It would be strange, and painful, but she’d found a version of herself she never thought possible at Caisleán. Perhaps this new version of home wouldn’t be entirely unbearable.
And maybe Domhnall was right, and she didn’t need to be alone there.
“When you talk to Ronan,” Domhnall added, pulling something else from his pocket, “make sure you give him this.”
It was another pin, identical to hers. The metal was smooth in her hand.
“Do you think the gods watch over us? Or do they think us fools to worship uncaring beings?” Snow had begun to fall again as Domhnall spoke.
Clía thought of Camhaoir. The gem that shone in its hilt.She thought of unanswered prayers and dead bodies on the ground. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. I never did,” he whispered. “Griffin would have my head, speaking blasphemy on sacred ground. But this past week, I found myself thinking it doesn’t matter. The gods will do as they like. All we can control are our choices.” He looked down to the pin in her hand. “He deserves something good.”
She stared at the cold metal. When she looked back at Domhnall, his chin was tilted up, his eye on the stars.
Chapter Forty-Two
It’s smart to get the most challenging tasks done first.
Which is why, the morning of Clía’s departure for Álainndore, she stood outside Ronan’s door. It took her ten minutes before she worked up the nerve to knock.
She rapped her knuckles against the door three times.
His room was only ten feet from the corner of the hallway. She still had time to dash away and hide before—
He opened the door.
His long hair was tousled, with strands sticking up in every direction. His eyes foggy and tired. Thankfully, he wore a modest shirt and sleep trousers to bed. She didn’t need any more distractions this morning.
“Clía.” The exhaustion in his voice bled into surprise. “What are you doing up?”
She couldn’t help but smile at the bedraggled expression on his face. It was completely unfair that he looked this adorable in his half-asleep state. “I thought it only fair that I get the chance to wake you up at an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“I thought we put training on hold.” He glared at the shadows in the hall. The sun would be rising soon, but not yet. “Breakfast is still a ways away.”
“Can I come in?” she asked.
He stepped aside. Her arm brushed against his as she passed, sending a shock of electricity through her.
“You’ve redecorated.” She held tight to her voice. She had spent so many days as the princess exerting control over herself, wearing the mask, yet in the moment when she needed it the most, her body was trying to betray her. “I must admit, I’m not sure what style this is called.”
Books were sprawled over the floor and bed. There was only a small cleared patch on his mattress where he must have slept last night.
He laughed sheepishly. “I stayed up late doing some research.”
She noted the titles of the books closest to her. “The Collective History of Tinelann. Resources of the Diamhair Mountains. Common Myths and Legends.Nice variety.”
“I got a little sidetracked after letting myself think too much. We think we understand Tinelann’s motives, but—do you remember that conversation we had, months ago, about the Gifts of the Treibh Anam?” He paused, and she watched him consider his next words. “I felt something, when I fought with your sword. It was different. Powerful.”
She’d almost forgotten that she had given him Camhaoir. Her memories of the battle were rushed and hazy, a collection of only the direst moments. Ronan nodded to where the hilt of her blade hung from her belt—ever since the battle, she felt better having it with her. She freed the sword from its scabbard, handing it to him to look over.
“Someone came at me during battle,” he explained. “I was distracted, and they would have killed me. Then there was thisrush. And this light. I don’t—I can’t describe it or even understand it. But we were right, weren’t we?”
“Ríoghain’s Jewel,” she whispered, nodding.
His eyes lit up. “Something like this could help if this war continues.”
“Something like this could change the course of history,” she said.
