Chapter 12
12
SAOIRSE
A crowd had gathered on the deck, cheering riotously under the pale light of the moon. Saoirse circled Neia, poised for another strike. The Terradrin captain’s long white hair spilled over her shoulders like a liquid moonbeam. She grinned, looking positively feral and she spun away on nimble feet. They danced along the deck, their swords tangling together. The crack of metal echoed across the waves as their blades met. The crowd of sailors roared as Saoirse parried Neia’s blow with an elaborate flourish.
With three days of sailing ahead of them and little else to do except for worry about what awaited them in the Under Kingdom, they’d settled on swordplay to distract themselves. When the moon grew heavy and the light of the stars unfurled across the sky, a group of shiphands began to spar on the deck, playfully at first, but growing more serious as various levels of expertise entered the ring. Saoirse had been leaning back against the taffrail enjoying the breeze that gusted off the ocean when Neia had challenged her to a duel.
Nearly an hour later, they stared at each other with sweat beading on their brows and their chests heaving. Saoirse hadn’t had this much fun since she’d trained with Aurelia in the Torqen training yards in Kellam Keep. It had been ages since she’d sparred for the sheer amusement of it, and as she side-stepped an attack and spun on her heels, Saoirse was reminded of just how much she loved swordplay. With the moon washing the ship in silver and the light of hanging brass lanterns flickering on cheering faces, the deck felt almost cozy.
Struggling to catch her breath, Saoirse leaned forward and placed her hands on her knees. “We’ll call it a tie,” she huffed.
“Are you sure, Mer Princess?” Neia sauntered over and clapped her on the shoulder. “You still have the chance to beat me.”
“I’m sure. Let’s call it a night.”
“Your Torqen captains trained you well,” Neia observed, swiping away the white strands clinging to her forehead. “You’re a talented fighter.”
“You didn’t figure that out in the Tournament?” Saoirse quipped, sheathing her sword. “Here I thought that my fellow tributes believed I was an equal in the arena.”
Neia chuckled. “To be fair, I didn’t have much time to assess your skill level during those trials. I always assumed you were gifted with a blade?you were chosen to compete after all. I seem to recall a certain duel that took place on a sky bridge,” she said, cocking her head. “There were rumors a Mer warrior had challenged the Auran prince to a sparring match. If the rumors were correct, that Mer warrior bested the Auran prince on his own turf. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Neia gave her a pointed glance, her colorless eyes glinting with humor.
Saoirse flushed. They hadn’t been as secretive about that duel as she’d thought, apparently. In hindsight, it was almost comical that she and Rook had been caught up in such a childish feud while Hasana and Neia were planning a rebellion all along.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She couldn’t hide the smile in her voice.
“If you’re still itching to fight, I’d love to best you,” a voice called. Saoirse and Neia turned to see Rymir stalking out of the crowd, that now-familiar lopsided grin tugging on one side of his face like a drawn curtain letting in a beam of sunshine. His eyes lit up as he entered the makeshift sparring circle. He’d already drawn his sword, a curved thing of beauty that reminded Saoirse of his cat-like smile.
“We’ve been over this enough, haven’t we? I’ve bested you too many times to count. I’ll spare you more humiliation,” Neia soothed.
“How thoughtful of you,” Rymir laughed. “Your concern for my delicate ego touches my heart.” He brandished his sword before her, a taunting look gleaming in his eyes. “But what if I best you? What consolation prize shall I offer you when this entire crew witnesses your failure?” The ship hands chortled at the jab, some even clapping.
Neia swiped a lock of sweaty hair from her face, doing her best to appear nonchalant in the face of his challenge. “All right, if you’re so confident in your abilities, I suppose I’ll accept your duel, futile as it may be.”
Neia and Rymir launched into the sparring match, blades singing through the air. If Saoirse hadn’t known better, she would’ve assumed the dueling pair was truly blood-related given their identical heights and slender builds. Rymir was fluid in his movements, each lunge and parry exuding a graceful ease that not even Neia could boast. But even in their differences, Rymir adopted the same tactics as his mentor, his lithe form naturally settling into the same combat stances she did. Neia had taught him well.
At some point during the duel, someone opened a tankard of ale and foaming amber gushed forth with a splash on the deck. Mismatched mugs and goblets were passed around as the pair continued to fight. Evidently, the crew believed Neia and Rymir would be at it for a while.
