The general looked between Clía and Kían. “Be careful who you choose to make an enemy of,” he said, before turning away.
The healer combed through her pouch, then removed a vial of milky white liquid.
“Cneasú extract?” Kían asked.
The healer removed the cork stopper before lowering Sárait’s chin and pouring a few drops into her mouth. “We have a small amount saved for emergencies. It’s not as potent as the flower itself, but if dosed correctly, it can keep someone alive until a more permanent solution is found.”
“Thank you.” Clía’s shoulders slumped as the urgency and panic fled her body.
Sárait was stable. It was more than she could ask for. It was less than she had hoped.
***
THE DAILY TRAINING FOR A WARRIOR OFCAISLEÁN WAS NOTunlike Kordislaen’s dalta training sessions. There were basic exercises, laps, and stretches, and then warriors were left to spar for the remainder of their time.
The main difference between the two routines was Kordislaen’s absence. According to the other warriors, he made an appearance only if there was a specific drill he needed them to work on.
Clía had fought hard for this position. Yet, as she stood with the other warriors, while Sárait sat alone in the infirmary, being here felt wrong. She ran drills while wondering what motive anyone could have in getting rid of Caisleán’s tailor. Was it because she had come from the Álainndoran court? Was her closeness to Clía the reason she was in the infirmary now?
But then there was the conversation Clía had heard the night before, outside of the tunnel. Had that been about Sárait? If so, why?
It didn’t make sense. Nothing did.
She hadn’t even been able to get Ó Connor’s take on the situation. Since finding Sárait, she hadn’t seen him—kept busy with meetings and Kordislaen, no doubt.
Clía and Ronan paired up to spar, but she was off her game. He landed hits that she could have easily blocked. Every so often, he would shoot her a worried look, but she ignored them. Finally, after a particularly hard blow to her shoulder, he stoppedfighting back. She paused, and when he moved closer to her, anyone else would have seen a decent friend checking for injury. Clía, however, saw the concern in his eyes and felt the gentle way his hand lingered over her skin.
“Clíodhna, please talk to me,” he said, voice quiet in the crowded training arena. His breath was warm on her face in the chill winter air.
There were too many other warriors nearby. And what troubled her couldn’t be explained in front of an audience. “Not here. Not now.”
“Find me, then. When you’re ready.” He pulled back ever so slightly. “And until then, try to keep your attention on the fight in front of you. You won’t be able to help her if you get yourself hurt.”
He was right, and she hated it.
When she nodded, his shoulders relaxed, and they returned to their training. She did try to focus, but despite her efforts, her mind kept drifting back to the events of that morning. When they were cleared to leave, she nearly sprinted back to the castle to see Sárait.
The infirmary was cold and quiet. Clía found Sárait in bed, tucked into the back corner. She was nearly as still as a corpse, draped in her blankets, skin a sickly pale.
But she wasn’t alone. Kían sat on the bed beside her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. A pile of books on poisons and healing were forgotten on the bedside table.
“What happened to your mission?” Clía asked.
They looked up, eyes bleary. “I’m not sure I’m Kordislaen’s favorite person right now. He didn’t appreciate me lecturing him.”
“What’s your punishment?”
They grimaced. “Early morning shift.”
Clía’s hand fell on their shoulder. “You made the right decision.”
Kían smiled before reaching down to take Sárait’s hand in their own. “The healer said the cneasú extract is working. If—when—they find out what type of poison runs through her veins, they should be able to treat it.”
“That’s great. She’ll be awake before we know it.” The words felt false on her tongue, but maybe if she believed it enough, it would make them true.
Clía would figure out how this happened, and she would bring Sárait back.
She left Kían to their vigil and, feeling lost, made her way down to the fabric room. Everything was as they left it last—but somehow it seemed smaller, colder.
