The days passed quickly with Arya's training. Eragon mostly was there for the practical demonstrations, when Oromis felt he was unable to provide sufficient enough examples for Arya. Most of the time he was riding Saphira as either Glaedr or Oromis instructed Fírnen and Arya in different aerial maneuvers, the pair unable to fly together just yet. Fírnen was growing steadily, already reaching Arya's shoulder by the end of the first week of her training.
Though she could not yet ride on his back, Eragon showed Arya how to make a saddle for Fírnen. They had to make the saddle straps longer than he normally would have for Fírnen's size, in order to account for his continued growth. Oromis had provided Arya a fanciful seat for her to use, the leatherworking some of the best Eragon had ever seen. It reminded him of Vrael's own saddle, and Eragon wondered if Oromis made it himself.
Usually, every other day Arya would ask Eragon to spar with her, stating that they both should remain sharp in their skills. He found that they were nearly even with their victories, with Eragon only slightly coming ahead. Eragon wanted to chuckle nearly every time she lost, for she would wear a frustrated expression and strike at him with powerful blows. Arya never let her frustration grow into anger, so Eragon always suppressed the urge. She was prideful and confident in her abilities, and it seemed that she did not like losing to him.
Thankfully, nothing as awkward as their first duel in the glade happened again. If either of them was disarmed, their seemed to be an unspoken agreement to stop the duel until the weapon was retrieved. The next time she managed to disarm him Arya had frozen, but he made no move to continue. Instead, Eragon had merely retrieved the blade before reading himself once more.
Today, Oromis had given Arya leave early from the lessons, claiming that he was feeling unwell. They had asked after him, but the elf waved them aside, simply saying that they could all use rest. After dropping off Arya, Saphira left to go hunt outside the city, Fírnen following quick behind. The dragon could no longer ride on Saphira's back, instead flying steadily next to her now that he was big enough.
Eragon joined Orik for a late lunch, finding the dwarf busy playing a game of runes against Glenwing. "How has your stay been?" They were in Orik's quarters, in a tree located not far from his own.
Orik grunted, moving one of the pieces on the board. Eragon never got into the game, barely understanding the rules. Glenwing merely smiled before moving a piece quickly. "I find myself growing weary of the elves, but they are courteous enough towards me."
"Some have not seen a dwarf in decades," Glenwing murmured quietly, "Some of my kin are not as tolerant of other races as Arya and myself."
Orik glanced at Eragon. "He seems tolerant enough."
Eragon smiled, watching as Orik studied the board in front of him. "Remember that I'm not an elf, Orik. Though I look like one."
"No," Orik admitted, "But you are long lived like one. You seem well adjusted to all the races."
"I've spent a lot of time around each," Eragon stated. He paused for a minute, thinking. "Well perhaps not Urgals. I've outgrown my dislike for them, but I do not know much of their culture."
Curious, Glenwing looked away from the board. Orik moved a piece as he did, causing the elf to frown briefly. "Have you spent much time around the Werecats?"
Eragon shrugged. "I've met a few. Maud and Solembum, for instance. But I've also met others besides them. They don't usually reveal themselves too often."
He wondered what became of the Werecats in Alagaësia after the Fall. They did not gather like the other races, instead preferring to live in the shadows. They often enjoyed the company of dragons, and Eragon hoped that they were able to escape Galbatorix during the war.
Glenwing remained staring at the board intently, though he still emitted the same sense of calmness. Orik asked, "How goes the training with Arya?"
Shifting in his seat, Eragon tried to ignore Glenwing's curious look. "Arya is a quick study. She's already proficient in magic, so we only teach her and Fírnen how to act as a dragon and Rider should."
Glenwing smirked at him. "I heard of your duel, and that it ended quite… close."
He glared at the elf, but Glenwing was unfazed. "We spar all the time now. Many of our matches could go either way."
The smirk remained on the elf's face, and he could see even Orik grow curious. Glenwing made to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Eragon sighed in relief, listening as Orik called for them to enter.
Arya stepped into the tree house, her emerald eyes glancing around as she did. They locked onto Eragon, and he tried to fight down the feelings that were welling inside him. Glenwing greeted Arya, a large smile on his face. "Arya! Welcome. We were just asking Eragon about your sparring matches."
Arya strode into the room, her movements graceful. He teared his eyes away from her form, watching the unmoving pieces on the table in front of him. Orik greeted her with a nod, which the elf returned.