Saoirse found herself slipping away from the crowd and drifting back toward the stern alone. She watched as Terradrin and Tellusun rebels clinked their cups together and laughed like old companions. It was strange to see such comradery between vastly different people. She remembered the night after the first trial when she’d been summoned to Queen Raven’s tent to discuss the reports of an uprising in Meysam, the Terradrin trading city that skirted Aurandel’s border. Raven had described the uprising as a bloody and thoughtless conflict that threatened Revelore’s peace. At the time, it hadn’t been difficult for Saoirse to accept the rival kingdom had succumbed to chaos. With Terradrin’s history of rogue radical groups, it wasn’t exactly shocking to hear of Meysam’s upheaval. But Saoirse now understood that Raven had painted the uprising as a reckless gesture of disloyalty to sow seeds of discord amongst the leaders of Revelore. In reality, Terradrin radicals had simply wanted freedom from Aurandel’s tyranny. She was again struck by how wrong she had once been.
The rebels cheered on Neia and Rymir, tossing back frothy ale. Amongst themselves, some laughed and joked with each other, sharing a familiarity that suggested they’d known each other for years. She felt a twinge of jealousy in her heart. How long had they tasted unity like this? She wanted to experience that comradery for herself. She’d been wreathed with paranoia in the Maeral Sea for so long. It made sense an invitation to join Hasana’s rebellion had never been extended to Saoirse’s kingdom. Elorshin had been embroiled in hostility with Aurandel for a century, locked into a perpetual cycle of hatred and a vicious desire to conquer the other. The Mer were too set in their ways and too blinded by personal vendettas to be considered a possible ally. Saoirse felt a rush of shame for her kingdom’s century-old reputation.
“Why don’t you join us over there?” a voice interrupted Saoirse’s ruminations. “Fighting can actually be enjoyable when you’re not on the other side of a blade. And the satisfaction of watching the great Neia Landum being bested by her prodigy is the most entertaining thing I’ve experienced in a long time.”
Noora Mir strode over with two mugs in her hands. The Tellusun archer wore her usual desert scarf, its hood pulled down to reveal a long braid that fell to her waist. Her signature bow and arrows were nowhere to be seen. Noora’s dark eyes were a warm amber in the soft lamplight.
“I know it seems counter-intuitive to be making merry during such dark times. You’d think that we’d be solemnly praying for mercy and writing strategies until our fingers bleed. But I’ve found that when I have something to fight for, I don’t feel as shackled with fear.”
“It’s not that,” Saoirse replied, accepting the mug of ale gratefully. She took a sip and turned toward the stern’s railing, leaning over to stare at the ship’s wake. Tendrils of white sea foam trailed off like strings of pearls. The ocean appeared infinite in the darkness, the night sky bleeding into the inky waves to form a single plane. She couldn’t tell where the sky ended and where the sea began.
“I must confess that I feel like an imposter. There seem to be years of loyalty between you all. I’m an outsider. One whose kingdom has held yours in contempt for a century and who did nothing to help you when Aurandel tightened its tyrannical grasp after the War of the Age. I almost feel?unworthy to be among you.”
Noora’s perceptive eyes flashed. She took a gulp of ale and wiped her lips with her sleeve. “Firstly, we aren’t as perfect as we may seem. We don’t always see eye to eye. There have been some who’ve left the resistance over the decisions Hasana has made. We are seldom in full agreement with anything. Some leaders stood in opposition to our quest to retrieve the Relics. The dissenters believed there were more pressing matters to attend to, such as overthrowing Aurandel. However, it was made clear that without defeating Selussa, any effort to overthrow Aurandel would be futile if Revelore were destroyed.” She paused to take another sip from her mug, staring thoughtfully into the darkness.
“And we have many flaws too. It seems you may have an idealized version of our resistance in your head. Sure, we all want to topple the Tournament institution and see Aurandel’s power crumble, but there is still much dissent about what kind of governing system we should replace them with. And there are still deep-seated prejudices amongst our ranks. You saw the open mistrust many of our leaders still harbor for Rook and anyone else associated with Aurandel. We’re an imperfect lot.”
