“Thank you, Draoi Griffin, for bringing them to me.” His words were a dismissal, an order that Griffin followed without hesitation. “I hope you’re all rested from your travels, for we begin learning now. For those unaware, I am a curadh, as you aspire to be. More importantly, I am Chief of Caisleán Cósta, General and Sword of Scáilca, second only to Chief Lyons and King Cathal himself. I’ll be directing your training. You will be expected to excel under my tutelage—Caisleán has a reputation to uphold.
“No matter your background, youwillprove you deserve your place. Several of you have already made names for yourselves, due to your bravery, strength, and intelligence.” After each word, he paused, making eye contact with the new daltas. “Out of all of Inismian’s warriors and nobles, only you standbefore me. You must not forget the privilege it is to learn here. If I sense you’re forgetting, you can expect to be sent home. I won’t have someone unworthy carry the title of curadh and wear our blade.” He patted his chest, where a cloak pin sat against his breast. A halo of silver knots around a small dagger. The insignia of Caisleán Cósta.
Clía had seen only two of those pins in her entire life. One, on an officer back in Álainndore; she had never seen the woman without it. The other was Ó Connor’s, kept safely in his library. He didn’t wear it often, despite it being the highest honor a warrior in Inismian could receive.
The number of those deemed worthy enough to bear the pin had dropped even further since Kordislaen took over the school a decade ago. Three years ago, not a single student met his expectations, and he decided no one would receive the title that year. It was why curadhs were so highly regarded—only those who were gods-blessed would complete their year.
“I will keep only the best. I don’t care what title you hold or what family you hail from; I only give my time to the strongest and most disciplined warriors in Inismian. This honor comes with opportunities you could only dream of and respect unachievable by any other means. I’ll be monitoring your growth and your natural talent throughout the year to make sure you remain worthy. Donotdisappoint me.
“Now, before we can begin with teaching you the art of battle, we must see where you are starting. Our year shall begin with a trial.”
Clía’s chest tightened.A trial on the first day?
“Go to the armory and choose one weapon. I recommend choosing something you are confident with. Return in five minutes with your choice.”
***
THE ARMORY WAS A DISASTER BY THE TIMECLÍA WAS ABLEto make her way through the mob. Panicked, she reached for the nearest available sword; the steel weighed her arms down as she tried to lift it. But it would have to do. General Kordislaen was waiting.
Once they returned, Kordislaen divided them into pairs. She was matched with a tall, muscular girl who could probably break Clía with a flick of her fingers. She was beautiful, with tan skin and a striking mane of dark curly hair that burned red in the sunlight. There was a confidence and undeniable grace in the way she walked, as if the ground bent to her will to move her forward.
“I’m Princess Clíodhna Fionnáin,” Clía said warmly, slipping on the mask, smiling at her new partner. Showing she was intimidated would do her no favors. Her energy was better spent befriending the girl; Clía would need an ally here.
When the girl heard Clía’s name, her eyes narrowed. She looked her up and down before glancing away with a dismissive flick of her hair. “Niamh Morrigan.”
General Kordislaen’s voice boomed over them, ending any other attempt at conversation. “Go to the stands.” They obeyed without question. Clía sat in the front row, which offered the perfect view of the arena. She couldn’t afford to miss anything.
“Wonderful.” The general crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Who would like to volunteer to go first?”
Niamh raised her hand at once. “I will.” Her voice chimed loudly against the wind.
His eyebrows rose, and Clía would almost think he was impressed, except she doubted the man had ever felt a positive emotion. “Perfect. Morrigan, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Niamh said.
“Your father was a curadh.”
Her face hardened at the mention of her father. “He was, sir.”
“Lord Declan Morrigan was a great warrior. Let’s see if you’re anything like him. Come.” Niamh rose and walked to where he gestured for her to stand. “Who is your partner?”
Niamh pointed to Clía, who hesitantly lifted her hand in the air. “I am.”
Kordislaen beckoned.
Her heart pounded as she stood, but she tried not to show it. The tip of her sword drew a line in the dirt, dragging behind her as she walked to where they waited. When she was standing next to Niamh, Kordislaen took her in. “Ah, Fionnáin.”
“Princess Fionnáin,” she stated. The correction was automatic; she may not have understood etiquette when she was younger, but her parents insisted she never forget this rule. A royal must be addressed with their title.
Kordislaen cut her down with a single look. “Not here, you’re not. If you wish to have a rank, you must earn it.” Clía’s chest tightened. Kordislaen had disregarded the rules of court without hesitation. It seemed Caisleán Cósta was a law unto itself.
The general addressed the rest of the class. “Your trial todaywill begin with a duel. Your opponent was randomly selected, as it shall be on the battlefield. Morrigan, Fionnáin, on my mark.”
Her heart stopped in her chest. “Wait—what? So soon? And againsther?” She tried not to think of the muscles she had been admiring a few moments before. “Don’t you think we should maybe get to know each other first?”
“There is no time for courtly pleasantries when a blade is coming for your neck. Kindness will offer you no protection.” Kordislaen took his seat in the stands. “The duel ends after first blood is drawn. I do not want any... unnecessary injuries. However, do what you must.”
Clía’s eyes widened in panic. She looked to the stands to see if anyone would see reason and stop this. Her gaze snagged on a light-haired boy. Domhnall was here! He was in the stands. He could help her. She caught the alarm and confusion in his eyes as they met hers, but he covered it quickly, turning away.
