Chapter Seventeen #2
Ronan and Clía found their corner of the training arena, and he watched as Clía struggled to keep her grip on her sword. Exhaustion was clearly wearing on her. Still, once they were situated, he wasted no time before lunging at her.
For the past five weeks, they’d followed an intense routine.
At dawn, they would meet in the training yard and run through a series of exercises.
When Clía looked ready to collapse, they would eat breakfast in the dalta library and prepare for that day’s lessons, before having the pleasure of exerting themselves again for General Kordislaen.
Then, if they had any energy remaining, they would squeeze in one short, final session before diving into their research and studies.
Kordislaen hadn’t set any more trials or tests since everyone had returned from the Ghostwood.
Only one group failed in their mission, sustaining serious injuries before their target, the Ellén Trechend, flew away.
It was a miracle any of them lived after facing the three-headed vulturelike beast. To go after the Ellén Trechend was tantamount to suicide.
Kordislaen gave them only a day to heal before sending them home, and since then, he’d reinforced the fundamentals, taught the remaining daltas new maneuvers, and then let them spar as he watched and offered comments.
During that time, Ronan always partnered with Clía.
Some days, he worried Domhnall would be upset at the amount of time he was spending with her, but the prince seemed too focused on Niamh to notice.
Their blades scraped together, and Clía’s fell to the ground.
She picked it up with a sigh. “Would you rather work with someone else?”
He almost took it as a sign she was looking to get rid of him, but then he noticed how her focus stayed glued to her blade as she dusted it off with her sleeve.
“You can work with whomever you’d like, but I enjoy working together,” he said.
“Are you sure?” she asked, doubt coating her words. “I know I’m not equal to you in skill. I don’t see how training with me can benefit you—”
He interrupted. “I’ll worry about me. You only need to focus on perfecting your form.” He tapped his foot against her too-wide stance. She quickly adjusted it.
“I feel guilty,” she admitted, finally meeting his gaze. “I’m getting all this help and giving nothing in return.”
Ronan shook his head. “Consider it a gift to álainndore. Besides, I like seeing your growth. Now stop wasting your time with self-pity and get ready.”
When he struck next, her grip faltered under the weight of his sword. Instinctually, he stopped and reached to help her adjust it, but Clía was distracted, looking past him at something else. Someone else.
Domhnall trained with Niamh not ten feet away from them. Covered in sweat, his shirt clung to his skin, and he was laughing easily at something she said. As if he sensed them looking, Domhnall turned their way.
Clía’s gaze dropped back to her blade, but Ronan caught the unfamiliar look on her. His chest grew strangely tight.
He whacked the flat side of his blade against her shoulder, jostling her.
“What was that for?” she hissed, her face flushed.
“Where did your mind go? I thought you were supposed to be disarming me.” He gestured back to the blade, still in his hand, and her eyes narrowed.
“I was paying attention.”
“Yes, you were paying attention. To Domhnall.”
Her lips tightened into a line. “It doesn’t matter. Do it again.”
Ronan adjusted his grip on his sword, noting Kordislaen making his way over.
He lunged again, and this time she was ready, even close to gaining the upper hand in their fight when Domhnall’s voice came from beside them.
“You’ve made a lot of progress, Clía.”
Ronan ignored him and continued to push forward toward her.
He swung, expecting the clang of his blade against hers, but he met no resistance.
Her sword clattered from her hand, forcing him to stumble to the side to keep his weapon from hitting her.
He saw Kordislaen shake his head in disappointment.
Ronan turned his frustration onto the newest member of their conversation. “It’s dangerous to distract someone when they’re training.”
Domhnall stood only a couple of feet away. Thankfully, he had the sense to look apologetic. “I apologize. I wasn’t thinking. I was taking a break to get some water.”
“And now you’ve done that. Do you have another reason for interrupting our practice?”
Domhnall raised his brow at his friend in question. Why are you acting like this?
