Chapter 3 #2
My blood boiled with the injustice of it all. All these years of duty and sacrifice, of being the flawless lady they demanded, and this was how they repaid me?
“I refuse,” I declared. The strength in my voice cut through the voices. My body was bigger now, stronger, and I felt the An Talamh throb more fiercely than ever, answering to my anger. Not like before, unstable, but solid. “This is my home. I was born here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
My mother squeezed me harder, and I understood the warning, yet the ache in my chest burned hotter than the fear.
“Fionnuala, calm down,” my father pleaded.
I spun on him, betrayal crushing my chest.
“Calm down, Papa?” I asked, disbelief thick in my voice. “They want to throw me out, get rid of me like I’m the guilty one. Do they forget I’m the victim? Merith cursed me!”
“It’s for your safety,” Priest Cian tried to justify, but his averted eyes said otherwise.
“Safety?” I shot back, laughing bitterly. “If it were for my safety, you’d be voting to hunt Merith down and make her lift the curse, not pushing me out.”
The hall fell silent.
My father closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his mask was back, firmer than ever, yet a fissure of anguish lingered beneath it. He knew he had already lost the room, and that hopelessness broke my heart more than the transformation ever could.
If he defied them—if he stood his ground and kept me in Ceilte as his daughter—they would question his authority. As much as I hated the cold logic of it in that moment, Lord Fenric was right.
The other courts had always kept their distance from our affairs, watching from the shadows with greedy eyes. This "monstrosity" would give them the excuse they had craved for centuries: a reason to invade our territory and take Ceilte for themselves.
Even knowing the political cost, the realization that my father wouldn’t choose me still hurt.
“My dear brothers and sisters,” he began, more calmly. “In these centuries as Lord of Ceilte, I’ve never asked anything of you beyond what you were willing to give.”
An uneasy stir swept through the crowd as he took a measured step forward. Then, the world seemed to tilt on its axis when he dropped to his knees.
My father. The sovereign Lord. The one who never bowed. The male who had stood tall against kings and stared down death on a hundred battlefields, knelt before his own people like an ordinary male, a subject begging for mercy.
My throat went dry as he lowered his head, pressing his hand to the floor in a bow so deep it felt as though the world itself was folding. My mother let out a strangled, broken sob beside me.
“I beg you,” he continued, his voice cracking. “My daughter… my dear Fionnuala, is my most precious treasure. She isn’t to blame for the malice Merith unleashed; that blame falls on me and the choices I made long ago.”
He lifted his face slowly, and my legs threatened to give way when I saw the glisten of tears in his eyes.
“Yes, she’s… different now. Changed by an ancient curse that defies our understanding.
But I swear to you, she’s still Fiona, the same girl you watched grow, who always smiled at everyone, danced at the harvests, and spoke to anyone with no care for blood or title.
The same kind soul you learned to love and admire. ”
A muffled sound escaped my throat at seeing my father trying to defend me despite the way I looked.
“If you cast her out, she’ll be alone in the world. As Lord, I understand why you want this in a difficult moment. But as a father, all I can picture is my little girl helpless, without her family or friends. Far from her home.”
A murmur spread through the crowd, no longer of pure shock, but of doubt. The ferocity that once pointed at me as a threat began to waver, turning into discomfort, hesitation, maybe even compassion.
My mother closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. When she opened them again, they blazed with fury. She stepped forward, posture straight and voice sharp as a blade.
“If anyone here thinks I’ll allow them to lay a hand on my daughter, they’re welcome to try,” she said, her voice so cold it sent chills straight through me.
The priest paled visibly.
I wanted to hide behind her, just like I used to when I was small. But now… I was huge. Green. Strange—even to myself.
“Ceilte’s laws are clear!” Lord Fenric bellowed. “Curses that directly affect the kingdom must be resolved in exile. Anyone else here would be forced to obey the law, and Lady Fionnuala can’t be the exception!”
"Law is law," other members of the nobility agreed, seizing the Lord's moment of fragility.
My father rose slowly, his pleading expression replaced by resignation. He looked at me, and what I saw there was bitter acceptance—a defeat that couldn’t be avoided. His duty came first.
“I… I understand your position,” he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “As Lord, I must protect Ceilte’s peace and safety. And as a father, I must protect my daughter’s life.”
He hesitated for a long moment, and everyone seemed to hold their breath.
"Therefore, I propose the following: Fionnuala will depart from Ceilte…" A murmur of approval began to spread, but he raised his hand to silence them. "Not for exile. But to seek the counterspell. She won’t be banished; she’ll be on a mission.”
The difference was subtle but important. Exile meant being cast out, while a mission meant I could return.
“And what about the danger she represents?” Lord Fenric demanded, impatient. “How can we be sure that thing won’t return, leading Oksha’s hordes as an orc?”
"Why, you—!" My mother roared, taking a step toward Fenric, her eyes blazing.
"Enough, Laurelin." My father stopped her with a look and turned to the crowd, his shoulders tense. "She shall not return until the curse is broken. That’s my oath to you, under the gaze of the goddesses. Fionnuala, do you accept this condition?"
The question was loaded with an ultimatum: accept a "mission" or be banished as a pariah.
My mother looked at me, silently urging me to act. I couldn’t tell whether she wanted me to accept or refuse. Either way, the outcome was the same: I had to leave Ceilte. They had cornered me so completely that I couldn’t see any choice but to do what they demanded.
I glanced at Jameson. He stared at me with relief that he didn’t have to marry the “abomination.” My jaw clenched so hard I could hear my teeth grinding. Who did that idiot think he was, rejecting me? He should have been begging me to marry him, even though he has the personality of a wet cloth.
I was Fionnuala Kerridan, daughter of Alasdair and Laurelin Kerridan, granddaughter of the powerful Roselin of Caith.
I squared my shoulders and stepped away from my mother so I could stand on my own. That made me taller than everyone—even my father, who stood well over six and a half feet.
"I refuse!" My voice came out strong. The word seemed to freeze in the air. "I won’t leave my home like a criminal! Merith cursed me. This isn’t my fault."
I looked at every single one of them, memorizing the faces of the people who judged me or looked at me with disgust. Many flinched when they felt my anger.
I wanted every ounce of my fury to hit them, to burn into their memories.
“If you want me gone, you’d better get your weapons and your powers ready. Just remember this: I’ll return, and when I do, I’ll remind all of you of the loyalty you denied me today."
It wasn’t just a threat. It was a promise.
My father closed his eyes, a painful sigh escaping him.
"Fiona, what have you done?" I heard his voice before Lord Fenric and other nobles began to shout.
"See? She’s already changed!"
"We can’t allow an orc in our kingdom!"
"Lord Alasdair, this is an outrage!"
"Guards, arrest her!" Lord Fenric, bold as only he could be, gave the order with all the authority of a lord.
My father’s guard looked lost, unsure whether to obey and fight the princess who looked like their greatest enemy, or wait for the true Lord’s command.
“Silence!” my father roared with such anger that the walls seemed to shake. “Who do you think you are, Fenric?”
The chaos spread, voices rising over one another. I watched, waiting for a verdict. That was when I felt my mother’s hand clamp around my wrist.
"Come, dear," she murmured, her eyes shining with urgency. "We have to go."
"But—" I started, but she didn't let me finish.
“Don’t argue.” Her voice was quiet, but strong. “We have to take advantage of the distraction. Go.”
I took one last look at the hall. I saw my father, tall and furious, holding the weight of all those eyes alone, but before I left, he glanced at me.
I’d never forget the sadness and guilt he carried in his gray eyes.