For the first time in her life, when she thought of her future, there was no plan in place. No clear picture.
And for the first time in her life, she was okay with that.
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-Two
As the weather turned icier, the Ionróirans grew bolder.
“Another boat has been spotted from the Whispering Cliffs,” Kían whispered, taking a swig of ale from MacCraith’s mug. MacCraith, to his credit, didn’t comment—surely used to Kían’s antics by now. “I’m being sent out with a few other warriors to investigate.”
Clía sat across from them with Ronan, as they tried to enjoy Caisleán’s attempt at an Amhrána feast. She had always looked forward to the holiday. It was the shortest day of the year, but the beginning of light’s return to the world. In Álainndore, there would be a bountiful banquet, with bonfires and storytelling keeping them up as they awaited sunrise.
While Caisleán did hold a feast—if their dinner could be called such a thing—the castle had succumbed to a somber mood. Lukewarm barley tea was drunk instead of mulled wine, and whispered conversations took the place of music and dancing. The mess hall was nearly empty. Caisleán’s best warriors were spread throughout the kingdom to help with the Ionróiran invasions. Only a few were left behind with the Draoi to keep Caisleán functioning, waiting until the moment Kordislaen would deem them useful.
“Won’t it be dangerous?” she asked. Ionróiran ships could fit hundreds of invaders, all armed and prepared for battle.
“Isn’t that what we signed up for by being here?” MacCraith took his mug back from Kían before they could take another drink, sending the lísoir a pointed look when a complaint rose to their lips.
Clía was surprised to hear him speak up. Since the numbers in the castle had dwindled, the two of them had begun to join Clía and Ronan outside of their early mornings in the arena, but Niall MacCraith was usually quiet. The silence was never a timid one, instead it was the silence of a man who didn’t waste his words. Kían, however, made up for the man’s reserved nature and seemed to delight in filling any pause in conversation.
“Still, I would hope Kordislaen is at leastconsideringeveryone’s safety,” Clía replied.
Kían laughed, a bitter sound. “Kordislaen sent us out to the Ghostwood with only a week of training. Do you really think that man cares about what happens to usnow? If we die, he’ll say we knew the risks. The man thinks he’s untouchable, like he’s one of the Treibh Anam. Besides—it’s for thegreater good. Protecting the land and whatnot.”
“Itisfor the greater good,” Ronan said, sitting taller. “Kordislaen’s tough but not soulless. Each decision is calculated, and he wouldn’t be foolish enough to send Inismian nobility to their deaths.”
Kían fidgeted with their spoon, balancing it between their fingers. “Right now, Kordislaen is more worried about stopping the invasion than losing a few nobles. There have been four attacks in the last week alone. One village was nearly burned tothe ground. Soon, the seas will be too rough for their boats to handle, but until then”—the spoon fell from their hand with a clatter—“we’re left scrambling.”
Clía considered this. “The Ionróirans and Tinelann won’t want to pause their attacks because of unsafe waters—it would give Scáilca time to rebuild and prepare. If they truly intend on escalating, it’ll be before storm season.”
The realization settled over them, and suddenly the soup in Clía’s bowl held no appeal.
“Kordislaen knows this,” Ronan reassured them. “I’m sure he’s prepared for whatever their next move may be.”
He was right. Scáilca would be well prepared for their enemies’ next moves, and she had been passing her intel to Álainndore as well. They would be fine.
Ronan stood, offering a hand to Clía. “Let’s head back.”
She took Ronan’s hand, allowing him to pull her up. With a quick goodbye to Kían and MacCraith, they returned to the study.
As they walked through the halls, Clía could hear the echo of the Draoi’s softly uttered prayers. The smell of blessed mistletoe and holly filled the air, the familiarity almost comforting.
Ronan didn’t speak until they were before the crackling fire of the study. She idly wondered who kept it burning. Surely there was a Draoi ensuring it would not die until sunrise—they couldn’t afford the gods’ ire. When she was nine, she’d stayed by the fireplace the entire day in fear of a draft whisking away the holy flame and leaving her alone with the smoke.
Ronan followed her gaze to the burning log. “You miss home.”
She broke herself from the trance of flames and memory. “I won’t be subject to your boredom-induced projections.”
It was a poor attempt at dismissing his question, one he clearly saw through. His eyebrow quirked, and she ignored the warmth that spread through her. “As if you would ever give me the chance to relax enough to grow bored.” He paused for a moment, and she waited. There was no need for her to try to fill the silence around him. It was a rare feeling, that sense of ease with someone else. “You’ve been less focused while training. Quieter. While I thought I would appreciate the rarity of your silence, I miss you.”
She wanted to fight him on his comment about her silence, but she was stopped by the genuine concern in his eyes. His gaze bore into hers in a way that made her feel completely exposed.
A sigh rolled out from her chest, against her volition. “If I were home, I would be in an extravagant dining hall. I would have a grand entrance, captivating the entire room. My gown would be custom-made for the occasion and would steal everyone’s heart. There would be embroidery, maybe a dramatic sleeve—Ilovea dramatic sleeve. And the feast would be endless. We would eventually retire to my parents’ rooms, family only. Ó Connor would entertain us with stories and legends before the fire.” She stopped herself. There were worse things than being away from family. In the shadow of war, her concerns seemed trivial and childish.
Ronan wrapped his hand around hers, his thumb drawing patterns on her palm. In the wake of each swipe, a current seemed to rise under her skin. She felt the anxious part of her, the voice afraid of people overhearing her weakness and her sadness, fade away.
“You know it’s okay to miss Álainndore. To miss your family.”
