Chapter Thirty-Two
Clía stayed on the floor long after she heard Ronan’s footsteps fade into the distance.
Staying on the floor was easier. The world felt safer from down there.
With her eyes shutting out her half-packed trunks, she could pretend her meeting with Kordislaen never happened.
Their mission never went wrong. ó Connor was safe, back in álainndore.
Maybe she was resting before her next training session.
She and Ronan would be eating dinner together later, and she would be hoping they could steal a few moments away.
Her eyes were open, and her heart was raging against the iron gate she’d built.
He’d said he loved her.
She needed to go back to where she knew what to expect. Where there was nothing expected of her.
The palace in álainndore was always warm, with sunlight bouncing off marble floors and through the halls. She wouldn’t have to watch anyone die there.
Murphy jumped down from his spot on the bed and climbed into her lap. His dark eyes stared at her with concern, and she felt the urge to cry all over again. She stroked his head, looking around at the chaos of her room.
She needed a distraction. Kordislaen’s actions, Ronan’s declaration, ó Connor’s betrayal—it was all too much. Everything was. Even the sound of her own breathing seemed deafening. If she let her mind linger on the past week, she would break.
On her desk, she saw her letters from álainndore, the last thing left to pack.
Her hand curled around the papers, crumpling them. She didn’t need the reminder that the one person from álainndore who cared if she lived or died was gone.
She had never heard from her parents. Months, and not a single word.
Their silence was haunting. Her absence was that trivial to them.
The pressure in her chest was cold and unfeeling. It pulled her down until she was sinking into a ravine she didn’t know how to escape.
ó Connor was gone. He was a traitor. Yet, despite logic, when she tried to picture him, she didn’t see the man who cornered her in the woods.
She saw him teaching her fidchell. She saw him joining her family for every holiday.
For her first ball, he had given her a beautiful gold necklace.
Where had she put that? She couldn’t lose it; it might be the last piece of him she had.
It was her fault. She killed him.
There was no rise of emotion at the thought. No pain, just a creeping numbness that dulled the world around her.
ó Connor wasn’t the only person who had fallen beneath her blade.
How many warriors had she killed that night?
Her hands were doused in blood; it sank into the fabric of her soul, a stain that could never be removed.
How could she go home, return to her normal life, when ghosts followed her every step?
And then there was Sárait, alone here in a hospital bed. If she didn’t survive, would her ghost join them?
Clía shook herself out of the thought. Sárait would live. She wasn’t alone; Kían and Niamh would make sure she was safe, Clía was sure of it. And maybe it would be better for Sárait after Clía left—if she didn’t have to shoulder the burden of Clía’s neediness.
She was an echo away from shattering. If she wanted to leave the castle before dark, she had to hold herself together.
She fell into the routine of closing her trunks and tidying everything away, until she saw the sword beside her bed.
She couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
The last time she wielded it in battle, she’d felt a rush of power, as if the stone gave her some kind of energy. A glow had seemed to radiate from the stone. From her.
As she stared at it, her mind began replaying the battle with more clarity.
She’d fought two men at once, something she had never even attempted before.
And it had been . . . almost easy. She’d anticipated their moves and countered them, moving with the speed of an intuition she knew she didn’t possess.
She’d found that crystal in the Diamhair Mountains.
Whispers of myth danced in her mind. The gifts of the Treibh Anam. She had spoken to Ronan about the very subject months ago. They had wondered about Ríoghain’s Jewel.
What if there was more to why the Diamhair Mountains were a no-man’s-land, forbidden? There was a reason the kingdoms were drawn into the treaty centuries ago. What if the thing that made people fight, kill, and die for that land was a power that would turn the tides of a war?
What if the earliest rulers of their kingdoms forbid any one nation from claiming those mountains to ensure Inismian would have peace?
She tentatively reached for Camhaoir. At her touch, a faint hum seemed to emanate from the blade. A slight tingling radiated down her arm from where her fingers curled around the hilt. It was all so subtle, she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been paying such close attention.
“Is this real?” she whispered.
A strange sensation overtook Clía, one of a nostalgic peace. It was the feeling of watching sunbeams dance through treetops, and morning mist creeping over the hills. She recognized the otherworldly aura from her travels in the Ghostwood, in the mountains. The energy of Tír Síoraí.
This was Ríoghain’s Jewel.
After centuries of it being lost, she had found it just as a new war blossomed in the raging winter. Had Clía’s discovery been accidental, or a purposeful reveal by the gods?
All she knew was that she couldn’t take this blade with her, away from the castle. It was too powerful, held too much potential.
Thankfully, she knew just the person who deserved to wield it.
However, before she could bring it to Niamh, she needed to finish packing.
***
ROUGH KNOCKING ON CLíA’S DOOR ROUSED HER FROM SLEEP. She sat up from where she had been slumped over her trunk—she couldn’t even remember falling asleep. The emotions and exhaustion must have caught up to her. What time is it?
