His blood coated her sword, her sleeves, her hands.
She’d stabbed him.
She hadn’t meant to.
She just needed to save Ronan.
Ó Connor fell.
The man who helped raise her when her parents were too busy. Who was patient. Encouraging. Kind when others weren’t. Herfamily.
He was on his knees before her.
For a moment, she forgot everything.
She was a child again. Young and broken.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Oh gods. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to.”
She reached for him, palms open. She didn’t know why. To help him? To beg forgiveness? To offer him the comfort he always offered her?
When Ó Connor hit the ground, the raspy sound of his breath had already stopped. And Clía sat there, helpless beside him, staring at the blood that flowed onto his green cloak.
Chapter Thirty
When Ronan came to, his lungs burned with breath, his head pounding and sore.
But he was alive.
The rush of battle had faded, and he took in what was before him. Niamh was making her way to MacCraith, leaving the body of the Tinelannian woman on the ground behind her.
And Clía was on the ground a few feet away. She knelt beside a collapsed form, her shoulders heaving. Ó Connor. Camhaoir buried in his still chest.
“Clía?” he called. “Are you okay?”
No answer. She didn’t even move.
He rushed over to her. The ground below them was coated in blood. “Are you hurt?” His eyes frantically scanned her body, searching for any sign of injury. The only wound he could see was a cut on her arm—it was angry and red, but thankfully not deep.
Finally, she looked up at him, tear-filled eyes meeting his, and his heart squeezed at the sight. “I—I killed him.” He ached to hold her, shield her from the pain.
“You saved me.” His hand found her shoulder, keeping her gaze on him. Away from the body. “I need to know—did he hurt you?”
“I’m okay,” she said, but it was empty.
Ronan knew shock, and how it could quiet pain. He needed to see if she could stand. Move. They wouldn’t survive another fight.
“We’re going to get up now, all right?” He gently held her elbow and helped her to rise. His thigh throbbed where he was injured.
A soft trill of voices sounded from the distance. Ronan looked to Niamh, but she already had an unconscious MacCraith over her shoulder. One member of their group was still unaccounted for.
“Where’s Dornáin?”
“He was in the woods, supposed to be our backup.” Clía took a shaky breath. “I think he was what got the attention of the other guard.”
Dornáin never joined the fight, which meant he had either circled back to camp or, more likely, died. Ronan could only hope that he’d led the guard far enough away to buy them time before falling.
“We need to go,” Ronan whispered to Clía.
