39. The Strength to Stand
The Strength to Stand
T riona hasn’t spoken since she woke—since the blood loss and exhaustion nearly took her.
The image of her bleeding, the wound on her leg pouring out as Finn had me drag her away, haunts me. It’s replaying endlessly in my mind, but I know it’ll haunt her in ways I could never understand. He died for us—for her. And I let it happen.
I can still hear her screaming his name, still see the blood draining from her face as she struggled to stay conscious—until she wasn’t. She was out for hours, long enough I thought I’d lose her. I stayed up all night, and all bloody day, watching her chest rise and fall, praying it wouldn’t stop .
But like before, somehow, the wound on her leg healed too fast—far too fast for the injury Finn swore was made by a blade imbued with magic.
When she finally woke… there wasn’t even panic in her eyes. Just this hollow stillness. She looked down, touched the bandage on her leg like she had to check the wound was real. Then she looked around—searching for him. That’s when reality set in, and silent tears came.
And I couldn’t take it. The guilt, the agony—I had to step outside before it crushed me.
Now, hours later, I want to bridge the gap. Before I lose her.
I step cautiously into the long-forgotten cottage. My footsteps barely make a sound on the worn wooden floor as I study her.
Her tawny brown hair hangs in limp strands around her face, her green eyes duller than I’ve ever seen them; absent is the warmth that normally lights up a room. The spark that has always danced there is extinguished, replaced with a void so deep it chills me.
“Tri,” I croak, my voice rough and broken. She winces at her name, refusing to look up at me with those lifeless eyes. Eyes that are fixed on the Stone of Fál, bundled in her palm.
“You knew,” she whispers, the accusation sharp as a blade. Though her voice is barely audible, I feel the weight of it all the same.
I hesitate, unsure of what to say, unsure how to fix this. I join her on the floor, close enough that I can feel her warmth, but far enough not to intrude.
“You knew what he was going to do, and you didn’t tell me,” she accuses, her voice louder now, though still trembling. I still don’t respond—I can’t. What could I possibly say to make this better? To make it right. To undo the damage.
“You knew I was walking out of there without him. You knew he wasn’t coming back, and you didn’t tell me,” she spits, her voice shaking with rage.
“You let me walk into Tara thinking we had a chance.” Her head snaps to me, her eyes finally meeting mine, and all I see is fury and despair there, like a storm raging in her soul.
“I couldnae tell ye, Tri.” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.
It feels like the words are strangling me as they leave my throat, guilt and sorrow twisting together until I can hardly tell them apart.
My heart aches, but hers—it’s shattered.
And focusing on her pain, on her grief, is far easier than facing my own.
“There was no other way,” I say, my voice low. “That’s what he told me—right before we parted. ‘ A soul for a soul.’ ”
Her face twists in disgust, but I see it—the moment she recognises the truth in those words.
That was the prophecy, and the truth of what Finn had seen written on a pillar in some hazy vision.
Five words that changed that course of our lives forever.
Words he prepared to make true. Words he made me swear I’d honour.
His death was the cost.
Ignoring me, she presses on, her frustration spilling over.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Callan?” Her voice cracks with despair and accusation.
“I deserved to know. I deserved to fight for him.” The hurt in her voice hits me like a physical blow; filled with malice.
Just an abyss of grief that’s threatening to swallow her whole.
“Because if I had told ye,” my voice is quiet but firm, “ye’d have stopped him. And he had to do this.”
Quickly moving from where she lay, to a seated position, she starts, voice trembling, “You’re right.
I would have tried to stop him. I would’ve fought for him.
I would have… I would’ve done something.
” She bites her lip to stop the quivering, failing miserably.
“But you robbed me of that. You didn’t even give me the chance. ”
My fists clench, my nails biting into my palms, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in her voice—the same anguish that’s tearing me apart from the inside out. My breath shudders, my chest tight, and before I can stop myself, the words rip free.
“Do ye think I wanted this?” My voice cracks, rising despite the burn in my throat.
“Do ye think I wanted to send him to his death while I stood outside, helpless, waitin’ for the inevitable?
Do ye think I wanted to let ye believe he’d come home—to watch hope flicker in yer eyes when I kent the truth all along?
Do ye think I wanted to watch ye shatter and ken there’s not a damn thing I can do to put ye back together? ”
The silence that follows is deafening, thick with the weight of everything we’ve lost. My breath comes hard and fast, but it’s nothing compared to the way my chest feels—like I’ve ripped it open, like I’ve bared every wound I never wanted her to see.
“I didnae tell ye ‘cause I couldnae risk ye throwin’ yerself into a fight ye’d not walk away from. I had to protect ye.”
“Protect me? You consider this protection? I could have made a difference!” She shouts, the dam inside her shattering. “I could’ve… we could’ve found another way. He was right there, Callan. He was right there, and you left him! ”
“There was no other way!” I say, voice breaking, pools of silver dancing in my eyes, hating how raw I sound. “Finn believed in something bigger than himself—bigger than all of us. And now we have to believe in it, too.”
“No!” Her voice cracks, raw and broken. “He did it for this bloody stone!” She hurls it across the room.
It bounces off the wall and hits the floor with a force great enough to shatter the board upon impact.
The light that shines through the linen it’s wrapped in flickers and dims. Almost as if it senses its distance from Triona.
“I want to hate you.” Her voice is raw, breaking apart. My stomach tightens, a sharp, twisting pain—because I know she means it. “I want to hate you so much, Callan. You knew I was walking out of there without him.”