"Glenwing," Arya murmured. "Must you persist?"
Unsure of what she was talking about, Eragon watched as Glenwing waved his hand at Eragon. "There's rumors, you know, that say that watching the two of you dance together has relit many of our peoples more forceful passions."
Orik burst out laughing, slapping the table heavily in front of him. Eragon felt his cheeks warm at the elf's words. He did not dare to look at Arya, instead punching the elf hard on the arm. Whatever Arya's reaction, the elf remained smiling. When Orik's laughter died down, Eragon chanced a look at Arya.
She had frozen midstride at the words, and he could see the fury building on her face. Glenwing, finally noticing her reaction, stiffened in his seat. "Right," Eragon said, standing. His sudden movement seemed to unstick Arya and he could see that she was about to begin tearing into Glenwing. "Thank you for lunch, Orik."
He did not give the dwarf time to respond, instead moving quickly towards Arya. He grabbed her arm, slightly surprised when she did not resist him pulling her to the door. "Glenwing, it's a pleasure as always. One of these days I'm sure someone will manage to actually shut you up."
He heard the elf chuckle as he pulled Arya through the door, letting it slam behind him as he continued down the steps. Eragon did not release her until they reached the bottom of stairs, making sure to block the entrance. Arya rounded on him, and her anger was still plainly visible on her face.
"Move, Eragon." she said coldly. Her brow narrowed as she stared at him, and he nearly gave in to her desires.
Holding his hands up in front of him, Eragon shook his head. "As much as I'm sure he deserves it, I don't think he would survive such an encounter."
He saw a hint of a smile, as though she was pleased with his words. It faded quickly, her anger at the elf too great to ignore. "It wouldn't be the first such encounter I've had with him."
"I'm sure," Eragon muttered.
She said nothing to his comment, her emerald eyes peering into his own. He saw her gaze flicker between his two eyes, close as they were. Arya seemed to realize their proximity as well, for she took a step backwards. He watched her close her eyes before breathing in deeply. Arya took a few breathes, and he could see her face return to its more impassive natural state.
She opened her eyes after nearly a minute, glancing briefly at the tree home next to them. Arya turned and walked away, so Eragon moved to catch up to her. He fell in step beside her, letting her lead him through the city.
If she minded his company Eragon did not know. Instead, she seemed to calm further as they walked among the trees. He noticed she was leading him into the forest, and he spotted the Menoa Tree growing larger as they approached it. The tree was massive, perhaps the biggest tree Eragon had ever seen. He knew the roots of the tree spanned nearly 10 acres, and the trunk was thicker than many of the other trees combined.
The tree stood alone in the middle of the clearing, though it was not taller than any of the other trees. Its branches swayed lightly in the wind, light trickling softly through the thick canopy above. Arya stopped in front of one of the large roots protruding from the tree, leaping up the near twelve feet in a single bound. She sat on the root with her knees tucked in front of her. The root was big enough that even if she laid down, Arya would have barely its width.
She gave him no indication to join, but he easily cleared the distance to the root. He settled beside her, his legs dangling off the edge. For a long time, Arya was silent, locked deep into her thoughts. He let his mind wander, and Solembum's words appeared in his mind. If the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Eragon did not necessarily need another weapon, as he had Brisingr, forged for him long ago. Arya did have need, but he knew of no such weapon buried under the tree. He let his mind spread out around them, casting it out as far as the roots of the tree were spread. Eragon's mind brushed against Arya's own, but she did not retreat fully from the contact. She merely looked at him for a moment before returning back to her thoughts.
He could not sense anything, though he did think that he would. Retreating back into his mind, he let his thoughts wander about the werecats words. It might do for him to see if there were any scrolls of the history of the tree, though he already knew the story behind it. Still, the tree had been around for a long time, and others might have tried to hidden treasures near one of its roots.
He broke out of his thoughts when Arya spoke up. "You know the story of the Menoa Tree?"
Eragon chuckled lightly. That they were both thinking about the history of the tree amused him. He quieted as he recalled the story, a sense of sadness rising as it came to him. "Aye," Eragon responded. "I know the story. One that's too familiar to me."
Arya's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"
He was quiet for a moment as he debated whether or not to tell her. He felt the unpleasant memories resurface, the feelings emerging quickly.
