Chapter Thirty-Seven
They slept in shifts that night.
There were no issues mobilizing troops to prepare for battle after swaying the three current leaders of Caisleán to their side. Still, time was not on their side, so sleep would be scarce.
Long before sunrise, Clía met Ronan in the hall. The project she had been working on with Sárait was complete: her original dress pattern, transformed into a deceptively simple tunic, to be worn under armor or clothes. The shimmering Draoi-blessed fabric felt like air against her skin.
She wished Sárait had been able to see the completed project, but the seamstress had left the castle along with everyone else who wouldn’t be fighting.
They would be awaiting word in a village not too far from Caisleán.
Watching Sárait leave so soon after getting her back had pained Clía, but she preferred it to the alternative.
She felt better knowing her friend was safe.
Ronan waited for her in his armor, silver and gleaming in the lantern light. His sword stayed on his hip. In her sleepless state, she could almost believe they were headed out into the arena for training. But the memories and fears of the past week were persistent enough to remind her of the truth.
Distrust smothered the halls the warriors walked through. Loyalty was a fragile thing. It was as though the castle was on the edge of a precipice.
And the silence between Clía and Ronan was suffocating.
Everything between them was delicate and uncharted. A fragile portrait on glass.
They had held back for so long, only giving in after acknowledging it couldn’t last. She was in love with him, and finally she was letting herself believe that he might love her back, but circumstances hadn’t changed.
If they survived this battle, she’d have to return to álainndore immediately. Would she ever see him again?
She glanced up at him, but it was too late to speak. He was already passing through the door. They were the last to arrive.
Draoi Griffin stood in Kordislaen’s usual spot.
“Let’s skip pleasantries. Lookouts have spotted troops bearing flags of Tinelann marching toward us.
It seems that ó Faoláin was correct. We assume they’ll arrive by dawn.
They’ve lost the element of surprise, and they know it.
We believe they’ll want to be swift in their attack and overwhelm us the moment they arrive.
” He was a picture of calm and precision, despite the dark bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged.
The other people in the room looked tense. Everyone had hoped the battle would hold off until nightfall; even a few extra hours of preparation could save lives.
Niamh and Kían exchanged mirrored looks of concern. Domhnall shook his head. The only people not visibly disturbed were Ronan and the other two leaders of Caisleán. This wasn’t news to them—either they’d heard directly from the lookouts or Griffin must have warned them.
“What do we do, sir?” Niamh asked, ever the dutiful soldier.
“We prepare for battle,” Griffin said. “We have well-trained warriors and troops of our own that we will station in the necessary locations. Morrigan and Horgan—you’ll be in command of the newest curadhs.
You’ve trained with them, so I imagine you’ll be able to lead them well.
Captain ó Faoláin, as you know, we have holes in our ranks from some of the spies we managed to root out last night.
I’ve managed to work out our numbers, but I’ll need you to lead a troop of the more seasoned soldiers. I trust you can handle this task.”
“Yes, sir,” Ronan responded.
“Good. All three of you—speak with Duinn for the details of your assignments. As for you two”—Griffin’s gaze moved between Clía and Domhnall—“you’ll need to follow me.
I knew you wouldn’t be willing to leave with the staff, and it’s too late to send you on your way now.
The best we can hope for is a secured room to keep you in. ”
Clía stepped in front of Griffin as he began to walk to the door. “What are you talking about?”
“You two are the heirs to your respective thrones. We cannot afford you getting hurt.”
She remained firm in her spot as he tried to sidestep her. “I won’t abandon my friends.”
“You don’t have a choice. This isn’t a game,” Griffin hissed. “This isn’t a hypothetical you discuss in class, or a sparring match in the arena. This is life-and-death, and your lives must be protected.”
“But—”
“Don’t take this personally, Your Highness,” he said, cutting her off.
“This isn’t a comment on your ability, or your worth as a person.
It’s logistics. If a Tinelannian soldier finds you or Prince Domhnall, they will try to capture you to use as ransom against your kingdom.
There’s no happy ending to that story. You could also get killed in the crossfire.
Then not only will there be a war against Tinelann, but álainndore may decide to seek vengeance against us for not protecting you.