“Then I suppose I should fit right in.” Saoirse turned her gaze from the sea and faced the high-spirited crowd gathered on the central deck. Someone had brought out a stringed instrument and strummed a jaunty tune. The light notes drifted across the deck and slipped into the night air, bouncing off the waves like a skipping pebble. With the music playing, it made Neia and Rymir’s duel appear even more dance-like, their measured steps and lunges looking more like a stage performance than a fight.
“When did Hasana’s resistance begin anyway? Surely she’s not much older than I am. How has one so young earned the respect of so many and accomplished so much?”
“Actually, it was founded by her father, King Ohan, eight years ago. The same year Rook’s parents and your mother were killed. Their murders rocked Revelore to its core. King Ohan had always secretly railed against Aurandel’s absolutism, but in the wake of their murders, he became even more determined to unify our kingdoms. He started laying the groundwork for rebellion and weaving together a web of like-minded leaders who shared his dreams of an equal Revelore.”
Saoirse’s skin went cold at the mention of her mother’s death. She’d been a mere child at the time, but every grief-stricken sensation she’d felt in the days after the news broke was etched into her memory. Her father had done his best to shield her from the truth of what happened, but she had put the pieces together easily. King Grivur had been appalled the assassinations happened on Terradrin soil. His court’s formal position was that a rogue radical group had been responsible for the plot. The group had been promptly eradicated and its leaders arrested and tortured, but it scarcely made up for her mother’s brutal murder.
“Do you know much about the radical group that carried out the assassinations?” Saoirse asked.
“I wasn’t familiar with many of the details until Hasana took the helm for her father’s rebellion. It was necessary she study the failings of Ballar’s group if she wanted to lead her father’s rebellion to victory. Through Hasana, I learned about the former Terradrin general named Ballar Grimstone, the who had initially formed the resistance group several years before the incident. They were allegedly a peaceful sect up until the assassinations. They critiqued Grivur’s court and called for a reformation of the corrupted politics of the Under Kingdom, but they had no qualms with neighboring kingdoms. That was why the murders were so shocking. When the truth came out that Ballar’s followers had arranged the ambush and killed three Revelorian monarchs, Grivur took swift action to decimate the group. In my opinion, Grivur took such a staunch position out of a need to save face rather than out of any adoration for the dead.”
Saoirse had to agree with that theory. Grivur had always been seen as a weak ruler, and the murders had undermined his authority, proving that any dissenting group could wield true power in his lands. She knew he cared little for honor. Grivur’s campaign to root out Ballar’s followers had likely been a performative inquisition, even if it did eliminate the threat of more royal deaths.
“Why did King Ohan associate with Terradrin after Ballar’s rebellion? If he was so horrified by my mother’s murder, why would he reach out to the very people who utilized such violence to achieve their ends? Surely no one would want to conspire against Aurandel in the wake of what happened, especially given how obsessively King Grivur’s spies tracked down anyone associated with the assassination plot.” She found it hard to believe anyone in Terradrin would be willing to pledge their allegiances to another radical group after what happened, and found it even more unlikely a king would want to ally with people who’d killed powerful Revelorian royals in cold blood.
“It took a few years for King Ohan to contact Terradrin leaders,” Noora explained. “Terradrin was ruled by a paranoid king and controlled by a strict foreign occupation in the aftermath. Those in the Under Kingdom were reluctant to entertain the beliefs of another emerging radical group after the reign of terror Grivur had employed. Indeed, the vast majority vehemently opposed Ballar’s tactics and were ashamed such a tragedy had occurred within Terradrin. But Ohan was determined to form a rebellion not forged by violence or cruelty, but rather by a love for Revelore and a desire to see our kingdoms equal. He found his first and most crucial ally in a young Terradrin captain who had just lost her brother to the Tournament.”
Saoirse followed the direction of Noora’s pointed gaze, her eyes finding Neia’s willowy form as she crossed blades with the young captain. A wide smile was splayed across her face. It was the happiest she’d ever seen the commander look, that normally grim frown out of sight for now. If Ohan formed the resistance movement eight years ago, that would mean that Neia’s brother had competed in the same Tournament Raven had. How old was her brother when he’d lost his life? Memories of his death must’ve surfaced in Neia’s mind every time she looked at Raven or heard stories of the Queen’s Tournament victory. It must’ve been terrifying to volunteer herself as a tribute.
