40. Upon the Ivory Seat, She Reigns
Upon the Ivory Seat, She Reigns
T he cottage feels like a tomb, its walls pressing in with the weight of everything left unsaid.
The Stone of Fál sits in my pack now, its light muted but constant, like a heartbeat I can’t escape.
The faint hum of its power fills the silence between us, an unwelcome reminder of what has been lost to bring it here.
Triona is seated on the floor, her back against the cracked wooden wall, her knees drawn to her chest. Her hands tremble as she grips the edges of her sleeves, the movement subtle but telling.
I kneel a few paces from her, close enough to offer support but not so near as to crowd her. “Tri,” I begin softly, “we cannae stay here.”
Her fingers tighten until her knuckles turn white. Her gaze doesn’t waver from the splintered floorboards beneath her.
“Let them come. Let them see what it means to stand against someone who has nothing left to lose.”
I freeze, my hand falling from the hilt of my sword. My head snaps toward her, and I know my eyes are blazing. “Dinnae be daft, Triona.”
Her glare hardens. “Daft? For wanting to stop running? For standing up for myself?” Her voice rises, echoing in the enclosed space.
“You think I should just keep running forever? That I should keep cowering while they destroy everything? The only thing we haven’t tried is to stop running and fight back. ”
I move closer, my towering frame casting her in shadow, my expression thunderous. “Aye, if it keeps ye alive, I do. I’m not about to let ye throw yerself into the wolves’ den because ye’re too bloody stubborn to listen.”
She screams and turns to meet my heated gaze. “You think this is about being stubborn? I want their blood , Callan!” Her shout echoes through the enclosed space, and for a fleeting moment, I swear I see the colour of her eyes change.
I grip the hilt of my sword tighter, my voice cutting through the air like steel. “Wantin’ their blood willnae bring back what ye’ve lost, Triona.”
“You think I haven’t felt the weight of it every second since I opened my eyes?” she shoots back, her voice shaking.
I move closer still, my voice dropping to a dangerous, biting growl.
“Then act like it, Triona. Being angry doesnae make ye invincible. And if ye die because of some daft need to prove yerself, the rest of us die with ye. Think that’s strength?
That’s not fightin’ back—that’s surrenderin’ to the anger they’ve already put inside. ”
I take a deep breath in and wait a beat before speaking again.
“Where is this comin’ from, Triona?”
Her throat tightens, and she looks away, blinking against the sting of tears.
“If none of you had ever known me, you’d all still be safe back in Keiss where you belong—living happily, without this prophecy, without this chaos. Don’t you see?” Her voice cracks, thick with emotion. “I’m not just carrying destruction, Callan. I am destruction. ”
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping through the ache. “Everywhere I go, lives are torn apart—and it doesn’t stop. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
Her eyes are brimming with anguish. “It’s me who’s ruined everything—for you, for Casey, for everyone. You’d all be better off if I just walked away. Disappeared. Let the storm follow only me.”
I shoot out my hand, gripping her arm—not rough, but firm enough to make her look at me. “Dinnae say that,” I hiss. “Dinnae ever say that.”
My voice cracks with the weight of it.
“Think ye’ve got nothin’ left to lose? Fine. But I still have ye left to lose—and I’ll be damned if I let ye sit here and do this. To me. To us .”
She looks away from me. I release her arm, only to cup her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“Ye’re not carryin’ this alone,” I murmur. “Each of us has a part to play in this—and that’s not yer fault. Stop lettin’ those demons creep in and convince ye the world’s better off without ye. Because it isn’t. It never will be.”
I swallow hard, my thumb brushing her cheek.
“Before yer birthday, I thought I had nothin’ but duty. Nothin’ but a fight I didnae understand. But ye… gave me somethin’ worth fightin’ for. Ye gave me purpose, Tri.”
Her eyes glisten, but I press on.
“Ye think everything ye touch ends in ruin… but ye dinnae see what it’s done to me. Without ye, I’d still be driftin’. It was ye who reminded me what it means to have hope.”
I pause, my voice breaking at the edge.
“Dinnae take that away from us now.”
Her hands fall limply to her sides, and for a moment, she looks utterly lost. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, she lifts her gaze to meet mine. “I’m scared, Cal,” she whispers. “I’m so scared of what comes next.”
I take her hand in mine. “Aye,” I say softly. “So am I. But we dinnae have to face it alone.”
