Chapter Twenty-Four
Fionnáin, a word.”
Kordislaen’s voice broke through Clía’s thoughts about that night’s patrol. She halted on her way to the door as the others filed out. Ronan sent her a confused look, but she waved him off and faced the general.
“Sir?” she asked pleasantly.
“Your growth over the course of the academic year has been something to note. It is because of said growth, in addition to your discoveries during your quest, that I thought you would be fit to remain here. However, I said this to Lochlainn and I’ll say it to you: despite your title, you are expected to have loyalty to Caisleán, and me, above all else.
What is said in these rooms is not to leave it, not in letters, not even under extreme duress.
Even if your own court demands the answers. Do you understand, soldier?”
She nodded. A lie.
“Good. I am not afraid to remove any threats to security I may discover. You will not be one of those threats, will you?”
His patronizing tone grated, but she remained passive. “No, sir.”
“You’re dismissed,” he stated, and she didn’t waste any time in leaving the room.
***
THE FAbrIC ROOM WAS A WONDERLAND UPON FIRST GLANCE, but spending hours working with Sárait on their project had morphed it into an unrecognizable disaster of scattered cloth. Murphy entertained himself beside Clía, batting his paws at some dangling ribbon.
“I think this shape will look the most flattering,” Sárait commented, pointing at the slope of the collar line Clía was playing with.
“It’d be too stiff against my neck. I would have less range of motion.”
“But it’d look stunning while also protecting your neck.” Her points were compelling, but Clía held firm.
“We should stick with our original design. It requires less material.”
Sárait sighed but didn’t fight her. Clía took it as an opportunity to change the subject. “Kordislaen pulled me aside after my meeting this morning.”
Sárait turned from her pencil and parchment, eyes wide. “What did you do?”
“Who said I did anything?” Her voice was high. She cleared her throat before continuing. “He just gave me vague warnings. I must be loyal to the guard and not speak of their discussions and so on.”
“You mean like you’re doing right now?”
Clía sent her a cross look. “If I didn’t tell you this now, you would overhear some maid talking to a chef talking to a warrior’s cousin or something. You know every whisper that is breathed in this castle.”
“You’re right.” Sárait raised a shoulder, her smile too smug. “And speaking of knowing everything, I noticed you and Ronan getting close recently.”
Clía balled up the fabric in her hands, throwing it in Sárait’s face. Murphy, seeing the flying fabric, bounded after it, colliding with Sárait’s chair. He tugged it from her hands. When she sent Clía an indignant look, she only shrugged. “Sorry, I thought that fabric might be useful to you.”
Sárait scoffed. “Yeah, useful in shutting me up. I’m not the only one who’s thought there might be something between you two. Someone said you might feel something for the man, but I quickly told them it was impossible. You have no feelings.”
The urge to throw another ball of wadded-up cotton at Sárait was hard to fight.
Sárait continued, not seeming to pick up on Clía’s violent thoughts. “I didn’t actually say that.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “I said your heart was taken by Niamh.”
Now it was Clía’s turn to scoff. “That woman will kill me in my sleep if I even blink at her. I’m afraid that romance will never blossom, no matter how beautiful she is.”
“Ah, but she’s not as beautiful as Captain Ronan ó Faoláin, is she?”
That was debatable.
Clía measured the neckline of her design once more.
There was nothing she didn’t share with Sárait—in their months at Caisleán, Sárait had become a constant and comforting presence in her life—but Clía hadn’t told her about her kisses with Ronan.
They felt too fragile to put into words, like the memory might fracture.
Besides, she had shut down any notion of a future for the two of them.
“Ronan and I are nothing but close friends. Can we move on?”
“For now. Speaking of romance, I’m meeting Kían tomorrow,” Sárait said, continuing to sew the hem she was working on.
Clía’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
She just laughed. “Because I was waiting to see that expression.”
“Well, you’ve seen it—now explain.” Clía turned to her friend, her work forgotten.
Sárait laughed again. “As you know, I’ve been making progress—saying hello during your training sessions, waving in the halls, the occasional small talk.
Turns out, it paid off. A few days ago, they approached me when I was making my way through the officer’s rooms. They were leaving a meeting with Kordislaen, and we had a full conversation. ”
“A full conversation? Someone prepare the temple.”
“Be quiet!” Sárait laughed. “My conversational skills must be great, because they asked me to see them out when they leave for their mission tomorrow morning. Perhaps I’ll even get a goodbye kiss.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Clía said, pulling her into a hug.
Sárait indulged her for a moment before pulling away.
“Okay, enough of this. We need to actually make progress on this tonight before I have to return to work. Kordislaen has me doing laundry and tailoring for him that he’s been putting off.
Maybe I’ll even get to see his evil lair. ” Sárait raised her brow.
“I’ll be out patrolling—with little training on how to do that, mind you—so if you find anything interesting, tell me in the morning.”
“Oh, please let him leave out some embarrassing letter, or really anything to prove he’s human,” Sárait pleaded. “I’ve been here long enough, and I’m almost convinced he’s a creature from Tír Síoraí sent to torment us.”
Clía rolled her eyes. “That’s it, no more reading for you.”
“You speak as if you are immune to the stories surrounding us. Stories hide truth deep in their words. You’ve faced the beasts of the Ghostwood—some argue they’re only myth. But we know. Púcas, kelpies, and bean sídhes—they’re out there.”
That haunted wail that echoed in Clía’s mind. The woman—bean sídhe—by the stream. She would never forget the keening pitch of her cry.
Clía realized Sárait was waiting for her to say something. “I prefer to focus on what’s in front of me.”
Sárait scoffed. “Funny coming from you—you’re the most fanciful person in this decaying castle.”
“What do you mean by that?” Clía asked.
