Ronan didn’t waste a moment. He ran through the events of the last day—his conversation with Kordislaen, the Tinelann camp, Chief Cuilinn. Knowing Ronan would do everything to warn Caisleán, Tinelann might be changing their approach, but Kordislaen was also arrogant. In which case he might hold to the plans Ronan had heard.
As Ronan’s words began to fade, Niamh passed him the plate.
The healer secured his final stitch and then rewrapped Ronan’s side. “You’re lucky it didn’t go any deeper,” he said. “It’ll be sore for the next few days, and you’ll need to change the wrapping often, but you’ll survive.”
The words sent a wave of relief through Ronan. This wouldn’t hold him back in the fight to come.
“Thank you,” Ronan whispered as the healer turned to leave. Niamh didn’t speak again until he finished his second plate of food.
“Follow me,” she said, beckoning him into the depths of the castle. “Clía’s this way.”
There was no time or energy for him to question her newfound friendship with Clía. There were too many other pressing concerns.
Niamh finally stopped in front of a small door down in the tunnels under the castle. He recognized it. This was where Clía and Sárait would work on their project. He had visited them there a couple of times while they sewed together, although they were always quick to declare him a distraction and send him away.
The moment Niamh opened the door, all thoughts other than those surrounding the person sitting at the worktable in the far corner of the room left Ronan’s mind. She sat in dedicated focus, stitching a garment on her lap. Her blond hair fell down her back in soft waves. The light reflected off the strands with an otherworldly glow—a firecress in full bloom. She had the posture of a queen, despite the late hour surely wearing on her strength.
She didn’t notice them enter. She didn’t even look up until Niamh whispered something in her ear. Ronan couldn’t hear what was said, but when she turned to see him, his chest caught on fire. He felt untethered, unable to reach the ground.
“You’re here,” he said. Relief breathed through him.
He didn’t know how worried he had been until he saw her safe in front of him.
Her eyes shone. “I never left.”
Ronan wanted to run to her. To take her in his arms, assure himself that she was okay, that she was here. He didn’t understand when it happened, but somehow in the months they’d knowneach other, she had become the most important person in his life. But the memory of their last conversation sent him plummeting back to earth. The grin that had slowly crept onto his face fell, and the tension rose. “After we... Well. I was worried about you,” he said finally.
“You’re the one who disappeared,” she whispered, something crossing her face before she schooled it into practiced politeness. Her mask was back, the one he hadn’t seen on her in months. He didn’t know what to do about it.
Niamh took this moment to speak up. “My presence here is clearly not needed. I’ll be back.”
Nodding, Clía cleared her throat. “Thank you.” With that, Niamh left them in the room alone, sending one withering glance at Ronan before closing the door behind her. He was used to her distrust, but this disdain was new.
A beat of silence. Then Clía spoke. “You went with Kordislaen.”
Ronan didn’t know if it was a question or an accusation.
“I did,” he admitted. “That mission—we barely made it out of that forest alive. I needed to learn his plans, gather more information.”
“You mean like he had you do with the other warriors? With me?”
Ronan’s heart stopped. “I never told himanythingabout you. I would never betray you like that.”
She was across the room, but the distance between them felt like an ocean. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“You’re supposed to trust me.”
Her gaze fell.
All the energy he’d been forcing himself to maintain these past few days left him with a sigh. He was tired. He was in pain. And he felt more alone than before.
As he shifted his weight, another shock raced through him—that crushing feeling in his bones that he knew all too well. He winced.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, standing and cautiously stepping toward him.
He leaned against the door, rubbing at his knee with his palm as if he could massage away the ache. “I had been going for runs before I left. To distract my mind. Then there was my exit from Kordislaen’s camp. All of that running, that fighting—I knew it could make the pain worse. Now I’m paying the price.”
“And that’s it?” She sent a pointed look to his side, where his shirt had ridden up enough to reveal the edge of his bandage.