We sit there for a moment longer, the strange hum from the stone filling the silence. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s a small motion, tentative and fragile, but it’s enough.
“I am eternally grateful that you did not give up on me. For believing in me.” Her voice wavers and she gives a weak, self-deprecating smile.
“And I appreciate you for dealing with me when I’m like this.
When I’m sad one minute, out for blood the next, and just utterly miserable in between.
” She takes a shuddering breath and straightens her shoulders.
“Just give me a moment to shake this off... then we can go.”
I nod, releasing her hand and rising to my feet.
I step outside, the chill wind biting at my skin as I lean against the weathered doorframe. The grey light of dawn breaks over the hills. The clouds are thin, revealing slivers of pale blue sky. I draw in a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs, and try to tamp down my grief.
When Triona stalks out a short while later, she looks steadier, even with a face streaked with tears. Her hands tremble as she adjusts her cloak, pulling it tight against the wind. Her gaze finds mine and I see a flicker of something I haven’t seen since Tara—resolve.
Her lips press into a thin line. “For Ma and Da. Robert and Sarah… and Finn,” she murmurs, as if trying to summon strength from the words.
“For family,” I answer.
We start down the narrow path, our steps uncertain but forward-moving. The wind tugs at us, carrying with it the scent of rain and earth.
For now, the pain still claws at us. But with each step, I can feel something shift—a small, almost imperceptible change. Not healing, not yet, but the first stirrings of what might one day become the strength to try.
We walk together, the weight of the Stone balanced between us, its faint glow a beacon in the storm. The path is long, and the end uncertain, but we walk it anyway.
For Finn. For each other. For the future I believe in.
Triona
The road to Uisneach Hill stretches before us like a punishment I’ve no choice but to endure.
Every step feels as if I’m taken further from Finn, from the place where he died, and closer to a future I don’t know how to face.
Callan walks beside me, quiet and steady, his presence a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.
The Stone of Fál pulses faintly in his pack, its light piercing the corner of my vision. I hate it. And yet, I can’t seem to stop staring at it, as though it holds the answers to questions I’m too afraid to ask.
The first day passes in a haze. I remember very little beyond the sound of our footsteps and the icy wind biting at my cheeks. Callan doesn’t push me to talk, and I’m grateful for it. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed into the walls of that cursed cottage.
By the time we stop for the night, my legs ache, and my chest feels like it’s caving in. Callan builds a fire, the flames flickering weakly against the encroaching darkness. I sit on the opposite side, staring into the embers until my eyes burn. When I finally close them, all I see is Finn’s face.
His bright smile, and his golden-brown eyes.
If I let myself think of him only in the quiet of night, as my body descends into slumber, maybe I can have him in my dreams every night.
Maybe then I won’t ever forget the way he looked at me—as if I was the centre of his entire being.
The second day is worse. Rain starts early, soaking us through and turning the dirt paths into rivers of mud.
My cloak clings to me, heavy and uncomfortable, but I can’t bring myself to complain.
What’s the point? Callan slows his pace to match mine, though I can tell he wants to move faster.
The air between us is thick, and it feels as if he’s waiting for me to break.
I don’t. I can’t.
By midday, the rain finally lets up. We find a stream to refill our waterskins, and light a fire to dry our clothes, best we can.
I kneel at the water’s edge, my fingers trembling as I scoop the icy water into my hands. It’s cold enough to sting, but I let it drip over my face, hoping it will wash away the numbness clinging to me like a second skin. It doesn’t.
“We’re getting closer,” I mumble. “I can feel the same pull I felt before.”
“I follow yer lead,” he says. His words are quiet but firm, as if they’re meant to anchor me. “I’m here. Every step of the way.”
I want to tell him to stop, to leave me in my misery and let me crumble. But some small, stubborn part of me—the part Finn loved—won’t let me. So I nod, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
My body is heavy with exhaustion, but it’s nothing compared to the weight on my chest. Every time I think I can’t take another step, I hear Finn’s voice in the back of my mind, urging me on. Keep going, Triona. Don’t stop now.
By the third day, I feel like a spectre, drifting through the world without truly belonging to it. The land shifts around us—the hills rising steeper, the air turning sharp with cold. The paths grow rougher, winding through jagged outcrops and narrow valleys, each step heavier than the last.