Chapter Thirty-Four
When Clía, Niamh, and Murphy reached the infirmary, the healer who first saved Sárait was standing by her bed. Kían sat next to Sárait’s limp form. Her skin lacked all warmth and signs of life.
“Princess Clíodhna.” The healer turned to face her. “Kordislaen wants you out of the castle.”
Clía stood in the entryway. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The healer offered her a smile. “I only said that he wanted you gone, nothing else. He’s a Scáilcan general, but I am a Draoi.
I answer to the Treibh Anam. Besides, Commander ó Dálaigh was a good man, and you brought his body back home to us—most warriors wouldn’t have.
In the shadow of war, all masks are lifted.
Loyalty is earned,” she added. “Some people would do well to remember that.”
A lump had formed in Clía’s throat. “Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you four alone. Let me know if anything changes with Sárait.”
“Kían, is everything all right?” Clía asked, going to their side.
They gripped Sárait’s hand firmly in their own, eyes intent on the joining of their fingers.
“No one has been able to figure out what poison was used yet. Healer ó Scanniall said that they can’t afford to keep giving her cneasú extract.
They need to save it for someone who has a better chance at recovering. ”
Niamh’s eyes narrowed. “I thought they said she would recover as long as she had the antidote.”
“They don’t expect to be able to find one. Not without knowing the poison,” they whispered. “And even if they did, who knows what the poison has done to her.”
Kían’s words fell over Clía, a blow she couldn’t dodge.
“I had always noticed her.” Kían’s thumb rubbed Sárait’s wrist. They didn’t look up.
“I didn’t realize she noticed me as well.
Not at first. It was only after that first conversation—when I got to see the way her eyes lit with passion and hear her laugh—I started to have hope.
I didn’t want to mess it up. It felt too delicate.
Too . . . precious. And there was still a part of me that didn’t think she could actually see me. ”
“She saw you. All the time,” Clía said, her voice thick.
“I know that now. I’m glad she’s braver than me, or else I wouldn’t have had this glimpse of joy.” Kían’s smile was a brittle thing. It looked as if it could snap under a strong breeze.
These past few days, Clía had been beaten and insulted, betrayed and mocked. She had dealt death and felt herself fall apart.
She would not lose someone else.
Her gaze fell again on the repetitive motion of Kían’s thumb. With each motion, the cuff of her long sleeve seemed to shift, revealing more of her arm. Clía looked closer, her eyes catching on the subtlest detail.
On the skin of Sárait’s wrist was a small red dot.
“What if it wasn’t a common poison?” Clía said slowly. “What if it was venom?”
Niamh’s stormy eyes met hers. “What are you thinking?”
Clía held out her hand, motioning to Kían.
With a questioning glance, they placed Sárait’s hand in hers.
Even up close, the dot could almost pass for a birthmark, but Clía had seen Sárait’s wrists enough while they sewed together to know that such a mark hadn’t been there before. It was a puncture wound, almost healed.
“The onchú!” Excitement and anger warred in Kían’s voice. “When we brought the head back, the venom could have been collected and, later, injected. Healer ó Scanniall!”
The healer rushed into the room, startled. “Is everything all right?”
“We need an onchú antivenom. Do you have any?”
She looked among them, confused. “No, I don’t think so.”
Kían didn’t wait for her to say more, striding out of the room. Clía, Niamh, and Healer ó Scanniall scrambled to follow.
The healer’s study was small, walls covered in shelves. Vials, books, and jars littered every possible surface. A stone worktable was in the center of the room.
“The ingredients are common enough—I’m sure you have them.” Kían scanned the shelves, picking up vials as they went. “Ah, here we go.”
They brought their collection to the table. When they saw Clía’s face, they smirked. “What? I am more than my beauty, you know. We need six drops of winter cherry oil.” Kían handed ó Scanniall a dark vial. “And a few pinches of echinacea tincture. After that, mix in some stargrove bloom.”
ó Scanniall didn’t question the noble, and took the vials, one by one, before pouring them into a glass in careful measurements.
“You have this memorized?” Niamh asked, brow raised in skepticism.
“After everything that happened, I couldn’t just sit here, useless.
I started researching possible antidotes.
My memory has always been remarkable, if I say so myself, but it helps that this recipe was uniquely memorable, considering the close call in the Ghostwood,” Kían explained, then continued to rattle off instructions for ó Scanniall to follow.
The healer offered a few adjustments, to better cater the concoction to assist with Sárait’s condition, and before long, a deep and murky green liquid sat at the bottom of the glass.
Kían took the glass from the healer, returning to Sárait’s side. With gentle hands, they opened Sárait’s mouth and poured the liquid inside.
Several moments passed in silence, until . . .
A flutter of lashes. A gasping breath.
Sárait was awake.
Clía felt her heart go still at the sight of her friend’s dark eyes opening. She’d missed their warmth. She’d missed her.