Ronan scowled; he didn’t know why.
The prince turned back to Clía. “Are you coming to dinner tonight? I haven’t seen you there the past week.”
“Ronan and I have been adding in extra training sessions in the evenings,” she explained, her tone casual, as if she hadn’t been caught staring at Domhnall only minutes before.
“I see. Well, I hope to see you in the mess hall sometime soon. I would hate to lose the friendship we had.”
She blinked rapidly, brow furrowing in confusion. “Me too.”
“Wonderful.” Domhnall flashed her a disarming smile, one Ronan had seen him show many lords, ladies, and lísoirs before. It was his go-to weapon when he needed to charm someone. “I’ll see you soon.”
Clía stared after him as he walked off.
“I can’t believe you want to bind yourself to that man for the rest of your life,” Ronan muttered. Kordislaen was gone, having moved on to other daltas.
“Domhnall is a good man.”
“He’s a manipulative bastard.”
She sent him a sharp look. “I thought you two were friends.”
“He’s like a brother to me,” Ronan agreed. “Which is why I can say that. I have seen the best and worst of that man. And that”—he nodded to Domhnall’s retreating form—“is the worst. You do realize he only came over to talk to you while Kordislaen was watching?”
Clía cursed. “Kordislaen saw that?”
“Domhnall showed up the moment Kordislaen’s attention was on us. I’m sure you can imagine why.” Heat grew in Ronan as he explained. He used to admire Domhnall’s tactics, but now he could only see Clía’s fallen expression.
“He knew,” she said, her frustration seeming to turn on a new target. “He kept telling me I didn’t belong here, and now he’s trying to set me up to fail. Prove that he’s right.”
Ronan remembered his time with Domhnall in Suanriogh.
“Your reputation isn’t the only one at stake.
Imagine how it would make him look if you succeeded here and showed he had no basis for breaking the betrothal?
Imagine he got sent back to the palace and you were allowed to stay.
” He laughed, but it was empty. “And instead of playing by the rules and succeeding by his own merit, he’s sabotaging your progress. ”
“Of course, it’s how the Lochlainns work. If he had it his way, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed until Kordislaen kicked me out.”
Ronan let himself ask the question that had bothered him since Clía first looked Domhnall’s way. “Why do you let Domhnall have this power over you? When you see him, you change. It’s like you get so preoccupied with him that you forget everything.”
She took a deep breath. “Every time I see him, I’m overwhelmed with nerves. My thoughts get too loud, and suddenly I’m overthinking everything and it’s safest to just stop. All of this started to show him my potential, but when the moment comes that he can actually see me? I freeze.”
Ronan’s hand moved automatically, reaching for her, hovering near her face before dropping to her shoulder. She softened at his touch, and that tightness in his chest from earlier seemed to ease.
“If you want to prove him wrong, you need to prove it to yourself first.” He understood her struggle, the thoughts that raced through her brain and the desires that seemed impossible.
“He’s blinded by his own ego and ambitions; he may never see you as you are.
But he has no place in your fight. Keep your mind on what matters and let spite fuel you, but don’t let it hold you back. ”
***
“GENERAL KORDISLAEN IS LOOKING FOR YOU.”
Draoi Griffin’s voice roused Ronan from his reading. He stood to face the Draoi, then flinched as a throbbing ache ran down his legs, and pain rushed through his nerves. He leaned against the armrest, hoping Griffin wouldn’t see. “He is?”
“Follow me.”
Griffin led him out of the study. They made their way out of the eastern wing of the castle, where the daltas were housed, and into the western halls. Ronan had seen warriors and Draoi come to and from this section of the castle but had yet to be granted the chance to see it himself.
The halls grew quieter the farther into its depths they traveled. Fewer warriors crossed their path. Griffin stopped in front of an ornately carved wooden door, nodding toward it. “Go on.”
Ronan cautiously grabbed the handle and let himself in.
