Clía busied herself with setting up for the night. She wanted to enjoy every moment of rest she had. However, it felt like the moment her head finally fell against the stiff bedroll, she was shaken awake by a warm hand on her arm.
“It’s time for your watch.” Her bleary eyes could just make out Ronan’s form leaning over her.
His long hair, tousled by the wind, had fallen in front of his eyes.
She sighed, her hand reaching for her sword as she stood. “I need you to know that I’m holding back quite a few complaints.”
“You and me both,” Kían whispered from behind her, startling her. “Everyone knows the middle watch is the worst.”
Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Next time, you can come up with the order.”
“Gladly,” Kían replied.
Ronan didn’t argue further, and instead climbed into his bedroll. “Wake me if there’s any trouble,” he said, before turning to sleep and leaving her alone with Kían.
Kían looked to her. “So, you and the gods-blessed one are friends?”
“‘Gods-blessed’?” she whispered back, careful not to disturb their resting companions.
“Have you seen him fight? People say that Ríoghain themself blessed him when he was a child.”
Ronan didn’t exactly seem very gods-blessed when he was waking her up early in the morning, sleep still in his eyes. Sure, he was a good fighter, but Clía was more likely to attribute that to his training regimen than any deity.
“He’s definitely... skilled,” she said carefully, not wanting to insult Kían in case they truly believed what they were saying.
Kían raised a brow. “Oh, is he now? And whatskillsexactly are we talking about?”
Clía was proud that she managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Rather than dignifying them with a response, she began making her way to the edge of their little camp.
“I wonder what the prince thinks of your sudden closeness with the captain. Quite an interesting arrangement you havehere.” Kían walked backward in front of her, blocking out the forest that surrounded them in exchange for keeping her in view.
She rewarded them with a look as sharp as her blade. “What are you talking about?”
They leaned back against a moss-covered tree with a subtle smile. “I’m getting ahead of things. Tell me, have you won your prince’s heart back?” She stiffened, and they must have noticed, because they were quick to clarify. “I won’t criticize you for your goals. I can’t begin to tell you the things I’ve done for love; it has put me in more than my fair share of questionable predicaments. There was once this girl... Well, perhaps I ought not to sharethosedetails.”
They smiled over the memory. “I guess”—they leaned forward, looking directly at her—“what I want to ask is if you think all of this is worth it. Caisleán. The ominous forests.”
“Of course it is.” Clía’s reply was quick.
“All right. As long as you believe that.”
The moonlight caught in Kían’s curly hair, forming a halo above the warrior. The scratches in their armor were barely visible in the night, but she could still make out a few. Trophies from battles won. Clía had traveled to Oileánster only a couple of times in her life; the southernmost kingdom of Inismian, they honored Orlaith, Stormweaver, god of the sea, with their skilled sailors and myriad port cities. A warrior’s life wasn’t a common one there. Which begged the question, why would an Oileánstran lísoir willingly follow Ríoghain’s path?
She didn’t ask, instead saying, “If you know so much, what are your thoughts on the prince?”
“Not my type, I’m afraid.”
“Of course, because that’s what matters most in a future ruler. Whether or not you find them attractive.”
“Exactly.” Kían grinned. “I’m glad you understand.”
The rest of their watch was quiet. And when it was over, Clía was asleep almost before her head hit the bedroll.
***
THE NEXT DAY, THEY TRAVELED UNTIL THE FOREST BROKEaway from them, revealing an expansive lake. Mist rolled off it in waves, but the dark waters remained still. The lake was framed by trees and stone, a cliff face lurking above it like the maw of a beast.
“The onchú might be living there,” Kían said, pointing to the cliff. A small cave entrance could barely be seen behind a thick growth of vines.
