“Getting you over here. I truly thought Commander Ó Dálaigh would last much longer than that. I overestimated him.”
Ronan looked at her, curious. He hadn’t realized she’d been intentionally baiting the commander. But even more than that... “Why did you wantmehere?”
“For your company, of course.” She said it like it was obvious, but for Ronan it was the most surprising answer she could give. Who would have thought that a boy from Calafort would have earned the favor oftworoyals? His father would be proud. Maybe.
Thinking of his father sent a wave of melancholy over him. When Ronan last saw him, he was in his garden, hands stained with dirt as he pulled Ronan into a hug. He didn’t wish Ronan luck on his journey back, but he didn’t ask him not to go. It was resignation, the closest thing Ronan had glimpsed to acceptance in years.
That was weeks ago, before Ronan had become captain ofthe prince’s guard. He’d waited to tell his father the news, only writing to him after that first day at Caisleán, as he promised Domhnall. All he could hope was that the news would be well received. Maybe one day his father might forgive him for choosing duty over family.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I suppose you might not have wantedmycompany,” Clíodhna said, filling the silence that Ronan had left. “You may rotate us again; I promise I won’t pester anyone else.”
“No, I’m sorry, Princess. I got lost in thoughts of home.”
“Where is home to you?” she ventured.
“Calafort. It’s a small village in Scáilca. I’m afraid it wouldn’t compare to your home in Álainndore.”
She faced the hills ahead. “The palace exists for my parents and for the people, not me. Almost everything within it was chosen by my mother and the court; I have little say beyond my rooms.” Her tone wasn’t whiny or ungrateful, but matter-of-fact. “I’m never alone there. I love company, but it would be nice sometimes to have a say overwhenI’m hosting said company.” She stopped herself, as if realizing she was saying too much. “All that is to say, I imagine your home is lovely.”
He followed the change in subject. “It’s quaint, but it’s special. My father’s income is modest, but combined with mine, it pays for food and a roof over his head. And it lets him grow his garden to his heart’s content.”
“Your father—is he a farmer?”
“Yes, but his true passion is his flowers. Sadly, flowers are something of a frivolity most people in our village can’t afford. So he makes his living selling some of the herbs and vegetableshe grows. I’m trying to convince him to learn the medicinal properties of a few plants, maybe look into apprenticing at an apothecary, but he refuses. He would have to leave the village to do that, and he—” Ronan broke off. “It’s not an option.”
“And your mother? Does she help with the farm?”
“My mother was a warrior, but she has passed over to Tír Síoraí.” He said it as though there wasn’t a hole in his chest that tore itself open every time he spoke of her.
“I’m sorry,” Clíodhna whispered, and this might have been the quietest he had ever heard her. For some reason, it made him feel even worse.
“Don’t be. It was years ago. What of your parents?” Ronan realized the stupidity of his question before he even finished speaking.
Thankfully, Clíodhna understood.
“My father is patient. He loves fidchell but can never win a game. My mother is... well, she’s my mother. She is perfect, and bold, and bright, and everything anyone can want to be.”
“That seems like a lot to live up to.”
“Nothing that one shouldn’t expect from a princess.”
Ronan knew better than to press her on the subject, despite an urge inside of him to ask more. “What about Chief Ó Connor? I’ve seen how he interacts with you and your parents. Are you close?”
“He’s practically my father’s brother. He helped raise me. And I can safely say that I beat him in fidchell half as often as he beats me.” She smiled again, a real smile. It was so radiant, and for a moment, he felt as if the air had left his lungs. He turned away, surprised by his reaction.
They fell silent for a time after that, but he could hear her every breath and each shift of her legs against the leather of her saddle. He expected the thud of the horses’ hooves would drown her out, but he was too focused on her, whether he meant to be or not.
Chapter Ten
Captain, how old are you?”
Ronan’s horse was a few steps behind Clíodhna’s, forcing her to look back to speak to him. Which probably gave her the opportunity to see the look of confusion crossing his face. At this point it was useless to try to understand her; it was best to just go along with whatever she brought up.
“Nineteen years.” Every so often, the groups rotated positions while riding. A few hours after their first conversation, Ronan found himself next to Clíodhna again and subject to her questions. While he might have enjoyed talking with her any other time, the farther they traveled from Caisleán Cósta, the more his attention needed to be focused on their surroundings. Distractions could be dangerous.
The road they were on was the easternmost path in Scáilca, weaving past villages and lakes. In the distance, the peaks of the Diamhair Mountains broke through the horizon. He thought of the attack on Domhnall’s convoy to Álainndore, and it put him on edge.
The Ionróirans aren’t the only thing to fear. There are many ways for one to die on a military mission.If he wanted to protect them all, he had to maintain his focus.
