“Dalta?” The guard looked down at her as Clía nodded. “Dalta dormitories are in the east wing. Head right, and after the second turn, it will be on your left. You’ll find Draoi Griffin waiting.”
She thanked her before following the path, head held high and shoulders tall.
After the final turn, she found herself in a library. Lanterns lit up the stone walls, and natural light flooded into the center of the room through two large glass windows. The ceiling was almost as high as the great hall and was met by bookshelves on all three walls, with polished rolling ladders allowing access to the dusty tomes. Directly ahead of her, a roaring fireplace crackled between the windows, the fire lit despite summer clinging to the air. In front of it was a small seating area on overlapping faded carpets.
A man stood in the center of the room. His gold tunic glowedagainst his brown skin, declaring him a Draoi of high rank. The tunic overwhelmed his narrow figure as he leaned over a book, forehead wrinkled in concentration.
“Draoi Griffin?” she asked, stepping softly into the room.
He looked up, blinking as his eyes fell on Murphy. The dobhar-chú stood at her feet, nose in the air. The Draoi sighed. “Princess Clíodhna, I presume. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She stayed in the entryway, unsure what to do. If this were the palace, he would be scrambling to welcome her. There would be pleasantries exchanged, conversation would flow, and perhaps she would gain information about what was to come. But she wasn’t home anymore, and he just stared at her. Waiting.
Rolling her shoulders back, she tried to channel her mother’s easily summoned grace. “I was told to come here to find my rooms.”
“Of course. Follow me.” He beckoned her to follow and led her to a door beside one of the towering shelves. Behind it was a narrow and winding hallway of cold stone.
The door slammed shut after them with a bang.
The midsummer humidity trapped between the worn walls of the castle clung to her skin and her lungs. As they traveled deeper, Clía couldn’t help but wonder what these halls had seen.
No one knew for sure how old the castle was. It had been a fixture in Inismian’s history, a sacred Draoi institute of ritual and knowledge-keeping, open for others to learn. Many believed it was created before the five kingdoms were ever formed. The castle itself was a feat of architecture, with seven watchtowers, and a gate that had managed to protect the Draoi in the keep for centuries.
Draoi Griffin stopped before a wooden door, opening it to reveal a room that could be no larger than her dressing room at the palace. In the corner was a small bed with a frail wooden frame, bare mattress, and thin wool sheets folded in an even pile. There was no window and no washroom. A small chest stood across from the bed as the only decoration.
A small chest that would have to hold all her clothing.
“This is it?” she said, before she could stop herself.
“This is the customary warrior housing. The other daltas share the hall with you. I’d suggest unpacking your belongings now; at noon, I’ll be giving a brief tour of Caisleán Cósta, which will be followed by lunch. Attendance is expected.”
She turned and reconstructed her expression into a smile. “Thank you for showing me the way. Someone will be coming with my trunks soon; I would be grateful if you could point them in my direction.”
Griffin’s mouth tightened as he nodded. “Of course. I’ll be sure to let them know where you are. If you have any questions, I’ll be in the library where you found me.”
And with that, he left her in the glorified dungeon cell.
***
TRANSFORMING HER ROOM INTO SOMETHING TOLERABLEwould take more time than Clía had. She had barely begun unpacking before she remembered Griffin’s tour.
Leaving Murphy where he slept on her bed, she rushed out of her room and walked hastily toward the end of the hallway—a lady never runs, especially not Clía.
In the library, she was greeted by a crowd of faces, whichcaught her off guard. She flinched slightly as the door crashed shut behind her, but she met the curious gazes that turned her way, keeping her head high as she joined the others.
Her quick glance around the library didn’t mark Domhnall among the gathered.
Griffin stood beside the fireplace, and he sent her a sharp look before addressing the group. “Now that everyone’s here, we can begin. This library is your common area, set aside for dalta use. During your time here, you will have physical training sessions, but you will also be attending lectures. Both are crucial to surviving as a warrior, so be sure to use all the resources you have available to succeed.”
He then led them through the castle, explaining each room as he went. Clía paid close attention, memorizing everything he said. The castle’s age and history revealed itself at every turn. Paths were worn into stone, carpets bleached by time and sun, vines wove into the grooves in the walls. The smell of the books the Draoi carried, an earthy blend of old leather and dusty pages, followed them throughout the keep.
Making their way out of the castle and onto the northern grounds, they passed a rolling green field and several flowering gardens before eventually stopping beside what Griffin called the training grounds. To Clía’s right was an armory that held more weapons than she had ever seen before. In front of her, waist-high gray stone walls surrounded an outdoor arena, with pale dirt covering the ground and stands for viewing on all four sides. At the center of the arena, a man stood waiting for their arrival.
Even from a distance, an aura of severity radiated from him. His bloodred doublet paired nicely with the intricately wovenmetal of the dark dagger strapped to his hip. His straight black hair was cropped close to the head, the color a stark contrast to the pallor of his white skin. Wrinkles blurred into scars on his face, trophies from battles won.
His voice held the steel of a sharp blade. “Welcome. I am General Kordislaen.” A murmur passed through the crowd. Words of shock, excitement. Fear.
Her parents’ reminder came back to her once more. Kordislaen’s reputation was known throughout Inismian. The battles he’d fought and the lives he’d saved. He was fearless. He was ruthless. It was said that over two decades ago, he chased the Ionróirans out of Scáilca, stopping their raids for nearly ten years. Now Kordislaen ran Caisleán Cósta with an iron hand. His charge over the academy in the past decade had only helped his legend grow.
