You should talk to Angela,said Saphira.She’s dealt with the Twins before. Perhaps she could be there when they test you. That might prevent them from harming you.

That’s a good idea.Eragon wound through the bookcases until he found Orik sitting on a bench, busily polishing his war ax. “I’d like to return to the dragonhold.”

The dwarf slid the haft of the ax through a leather loop at his belt, then escorted Eragon to the gate where Saphira waited. People had already gathered around her. Ignoring them, Eragon scrambled onto Saphira’s back, and they escaped to the sky.

This problem must be resolved quickly. You cannot let the Twins intimidate you,Saphira said as she landed on Isidar Mithrim.

I know. But I hope we can avoid angering them.They could be dangerous enemies.He dismounted quickly, keeping a hand on Zar’roc.

So can you. Do you want them as allies?

He shook his head.Not really . . . I’ll tell them tomorrow that I won’t join Du Vrangr Gata.

Eragon left Saphira in her cave and wandered out of the dragonhold. He wanted to see Angela, but he didn’t remember how to find her hiding place, and Solembum was not there to guide him. He roamed the deserted corridors, hoping to meet Angela by chance.

When he grew tired of staring at empty rooms and endless gray walls, he retraced his footsteps to the hold. As he neared it, he heard someone speaking within the room. He halted and listened, but the clear voice fell silent.Saphira?Who’s in there?

A female . . . She has an air of command. I’ll distract her while you come in.Eragon loosened Zar’roc in its sheath.Orik said that intruders would be kept out of the dragonhold, so who could this be? He steadied his nerves, then stepped into the hold, his hand on the sword.

A young woman stood in the center of the room, looking curiously at Saphira, who had stuck her head out of the cave. The woman appeared to be about seventeen years old. The star sapphire cast a rosy light on her, accentuating skin the same deep shade as Ajihad’s. Her velvet dress was wine red and elegantly cut. A jeweled dagger, worn with use, hung from her waist in a tooled leather sheath.

Eragon crossed his arms, waiting for the woman to notice him. She continued to look at Saphira, then curtsied and asked sweetly, “Please, could you tell me where Rider Eragon is?” Saphira’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

With a small smile, Eragon said, “I am here.”

The woman whirled to face him, hand flying to her dagger. Her face was striking, with almond-shaped eyes, wide lips, and round cheekbones. She relaxed and curtsied again. “I am Nasuada,” she said.

Eragon inclined his head. “You obviously know who I am, but what do you want?”

Nasuada smiled charmingly. “My father, Ajihad, sent me here with a message. Would you like to hear it?”

The Varden’s leader had not struck Eragon as one inclined to marriage and fatherhood. He wondered who Nasuada’s mother was—she must have been an uncommon woman to have attracted Ajihad’s eye. “Yes, I would.”

Nasuada tossed her hair back and recited: “He is pleased that you are doing well, but he cautions you against actions like your benediction yesterday. They create more problems than they solve. Also, he urges you to proceed with the testing as soon as possible—he needs to know how capable you are before he communicates with the elves.”

“Did you climb all the way up here just to tell me that?” Eragon asked, thinking of Vol Turin’s length.

Nasuada shook her head. “I used the pulley system that transports goods to the upper levels. We could have sent the message with signals, but I decided to bring it myself and meet you in person.”

“Would you like to sit down?” asked Eragon. He motioned toward Saphira’s cave.