Saoirse still remembered the bone-chilling sorrow that slid over Neia as she leaned over the ladder in the second trial, tears erupting down her cheeks the moment she realized that her other companion hadn’t made it out of the Avgi spider’s nest. At that moment, had she been reminded of her brother’s death in his own Tournament a decade earlier?
“When I first learned Neia was a part of Hasana’s rebellion, I couldn’t believe it,” Saoirse said. “But knowing what she lost, I can understand why she’d take up arms against Terradrin.” Neia had formally been one of King Grivur’s most trusted commanders in the Under Kingdom. It just went to show that even the most unlikely individuals could harbor secrets in the capricious courts of Revelore. Anyone was capable of redemption…or betrayal.
“When Ohan grew ill and bedridden, Hasana assumed leadership in his stead,” Noora said proudly. “It was her idea to steal the Crown of Revelore during the Tournament. She believed it would be the first step in overthrowing Aurandel’s rule. By destroying the symbol of power that our nations were so desperate to fight tooth and nail for, she believed we could topple the institution of the Tournament itself and call Queen Raven’s authority into question.”
“I presume your rebellion also faked an uprising in Bezhad for that very same reason?” Saoirse mused. “I remember hearing there was an uprising in the Clay City just after the events in Meysam. It was all staged by Hasana, wasn’t it? A public demonstration that would be whispered about across the continent, planting seeds of doubt.”
“Exactly. We wanted to catch Aurandel’s attention and distract them from what we’ve been up to. All smoke and mirrors. Raven has always cared more about the illusion of peace than true cordiality. By crafting an uprising in Bezhad, we not only inspired cracks of doubt across Revelore but also in Raven herself. We hoped that by splitting her attention between Meysam and Bezhad, it would make our task of stealing the Crown all the easier.”
Oh, they had succeeded in shaking Raven. When she’d gathered all the kingdoms’ leaders in her tent during the Tournament, Saoirse had seen the fear behind her flinty eyes. Despite her best efforts to remain stalwart and intimidating, Raven had unwittingly shown Hasana that the rebellion’s staged uprisings were working. And when threatened, she became frenzied and made mistakes. Saoirse was surprised to feel pity for Rook’s sister. She was still so young and facing all this alone. She had done horrible things in the name of keeping the peace, yes, but she’d also been crowned queen when she was scarcely out of girlhood. She’d also been groomed by the Elders her entire life. It was difficult to imagine any other path for her.
They were silent for a long moment. The shush of waves lapping up the hull mingled with snatches of swordplay, wreathed by the blithe music dancing on the breeze.
“Well, Hasana has proved herself to be an extremely formidable leader,” Saoirse finally said. “Even if there are those among you who disagree with her decisions, their devotion to her is obvious. She will make a great queen one day.”
“Indeed,” Noora smiled, her eyes filling with affection. “Shall we toast to the great Princess Saoirse Kellamheart, the latest recruit to our cause?” She lifted her mug and cocked a dark eyebrow.
“I’m not sure we should toast to me just yet,” Saoirse countered wryly. “There is still lots of time left for me to prove my unworthiness. You may come to regret your decision to recruit me.” Despite her self-doubt, she raised her mug and knocked it on the side of Noora’s cup.
“Allow me to formally welcome you to the rebellion,” Noora offered as they toasted. “You’re one of us now. Aurelia told me it’s your nameday, right? Well, consider this my gift to you.”
The whistle of metal through the air followed by a sharp thump interrupted their toast. The crowd erupted into applause. Saoirse brought the mug down before taking a sip, turning to face the riotous crew. Through swaying bodies and celebratory cheers, she could see Neia staring up at her prodigy, defeated. Neia’s sword had flown halfway across the deck, skittering to a halt underneath a swinging lantern.
Rymir’s curved blade angled toward Neia’s throat, metal flashing under the hanging lights. The triumphant grin splayed across his face told Saoirse this was the first time he’d ever bested Neia. His mentor glared up from where she kneeled before him, chest heaving from the intensity of their sparring. Rymir swept his blade back into its scabbard with a flourish and offered a dramatic bow to the crowd.
“That’s how it’s done, wouldn’t you say?”
The crew whistled and cheered, raising their mugs as he prowled around the deck like a preening peacock.