Clía climbed to her feet and opened the door, revealing Niamh glaring down at her. Well, Clía thought, at least I won’t need to search for her later.
“What do you think you are doing?” Niamh asked, a mother chastising a child.
“I think I should be asking you that question. You nearly broke my door,” Clía replied.
Niamh ignored her. “Why weren’t you at the meeting last night? And why did Ronan look like he wanted to murder Kordislaen where he stood?”
Clía’s heart stopped in her chest. “He didn’t do anything, right?” Her mind filled with images of Ronan’s brutalized body.
“No, I spoke some sense into him.” Her tone was almost regretful. “But I have a feeling you know why he was feeling suddenly so bloodthirsty.”
Clía turned back to her packed trunks, fidgeting with the locks. “I’m leaving Caisleán.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.” Niamh’s voice was careful, edging on threatening.
Clía was glad she couldn’t see Niamh’s face. “You heard right. I’m leaving.”
Pounding footsteps, and Clía suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. “What made you think that’s a good idea?”
Clía was turned around, forced to look into Niamh’s thunderous eyes. The lie she almost said caught on her tongue. “Kordislaen made it clear that I wasn’t invited to stay here because of my skill. He only wanted me for my title. Because he thought it might be of use.”
“He’s an idiot,” Niamh said. “And you’re an idiot for believing that shit.
I’ve watched you over these past months.
I wanted to hate you—I did for a couple of weeks before you, against my better judgment, won me over.
You have talent. It’s obvious.” Clía would almost feel honored if every word wasn’t heavily coated in disdain and annoyance.
“There’s this power about you—an infectious, if not frustrating tenacity.
As if you could break any barrier through will alone. ”
Clía shook her head. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”
“No, I don’t.” Niamh glared at Clía, daring her to challenge the words.
“We wouldn’t have made it out of that Tinelann camp if it wasn’t for you.
Gods, Dornáin had almost convinced me to leave them there and save myself.
It’s because of you that Ronan and MacCraith are back where they belong. Where you belong as well.
“I can’t pretend to know Kordislaen’s motives. But whatever he said to you, whatever he thinks, there’s no denying that you’ve saved lives. If you stay here, you’ll be able to save even more. But if you think those lives are worth less than your bruised ego, then maybe I have it wrong.”
It was clear Niamh did not believe herself wrong. Under her withering stare, Clía let the words sink in.
She didn’t know what to think. What to believe. Niamh had a point. Kordislaen may have manipulated her and used her. He may see no value in her, but his beliefs couldn’t erase the tangible effects of her actions.
She had done good things since coming to Caisleán. Certainly more than she ever would have done if she’d stayed in álainndore. And she knew, deep in her soul, how much more she could do. There was a fire raging against her ribs, and no man’s shadow could smother its flame.
What, exactly, that meant for her future, or her worth as a person, she wasn’t sure. But she knew she wasn’t ready to stop fighting.
However, some facts couldn’t be ignored. “Kordislaen wants me gone.”
“He needs to learn to live with disappointment,” Niamh replied. “Want me to help you unpack?”
“I can’t stay here, not when Kordislaen kicked me out.” Clía could tell Niamh wanted to argue, but she didn’t give her the chance. “I can’t stay here. But I do know a place I can hide until we figure this out. Help me with my bags.”
“Fantastic.” Niamh stepped forward, hefting a trunk. “I need to catch you up on what you missed in today’s meeting.”
“Come on, Murphy!” Clía called as they walked out of her room and into the hall. He bounded after her, tail swishing the ground.
Niamh shook her head. “Strange creature,” she muttered.
“He’s adorable,” Clía said, defending him.
“I wasn’t talking about the dobhar-chú.”
Clía sighed. “Did Kordislaen mention anything about me being dismissed?”
“Not a word,” Niamh said. “I think he knew it would raise some eyebrows if he admitted to sending home the woman who saved our intelligence mission.”
“I did what I had to.”
“You sell yourself short,” Niamh huffed. “You held your ground and convinced me and Dornáin of your plan. You fought like a warrior, and it saved the day.
“Not to mention”—she turned to face Clía head on—“after what happened with Sárait, I think it was a necessary lesson for the general. Kordislaen seems like a man who needs to be reminded that we’re not weak—that we’re not toys that he can play with.
And we can show that by sticking together.
It’s a lesson I learned a little late, I admit. ”
“But not too late.” Clía smiled at her, and Niamh’s mouth turned up in a rare grin. “What did Kordislaen tell the rest of the warriors?”
“He focused solely on official business. He’s increasing patrols both day and night. Kían was also notably absent from the meeting. Either you’re not the only one Kordislaen has fallen out with, or they’re still rightfully upset over the events with Sárait,” Niamh said.
Dread sunk in Clía’s stomach. “Or something happened with Sárait.”
She turned abruptly.
“Where are you going?” Niamh called out.
Clía didn’t look back as she replied, “The infirmary is this way!”