CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maeve did not return to her sleeping hut that night, though she knew that the tiredness would overwhelm her by the time that the sun deigned to rise.
She wandered along the river, spent some time in the training field, and explored the camp in the darkness of the night, the tiredness in her body never quite managing to quell the churning waves in her mind.
Cailean was the lost prince. A part of her had suspected it all along, but to have it confirmed had just sent her world careening in a new direction.
It was hard to believe that not so long ago her biggest concern had been whether or not she'd be allowed to stay in the camp.
Now, it seemed like the only thing in her heart was the determination to save her sister — and to have Cailean take his rightful place as the leader who could help her do it.
She didn't understand how it had all come to this.
She felt so overwhelmed by all the thoughts and fears in her mind that she barely knew where to start.
She knew she'd have to talk more with Ferda, soon, and tell Patty the truth too, but at the moment she barely felt like she even knew what the real truth was.
The sun was peeking over the horizon and the camp was beginning to stir when she finally conceded to her tiredness and turned back toward her sleeping area.
She was so tired that she wanted to cry, but part of her also felt like she had cried enough that she never would again.
She walked along the pathway back through the camp and was so distracted that she almost walked directly into someone.
"Oh. Oh, sorry," she muttered distractedly, then looked up to see Senan smiling down at her.
"I came tae check on ye. Did ye sleep at all?" her old mentor asked her. "Dinnae answer that — I ken ye didnae. May I escort ye the rest of the way back tae sleep?"
"Aye, please," Maeve replied.
They walked along in silence for a few moments, then Senan said, "Ye look pale."
"I'm tired."
Senan nodded, saying nothing.
Maeve sighed. "Senan, I want tae save me sister. I cannae understand why Cailean—I mean tae say, I—"
"So he told ye, then," Senan said. "I thought he might."
"We argued," Maeve confessed. "He seems… broken. It surprised me. He's always seemed so strong, so stoic, but he spoke like a man whose spirit is shattered. Why would he shy away from who he is?"
"We all have our reasons. Ye should ken better than anyone what it is tae run away from yer past," Senan chided her gently.
Maeve felt her cheeks flare with embarrassment, but Senan didn't push any further.
"It hasnae been easy for the lad. He was just a wee bairn when he lost everythin'.
The council, meself included, have tried our best tae raise him, but it's nae the same thing as havin' yer family and clan around ye. "
"How did he even escape?" Maeve asked in a hushed voice. "He must have been five years old."
"We didnae have enough warnin' tae save the whole family.
We kent the False King was gonnae make a move, but nae when.
The White Sparrows are the reason that Cailean survived.
Two of them were stationed in McNair castle as nursemaids or governesses, takin' care of the five royal bairns.
The Sparrows' leader, Morag, and her companion, Laura, did everythin' they could, but they got separated durin' the attack. "
"Ann mentioned Morag…" Maeve said.
Senan nodded. "She's a friend of mine, though I've nae seen her in some time. She wasnae able tae save the older lads, but she found Cailean who'd been hidden by his mother and managed tae sneak him out of the castle. She brought him tae us, and he's been here ever since."
"She didnae take him with her?" Maeve asked.
"She said they were on different paths. She said if he was ever tae reclaim his throne, he'd need us — and I believe she was right.
" Senan shrugged. "He was a shy, scared wee thing for many years, but he's grown intae a strong lad — a strong man, I should say.
He cares about the people here, deeply and truly, and that's an important thing for a good leader tae have. "
Maeve pictured what it must have been like for him, a tiny child with everything he'd ever known ripped away from him, an impossible duty before him.
Her heart panged at the image in her head, and she found herself aching for that child who had lost everything.
But how could she help him? Twenty years had passed since that day, twenty years during which Cailean could have grown cold and bitter but instead had turned too warm and kind for his own good.
They reached the hut and Maeve bid Senan farewell.
Even though the sun was now further in the sky, he strongly advised that she get at least two or three hours of sleep before she tried to face the next day, and she had to admit that it was probably the best bet.
