14. The Last Dawn of Innocence #2
I watch with peaked interest as Eamon pulls Shadow from the stables. It’s not unusual for him to do this.
What’s odd is that he’s donned in his endurance saddle .
“Oi,” Saoirse says from the doorway of my open chamber.
“Gods, Saoirse!” I jolt, a hand flying to my chest. “You gave me a fright!”
She chuckles. “Yer door was open .”
“Aye, guess I’m a wee bit jumpy. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see why Eamon is saddling Shadow.”
“That’s what I’m up here for. He told me to tell ya that Aisling is too sick to ride today.”
“Oh, poor girl. I bet Shadow is beside himself…”
“It’s funny ya mention that. It’s the first thing Eamon said he’d been bothered by.”
She continues, “Apparently, he’s been up carin’ for her since before the sun had even come up, which is strange ‘cause he’s not usually up that early. Anyway—” she pauses for a breath. “Finn has to take Shadow if they’re gonna have all the help they need at the still today.”
“Wait, what ? What’s going on at the still?” I ask.
Saoirse pauses as if trying to remember pieces of a conversation she had only half-heard.
Typical .
“Eamon said something about a bad batch in Edinburgh.”
“The ride home!” I shout. “I knew it! Something was wrong.” Then the second part of her statement hits me. “You said Finn is taking him?”
“Aye—I mean, we all know he’s the only other person Shadow allows to ride him.”
I nod absentmindedly.
“What’s wrong?” Saoirse asks, her gaze sharpening.
“How do you know something is wrong?”
Saoirse rolls her eyes. “Because I know ya, Triona. Now tell me.”
“I really messed up. I said something incredibly cruel to Finn. I was embarrassed about last night, and I just lashed out at him. I pushed him until he broke. Even after he asked me to let it rest.”
Saoirse grips my shoulders. “Gods, Triona, ye’re ramblin’. Breathe.” I take a shaky breath, but the knot in my chest barely loosens.
Her expression is one of understanding. “Triona, I know it might not feel like it, but they all just want the best for ya.”
“I’m tired of everyone thinking they know what’s best for me. I don’t even know what’s best for me, so how is them telling me supposed to make me feel?”
She nods. “So, ya feel confused. That’s fair. ”
“I’m unsure if I can trust my feelings. Then there’s the actual reality that Ma and Callan are asking me to choose two very different things.”
Saoirse squeezes my arms gently, her expression warm. “It’s not their expectations that have ya upset, though, is it?”
I shake my head. “I think I surmised that during my blowup at Finn… I’m afraid of disappointing them. I let shame in the decision I made overcome all reason.”
Saoirse’s eyes soften, and she pulls me into a quick, reassuring hug. “Listen… whatever happened with Finn, it’s not as broken as it feels right now.”
I pull back, biting my lip. “You didn’t hear what I said to him. I practically told him he’s a bother in my life. That he clings to people because he’s too afraid of being alone. And he just… walked away, silent.”
She winces, but quickly covers it with a small smile. “Och, Triona, ya know, for all the stubbornness and fire that Finn has…he’s not one to hold grudges, especially not with his ‘ Little Doe’ . He’d never hurt ya—”
“—in the same way I just hurt him?”
She blanches. “My apologies, love. Should have thought that sentence through.”
“No, you’re right, he wouldn’t say those things.” I glance out the window, where Eamon is fastening Shadow’s bridle, Finn standing nearby with an unusually stoic stance. The sight sends a pang through me. “I don’t deserve his forgiveness, not for this.”
“Then do something about it,” Saoirse says, her tone brightening as she nudges my shoulder. “Go down there, apologise, make it right. Tell him what ya feel, not just what ya think he wants to hear.”
“And if he doesn’t forgive me?”
She arches a brow. “Then ye’ll know, won’t you? But… Triona, I’d put all my winnings on him forgiving ya.”
“I almost hate when you’re so incredibly right .”
Saoirse’s laugh carries like a tune. “You’re lucky Dealla isn’t here yet. There’s no telling what she’d be spilling in your ear.”
“Thanks, Saoirse. For being here, for…understanding. ”
She squeezes my hand and steps back. “Go on, then. Before he rides off and ye’re left sittin’ here all day, wonderin’ how he’s feelin’.”
With one last look, I turn and make my way down to the stables, my heart racing as I step outside.
I call out for him, but he’s already mounted on Shadow, his broad back stiff as he spurs the stallion forward, the sound of hooves muffling my voice.
“Finn!” I call again, louder this time, the urgency spilling out. But they’re already moving faster, the gap between us widening. My voice dissolves into the cool morning air.
