman, his headache was instantly gone, just as the breath was from his chest.

Murtagh had the unfortunate circumstance of being subject to the fashion of Urû'Baen. Gaudy dresses bedazzled with as many crystals and gemstone one could afford assaulted his vision every time he attended a ball.

But when Mal had stepped forth from the bowels of the castle, every eye in the ballroom had been drawn to the sparkling, gemstone blue dress she wore. It was a classic dress, overly simple, but the fabric itself made up for its simplicity.

The blue fabric shimmered with ethereal lights, catching every lantern that lit the ample space. The fabric draped just off her shoulders, leaving the entire space clear of any distraction from her porcelain skin.

From the neckline, the material narrowed until it reached her waist. From there, it flowed outward, not in the overly poufy fashion that was all the rage in the city, but in one clear continual outward direction.

It had taken everything Murtagh had not to stare gobsmacked like the rest of the room. Murtagh had immediately looked at Mal's face to see her reaction of all these people staring at her.