“How did they manage to rip you in so many places?” Clía whispered at the offending garment.
“You’d be surprised what a warrior can do,” Sárait scoffed. “Nothing is safe here. I’ll patch up a pair of pants only to find them torn again a day later.”
Clía completed the final stitches on the shirt. “They have no respect for a well-crafted tunic.”
“While I am tempted to agree with you, this time they had other things to worry about. Burke, the owner of the garment in question, had been sent out after Ionróirans were spotted on the Whispering Cliffs.” A shiver slid down Clía’s spine. The Whispering Cliffs bordered the lands of Caisleán Cósta, extending south down the coast. Ionróirans were bold to get so close to the keep. “His band of warriors came back a little worse for wear, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.”
“Did our soldiers find out what the Ionróirans were doing?”
Sárait shook her head. “They escaped too quickly.”
Clía turned to face her fully. “What doyouthink was the reason?”
“I’m here to sew clothes, not speculate.” She took the tunic from Clía’s grasp, examining her work before folding it carefully.
“You’re smart—anyone who can sew a smooth and even seam in the finest silk has my respect. Besides, being overlooked often allows you to be observant,” Clía said. “You get to see what everyone else misses.”
Sárait considered her, and for a brief second Clía worried she’d said too much. But then Sárait spoke. “The Ionróirans are working with Tinelann—that much is obvious. I’d bet they were mapping the landscape here, looking to find potential routes inland. Everything they saw will be reported back to Tinelann, so they can decide if Caisleán is a worthy target when they plan to move in on Scáilca.”
The connections were clear in Clía’s mind, as was the conclusion. “Caisleán is a castle, but it also functions as a keep.It contains a large amount of the Draoi’s knowledge of all five kingdoms of Inismian and the Treibh Anam. If taken over, it would be a perfect base of operations. And since we didn’t stop the Ionróirans from escaping with the information they gathered, Tinelann now knows that too.”
“But we know this,” Sárait reassured. “And more importantly,Kordislaenknows this. They won’t get the upper hand.”
Clía admired Sárait’s optimism, but dread had already taken root, seeping into her heart.
Maybe Tinelann wasn’t going after Álainndore next; maybe Caisleán Cósta was their target.
If Caisleán fell, Scáilca was in danger. And if they succeed—if Scáilca was taken—Álainndore wouldn’t stand a chance. None of the kingdoms would.
Chapter Fifteen
The letter felt heavy in Clía’s hand.
In it held everything she had learned in the Ghostwood and in Caisleán. Her every theory and fear. She could only hope they would heed her warnings.
Her parents never responded to the letter she sent on her first day. Initially, she thought there was a delay, or her mail had gotten lost. The arrival of Ó Connor’s reply proved her theories wrong. His response was thoughtful and kind; he acknowledged her concerns and asked to stay updated on any developments.
While hearing from him was a balm to her growing loneliness, she couldn’t help but feel an ache at the thought that her mother didn’t care enough to respond on her own.
“I suppose there’s no use in worrying over things that will never change,” she said to Murphy as he watched her carefully from his corner.
The scarlet wax she dripped over the envelope pooled like the blood she was so desperately avoiding. She sealed it and put it aside. Her parents may not read her letter, but Ó Connor would.Someonein her kingdom would know to prepare.
Murphy’s claws clicked against the stone as he trotted over to her, rubbing his cold nose against her shin in an attempt at affection.
“You’re right,” she said, scooping him into her arms as she narrowed her gaze on the collection of dresses that sat on the edge of her bed. “We mustn’t fret. There are other things to focus on.”
Celebrations, Clía understood. The arena she was entering was one she knew all too well.
Thumbing through the fabrics, she was grateful that she’d thought to pack some of her more elaborate dresses. In Álainndore, the clothing at banquets was an event to behold: gowns shimmered with crystals and fabrics were woven with gold and silver thread. Tonight, she could have that piece of home with her.
Her eyes landed on a dress the color of emeralds. The color of Álainndore.
She pulled it on, careful not to disturb her hair too much. She and Sárait had left her gently flowing curls down, with four loose braids that wove together before meeting at the back of her head. After lacing the dress, she examined her work. The skirt fell straight down from her hips in a modest slope before lightly caressing the floor. Elegant gold embroidery swirled down the curve of her back and flowed down the train of the gown.
Perfect.
When she made her way to the mess hall, everyone was already sitting down to enjoy the food. The rich smell of roasted meat and vegetables and freshly baked bread filled the air. Inside was decorated for the holy day. Maroon banners lined the walls and hung from the rafters, and the tables had been pushed into a wide circle, all facing an empty dance floor in the center. A group of musicians played softly, and directly across from the entrance, a large table for the guest of honor, Chief Lyons, was centered against the back wall.
