“If they’re this close, we can capture some of their men and get information out of them,” Ronan suggested.
Cahan spoke for the first time, his voice deep and final. “We’ve had warriors searching, but the spies have evaded detection. If we send anyone else in, we risk tipping them off.”
“The longer they stay unchecked in the villages, the more supplies they can obtain to potentially gain an advantage in any future battle,” Ronan argued.
Kordislaen stood, and everyone’s attention fell on him. “In order for there to be a battle with Tinelann, they would need to have enough people in Scáilca to put up a respectable fight. With how few we believe to have rooted themselves in the kingdom,we don’t need to worry yet. They wouldn’t be able to take over any place to use as a base, no matter what supplies they manage to haul across mountains. The Ionróirans must remain our priority.”
“That doesn’t mean Tinelann isn’t a threat,” Ronan said, not letting himself falter. “There’s a good chance they’re receiving aid from the Ionróirans.”
“This is why I have our men focused on them. If they don’t make it far inland, they can’t help Tinelann. In the spring, we can return our focus to the mountains. Right now, the weather is too cruel and unforgiving. It limits travel and our ability to send backup.” Kordislaen moved his attention away from Ronan and back to the older warrior. “Go on.”
“That was all we had, sir.”
“Had you seen any Tinelann spies yourself, or only their tracks?”
“Only tracks. They were well gone by the time we arrived, but clearly they’d been camping there for at least a week. Unfortunately, they left no signs of where they were heading,” Cahan answered.
“They’re always one step ahead of us,” muttered Luain, their frustration palpable.
“Hopefully the new blood will keep that from happening again, Luain.” Kordislaen’s voice was sharp as a dagger.
“Yes, sir,” they responded.
“If you have nothing else to add, then I expect it’s time to begin dividing next week’s patrol shifts.”
With their orders set, all the warriors began to make their exit.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fionnáin, a word.”
Kordislaen’s voice broke through Clía’s thoughts about that night’s patrol. She halted on her way to the door as the others filed out. Ronan sent her a confused look, but she waved him off and faced the general.
“Sir?” she asked pleasantly.
“Your growth over the course of the academic year has been something to note. It is because of said growth, in addition to your discoveries during your quest, that I thought you would be fit to remain here. However, I said this to Lochlainn and I’ll say it to you: despite your title, you are expected to have loyalty to Caisleán, and me, above all else. What is said in these rooms is not to leave it, not in letters, not even under extreme duress. Even if your own court demands the answers. Do you understand, soldier?”
She nodded. A lie.
“Good. I am not afraid to remove any threats to security I may discover. You will not be one of those threats, will you?”
His patronizing tone grated, but she remained passive. “No, sir.”
“You’re dismissed,” he stated, and she didn’t waste any time in leaving the room.
***
THE FABRIC ROOM WAS A WONDERLAND UPON FIRST GLANCE, but spending hours working with Sárait on their project had morphed it into an unrecognizable disaster of scattered cloth. Murphy entertained himself beside Clía, batting his paws at some dangling ribbon.
“I think this shape will look the most flattering,” Sárait commented, pointing at the slope of the collar line Clía was playing with.
“It’d be too stiff against my neck. I would have less range of motion.”
“But it’d look stunning while also protecting your neck.” Her points were compelling, but Clía held firm.
“We should stick with our original design. It requires less material.”
Sárait sighed but didn’t fight her. Clía took it as an opportunity to change the subject. “Kordislaen pulled me aside after my meeting this morning.”