I must look out for what’s in the best interest of Inismian. ”
She looked to her friends for backup. Ronan, Niamh, and Kían stood waiting, willing to argue on her behalf, but Domhnall was resigned.
“Let’s not waste more time,” he whispered.
A wasted moment would be paid for by the warriors on the field.
Her head jerked in a subtle nod, and she let Griffin lead her away.
***
CLíA AND DOMHNALL WERE brOUGHT TO A CRAMPED AND dusty closet in a faraway corner of the second floor of the castle, hidden behind a rickety wooden door.
The three of them barely fit inside together.
Wooden racks lined two of the three walls, covered in sacks of grain and unlabeled boxes.
Griffin walked to the bare wall, rested his hand on one of the cobblestones, and gently leaned against it.
The stone slid inward, and the entire wall pivoted, revealing a small room.
He gestured for Clía and Domhnall to enter.
The hidden room was only slightly larger than the closet; it made her bedroom at Caisleán feel practically royal.
A small lantern was lit in the corner, casting shadows on the walls.
Before Clía could ask any questions about it, the wall closed behind them, and she and Domhnall were left alone with the dust.
There were no windows in this makeshift cell, only more shelves full of old food stores. They were locked in a secret storage room.
“Are we supposed to just sit here until someone lets us out?”
Clía didn’t expect an answer, but Domhnall provided one. “Yes. Although, I imagine it would unlock after a day or so, in case no one comes for us.” At her questioning glare, he explained, “We have a room like this in Suanriogh.”
She didn’t want to think of being trapped in this room with Domhnall for a day, and she certainly didn’t want to think about what it would mean for her friends out there on the battlefield if she was.
She needed to distract herself.
At first, Clía passed the time trying to count the stone bricks on the wall. When that grew tiring, she took stock of everything locked inside with them.
Not long after she finished that, she managed to walk the ten paces from wall to wall over twenty times.
“Will you please stop? I’m getting sick just watching you,” Domhnall groaned.
She faced him. “I’m sorry, is my worrying about our friends’ lives bothering you?”
“Yes. It is.” He let out a ragged breath. “They aren’t just your friends. That’s my fiancée out there too.”
This made Clía stop. “I was under the impression it wasn’t a love match.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care for her. If you’ll recall, I can be friends with someone.” He leaned his head back against the stone.
“I must have forgotten. I haven’t seen that side of you recently.” Clía smiled sharply.
He tilted his head, sending her a questioning glance. “Is now really the time to do this?”
“I’m full of bitterness and anxiety. It wants to find an outlet,” she replied.
His focus returned to the ceiling. “Well, I’d rather not right now.”
Her reply was cut off by a shout radiating through the castle, followed by pounding footsteps.
It was starting.
Domhnall’s terrified eyes met hers, and their anger was forgotten.
They sat there for what felt like days but couldn’t have been more than another hour, possibly less.
Griffin chose his location for their hiding spot well; no one came close enough for her to make out what was happening. Only a few rare shouts and screams were loud enough to travel to their hallway. And then—the familiar sound of paws bounding on the floor.
Murphy.
“Murphy!” she called, ignoring Domhnall’s questioning look. “Murphy, come here!”
Her voice must have been loud enough, because she heard the footsteps getting closer, then, clawing on wood. He had made it to the closet door.
“Good boy, Murphy! If you can get it open, I promise I’ll give you whatever treats you want!”
“You really think that creature can open a door?” Domhnall scoffed.
Crash.
Clía grinned. “No, but I think he’s big enough to take an old door off its hinges.”
Domhnall’s brows raised in approval, but she was already moving on to her next task.
Hitting the wall again and again, she tried to draw Murphy’s attention to where she remembered Griffin pressing the stone that opened the door.
If she could get Murphy to nudge it with his paw or nose, or maybe even lean against it—
The wall shifted back.
They were free.
Murphy ran into the room, a smile on his dopey face.
Domhnall backed into the corner at the sight of the dobhar-chú.
His growth spurts in the past few months had made him roughly the size of a large wolf, and he was definitely a little more intimidating because of it.
But he had just freed them! Domhnall could be more grateful.
Careful to keep the door open, Clía ruffled the fur on Murphy’s head.
“I owe you, little one. Now, you need to stay safe—go for a swim. You’ll be all right there. ”