“And so, the prodigy claims victory over his mentor! I’ve become your worst nightmare, Commander .”
Neia’s annoyance melted into pride as she watched him parade about the ship, a smile unfurling across her stern face. She shook her head as Rymir strode back over and offered his hand to her. She rolled her eyes as he pulled her up from the ground.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warned. “The only reason you won is because I’d just fought a vicious Mer princess for an hour before. She weakened me.”
“Is that what you’ll tell yourself when you’re lying awake in bed tonight, replaying your humiliating defeat over and over again?”
“I’ll get you back when you least suspect it,” Neia returned, ruffling his hair playfully. The rogue forelock that normally hung against one eyebrow now stuck up like a tuft of kelp on Rymir’s head. “So you’d better not let your guard down.”
Saoirse turned away from the joyful crowd, looking back over the taffrail as the sea unspooled for eternity beyond. Her heart ached but she couldn’t say why. A wave of fear rippled over her as she gripped the mug between her hands, the uneven wooden grooves of the handle burning into her fingertips.
She lifted the cup to her lips, finally completing the toast that had been interrupted. The ale burned down her throat as she drank.
You’re one of us now .
The words should’ve been encouraging, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her involvement somehow doomed them all. She looked up at the sprawling night sky and watched as heavy storm clouds drifted in like shadows, blotting out the stars.
Several hours after the lanterns had died out and the storm had broken, Saoirse’s hammock swayed with the rocking of the ship. Through the rumbling of thunder, her mind drifted to distant memories of the Maeral Sea. Her discussion with Noora drudged up many emotions, both good and bad. She listened to the shushing of the waves and the pattering of rain against the hull. If she tried hard enough, she could almost imagine herself in her childhood bedroom within the palace.
It had been many years since she’d slept within the protective walls of her family’s royal fortress. After she’d joined the Torqen ranks, she’d made it a point to sleep in the barracks with all the other soldiers. She’d wanted to be taken seriously, to show she wasn’t just a spoiled princess transfixed by a romanticized view of soldier life. She didn’t regret spending nearly every night of the last eight years within those coral barracks, but she did long for the days when her mother would sing lullabies to her before bed. One of the most prominent memories Saoirse had of her mother was her beautiful singing voice. Her tone was rich and full, resonant like the wind skimming against the ocean. In the deep recesses of her mind, Saoirse could still hear her mother’s songs echoing through her memories.
She had mixed feelings about traveling to Terradrin. Saoirse’s heart constricted at the thought of her mother. She had been a mere child when her mother had died a brutal death at the hands of Terradrin assassins eight years ago. What would she make of all this if she were still alive? Would she be disappointed in Saoirse’s actions? There was something cruelly full circle in the fact that Saoirse would be arriving on Terradrin’s shores for the first time since her mother’s death. Her mother’s ashes were buried somewhere in Terradrin soil. Would venturing to the land her mother never left bring Saoirse closer to her?
Unable to ponder those painful memories and haunting lullabies any longer, Saoirse swung her feet over the side of her hammock and padded through the shared sleeping quarters. She wove through the swinging hammocks on silent bare feet, listening to soft snores and the creaking of the ship. As she wandered into the porthole-lined hallway, a bolt of lightning lit the narrow passage. A sole bronze sconce was bolted to the wooden wall, housing a candle that had nearly burned to the quick. The flame wavered as the ship continued to tilt against the storm. She stopped before one of the rounded windows and stared out at the thrashing waves. The moon was shrouded in storm clouds and the stars blotted out. Only sporadic bursts of lightning lit up the churning ocean, catching on raindrops that beaded against the glass.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Saoirse jumped at the sound of a male’s voice. Rymir Barrow leaned against the wall, watching her with those star-bright eyes of his. He crossed his arms casually over his chest. He wore a loose tunic that fell open at the neck, revealing knots of scar tissue twisting across his sternum. His white hair seemed to absorb all the light in the shadowed hallway.
“Yes,” she answered. She looked out the window again, watching as another shuddering bolt of lightning torched the night. “Too many memories keeping me awake.”
Rymir pushed off the wall and came to stand next to her, squinting into the storm-choked night. “What kinds of memories?”
Saoirse worried her bottom lip. Her mother’s melodious voice echoed faintly in her ears. She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to share with this stranger, but she had an urge to tell Rymir about her mother. Maybe voicing the memories out loud would help her move past them.
