Clía had to keep herself from mouthing the words in unison. She had heard her mother repeat the plan for tomorrow more than a dozen times in the past week.
When Clía didn’t speak, Queen Eithne continued. “Remember, Álainndore needs this alliance.Weneed this alliance. The Draoi already doubt our leadership, and our devotion to Inismian and the gods.”
The Draoi were the druidic order that maintained the balance of Inismian, channeling energy from the land of the gods, Tír Síoraí, into the kingdoms. They held no allegiance to any one of the five kingdoms that made up Inismian, welcoming anyone who swore loyalty to the land and the gods. Their connection to the Druidry at the heart of the land helped the kingdoms prosper.
To lose their support could be ruinous.
As if hearing her thoughts, her mother muttered, “Tinelann has fallen out of favor, and look what’s happened to them.” The kingdom of Tinelann shared Álainndore’s northern border, the two separated by the vast chain of the Diamhair Mountains. No one knew the reason, but something had caused the Draoi to channel less energy into Tinelann over the past year, and the kingdom was suffering for it. Harvests were failing, and the seas grew restless. “Marrying Prince Domhnall is the symbolic gesture we need. Him, the heir of Ríoghain’s kingdom, and you, the heir of Tara’s—tying the kingdoms together as the two divine lovers once did. It’s poetic, a story for the ages. And it will be the perfect show of dedication to keep us from sharing Tinelann’s fate.”
The more her mother spoke, the more Clía’s fears seemed to grow. The glow of delight in perfecting her dress faded and thoughts that had been lurking in the back of her mind swirled forward, reminding her of all the ways that she could disappoint her parents and her kingdom.
When Queen Eithne turned to her, she held her daughter’s gaze firmly. “Tomorrow will go wonderfully. It must.”
Clía wasn’t sure if the statement was supposed to be reassuring, but she knew she couldn’t show her fears. With a quiet breath, she molded her face into a smile. “Of course. I’ll make sure of it.”
***
CLÍA LEFT THE THRONE ROOM THE FIRST CHANCE SHEcould. The hallways of the palace were full of movement and sound. Painters, maids, and gardeners bustled about in frenzied excitement, dusting tapestries, trimming foliage, and makingsure everything was in place for the next day. The chatter of layered conversations filled the space, and the smell of freshly baked bread and spiced meat wafted from the kitchens as the chefs prepared for tomorrow’s celebration.
Everyone was eager for the Scáilcan prince’s visit.
Clía wove through the chaotic main hall, turning the corner into a quieter corridor, when she heard a conversation that caught her attention.
“Yes, all of the supplies were stolen. And there are rumors that Tinelann might be involved.” A warrior stood a few feet away, arms behind her back as she spoke to Chief Ó Connor. Clía paused, tucking herself into an alcove to avoid being seen. “I was supposed to report this to Chief Barra, but no one has seen him.”
“I’m sure he’s simply overwhelmed with the preparations for tomorrow—a royal visit requires tight security. However, I’ll discuss this with Barra next time I see him. Thank you for your report.” Ó Connor smiled at the young warrior, but Clía could hear the dismissal in his tone. The woman must have as well, leaving with a stiff nod.
Clía moved out from her hiding place to stand beside Ó Connor. “You ended that conversation rather quickly.”
“You need to stop your habit of eavesdropping on conversations that aren’t meant for you.”
“Then what conversationscanI eavesdrop on?” she said, a smile sneaking past her lips.
Ó Connor sighed, but there was affection behind it. “I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes. I should leave you for the sídhe.”
He had made that threat ever since she was a child, but the Otherworld creatures that roamed the woods didn’t scare her anymore.
“You put up with me because you have no choice.” Her smile widened. Even if he wasn’t her father’s best friend, she had no doubt that he would stay in her life. Ó Connor had practically raised her, with her parents being too focused on their duties. And their parties. “So, whose supplies were stolen?”
“It’s nothing you need to bother yourself with, my lady. Merely a report from one of the northern villages. Your parents are too busy to be bothered with such trivial matters, so I’m happy to lend a hand while Chief Barra is otherwise occupied.”
Clía knew, for the king and queen, “too busy” meant they would be simply uninterested. They were often “too busy” for any small, daily matters of the kingdom, and left such things for the chiefs—most frequently, Ó Connor—to handle.
Ó Connor had to know Clía would want more information; rumors were currency at court. Still, he changed the subject. “You know, your father still owes me five screppals after our fidchell game last week. I might as well take your money too, if you are in the mood for a game.”
He took her arm and led her farther away from the main hall, toward the eastern wing.
“Who said you would win?”
He laughed. “I guess we’ll have to see.”
The busy sounds of the palace began to fade, and Clía’s shoulders finally relaxed. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the furry tip of a tail. “Murphy?”
A small otter-like creature peeked around the corner. His nails tapped against the floor as he bounded toward her, tail twitching behind him. She knelt, and he jumped into her arms.
“I don’t know why you keep that thing,” Ó Connor muttered. “Four people were killed by dobhar-chús last month!”
She nuzzled her nose into the beast’s soft brown fur. Her heart warmed as his head pressed against hers. “Murphy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, the kitchen gives me enough meat to keep him more than happy.”