"Long ago," Eragon began quietly. He did not know why he wanted to tell her, but he felt something inside of him pulling at the memories. "Saphira and I… found a group of elves."
He saw surprise flash on her face, turning her away from her own thoughts. "Outside of Alagaësia?"
Eragon nodded. "They were not like you." Shifting lightly to readjust, he continued. "What I mean is that they were not truly immortal like the elves here. I do not know if it is because they were too far from Alagaësia, and thus not apart of the pact between elves and dragons, or if it was for some other reason. They did not know either way, surprised as they were by a dragon."
Arya seemed curious about the people, but she merely motioned for him to continue on. "I met someone there, I suppose you could say."
Quietly, she said, "Glenwing once mentioned that you might have had a partner a long time ago."
He did not look at her, but he nodded. "Did he now? Yes, I suppose that is correct. I thought that I loved her, but now I'm not so sure."
"What happened?" Arya whispered. Her words were hesitant, as though she did not wish to push him.
He inclined his head towards the Menoa tree, feeling her gaze slip past him at the movement. "My story is similar enough to Linnëa's own to be honest. Though it was not I who did the killing."
He heard her still next to him, and he finally dared to glance at her. Arya eyes were wide at his words, and he could see her fitting together the pieces of the story. "An elf tried to kill you?"
She sounded affronted, as though the very thought of an elf trying to kill a Rider was offensive in of itself. Eragon sighed. "Maybe its best if I actually just explain."
Arya's expression calmed, her words soothing. "Please, if it isn't too much trouble, Eragon."
"I met her when I met these elves," Eragon said. His voice was low, barely audible above the sounds of the forest around. The memories were strong, the feelings resurfaced after so long. A sense of sadness and grief flowed through him, as well as the feeling of betrayal. "I- we eventually found our way together. We were happy, for a while. But I could tell that there was something always between us, and I could never truly understand it. She was long-lived, certainly, but she was not immortal like I am."
"She grew resentful," Arya supplied. "That you would live on, and she wouldn't."
"Maybe," Eragon admitted. "I never found out for sure. The only thing I know is she spent time with someone else, and she was always…rash in her decisions. One night, when I was asleep, she stabbed me in the back. Quiet literally, I mean. Her blade was inches from my spine."
Fury spread across Arya's face, her mouth tightening. "What happened to her? You said you didn't kill her."
"I didn't," Eragon confessed. "Saphira did."
The elf blinked, and he watched as her fury melted away. "Saphira did?"
Saphira's mind suddenly pressed firmly into theirs, and he could feel her approaching them from the sky.
I did. Eragon felt her anger at the memory rising inside her. He remembered her that night, the roar she let out as the blade entered his back. Saphira had nearly destroyed the building he was sleeping in, tearing at the walls in her wrath. Fire burned in her veins even now, and he tried to reign in her ire.
"Saphira." Eragon murmured. She could hear them through his bond, even clouded as her mind was in her fury.
What she did to you, she deserved no less. Saphira snapped. So I ate her.
"You ate her?" Arya faltered. Her words were hollow as they rang out, but he knew Saphira could hear them.
Saphira landed in the clearing, her wings spread wide for a moment before folding neatly on her back. He watched as she approached Eragon, her neck towering over the Arya and himself. She shifted her weight, and he could see how tense she was. Do you disagree with what I did, elf?
"No, Saphira. I-." Arya said quietly. "I didn't know."
Saphira said nothing, moving her head down to be level with Eragon and Arya. She pressed her snout gently against his chest, and he could feel the comfort of their bond ease his feelings. He pressed his own tightly back at her, attempting calm the storm of her mind. "It was a long time ago, Saphira. It no longer haunts me as it used to."
No? Saphira sniffed. I know your fears little one. How you hesitate to open to others, instead holding them firmly behind these walls you erected.
Fully aware that Arya was listening in, Eragon stroked her snout, his hand running softly down her scales. "You protect me as you always have, Saphira. I did not know what Seril would do, and neither did you. You are not to blame for the deception."
She growled lightly under her throat. His entire body shook as it vibrated through him, the sensation nearly making his teeth chatter. You are not either, Eragon.
"I know." Eragon said. He stood up and grabbed onto Saphira's cheek spikes, holding on tightly as she swung him around. He let go and landed lightly in the saddle. "Forgive me, Arya. I will speak with you tomorrow."