“You grew up in this ideal, fake world,” she said, not unkindly.
“Entire courts hanging on your every word, with every possible gown and jewel you could desire. You’ve grown since coming to Caisleán, but there’s still much for you to learn.
This shell of naivety will one day crumble and you must hope you’ve prepared enough for that moment. ”
Clía tried to push down the hurt that rose in her chest at Sarait’s words. Her parents’ and Domhnall’s doubt, she had grown numb to. But she thought Sárait understood her.
“I am not naive.” She kept her voice flat. “I have been abandoned by those I cared for. I have fought and struggled to get to where I am.”
Sárait shook her head. “You have, and I don’t mean to diminish that.
I care about you, Clía, which is why I need to ask: What do you see happening when you leave Caisleán?
You can’t stay here forever when war is threatening your home.
One day, you’ll have to return to álainndore, with what?
A year of military training behind you and a war on your heels.
Do you think your chiefs will take you seriously? Your parents?”
“They will. I’ve been updating Chief ó Connor in my letters—we’ll be prepared for whatever Tinelann and Ionróir throw our way.”
“All I’m saying is that war seldom goes smoothly. When training, Ronan always stops his blade before it could ever leave a mark on you, but out there? There are people worse than any Otherworld beast, who are all too eager to see your blood spill.”
***
HER PARTNER FOR THE NIGHT PATROL WAS A CURADH, BASED on the gleaming pin on his cloak. A man whose name she didn’t know, despite her asking him a total of three separate times in the past hour.
Which was fine. She didn’t need his company—or basic decency.
She stared out into the dark waves breaking on the shoreline.
To anyone unknowing, it looked like they were patrolling the beach, but in truth, they were guarding a hidden entrance to Caisleán.
Off the shore, built into the Whispering Cliffs, was a passageway that led directly into the castle.
An escape route designed when the castle still held royalty, so the inhabitants could escape if their warriors failed to hold the line outside the grounds.
It was one of Caisleán’s many closely guarded secrets.
It was also extremely dull.
The moon placed a celestial glow on the plant life around them, lighting the shoreline and the breaks of the waves. Where the light didn’t reach, there were only shadows and hidden depths.
Rocks clattered a few feet away from her. She turned in a panic, only to see a squirrel leap from its place on the cliffside, it’s white tail flashing as it scurried down the beach.
She pulled her hand away from the hilt of her sword, strapped to her side. She didn’t recall reaching for it. Her partner sent her a scathing glance.
***
HOURS PASSED LIKE YEARS AS SHE WAITED FOR HER SHIFT to end.
Clía might have developed a fondness for swordplay and battle, but marching around the same strip of land, staring into still shadows for the hope of something happening, would never be for her. It gave her too much opportunity to think. Thinking was a dangerous hobby in the dead of night.
When she heard footsteps approaching from the tunnel—another guard sent to relieve her—she felt her exhaustion sink in all at once. If before she was merely holding herself above water, she now let the tide rush over her.
“Send the girl away,” the new voice called.
Stepping toward the path back to the castle, she ignored the burning in the pads of her feet. She was eager to go back to her bed—but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Her silent partner.
“Go back inside through the tunnel.” He walked over to the entrance they were guarding, pulling a key from his belt and fitting it in a well-hidden lock.
“Keep left until the tunnel splits into three paths, go down the farthest right, then continue straight until you reach the fifth lantern. There will be a door just ahead—that should let you out near the entrance to the eastern wing.”
“Thank you.” She nodded, trying to drill the directions into her memory as her partner pushed open the hidden door.
The tunnel was lined with cracked stone, winding and narrow. It had held up for centuries, but she still worried that this night could be its last. But, she thought to herself, this route will be shorter than a trek up the cliffs. Less time traveling in the dark, where anything can find you.
The mysterious—yet certainly brighter—tunnel suddenly seemed like a fantastic option.
She crouched, entering the passage and keeping close to the left wall.
The ceiling hovered close above her head as she walked, until it eventually eased upward, allowing her to stand straight.
A few lanterns granted sparse light between stretches of darkness.
When she reached the three-way split in the paths, she chose the farthest right tunnel and continued on her way.
It was not the most comforting walk back into the castle, but her desire for sleep overcame any desire to live. Maybe there was a benefit to patrolling late hours; her brain started to malfunction in just the right ways.
At the fourth lantern, the tunnel forked. Her tired mind tried to remember the instructions. Was she supposed to turn after four or five?
She could explore down this turn, and if she was wrong, backtrack and try the fifth lantern.
Turning down the new tunnel, she let out a relieved sigh at the sight of a wooden door ten feet away.
Opening it revealed a short staircase. After climbing it into the main castle, she found herself in a dimly lit hallway.
From the various guarded doors around her, she could only assume she was in an unfamiliar part of the western wing.
As she made her way back to the daltas’ hall, a voice came from around the corner. She startled at the sudden noise, leaning against the wall to avoid being seen. As much as she had reason to be there, she wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, let alone explain how she ended up in the wrong wing.
“You’ll take care of it?” the voice asked, deep and sure. It was muffled by walls, impossible for her to identify.
“Of course, sir,” another voice replied.
“Remember your vow. I want this handled quickly and done by dawn.”
“Yes, sir.” The man paused, hesitant. “May I ask why?”
“You should remember your place,” the first voice commanded. “It’s a matter of security. We can’t risk classified information getting into the wrong hands. This remains between you and me, soldier.”
“Yes, sir. I will take care of it now.”
“Good.”
One set of footsteps began to walk, and she held her breath. The sound was moving away from her. Perhaps the gods were watching.
She stayed rooted in her spot until she heard a door creak open and shut. When her path was clear, she continued to her room, the remnants of the conversation flitting around in her head and keeping her from sleep hours after she collapsed into bed.