She had been so focused on her goals, her journey, that the truth of war, beyond its effects on Álainndore, had never set in. She had witnessed more death in the past few days than ever before in her life—more death than she would ever want to see again. And it was only the beginning. If they didn’t stop Tinelann and the Ionróirans before they invaded Scáilca, thousands could lose their lives. Even if they did manage to prevent a full-blown invasion, there would still be casualties. It was inevitable.
And did she somehow think she would avoid the bloodshed? That she would evade death? That her skin would remain free from the stain of blood?
It already rusted under her nails.
And what of her friends? Sárait was in the infirmary. Niamh, Domhnall, Kían, and MacCraith would be part of the battles coming their way. Ronan. She’d almost lost him the night before. How could she protect him in a real battle?
She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of her fingers rubbing against the hem of her shirt. After a moment, as her thoughts began to quiet, she opened her eyes again. Kordislaen was watching her closely.
“It’s no use focusing on what we cannot control,” she said. “Whatever the gods throw at us, I have faith we can handle.” The mask felt unfamiliar, after going so long without it. The lies tasted bitter on her tongue.
“You truly think you can deal with the realities of war?” There was disbelief in his voice, and it cut straight to her core.
Clía straightened her shoulders. Kordislaen didn’t need to know of the doubt in her heart. “Is that not what we’ve been working for? You chose to keep me here at Caisleán. I’ve proven myself capable.”
He laughed. He looked at her as if eyeing an injured pup. “Don’t delude yourself, Fionnáin. You know why you’re here.”
“It’s because I’m a good warrior.” She kept her voice steady.
“You actually believe that?” Surprise coated his words, but it was quickly replaced by pity. “No, Fionnáin. The only reason you remained is because I thought you were useful. The crown princess of Álainndore. Heir to the throne. A valuable connection, perhaps even a source of information. However, you’ve proven to be more nuisance than advantage.”
She was silent, and he looked off, speaking more to himself than to her. “I was hoping that Captain Ó Faoláin would bring me something I could use. Your... dalliance with him could have been very beneficial to me. Unfortunately, he has yet to report back anything helpful.”
Her heart stopped.
“You had Ronan spying on me?” The words were soft as she spoke them. That surprised her. They were so loud in her head.
She trusted Ronan. Above anyone else. He wouldn’t do this to her.
That’s what you thought about Ó Connor.
“No need for dramatics. It wasn’t just you. Ronan was keeping an eye on all the daltas. I must rely on caution and resourcefulness during these tumultuous times.” He paused for a moment, looking at her. “Sometimes your naivety surprises me, Princess. You should have expected this. After Ó Connor—I mean, I knew you could be foolish, but truly, did you think he was the only one to use you? Your desperate desire for approval has clouded your judgment.”
“I—” Her voice caught in her throat.
He didn’t stop. “Let me do you this favor by making one thing clear to you: you are not here for your skill or your potential. You have none. Your position here was because of your title and the benefits that might bring, but I have quickly learned that it’s not worth the effort. At this point, you are wasting precious space. All you’ve done in your time here is embarrass yourself.”
Her vision blurred. Everything she’d done had been for nothing. She thought she was making progress, that she would prove everyone wrong. Instead, she’d made a mockery of herself and her kingdom.
That doubt solidified in her lungs. Failure crushed her chest, choking her.
She tried to deny it. Him. “You said that I’ve improved. IknowI’ve fought well. I helped on the mission.”
Her fingers trembled as they traced the rough hem of herbodice. She called upon that confidence that had been second nature only days ago, and found it broken along old fault lines. Had it really been so fragile?
“You were lucky.” There was no kindness in his gaze, no pity on his face. “It wasn’t a complete lie when I said you’ve grown, but what good is such a minor improvement for someone who couldn’t even hold a sword? Not to mention, you didn’t even do it on your own. Of course, when I suggested to Ronan he give you a hand, I knew he wouldn’t argue—you were just so pitiful.”
Her knuckles met his cheekbone with a loud crunch. The sound was satisfying enough to dull the pain in her hand.
“Fuck you.” Her voice was hoarse.
For a second, she thought she saw irritation behind his eyes. But it quickly disappeared, replaced with a calm smile. “You call that a punch? Oh, Clíodhna.” He shook his head. “That’s shameful. Don’t expect a place at Caisleán after this. You arenothing. And you’re dismissed.”
He turned away. Clía marched from the room, eyes burning with unshed tears. When she was far enough from the door that she knew he wouldn’t see, she ran.
***
SHE THREW HER CLOTHES INTO HER LARGEST TRUNK, pulling out each piece of fabric from the old chest. She didn’t bother folding. With each item tossed inside, she tried to bury the thoughts filling her head.