My countenance falls, revealing the turmoil within. I feel broken—more broken than I’ve ever been; even in the wake of our parents’ passing.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice barely a breath in the stillness. “I’m truly sorry, Tri. But I couldnae let ye go, too.”
“It should have been me.” She chokes out, wiping furiously at her tears.
“Dinnae say that.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, my eyes narrowing with sudden anger. “Ye dinnae get to give up because he’s gone. D’ye think he did this for ye to shatter? So ye could throw yerself into the same darkness and stop fightin’?”
She flinches, as if my words are blades pressing into already-open wounds. “I don’t know how to keep going on without him, to draw breath in a world devoid of him,” she whispers, voice hollow. “I don’t know how to bear the weight of being the one he left behind.”
“I can see what Finn meant to ye.” My throat tightens, burning with the words I don’t know how to say. My fingers tremble before I reach out, steadying them at the last moment. She takes my hand, and that fragile connection is enough to keep me from breaking completely.
I draw in a shaky breath, forcing the rest out.
“But ye have to get through this,” I say softly. “Ye have to try. I’m not goin’ anywhere, and if ye can endure this, we’ll come out the other side—together. Scream at me. Hate me if it helps. Strike me if it eases the pain.”
She doesn’t speak, but her grip tightens, and it’s enough.
I press on, voice rougher now, heavier .
“From the moment Ma and Da brought ye into Connemara, I kent I’d shield ye with my life.
For nineteen years, Triona, my only purpose has been keepin’ ye safe—makin’ sure ye were standin’ here, right now, whole.
I dinnae ken what happens next,” I admit, eyes burning, “but I’ll be yer shield.
I’ll give ye strength, just like ye’ve done for me all these years. ”
A long silence stretches between us. I almost leave it there—but my heart won’t let me.
“Ye’re the blessin’ that made our family whole,” I murmur. “Ye filled our home with light—a light guidin’ all of us.”
I pause, catching her narrowed gaze as she finally glances up. The emotion there is sharp—uncertain. I clear my throat, suddenly awkward under the weight of my own words.
“What I’m tryin’ to say is… the love Ma and Da had for ye—it’s the same love I carry. I’ve just been too blind to show it right.”
Without a second thought, she crashes into my arms, allowing me to shoulder some of the unbearable pain. I hold her as she weeps. I hold her through the sobbing and wailing. And as I hold her, I allow myself to grieve.
For the first time since our parents’ deaths, I let the pain course through me—grief for the hand fate has dealt us, for all that we’ve lost, and all that we are yet to lose.
With my head bowed to the top of hers, I murmur, “I dinnae expect ye to forgive me now. I’ll carry the weight for the rest of my life, but I’ll never regret my decision to choose ye.”
We sit in silence, the world outside fading away, swathed in our shared sorrow.
“Cal,” she finally whispers, her voice so fragile it nearly shatters me. “I feel as if the broken shards inside of me will never heal... and I’ll fail everyone because of this misery.”
I hold her tighter, my voice soft in her ear. “Ye’re not broken, Triona. Ye’re hurtin’, but it’ll heal enough. Yer strength isn’t lost. And I’ll be right here, no matter what.”
She shakes her head against my chest, then chokes out, “I don’t believe this will ever heal… and I wish Finn hadn’t loved me.”
My grip tightens instinctively, fear lacing through me at the rawness of her confession. “And I wish I hadn’t loved him.”
“Ye dinnae mean that,” I murmur, though deep down I know the pain makes her believe it. It makes me terrified to take my eyes off her, afraid of what she might do if the weight becomes too much .
“By the sounds of it, Finn’s love for ye was inevitable,” I say quietly. “I was a fool for how I acted when I found out.”
She doesn’t respond—only cries harder. Her tears fall in steady streams, each one cutting deeper into both of us.
“He loved ye more than anythin’, Tri. It’d been right in front of my face for years, and I was too blind to see it. He made this choice so ye could live—so we all could. And I promise, the time he spent lovin’ ye was worth the sacrifice.”
She nods, finally accepting the truth, even as the tears keep falling.
“I know,” she whispers. “But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
I hook a finger under her chin and gently drag her gaze up to meet mine. Her emerald eyes are clouded with a sorrow too deep for words.
“Ye’re stronger than ye think, Triona. I believe in ye. Every step forward is a step toward healin’, no matter how small.”
She nods again, but it feels hollow. She pushes off my chest, gaze falling back to the ground as if the weight of her grief has dragged her back down.
“Cal?” she breathes, voice stretched so thin it barely holds.
“Aye?” I reply, my heart aching to feel her presence steady once more.
“I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. Somehow needing to hear those words. “I ken, but ye dinnae have to be.”
“You lost him, too.”
“Aye,” I say, and it’s all I can manage.
Because I lost more than Finn.
I lost the last part of me that believed I can keep anyone safe.
It’s easier to focus on her pain than face the truth of my failure—facing the fact that I let my greatest friend walk into death’s arms. It doesn’t matter that he chose it. I’ll always believe I should have fought harder. Should have done more.
“I don’t hate you.” She admits, her words a quiet vow amidst the storm of her emotions.
“I ken that, too.” I answer, wishing I could offer more comfort. There are no words to fix this, no way to make her feel whole again .
For now, all I can do is help her survive this. To convince her to finish what was set in motion. To keep moving. To make his sacrifice count. To live for others when she feels too beaten to live for herself.
One breath at a time. One heartbeat after another.
She believes she is lost forever. But I have seen her rise from ruin before. And when she stands again—
Gods help anyone who tries to stop her.