The elf said nothing as Saphira turned away. Before his gaze was ripped from her form, Eragon held up a hand to wave. She raised her own, her gaze following him as Saphira walked aback into the city.
The next day when he arrived at the sparring ground, Arya was nowhere to be found. He frowned in puzzlement, searching his memories. He did not recall her telling him that she would be late, or that they were to skip there sessions today. Eragon sat next to one of the trees that bordered the glade, watching the others spar lightly in front of him.
When the time came that they usually ended their sparring, Eragon left the glade. He was upset that she didn't show up, but he supposed she could have been busy. Saphira's mind brushed against his own as he returned to his tree.
Glaedr contacted me while you were gone. We are to stay behind today. Saphira informed him.
Confused, Eragon asked, Will you still fly Arya out to the Crags?
No.
Oh. He carried himself up the stairs, his puzzlement growing. How Arya was supposed to get out to Oromis confused him, but he supposed she had other means of transportation. Did Glaedr say anything else?
Yes, Saphira answered. She was still lounging on her bedding, curled up on bowl-shaped dais. Oromis wishes for you to speak with Däthedr. Apparently there is news from the Varden.
Sighing, Eragon turned back down the stairs, waving at Saphira. Fine. Couldn't have told me before I walked all the way up?
No.
He chuckled at her, exiting the tree. Love you too.
He headed towards the hall that housed Queen Islanzadí's throne, hoping to find the elf there. Many matters of the state were discussed in the building, and Eragon figured that news of the Varden was considered such. His hunch turned out to be correct, for he found Däthedr speaking with another of the elven aristocrats quietly.
He stopped a polite distance away, waiting for their conversation to end. After waiting for nearly ten minutes, Däthedr ended the conversation, the two elves bowing to each other respectfully. Eragon nodded at the elven aristocrat as he passed, striding up to Däthedr.
The elf bowed, but had forgone the traditional greeting. "Thank you for coming, Eragon. How has your stay been so far?"
"Reminds me much of the last time I was here," Eragon admitted. He did not take offense at the traditional greeting, seeing as Däthedr and Eragon had met before. He was already friends with Evandar when Eragon was, so the two of them had met often outside of political matters.
"Yes," Däthedr nodded, "Ellesméra changes very little over the centuries, I find. Please, come with me." The elven lord led him down the side of the hall, into one of the doorways tucked away. The door was hidden from sight, located to the side of the elven lord's chairs.
They walked down the hallway, stopping at one of the rooms. Däthedr opened the door for Eragon, motioning for him to enter. The interior of the chamber was simple, with only a few chairs and a plain desk. The desk was sung from the very trees itself, seeming to blend smoothly into the floor. Scrolls where neatly arranged on top, and a map displaying the whole of Alagaësia was spread across the far wall.
"One of the personal chambers I use when I am not in Sílthrim," Däthedr explained. "As an advisor to Queen Islanzadí, I often find need of a quiet place in which I can think."
Eragon nodded, siting in one of the chairs. "I was told you had news of the Varden?"
"Aye," Däthedr nodded. The elf searched on the desk, shuffling scrolls around quickly. He extracted a small scroll, the kind that is used for messenger ravens. "A missive from the Varden. Encoded and written in your father's hand."
If it was encoded by his father, there was no point in him reading the contents. "What did it say?"
"This information lines up with what our scryers have told me, though it is already a few days old. The Varden is nearly a week from leaving the Beor Mountains. Nasuada will journey towards Surda then, to meet up with King Orrin in the south."
Eragon frowned. "I know their route, but it is good to hear that they have been able to move so quickly through the mountains. Was that all?"
The elf shook his head. "No. Brom discovered and foiled a plot to assassinate Nasuada."
Blinking, Eragon gripped the chair tightly. "Was anyone harmed?"
"Only the would-be assassin. Brom has tightened the security around Nasuada, but he wanted you to know what happened. He also wished for you to look into something for him." Däthedr held up a second smaller scroll, passing it to Eragon. "The missive explains that only you know the key to that scroll, and that we were to give it to you."
Eragon accepted the scroll, turning the sealed missive over in his hand. "Thank you," he murmured.
The elf gazed at him, as though expecting Eragon to open the missive here. Standing, Eragon asked, "If there is anything else, Däthedr-vor?"
"No," the elf said quietly. "That is all. We will ensure a reply is sent to inform your father that you received his request."