A pang of something sharp and hollow settles in my stomach. Did he really not hear me? Or…did he choose to ignore it?
I stand there, rooted in place, feeling the weight of what I’d said this morning pressing down on me.
I turn toward my father’s garden, intent on heading there to walk through it, but I’m met with a troublesome glare from Colina.
The intensity in her eyes bothers me immensely.
A prickling unease settles at the base of my neck, creeping down my arms like icy tendrils.
As I lift my hand in a tentative wave to ease some of the discomfort of the moment, her face darkens, and her eyes narrow with a look that borders on antipathy. Without a word, she pivots on her heel, leaving me standing there with my hand still raised.
The silence she leaves in her wake feels heavier than words she could have spoken. I let my hand fall, watching her retreat—each step echoing louder than it should against the stone path, as though the world itself refuses to soften her departure.
I swallow, unease settling over me like a shroud.
“I just need to wander through Da’s garden.” I say out loud, as if I weren’t alone.
The fondness I feel as I lose myself in the natural beauty of the garden is unmatched. It feels like a sacred haven of the old world. Its tranquility is unmatched—a place where time seems to slow down.
But the moment I set foot among the familiar flowers, a wave of foreboding crashes over me, making the air feel weighted.
The awaited hum of life muted, and the usual rustling leaves and swaying flowers are eerily still.
This place, my sanctuary, now feels foreign, as though something unseen has crept into its heart.
I weave through the garden, my steps quickening as I near my favourite corner, where delicate flowers sway in the breeze. The air hums with the scent of earth and blossoms, each one thriving under my father’s careful hand—except one.
My chest tightens as my gaze lands on a single primrose, its petals curled inward, edges tinged with decay. Its stem bows under its own weight, lifeless amid the riot of colour around it. A stark contrast .
A silent warning.
I reach out, running a finger along the fragile petals, but it crumbles before my eyes, causing me to pull my hand back and gasp. It dissolves as if my very touch were a virulent venom; spreading disease from my fingertip and snuffing out its life-force.
Somewhere beyond the barriers of this garden, something is shifting—something I can’t yet see, but I feel its presence threading through the world.
I glance at my hand, still dusted with the remnants of the primrose. It seems I’m leaving a mess of everything I touch today.
I force myself to rise, a dizzying unease swirling in my chest, leaving the world slightly off-kilter.
One last glance at the ruined flower—silent and accusing—and I turn away, my steps quickening toward the library.
Whatever truth once lived here has withered.
This place offers no answers now. The unease follows me like a shadow, clinging to my every thought.
The wind picks up behind me, whispering through the trees, carrying with it a message I cannot yet decipher.
But I feel it in my bones—the world is shifting, and I’m not sure I’m ready for what awaits.
Finn
As Eamon and I near the clearing, my eyes lock onto Callan’s broad-shouldered figure among the group gathered near the still. A surge of confusion shoots through me.
He’s supposed to be back home, keeping watch. Keeping watch over her.
I dismount in one swift motion and sprint toward the others, urgency tightening in my chest with every step .
A cold knot of anxiety coils in my gut. Images flare behind my eyes: Triona, trapped—endless halls swallowing the light, shadows slithering through the silence.
The faint creak of empty rooms echoes like a warning, a hollow sound that underscores just how vulnerable she is—alone, with no promise that anyone would hear her scream.
Not anyone with the ability to do anything.
Callan’s eyes snap to mine, his face tightening as the same dreadful realisation dawns on him. His shoulders go rigid, his hands curling into fists. James, usually unshakable, shifts where he stands, his steady confidence replaced by a taut, unfamiliar tension.
It’s Alex who finally breaks the silence, his voice low but charged with the weight of our shared fear. “Who’s back at the house?”
Eamon, Casey, and Bran exchange uncertain glances, their brows knitting in confusion.
“Dad, what’s going on?” Bran asks, his tone edged with unease.
But it’s Callan who cuts in, his voice sharp, accusatory. “Finn, why are ye here?”
I glare back, the knot in my stomach tightening. “I should ask the same thing, Cal. Eamon told me you were stayin’ behind.”
Eamon nods, stepping forward. “Aye, that’s what I was told.” His gaze flicks between us, confusion written across his face.
Callan’s jaw tightens, frustration rising as he snaps, “And who told ye that?”
“Colina,” Eamon replies, hesitant but firm.
Callan bellows. “I’m only here because she insisted Finn wouldnae make it because his horse had takin’ ill. Got me out of bed to tell me she’d ready my mare.”