Kían sat on the bed beside Sárait, hand resting on her shoulder. “Easy,” they cautioned. “You’ve been asleep for a while. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by a horse. What happened?” Sárait’s voice was hoarse.
ó Scanniall returned with a glass of water. Sárait nearly drank it all in one sip.
“You were poisoned,” Clía explained.
“Does it count as being poisoned if it technically was a venom and was injected, not absorbed or ingested?” Kían pointed out with a slight smirk.
Niamh rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think now is the time for technicalities, Kían,” Clía said, her own mouth curling into a grin.
“I would think they’re rather important in matters of healing.”
“Enough. Explain, please.” Sárait struggled to sit up, and Kían rushed to help her while Clía adjusted her pillow. “Do you know who did it?”
Who else but the man who’d sent them on their quest to bring the venom to the castle.
“Kordislaen,” Clía said. The name was foul on her tongue.
But what was the motive?
A memory came to her.
“The night before you were poisoned, I overheard two men talking,” she said. “One talked about getting something done before dawn. Handling it quickly. He said someone got too close to classified information.”
Sárait’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I remember . . . I was working, picking up Kordislaen’s clothes that needed mending. I found something. At first, I didn’t think much of it—you would be surprised the strange things I find in men’s pockets.”
“What was it?” Kían asked.
“A letter. I only got a brief look at it. From what I remember, it spoke of troops coming here. To Caisleán Cósta.”
“Aid? Reinforcements?”
“Or the Tinelann soldiers,” Clía suggested.
A sigh came from Niamh. “Did you see anything else? Anything that might narrow it down?”
Sárait bit her lip, and guilt rose in Clía. Her friend had nearly died, and the first thing she woke up to was an interrogation. She needed to rest. To heal.
“We don’t have to discuss this now.”
“No, this might be important. I think—he wasn’t the sender of the letter.
” Her eyes widened as the memory came back to her.
“I was curious when I didn’t recognize the handwriting—I thought perhaps it was even a love letter that he was carrying around, but I should have known better.
It was signed by someone . . . Cuilinn. Their name was Cuilinn. ”
The name struck Clía as familiar, but she wasn’t sure why.
“Did it include a title, or maybe a seal?” Any bit of information could be useful.
“I can’t be sure.” Sárait’s gaze fell. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but there was nothing left to tell.
Kían took their hand. “You’ve done enough. Now all you need to worry about is healing.”
Sárait’s eyes widened. “We were supposed to get breakfast! Then I was supposed to see you off on your mission.”
“How about we make up for it when you’re back on your feet?” Kían said, leaning closer to her. Their foreheads brushed.
“All right.” It was more breath than voice.
“All right,” Kían echoed. “You know, I was really worried about you. I thought you were going to die.”
Sárait raised a brow. “I hope you’re not expecting me to apologize for getting poisoned.”
Kían laughed, full and light. “Never. I only said that so that you might forgive me when I do this.”
They leaned in, touching their lips to Sárait’s.
Niamh and Clía walked away from Sárait’s bed and toward the window to give the couple their moment in privacy. “If we’re right, and the battle is coming to Caisleán in the next few days, then we need to make a plan.” Niamh spoke in a hushed voice. “Sárait can’t stay here—it’ll be too dangerous.”
“It’ll be too dangerous for anyone who isn’t combat trained,” Clía said.
“Then we need to evacuate them. And soon.”
She thought back to the person Kordislaen was writing to. Cuilinn.
Why did she know that name . . . ?
“Kordislaen’s definitely working with Tinelann,” she breathed, suddenly remembering.
Niamh cut her a sharp glance. “You’re sure?”
Clía nodded. During her various study sessions with Ronan, they made a point to learn every important name in Tinelann.
At the time, they had hoped it would help them understand Tinelann’s motives and the threats to their kingdom.
They studied every royal, noble, chief, and general. Including Chief Cuilinn.
That letter contained proof of Kordislaen’s treason. So of course he couldn’t let Sárait live after seeing it.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Niamh said. “We were preparing to fight Tinelann. Now we know who is helping them. If anything, we have an advantage.”
They did. Kordislaen might know the castle well, but they knew how he worked. She couldn’t wait to see the surprise in his eyes when his plans crumbled.
She needed to talk to Ronan. To tell him that she would keep fighting.
She wanted to hear him say those three words again.
Clía looked out at the grounds of Caisleán. A light dusting of snow covered the grass. The trees had grown bare, except for a few thick evergreens. In another time, it might be idyllic.
A carriage stood before the main entrance.
“Who would be traveling now?” she whispered.
Two figures left the castle. Kordislaen’s dark cloak stood out against the winter ground. Next to him was a tall figure with dark hair.
Ronan.
Her stomach turned as she watched him climb into the carriage with the general. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but from how he followed Kordislaen, he didn’t seem to be under duress.
The carriage began to move away.
Ronan was leaving.
With the traitor.