Eragon bowed and left the room, the small scroll held tightly in his hand. He did not read it until he reached his bedroom, placing wards around the ensure his privacy. Saphira was still resting in the same spot as he explained everything to her. She waited with him as he decoded the missive, humming slightly to fill the silence as his quill scratched against a piece of parchment.
It took him nearly half an hour to decode the message, and he cursed his father silently the whole time. Brom had taught Eragon how to encode and decode messages, but his father was always better at it then he was. The key to the cipher was a simple one and only had been shared between the two of them, but the work was tedious.
The words of the cipher, The Two Sapphire Jewels, had long since been burned into his mind.
He finished the cipher, setting down the quill as he read the missive.
Eragon,
I've heard rumors of magicians in the Empire who have studied Spirit magic looking into the events of your past. They were interested in learning of the fate of the purple one, but too much remains unknown for them to be certain. During your stay in the green forest, look into the matters concerning hearts and shades.
Brom
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he felt Saphira's worry grow as he read the missive. Hearts? Shades?
Saphira growled. How much could they know of what happened that night? The Rider's ensured the secrecies of any who remained.
We also killed all the magicians who held the knowledge and tried to cast the spells. Eragon stated. What do you make of what Brom said? Hearts. I think he speaks of the Eldunarí, but what could that have to do with Shades?
I don't know, Saphira said. She sounded as vexed as he was. But you should begin to look into the scrolls that Oromis kept. We also still have some of the Order's books here in Vrael's home.
Eragon sighed. This was going to take a while.
For the next week Eragon dived into any and all scrolls or books that he could find. Oromis provided him a with a few, citing how he had long ago once researched the same thing as Eragon. His old master was willing to share his own notes, but the rarely told him anything he did not already know. The Order knew that a Rider could be made into a Shade, and they feared such a creature should ever exist. And some theorized that a dragon could have been turned into a Shade, but most agreed that the dragon's own magic would likely kill the creature.
Eragon and Saphira had known the truth, however. It was possible to turn a dragon into a Shade. The purple Eldunarí he cared for was the result of such attempts. The dragon was driven to insanity during the magician's mad gambit to create what they called the ultimate being. The purple dragon was a newly bonded dragon, barely more than a few weeks old when they captured Naevir and subjected the dragon to their cruel magics.
Some part of the purple dragon must have known its Eldunarí was the only chance at survival. Eragon had stumbled onto it after he slayed the Shade and Rider, disgorged from the dragon sometime during its transformation. All of this wasn't new information, for either Brom or Eragon. His father had learned the truth from Oromis, so Eragon wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for.
He was sitting in one of the other rooms of Vrael's tree home, the long table that was used for dinning covered with parchment and scrolls. Maybe a way to prevent a dragon becoming a Shade? But there are only five dragons if we include Shruikan. Three of them are safe behind the wards of Du Weldenvarden, and I would doubt Murtagh would willingly let some fanatics subject Thorn to such a thing.
What of a way to reverse it? Saphira suggested. She had just returned, having been out flying with Glaedr and Fírnen. Eragon had excused himself from Arya's training when he received the missive, and Oromis had gladly waved him off. Only Saphira occasionally went, mostly to help Glaedr teach Fírnen how to fight another dragon in the air.
Reverse the creation of a Shade? Eragon pondered. I've never heard of such a thing before though. Could it even be possible? We know that the spirit or spirits that possess the body merge with both the hosts mind and body, and the only way to release the spirits is by stabbing them in their heart.
The heart! Saphira exclaimed. Her voice was loud in his head, causing him to nearly jump out of his seat. You just said that the Shades merge with their mind. But a dragon's mind can be in two places at once. We already know that a dragon can survive the creation by hiding in its Eldunarí. But what if we could expel the spirits from the body?
Remove the spirits… Here's the question though, does the link between Eldunarí and the body still remain if a Shade has taken control? The hatchling was driven insane before it disgorged its Eldunarí, and I don't think it will be able to tell us if the link was there.
Hmm. I don't know. Saphira admitted. But there are few enough that know of the Eldunarí. I suspect that first we need to see if expelling the spirits is possible without destroying the body. If the mind of a dragon is not inside the hosts body, then it does not merge with the spirits.
True, Eragon admitted. But why is Brom telling us to research this? Does he suspect these rumors to be something more?
Maybe, but Brom has always been the cautious sort. If he thinks it's a possibility, then I do not doubt his instincts.