It opened onto a large room, longer than it was wide.
Candlelight flickered against the tapestries and bookshelves that lined the walls.
There were no windows. In the center of the room, a wide wooden table stood with chairs neatly tucked in and papers piled carefully on top.
Kordislaen sat facing Ronan at the head of the table, waiting.
“You’ve arrived. Take a seat.” He motioned as the door closed behind Ronan, leaving Griffin outside. Once Ronan did as he was told, Kordislaen continued. “How have you been liking Caisleán?”
It had been over a month since Ronan and the general last spoke in confidence. Why had he been summoned now?
“It’s wonderful, sir.” He subtly adjusted his leg, an attempt to ease the pressure and reduce some of the pain.
“I’m glad you think so. I knew you would do well here the day we met, and you’ve continued to prove me right. Your talent is unmatched.” Kordislaen remained impassive.
“Thank you.”
“You have leadership skills, an innate ability I could never teach, no matter how hard I tried. That is valuable.” Kordislaen paused for a moment, rising from his chair.
“You remind me a lot of myself. From the start, I saw that in you—the determination, that keen desire for vengeance. I know how it is to be thrown aside. To see the worst that life has to offer, then be forced to endure. It’s been nearly thirty years since I saw my village destroyed in an invasion, but there are some things you don’t forget.
No matter how much you may wish otherwise. ”
Ronan thought of the nights when he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing blood spattered on streets.
Kordislaen smiled. “Even while here, I’ve heard of your triumphs, your quick rise through the ranks.
I always kept my eye on you, interested to see who you’d become.
You’ve made me proud, boy.” Warmth blossomed in Ronan’s chest. “You’re just like I was at your age—fighting for acclaim, accepting any excuse to put a sword in your hands, if only to prove to the world that you’re more than they think.
“After my village was raided, we were scarred and broken, and no one gave us any thought. But I decided I would make them. I dedicated myself to the crown. I fought and bled until finally I bought us a reprieve from the onslaught of invasions. We chased the Ionróirans off our shores, and it was years before they were seen again. I see promise in you, Ronan. I saw it that very first day and I still see it now. You have potential for greatness, and it’s because of this that I have a request for you. ”
Ronan didn’t stop to think. “Anything, sir.”
“Threats in this kingdom are growing. Given the altercation during your trip to álainndore, and what you witnessed beyond the Ghostwood, you must be aware of this fact. Things have only grown more precarious while you’ve been training here.
The situation is delicate. Lyons and I are handling it; however, we may require more help.
“I need someone to keep an eye on the daltas here in the castle. Trust is a finite resource; I will only grant it to those worthy of it.” He paused, pulling a book from the shelf beside him.
“While I would have preferred you didn’t allow the heirs of two kingdoms to travel into the Diamhairs, you kept them safe.
You’ve also done well in assisting the princess—truly above and beyond. ”
Ronan shifted in his seat under the general’s focus. He had almost forgotten about Kordislaen’s request to aid Clía.
“You know the daltas better than I, and you will have better access to them. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and if you notice anything . . . peculiar, you tell me. In return, I can promise you a permanent position here at Caisleán, and if there are any further promotions or missions you would like to lead down the line, I will be the first to advocate for you. Do we have an understanding?”
The general promising to assist him in his future, in exchange for Ronan’s help keeping Caisleán safe? There was no debate to be had.
He nodded. “Of course, sir.”
***
WHEN RONAN WENT BACK TO HIS ROOM, HIS EYES CAUGHT on the unopened letter from his father that had been sitting on his desk for far too long.
Picking it up, he let his thumb run over the raised wax seal.
He had wasted time avoiding this, avoiding the guilt.
His goals were finally coming to fruition, and if he couldn’t tell his mother, then he wanted to share them with his father, the only other person who missed her as much as he did.
The two of them were the only family they each had left.
Ronan opened the letter and, once he was done reading, began to write his own.