She walked in and saw that one of the three beds was empty — Ferda was already out and working for the day, but Patty still snoozed peacefully nearby.
Washing off quickly and changing into sleepwear, Maeve lay down on the bed, trying not to put any weight on her injured arm. She was sure that Patty would scold her in the morning for not getting it treated, but that would have to wait for now.
As Maeve fell asleep, her mind was filled with images of a little boy, lost in the world, riding away from a burning castle and from the life he'd once known — and of a sister, trapped perhaps forever.
Two days passed and Cailean spent the whole time in a dark mood.
He avoided Darren no matter how much his friend tried to talk to him, and avoided the council as well.
When he turned up at the training field on the second day and Maeve was still not there, though, his mood grew darker than ever.
He was furious, not at her, but at himself.
He knew that the way he left her in the woods hadn't been right, but he'd been so aggravated he hadn't known how to deal with it.
He hadn't gone to the training fields the day before under strict instructions of the healers, and he'd hoped that the day's break would have been enough to mitigate the strangeness between them.
But this morning, standing in the field and watching the warriors file in, he saw that Maeve was still not here.
It made sense that she would be avoiding him, but it filled him with an impossible combination of irritation, hurt, and frustration.
He wasn't angry at her, but at himself. After everything, how had he handled the whole situation so poorly?
He'd had a lot of time to think about why Maeve had lied the way she did, and he'd fully accepted and understood it.
She'd been right to accuse him of doing the same thing on a different scale.
Maybe she'd even been right about him being a coward.
He'd hated those words when they fell from her lips, but he felt them now.
The men and women greeted him as they reached the field, but he mostly just nodded in response.
He wondered how much of the truth about Maeve and the events of the other day had spread.
From some of the furtive looks that the others were giving him, he imagined that most of it had gotten out.
The rebels were good people, but like in any group, rumors spread like wildfire.
"What are we doin' today?" a voice asked behind him, and Cailean turned around to see Fergus standing there.
His friend was watching him with a concerned expression that made Cailean's frustration simply grow.
Fergus was much quieter and more introspective than Darren, so to see the concern in his eyes simply made the shame and complicated emotion inside Cailean grow deeper.
"Drills," Cailean grunted. "Just get intae pairs. Ye ken what ye're supposed tae do, I'm nae the one in charge."
Fergus raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.
He simply blended back in with the other warriors and found himself a partner to spar.
Cailean picked up a training sword and found a partner of his own, and the fight began.
He found himself making stupid mistake after stupid mistake, placing his feet in the wrong place, falling and slipping in the grass, taking hits and blows and failing to make connections.
"Sir? Ye all right?" the other warrior asked after Cailean fell to the ground and lost the second match in a row.
"Again," Cailean said. He got to his feet and launched into another attack, this time letting his fury echo down his arm.
The intensity of the fight had him blazing, and while his usual grace was missing, the brute force he threw down made the other man's eyes widen with what looked like genuine fear.
Once he had downed the opponent, he turned to the next and shouted, "Next! "
"Sir?"
"Next!" he barked.
Another warrior came forward and Cailean launched forward again.
Every blow he struck was trying to get the pain out of his own heart, every relentless barrage of attacks a way to try to beat the failure out of himself.
He won, but his victories only made him feel worse. He had to push more, push harder.
He called them forward one by one, barely seeing who was in front of him, savagely attacking, picturing his opponent as himself. Maybe if he could be less of a coward. Maybe if he could understand who he was meant to be. Maybe if…
"Cailean. Enough."
Darren's voice cracked across the training field like a whip. Cailean blinked, the red fog fading from his vision, and looked up to see his best friend striding forward toward him. Looking around, he saw the other warriors watching him with identical looks of shock or even fear on their faces,
"Everybody keep trainin','" Darren commanded, taking over without blinking. Then, in a lower voice, he said, "Cailean, come with me. I think we need tae have a talk."