Ronan leaned back, collapsing onto the bed. “Which do you think will kill you first?”
“Niamh. Without a doubt.”
Ronan smiled. The muscles in his face hurt. “I can’t wait to watch.”
“I’m sure you would love to.” Domhnall leaned forward, palms resting on his knees. “But I doubt that will be happening.”
Ronan propped himself up on his elbows. “What do you mean?”
“Shouldn’t you talk with Clía before making any plans?” The reminder was gentle, but Ronan sat back up.
“She’ll be going home soon, back to Álainndore. And I’m the captain of your guard. I go where you go.” Sadness filled his heart, taking in the inevitable.
Domhnall stood, turning to face him. “Kordislaen is dead. Your mother is dead, and what you do now won’t change that. It’s time to find a new dream. You helped save Caisleán—something the kingdom owes you greatly for—but the war isn’t over. Do you want to spend your time protecting me in a castle full of guards, or are you ready for something new?”
“I’m not abandoning you,” Ronan insisted. For years, Domhnall had been like family to him. He wouldn’t leave his side in a time of darkness.
“As long as you promise to keep in touch, I’ll be fine. I can find another captain who will protect me just as well.”
Ronan paused, and then whispered the words he had been avoiding thinking. “She might not even want me.”
“Don’t cling to the familiar to avoid potential pain of the unknown. It will come for you whether you are ready or not.”
Later, Domhnall’s words rang through Ronan’s head as he tried to sleep that night. They didn’t leave him as he was eating his morning meal the next day. They followed him through the halls and into the tunnels as they were rebuilt.
Domhnall was right.
And Ronan was ready.
Chapter Forty-One
The Tinelann troops never returned. For two days, Clía and the others waited, searching for any sign of another attack.
There were none.
Which left them to focus on rebuilding.
The southern wall had fallen in the tunnel collapse, and there was significant damage to the grounds around it. The castle itself had withstood the battle, but the scars would sit in the stone for centuries to come. The underground passages had to be reinforced—a dangerous and physically demanding job. Niamh and Kían were first to volunteer. Clía knew Ronan had wanted to help, but with his injured arm, he held back. He had even taken to sleeping a little longer in the mornings, and she noticed he grimaced less when he walked.
He assisted Griffin in strategy meetings and overseeing patrols. Clía and Domhnall were invited to those meetings as voices representing their kingdoms.
Five days after the battle, when they got word Sárait had returned, Clía allowed herself a break to go see her friend.
Leaving the study, she hurried through the castle, with Ronan following close behind.
“I’ll go find Kían!” Domhnall called after them.
Sárait stood in the main entrance. She looked no different than before. Her hair hung long and soft, sticking out from underneath her wool cap. Her face was flushed from the frozen air, but the smile that overtook it when she saw Clía was warmer than the summer sun.
Clía didn’t stop and ran right at her until she could pull Sárait into her arms. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I know, my absence left a hole in your life you could never fill.” Sárait laughed. Clía felt her eyes burning at the sound. For too long, there had been a shroud of darkness over the castle. Having Sárait awake, there, andlaughing? It was like that first breath of air after being crushed by wave after wave.
“I really missed you,” Clía whispered into her hair.
“I missed you too.”
Another set of footsteps caused Sárait to pull away from her.
