“Inismian hasn’t seen battle between its kingdoms in centuries. We need to be prepared for every possible outcome.”
“Will you be returning to Oileánster, then?”
Kían shrugged, leaning back in their chair. “I had spent my life always hearing of Caisleán and the curadh. The brave warriors and strong nobles who fought and trained here. It fascinated me. No one at home could understand it. They thought I shouldfocus on sailing, politics, fishing—somethinguseful. They told me that I didn’t need the glory, and Idefinitelydidn’t need the stress.” They laughed to themself. “But one day, my king asked to meet with me. He wanted to send me here. Said it would best serve the kingdom for me to learn at the hands of the Draoi in the north. He gave me the excuse I needed, so I went.
“If my king asks me to, then yes, I’ll return home with my new title. But I’ve waited too long for this. I was promised a year of training, and what better way to learn than on the battlefield? Not to mention, I imagine my presence would be more useful here in the north. Someone needs to keep King Brogán informed. Speaking of information—I sent word to Sárait.” Clía’s head lifted. “I assured her that we’re okay. If Tinelann continues their retreat, she might be able to return in a few days.”
A few days.
What would happen then? Would training resume? Would new warriors fill Caisleán’s halls? Or would it be emptied, everyone returning to where they were needed, waiting to see if the war would continue?
Clía left Kían to their letters, making her way to the meeting room. She needed to know how much peace they might have bought.
Chapter Forty
We need troops brought north to make sure Tinelann doesn’t raze the villages while they retreat.” Ronan gestured to the map on the table.
Draoi Griffin considered it. The meeting room felt empty with only the two of them standing around the long table. Their voices echoed against the stone walls and books. The soft fall of footsteps alerted them to Clía’s presence.
“Clía,” Ronan breathed, his gaze drinking her in while scanning for injuries—this was the first time he had seen her since he left her on the cliffs with Kordislaen.
She did the same to him, a worried look in her eyes as she took in his arm hanging in a dirt-covered sling and the dust and debris that coated his clothes. “Kían told me you were fine, but I needed to see for myself.”
“I understand.” Word of Clía defeating Kordislaen traveled fast, but it wasn’t until hearing her voice that Ronan could really believe she was okay. He remembered the weapon at his hip—Camhaoir. He held it out to her. “This belongs to you, I believe. It served me well.”
He wanted to ask her if she experienced the same strange energy while fighting with the blade but found himself distracted by an entirely different type of electricity as her fingertips brushed his. She took the sword, handing his own back in return.
“I’m glad.” Her lips curved into a smile. It was soft—almost weary but sweet.
“It’s good to see you, Princess,” Griffin said, reminding Ronan that he and Clía weren’t alone. “Now, as we were discussing. I’ve already sent a messenger to King Cathal alerting him to what has happened. We can’t command anything of him. All we can hope is that Chief Lyons gives his orders promptly.”
“And if he doesn’t? He could have been in league with Kordislaen as well. If he doesn’t send the order, do we abandon the towns and villages between here and the border?”
The look Griffin sent him was scathing. Ronan didn’t falter. His pain was worse than before—inevitable considering how hard he had been pushing himself the past few days. His energy was a finite resource that he needed to reserve to protect his people. As he was doing by debating with Griffin.
“They are not forgotten,” Griffin said. “We simply cannot extend ourselves to protect them. If we leave Caisleán open for another attack, we won’t survive. The lives lost today would be for nothing.”
“What if Álainndore sends aid?” They both turned to Clía. She had taken a seat at the table while Ronan and Griffin debated, her bright eyes staring at them with interest.
“While I admire the thought”—Griffin lowered his head—“you have your own kingdom to protect. And the Scáilcan king is a proud man; he might refuse.”
Her spine straightened, and Ronan could see a flash of worry cross her face. She had spent so much time focusing on Caisleán and Scáilca, when had she last thought of home?
They both knew she would have to return soon; she’d been away too long. He only hoped he could steal a private moment with her before that time arrived.
Despite the shards of ice that the idea of her absence sent through his heart, he knew it was necessary. Álainndore was not built for war. The king and queen weren’t fighters. And they were not prepared for what might come their way. Clía could help them. She could lead Álainndore through battlefields and to triumph.
Ronan’s mouth set in a grim line. “So we wait for Lyons’s orders.”
“It’s the best course of action.” Griffin began gathering the papers they had scattered on the table around the map. “Until we hear, we keep troops on guard in case Tinelann decides to finish today’s battle. With Kordislaen killed and their advantage lost, they would be fools to return, but we must be prepared.”
“What do you think their plan is?” Clía asked.
The room fell silent.
“Most likely they will retreat closer to the border, where they can better replenish their numbers and supplies as they await word from King Ardal,” Griffin said, settling the papers back down in a neat pile. “I’m assuming he’ll wait before launching another attack. We may be able to prevent that attack completely if Lyons plays his cards right. The Tinelannians are acting out of desperation—the kingdom has seen brutal weather and never-ending droughts, which will only get worse when the Draoiremove all support after this attack. Crops will fail and waters turn.
“King Ardal is paying the price for his father’s selfish and reckless actions on the throne, and now must distract his kingdom from his family’s mistakes. A war is a perfect way to unite a kingdom and prevent an uprising.”