“My mother,” she finally said over a crack of thunder. “Sailing to Terradrin has brought up many memories for me. Since she was murdered eight years ago, I’ve never set foot there. I feel both afraid and eager to see the land where she took her last breath. Maybe I’ll feel some sense of connection to her. Or perhaps merely closure.”
She turned to Rymir, gauging his reaction. His pale eyes swam with a flood of sympathy.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said earnestly.
Another crack of thunder made the hallway tremble. The ship lurched as a violent wave slapped the side of the hull. Saoirse nearly lost her balance as the floor tilted. A strong arm steadied her while the ship stabilized. She flushed with embarrassment, hastily pushing away from Rymir’s chest.
“You’d think a Mer would have better sea legs,” she joked, praying he couldn’t see her mortifying blush.
“Actually, I wouldn’t expect you to. You’ve lived in the ocean, not bobbing on top of it.” To her relief, he didn’t seem to take her hasty escape from his arms too personally. Saoirse covertly placed a steadying hand against the window ledge in case the ship decided to sway again. She appreciated his kindness, but she didn’t want another awkward encounter.
“After nearly a decade, you’d think her death might not affect me as much,” she said, continuing with their interrupted conversation. “But it’s still fresh, even after all this time.”
“I know how you feel. I lost my parents around the same time you lost your mother.” His voice turned wistful. A shuddering burst of lightning danced along the planes of his cheekbones. She suddenly felt a profound sadness radiate from him, the same sorrow she recognized in her own heart.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she offered quietly. “How did it happen?”
Rymir frowned, eyes growing distant. He didn’t answer her for a long time. Saoirse almost thought she’d crossed a line before he finally spoke: “Wyrms. We lived in an impoverished quarter of the Under Kingdom on the very edge of the city. There were few underguards posted in our corner of the city and our ramshackle houses boasted little protection from the foul creatures. When the parasitic beasts came exploding from the floor, the chances of survival were next to zero. I lost my entire family that day.”
Saoirse’s heart ached for him. Her mother’s murder was devastating, but at least she still had her father. He’d lost everyone he loved within a span of minutes. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Their losses showed me how little our lives meant to our king, and how much our city needed reformation. And it brought me to Neia, of course. She rescued me when I was just a lad. She gave me a better life than I would’ve had with my family, poor as we were.”
Their relationship ran deep, then. Had Rymir reminded Neia of the brother she’d lost in the Tournament only years before? Perhaps she needed him as much as he’d needed her.
“I like to think my parents would be proud of where I am today.” Some of the sorrow in his eyes melted into pride. “My father was a good man. He didn’t have much, but he did have honor. He fought for what he believed in until the very end. I try to carry his legacy with me every day.”
Saoirse smiled. “I suppose I try to carry my mother’s legacy too. She believed in a united Revelore, you know. That’s why she was meeting with Rook’s parents that night. She sought peace between our kingdoms. But she died before her dreams of reconciliation came to fruition. I wish she could see how close we are to that reality.”
“My father dreamed of an unbroken Revelore, too. One where we are all equals. That’s why I’m here. His dreams have become my dreams. I think that is the greatest honor I could ever give him. Knowing I’m fulfilling his vision makes me mourn less.”
“Thank you for sharing your father’s memory with me. I know that it must be difficult to speak about.”
“On the contrary. I think it heals me more to talk about what happened. And if my story helps others process their own loss, I’d gladly speak about my own family’s misfortune.”
Saoirse’s heart warmed at the thought. That was such a positive outlook on tragedy. Some of the pain had dulled in her chest as she turned over Rymir’s words. Instead of fleeing from memories of her mother, she wanted to treasure them. She wanted to make her proud.
They stood in companionable silence for a long time, broken only by the rumble of thunder. Saoirse had entered the Tournament to avenge her mother’s death, to make her murder mean something. But she’d been so wrong. Her mother’s death already meant something. She had inspired King Ohan and his resistance. In some ways, her mother had planted the seeds of rebellion, whether she knew it or not. And she would see Eleyera’s dream fulfilled.
As the floor swayed and the lightning danced through the darkness, Saoirse listened to the lullabies she’d fought so hard to ardently forget.