***
RONAN HAD HIS BAGS PACKED AND HORSE READY BEFOREthe sun broke the horizon, despite the all-too-familiar ache in his joints and the stiffness in his muscles.
Preparing for a quest was a routine he knew all too well. Before he had taken his position as captain of Domhnall’s guard, he had volunteered for any opportunity to fight that came his way. No matter where he was stationed, what he was doing, Ronan always sought more. To see more, do more,bemore.
A part of it, he knew, was needed to work his way to Caisleán Cósta and Kordislaen, but there was another part, hidden deep within him, that was motivated by a kind of spite. A spite against himself, against his own body, which dared to betray him and cause him such pain. If his body told him he couldn’t—shouldn’t—do something, he would find a way to do it. It might not have been the way originally planned, but he wouldn’t let his pain stop him. There would be no barriers for him. Not even ones of his own making.
Domhnall had once urged him to see a palace healer, a request which Ronan obliged, but nothing came from it. He had no broken bones, no poorly healed injuries, nothing she couldseewrong. But the pain persisted. So he did as well.
The rest of the group arrived at the stables at the first light of dawn, with Clíodhna being the last to appear.
“Does this count as fashionably late or rude?” Ronan smirked as the princess passed him.
She began tacking up the horse beside him, her face the mask of pleasantness she often wore. “‘Dawn’ isn’t a very precise meeting time. It could mean before daybreak, first light, or just as the sun is finished rising. The sky is still pink, so technically, I’m on time.”
“I’m not judging.” Ronan raised his palms in surrender, only lowering them when he noticed something missing. “No tiny beast today?”
“Murphyis staying back. The Ghostwood is no place for a growing dobhar-chú. Besides, I don’t take himeverywherewith me. He doesn’t come to training.”
He raised a brow. “You’re leaving your man-eating dobhar-chú alone for multiple days?”
There was a thump as Clíodhna lifted her saddle onto the horse. “It’s important he learns independence as a pup. I showed him the lake on the grounds, and he’s been spending a lot of his time there.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a sharp clap: Ó Dálaigh calling everyone to attention. “Have you created a plan?” the commander asked.
Ronan was the first to respond. “It should only take two days of riding to reach the Ghostwood. There are a few good entry points that should be safe, but which one we pick would depend on what we’re hunting.” He looked to the commander.
“You’re being sent after an onchú,” Ó Dálaigh said. “In the past week, four men have died in Whitspell and villagers have claimed to see one prowling the forest’s edge.”
Ronan had heard stories of the onchú. Noble beasts, as tall as a man and with claws as sharp as the daltas’ blades.
Clíodhna looked puzzled. “That can’t be right. I haven’t heard of an onchú hurting a human since I was a child.”
“This one has, and you are to dispose of it,” Ó Dálaigh said. “Kordislaen has ordered its head brought back as proof of the completed quest.”
Ronan knew Clíodhna was correct in one regard: the last known onchú attack had been a decade ago, when one had left the forest and gone roaming, killing nine people. The first two were a Liricran couple from a small village. A group of warriors was sent to remove it. Onchús normally preferred to avoid interaction with humans altogether, especially large groups, so everyone was surprised when it killed seven of the warriors before the rest managed to slay it.
“Whitspell is closest to the southern entrance,” Ronan said. “I know a road that should take us most of the way. I suggest we travel in pairs; Niamh and Domhnall take the front, Clíodhna and Ó Dálaigh in the middle, and Kían and I will take the rear. If there are no complaints, we should be on our way.”
Everyone nodded their agreement and mounted their horses.
***
THEY TRAVELED UNTIL THE SUN WAS AT ITS PEAK, ITS HEATradiating through their armor and into their bones. Domhnall and Niamh led the group together well, and Kían’s light demeanor had shifted into a keen focus. Oddly, it was Ó Dálaigh who seemed to be looking for anywhere else to go. Ronan could hear the princess asking him questions, talking nonstop.
“The sky at this hour of morning is definitely the best shade of blue. Speaking of, do you always wear blue?” he heard her ask.
“Not always,” Ó Dálaigh mumbled.
“Well, you should. It’s a great color for you. Although that fabric—”
He almost wanted to laugh, glimpsing the hunted expression on the commander’s face as he looked back. Ronan needed to put him out of his misery.
“Why don’t we switch positions for a spell,” he suggested, riding over. Ó Dálaigh nodded quickly, relief evident, before falling back.
“That didn’t take long at all,” Clíodhna said.
“What didn’t take long?”
