Clía shook her head. “I won’t do that to another person—take their betrothed from them. That’s not right.”
“If this was a love marriage, then I would never condone such a thing, but something tells me that that isn’t the case. Marriage is as political as taxes. I’m not telling you to seduce the man into your bed and trick him. Just prove you’re the one for him, and it would be advantageous to have you by his side.”
Clía considered that for a second. When they met, she and Domhnall had been children, following what their parents told them to do. But eventually, a true friendship had formed—though perhaps not as deep a connection as Clía had thought. What if she could show him that he didn’t need to choose between his kingdom and her? That it would be better for both of them if they followed through with their original plan?
“You’re right,” Clía said. “I came here from Álainndore for a reason, and I won’t let this stop me.”
Sárait patted Clía’s face before stepping away. “That’s the right attitude. Now, in ten minutes, wash off that cream. The redness and swelling should be gone and your skin will be glowing. You’ll look stunning when you see your man again at your first lesson.”
Clía swallowed another groan at the mention of her training. Even with flawless skin, the idea of entering that arena again made her heart lurch with dread.
Chapter Nine
If you die during your quest, we will not bother to retrieve your body. It would be an inconvenience I don’t have time for. So I suggest instead that you stay alive.” They had been training for a little over a week. Kordislaen had deemed it long enough for them to be tested once more. “I will split you into groups, and each group will be assigned one of my warriors to help lead. You’ll be conducting this mission entirely on your own; they will only be supervising. However, I expect you to respect them as you respect me. If they give an order, you follow it.
“Each group will be given a beast they must slay; how you kill them will be up to you. Return the day before Taranasadh. Arrive any later, and it will only be to pack your trunks. Each of you will find your beast in the Ghostwood.”
Silence fell upon the gathered daltas.
The Ghostwood bordered the Scáilcan side of the Diamhair Mountains. A forest built by monster and myth, no human dared enter it alone. It was said that when the Treibh Anam left Inismian, their travels weakened the veil between worlds, leaving a crack that allowed the Ghostwood to grow in their wake, and the creatures of the Otherworld to crawl into their land. Bean sídhes, kelpies, fear gortas—the beings crept through Inismian, but most made a home in the forest.
And now they each had to slay one. In five days.
Kordislaen didn’t wait for questions, calling each dalta’s name one by one for their troop assignment.
“Ronan Ó Faoláin, to Commander Ó Dálaigh.”
Ronan’s knees protested as he rose and walked to the commander. Ó Dálaigh stood tall in his armor, hair graying at the temples and fingers hovering over the hilt of his sword. From their brief time at Caisleán, Ronan had learned that Ó Dálaigh was third in command of the keep, behind Kordislaen and Head Commander Brecc, whom he had yet to meet.
A hand fell onto Ronan’s shoulder. He turned around to be greeted by another one of the warriors in his group. “Captain Ó Faoláin? A pleasure to meet you. I’m Kían Horgan.”
Kían’s armor shone in the sunlight as they shook hands, the silver bright against their dark skin. Ronan recalled where he’d heard the name. Domhnall had spoken of them before. “Lísoir Kían, Caisleán Cósta is rather far from Oileánster.”
“Ah, you’ve heard of me.” The noble’s smile was full of charm, but Ronan knew enough from Domhnall’s recounting of court gossip to be wary of it. “Tell me, what have you been told? If it was from Lady Léara, I swear all she speaks are lies, and in fact it washerwho broke that statue. And is anythingreallypriceless? However, if you’re referring to the tale of me single-handedly slaying an oilliphéist with no weapons and saving an entire village—that is all truth.”
“Er. Your reputation is well known,” Ronan said, sidestepping the question.
“As it should be,” Kían said, then got distracted by the other daltas walking their way—Domhnall and Niamh. “New friends! Welcome to our little band of heroes.”
Kían swept the two of them into conversation, as the final member of their group slowly came to stand by them. Princess Clíodhna.
Her fingers fluttered along the hem of her shirt. Ronan hadn’t spoken with her since her discussion with Domhnall after that first dinner, if one could even count that. For the past week, she’d kept to herself, coming to training and leaving without a word. Occasionally, he had seen her with the castle tailor in the dalta library.
His mind kept going back to their conversation after he patched her wounds and they shared their research.
He opened his mouth to greet her, but Kordislaen chose that moment to dismiss them, and she immediately turned and hurried away. As he watched her go, the general called him aside.
“You’re doing well.” Pride filled every inch of Ronan’s body at Kordislaen’s words. “Because of that, I’m trusting you with precious cargo. I’m sure you noticed that your group includes the two daltas with the highest titles. If something happens to one of them, it would mean a lot of paperwork for me, not to mention the potential problems it could cause for their kingdoms. I put you in their group to keep a close eye on them. Don’t let them die.”
Ronan didn’t need to be told that, but he nodded all the same. “I’ll keep them safe.”
Kordislaen looked pleased. “The girl, Clíodhna, she isn’t of much use with a sword. It would be nice if she could learn faster, wouldn’t it?”
There was a request in the statement.
Spending more time with Domhnall’s former almost-betrothed wasn’t part of Ronan’s plan to succeed here. ButKordislaen had given him so much. If helping the princess be less hopeless with a blade would aid the school’s reputation, it was the least he could do.
And maybe it would quiet his curiosity about her.
