Chapter Thirteen #2
Ronan grabbed his arm. “We don’t know who, or what, is down there.”
“We won’t find out by staying up here. This could be it—the proof we need.
I’m not going to sit around and wait for Tinelann to destroy Scáilca.
I’m taking every advantage I can find, and if it kills me, then at least I die protecting my kingdom,” Domhnall replied, shaking himself loose and continuing down.
Ronan’s eyes met hers. “Stay here. I have to make sure the fool doesn’t make a martyr of himself.”
“I can come too.” Clía crossed her arms, the motion pulling at the gash in her side and sending a streak of pain through her. She winced.
He shook his head. “You’re wounded, and less quick with your blade. Try to find a spot for us to make camp until sunrise. It will be easier if I only have one impulsive royal to protect.”
She could argue with him—try to pull rank and demand she be allowed to go with them—but the determined set of his jaw told her she wouldn’t win.
She turned away with a huff.
Fine. She could find a place to make camp for when they returned.
If they returned.
She shut out the thought. They were both well trained; they could handle themselves. Doubt and fear served only as distractions.
The sound of a stream bubbling greeted her as she walked. She followed the sound, thinking to replenish her canteen, drained from her attempt at cleaning her wound.
Trees littered the mountainside, but they were much less dense than in the Ghostwood. Clía continued walking, the rush of the stream growing louder. Until she heard another noise, barely audible under the water’s current.
The hitching breath of soft crying.
Taking a reluctant step forward, she saw her.
A woman. Her face rang familiar to Clía, but she couldn’t quite place it. The woman could be a maiden or a mother; something about her defied age. She was crouched over the stream, eyes half closed as she scrubbed a dark green fabric. A red stain bloomed in its center.
The woman’s white hair hid her face, until she looked up.
Clía froze.
A wail escaped the stranger. Haunting and devastating.
Her face was pale white, half hidden by the torn gray hood of her cloak. Her luminous white eyes stared straight at Clía.
A bean sídhe.
The creature didn’t move, her stare never breaking as she keened.
Clía’s heart was in her ears as she scrambled back. But instead of falling against the coarse rock of the mountainside, there was nothing.
Gravity pulled her down as she stumbled into an opening in the cliff.
Darkness surrounded her. The crack in the mountain was tall but thin, covered by moss and vines that tapered the moonlight into nothing.
She fumbled through her pack for her lantern, hands shaking as she lit it.
She couldn’t stop. She rushed deeper into the cave, following her desperation into the unknown.
Her mind slowed only when she realized she wasn’t being followed.
Everything she knew about bean sídhes reminded her that she was safe. They never were the cause of harm. Merely omens.
Clía forced herself to take deep breaths. None of her family was here. They would be safe. They had to be.
She repeated this to herself as she walked farther into the damp space, unsure of what would await her and not quite brave enough to find out. The cool air bit at her skin, making her wish she’d thought to bring a cloak.
The walls curved above her, the space narrowing and the ceiling sloping. Following the natural twists and winds of the tunnel, she looked for another way out as a new fear started carving away at her mind.
There are so many ways one can die in a cave.
The path took a slight decline, and she sent a prayer to Aodhán that his mountain wouldn’t collapse on top of her. Suddenly, she regretted not praying more with the Draoi.
Eventually, the earth floor evened out beneath her, and the tunnel ended at a solid wall. When the light from her lantern hit the wall, it reflected back, fracturing into thousands of beams that danced on the dirt-covered ground.
Clía gasped. Crystals covered the wall, a type she had never seen before.
In the dim light, she couldn’t name the color with confidence.
Perhaps a soft shade of pink? She stepped carefully to the wall, mesmerized.
She had never seen any crystal that looked like this, let alone one that would be this visible at surface level.
She could only imagine how deep the vein ran.
Looking closer, she examined the formation. There was something about it she couldn’t describe—a magnetism unlike anything she had experienced before.
It would be beautiful on a necklace. Or maybe a crown?
A small cluster of the crystal jutted out in front of her, it’s connection to the rest of the vein fragile.
She pulled out her sword and struck with the pommel in one deliberate blow.
With a crack, the cluster fell to the ground, and the light in the cave seemed to dim.
Her fingers curled around the pale gem as the air thrummed around her.
Carefully, she placed the crystal into her pack.
The wall that held the crystal was a dead end, with no path to take her farther into the mountain. Which meant she either had to stay there or retrace her steps.
In the dark cave, she could almost forget the bean sídhe and the Sluagh and all the other creatures that could be lurking. It was quiet and small and safe.
But she needed to know that Domhnall and Ronan were all right. She needed to know if they’d discovered anything.
Having no choice but to return the way she’d come, she walked back through the cave. Once she reached the entrance, she paused and listened for the cries of the bean sídhe. There was only silence.
When she stepped out into the early morning light, she was alone.
A noise came from her left. She held her sword tightly, the weight reassuring.
“It’s us,” Ronan said, emerging from the trees with Domhnall close behind.
Clía’s eyes fell to the scraps of paper in the prince’s hands. “What did you find?”
“The tent was abandoned, but they left behind some evidence. The fragments of a supply list, and letters.” Domhnall’s eyes hardened. “We were right. Tinelann broke the treaty.”