Chapter Thirty-One
You have proven to be quite the contender, Fionnáin,” Kordislaen said.
Clía sat at the table as he stared down at her. There was no question in his words, nothing that might hint at anything but a genuine compliment.
She couldn’t help but think of the girl she used to be, who would have been thrilled by such a compliment. Did that girl die when she stuck that blade in ó Connor? Or had she been killed long before that?
“Thank you, sir,” she replied.
He pulled out the chair beside her, taking a seat. “You’ve witnessed a comrade die before you. And ó Connor—that is a blow I could not see coming. Were you the one to take him down?”
Clía nodded, unable to do anything else.
There was a gleam in Kordislaen’s eye. “It’s almost impressive.
I mean, he was an older man, but to kill the one who helped raise you?
You must be struggling. Even ignoring recent events, I would expect all of this to be challenging for you.
Tell me, do you know how many people will die in a war with Tinelann? ”
“Many,” she replied.
“Thousands, if not more. Kingdoms could fall. If it stretches past Scáilca and álainndore? Our continent has never seen war such as this, with outsiders assisting the enemy. It will be recorded in history, studied for centuries. The game of war, with life and death balancing on the edge of a blade. There’s no turning back now. ”
“I know.”
“Do you?” he asked, his voice coated with steel. “You’re a smart girl, Clíodhna. What do you think your odds will be in a fight like this?”
She stared back at him. “My odds?”
He nodded. “Your odds. Do you expect to survive? To return to álainndore a hero, with your friends by your side?”
No words would come to her.
She had been so focused on her goals, her journey, that the truth of war, beyond its effects on álainndore, had never set in.
She had witnessed more death in the past few days than ever before in her life—more death than she would ever want to see again.
And it was only the beginning. If they didn’t stop Tinelann and the Ionróirans before they invaded Scáilca, thousands could lose their lives.
Even if they did manage to prevent a full-blown invasion, there would still be casualties. It was inevitable.
And did she somehow think she would avoid the bloodshed? That she would evade death? That her skin would remain free from the stain of blood?
It already rusted under her nails.
And what of her friends? Sárait was in the infirmary. Niamh, Domhnall, Kían, and MacCraith would be part of the battles coming their way. Ronan. She’d almost lost him the night before. How could she protect him in a real battle?
She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of her fingers rubbing against the hem of her shirt. After a moment, as her thoughts began to quiet, she opened her eyes again. Kordislaen was watching her closely.
“It’s no use focusing on what we cannot control,” she said. “Whatever the gods throw at us, I have faith we can handle.” The mask felt unfamiliar, after going so long without it. The lies tasted bitter on her tongue.
“You truly think you can deal with the realities of war?” There was disbelief in his voice, and it cut straight to her core.
Clía straightened her shoulders. Kordislaen didn’t need to know of the doubt in her heart. “Is that not what we’ve been working for? You chose to keep me here at Caisleán. I’ve proven myself capable.”
He laughed. He looked at her as if eyeing an injured pup. “Don’t delude yourself, Fionnáin. You know why you’re here.”
“It’s because I’m a good warrior.” She kept her voice steady.
“You actually believe that?” Surprise coated his words, but it was quickly replaced by pity.
“No, Fionnáin. The only reason you remained is because I thought you were useful. The crown princess of álainndore. Heir to the throne. A valuable connection, perhaps even a source of information. However, you’ve proven to be more nuisance than advantage. ”
She was silent, and he looked off, speaking more to himself than to her. “I was hoping that Captain ó Faoláin would bring me something I could use. Your . . . dalliance with him could have been very beneficial to me. Unfortunately, he has yet to report back anything helpful.”
Her heart stopped.
“You had Ronan spying on me?” The words were soft as she spoke them. That surprised her. They were so loud in her head.
She trusted Ronan. Above anyone else. He wouldn’t do this to her.
That’s what you thought about ó Connor.
“No need for dramatics. It wasn’t just you.
Ronan was keeping an eye on all the daltas.
I must rely on caution and resourcefulness during these tumultuous times.
” He paused for a moment, looking at her.
“Sometimes your naivety surprises me, Princess. You should have expected this. After ó Connor—I mean, I knew you could be foolish, but truly, did you think he was the only one to use you? Your desperate desire for approval has clouded your judgment.”