Neither do I. Eragon sighed, resting his head against the table. There's nothing in these scrolls or books on how you could reverse the creation of a Shade. They all just say the same thing: stab it in the heart.
Perhaps we need to look elsewhere. The elves have collected many different books, and I would find it hard to believe that one such elf never grew curious of spirits.
I'll need to ask Queen Islanzadí if she-. A knock at the main door interrupted him. Surprised, Eragon left the dinning room, closing the door behind him. As he made his way towards the door, he realized that it was already night.
When he opened the door, Arya stood on the other side. Eragon blinked dumbly, remembering the last time they spoke. He had not seen her since their talk under the Menoa Tree, mostly consumed in his research. Eragon had only caught a glimpse of her as she left Tialdarí Hall one morning; either Arya had not seen him, or she was choosing to ignore him.
"Arya." Eragon tried to remember his manners, opening the door further so she could enter. "What are you doing here?"
The elf walked into his room, glancing around at his accommodations. Scrolls were lying around various surfaces, littering the tables and chairs. They were all neatly bound and in some sort of organization, but Eragon still had to stumble around the room when looking for something. She raised an eyebrow at the mess and said, "I have not seen you in days, and I was curious what you were doing."
"Oh," Eragon murmured. "Forgive me, Arya, but I was busy researching something for my father."
Arya stood before Saphira, softly greeting the dragon. Saphira merely blinked in response, her gaze flickering between the two of them. The elf turned towards some of the scrolls lying around, but did not pick any of them up. "What sort of research is it, Eragon?"
He cringed slightly, but said, "I cannot tell you, I'm sorry. I would need to speak with Oromis-elda first."
She did not seem surprised at his answer. Arya only nodded her head, her gaze still locked onto the scrolls.
In order to break the strange feeling permeating the air, Eragon asked, "How has your training gone?"
"Well enough I suppose." She finally met his gaze, and she briefly rubbed her hands together in front of her. It took him a moment to realize that she was nervous, though he could not think of why.
Eragon crossed the room, moving to stand only a few feet in front of her. "Arya?" he prodded.
He watched as she steeled herself, the familiar confident elf he had always known her to be reasserted. "I wished to apologize, Eragon."
Confused, Eragon furrowed his brow. "For what?"
"For when we last spoke," Arya answered. Her gaze was intense, and he fought the urge to look away. "I did not wish to cause you offense, or to upset you with my questions."
Blinking, Eragon said, "You have not caused me any offense, Arya. I answered the questions because I wanted to."
She nodded her head. "Yes, but it still upset you. I should have respected your privacy more."
"I shared with you my past," Eragon began. "Because I wanted you to know it. If anyone deserves to apologize, it's me. I was rude when I left. And yes, I was upset, but not with you, but I am sorry that you would perceive it as such."
Arya stared at him for a moment, before a small smile broke out on her face. "It seems then that we both have apologized."
"We have." Eragon agreed.
"Then perhaps we should consider this matter settled?" Arya offered. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and he tried not to match her movements.
"Aye."
Arya swept her eyes across the scrolls briefly. "Forgive me for interrupting you, Eragon. I only thought you were avoiding me, and I wanted to right any preserved slight I may have caused."
"I wasn't avoiding you," Eragon stated. "I have been rather recluse the past few days, admittedly. This research has taken up most of my time. I don't think I would ever avoid your company, Arya. I consider you to be one of the few true friends I have here."
The smile she bestowed upon nearly blinded him before it just as quickly disappeared. "Thank you, Eragon." Arya said softly, "You are a true friend of mine as well."
Arya glanced around once more, as though looking for something. When she failed to find it, Arya walked towards the door, her movements quick. "It is late, Eragon. If you have the time, I ask that you meet me when you can so that we can spar once more."
"Of course, Arya." Eragon bowed slightly to her. "It would be my pleasure to spar with you again. Forgive me for missing our previous allotted times. I will see you in the morning."
She nodded at him, seemingly pleased. When Arya opened the door, he called out, "Arya, have you ever heard of someone reversing the spell used to summon a Shade?"
Arya froze in the doorway. He saw eyes narrow as she pondered his question for a moment.
"No," Arya answered. She peered at him curiously. "I have not. If such a thing is even possible."
"Thank you, Arya." Eragon stated. He could see that she wished to question him, but she merely bid him goodbye before softly closing the door.