***
RONAN TRIED TO DISTRACT HIMSELF, TAKING COMFORT INthe sounds of clashing metal. It was a melody he had known his whole life. It was the closest thing he knew to home.
Soon, maybe he would feel that way about Caisleán.
For years, he had been constantly working toward bigger things. But he’d made it to his goal. He’d been allowed to stay.Kordislaenlet him stay.
Ronan should be thinking about that, not last night. Still, even when he could focus on his accomplishment, it wasn’t the escape he hoped it would be. He never had thought beyond what he would do after meeting Kordislaen again. It had been a distant dream, but now that it had happened, he wasn’t sure what to make of himself. He had pushed himself, fought, and bled for this. And now it was done. What was left?
All he knew was how to keep going. Keep working, training, trying.
So he fell into the familiar rhythm.
He kept going.
“I feel unloved—you’ve barely even spoken to me,” Kían said, grabbing their sword from where it had fallen when Ronan disarmed them.
Ronan adjusted his grip, readying himself for another round. “We’re here to train, not talk.”
“You seem to talk an awful lot to Clía when you two train together.” Ronan knocked them back a little harder than necessary, and they grinned. “Someone’s in a mood today. Does it have anything to do with why Clía invited me to train with you this morning? I must say, the request surprised me.”
With a quick flick of Ronan’s wrist, Kían’s sword flew behind them. Kían rolled their eyes, running back to grab it. They might have been surprised by Clía’s decision, but Ronan wasn’t. She had been avoiding him since last night.
Her silence knocked him off-balance. He found himself waiting to hear her laugh, looking for her encouraging smile. He didn’t know how, but he had come to rely on it. On her.
He couldn’t say that to Kían.
“No one is ‘in a mood,’” Ronan said when Kían returned, keeping his tone neutral. “And it’s good to change opponents. See how other people fight.”
They raised a suspicious brow. “If you say so. Well, unfortunately for you, you will have to make do without my presence soon. I trust you’ll take care of MacCraith in my absence. I’m afraid my dear friend will be so bored without me.”
Ronan looked toward where MacCraith was gathering his gear after finishing his training with Clía. A shred of guilt always appeared when he saw him, for reporting him to Kordislaen.
“You leave soon?” Ronan asked.
“Two days’ time. But don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it. I can’t have everyone missing me.” They winked.
Laughter came from the other side of the arena, drawing Kían’s attention. The corners of their mouth, previously pulled into a mocking smile, softened into something more tentative.More true. Ronan followed their gaze to where Sárait and Clía sat on the stands, smiling and talking.
The early morning lit Clía’s hair gold. It flowed down her back, burning against the pink of her blouse. As soft and vibrant as the petals of the firecress.
She turned, catching his stare. He knew he should look away. But he couldn’t.
The sound of Kían’s sword sliding into its sheath drew him back to himself.
“I must be off. Niall, are you coming with me?” they called, eyes sneaking one last glance in the direction of Sárait and Clía.
MacCraith nodded, falling in step beside them.
Ronan stood there for a moment. He always walked back with Clía—but she was enjoying her time with Sárait. He didn’t want to interrupt that.
He made his way out of the arena alone.
Until a voice called out from the entrance.
“Ronan!” Domhnall chased after him.
“Domhnall.” Ronan kept walking.