“I—” Her voice caught in her throat.
He didn’t stop. “Let me do you this favor by making one thing clear to you: you are not here for your skill or your potential. You have none. Your position here was because of your title and the benefits that might bring, but I have quickly learned that it’s not worth the effort.
At this point, you are wasting precious space.
All you’ve done in your time here is embarrass yourself. ”
Her vision blurred. Everything she’d done had been for nothing. She thought she was making progress, that she would prove everyone wrong. Instead, she’d made a mockery of herself and her kingdom.
That doubt solidified in her lungs. Failure crushed her chest, choking her.
She tried to deny it. Him. “You said that I’ve improved. I know I’ve fought well. I helped on the mission.”
Her fingers trembled as they traced the rough hem of her bodice. She called upon that confidence that had been second nature only days ago, and found it broken along old fault lines. Had it really been so fragile?
“You were lucky.” There was no kindness in his gaze, no pity on his face.
“It wasn’t a complete lie when I said you’ve grown, but what good is such a minor improvement for someone who couldn’t even hold a sword?
Not to mention, you didn’t even do it on your own.
Of course, when I suggested to Ronan he give you a hand, I knew he wouldn’t argue—you were just so pitiful. ”
Her knuckles met his cheekbone with a loud crunch. The sound was satisfying enough to dull the pain in her hand.
“Fuck you.” Her voice was hoarse.
For a second, she thought she saw irritation behind his eyes. But it quickly disappeared, replaced with a calm smile. “You call that a punch? Oh, Clíodhna.” He shook his head. “That’s shameful. Don’t expect a place at Caisleán after this. You are nothing. And you’re dismissed.”
He turned away. Clía marched from the room, eyes burning with unshed tears. When she was far enough from the door that she knew he wouldn’t see, she ran.
***
SHE THREW HER CLOTHES INTO HER LARGEST TRUNK, pulling out each piece of fabric from the old chest. She didn’t bother folding. With each item tossed inside, she tried to bury the thoughts filling her head.
It was all for nothing.
She was nothing.
Kordislaen had kept her there only because he thought she might be “useful.” And any connections she’d made were formed only out of pity and obligation. Even Sárait had been sent by ó Connor. She couldn’t help but wonder if Sárait’s friendship had been genuine, or another ruse. Another betrayal.
She so stupidly thought she was actually doing something right. That when she returned to álainndore, she would return with friends and skills and hope.
The sword lying on her bed mocked her. When she held it, she felt stronger than ever before. She had almost been tempted to believe it could be something beyond this realm, that maybe the gods themselves had faith in her.
Only naive children believed in fairy tales.
Murphy was curled up on her bed, watching her with his soft eyes.
“We’re going home,” she whispered to him. She stroked his head, and he rested it on her blankets, going back to sleep.
She filled the trunk and began working on the next. When she reached her perfumes and lotions, she left them on the dresser. When she went home, she would find new scents, so she’d never have to be reminded of this place.
A knock on her door pulled her away from her planning.
She desperately wiped her cheeks. “Yes?” she called out.
“It’s me,” Ronan’s voice replied, and her traitorous heart leaped at the sound. “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he added, quieter.
He betrayed you, she reminded herself. He wasn’t even the first to do so.
ó Connor’s dead body. The blood staining the ground.
When she opened the door, she had her face schooled into an expression of nonchalance.
Ronan’s brow furrowed, his thumb coming to rest on her cheek, wiping away a tear she’d missed.
The touch was soft and familiar and reminded her of all the emotions she shouldn’t let herself feel. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
“You’ve seen me. I’m doing fine. You can go now.” She stepped away, about to close the door when he grabbed it.
“No, I can’t. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her voice was tight, fighting to stay in her throat. “My discussion with Kordislaen didn’t go as planned. I’m going home.”
He leaned closer, and she forced herself to step back. His warmth, his smell—it was too familiar. She needed distance. “For how long?”
“Forever,” she whispered, afraid her voice would break. Afraid she would break.
Ronan sucked in a breath. “No. No, you can’t just leave. I don’t care what that man said to you. You can’t give up like this.”
The words seeped into her, threatening to mend the holes Kordislaen tore. She couldn’t afford that.