My mother closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. When she opened them again, they blazed with fury. She stepped forward, posture straight and voice sharp as a blade.
“If anyone here thinks I’ll allow them to lay a hand on my daughter, they’re welcome to try,” she said, her voice so cold it sent chills straight through me.
The priest paled visibly.
I wanted to hide behind her, just like I used to when I was small. But now… I was huge. Green. Strange—even to myself.
“Ceilte’s laws are clear!” Lord Fenric bellowed. “Curses that directly affect the kingdom must be resolved in exile. Anyone else here would be forced to obey the law, and Lady Fionnuala can’t be the exception!”
"Law is law," other members of the nobility agreed, seizing the Lord's moment of fragility.
My father rose slowly, his pleading expression replaced by resignation. He looked at me, and what I saw there was bitter acceptance—a defeat that couldn’t be avoided. His duty came first.
“I… I understand your position,” he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “As Lord, I must protect Ceilte’s peace and safety. And as a father, I must protect my daughter’s life.”
He hesitated for a long moment, and everyone seemed to hold their breath.
"Therefore, I propose the following: Fionnuala will depart from Ceilte…" A murmur of approval began to spread, but he raised his hand to silence them. "Not for exile. But to seek the counterspell. She won’t be banished; she’ll be on a mission.”
The difference was subtle but important. Exile meant being cast out, while a mission meant I could return.
“And what about the danger she represents?” Lord Fenric demanded, impatient. “How can we be sure that thing won’t return, leading Oksha’s hordes as an orc?”
"Why, you—!" My mother roared, taking a step toward Fenric, her eyes blazing.
"Enough, Laurelin." My father stopped her with a look and turned to the crowd, his shoulders tense. "She shall not return until the curse is broken. That’s my oath to you, under the gaze of the goddesses. Fionnuala, do you accept this condition?"
The question was loaded with an ultimatum: accept a "mission" or be banished as a pariah.
My mother looked at me, silently urging me to act. I couldn’t tell whether she wanted me to accept or refuse. Either way, the outcome was the same: I had to leave Ceilte. They had cornered me so completely that I couldn’t see any choice but to do what they demanded.
I glanced at Jameson. He stared at me with relief that he didn’t have to marry the “abomination.” My jaw clenched so hard I could hear my teeth grinding. Who did that idiot think he was, rejectingme? He should have been begging me to marry him, even though he has the personality of a wet cloth.
I was Fionnuala Kerridan, daughter of Alasdair and Laurelin Kerridan, granddaughter of the powerful Roselin of Caith.
I squared my shoulders and stepped away from my mother so I could stand on my own. That made me taller than everyone—even my father, who stood well over six and a half feet.
"I refuse!" My voice came out strong. The word seemed to freeze in the air. "I won’t leave my home like a criminal! Merith cursed me. This isn’t my fault."
I looked at every single one of them, memorizing the faces of the people who judged me or looked at me with disgust. Many flinched when they felt my anger.
I wanted every ounce of my fury to hit them, to burn into their memories.
“If you want me gone, you’d better get your weapons and your powers ready. Just remember this: I’ll return, and when I do, I’ll remind all of you of the loyalty you denied me today."
It wasn’t just a threat. It was a promise.
My father closed his eyes, a painful sigh escaping him.
"Fiona, what have you done?" I heard his voice before Lord Fenric and other nobles began to shout.
"See? She’s already changed!"
"We can’t allow an orc in our kingdom!"
"Lord Alasdair, this is an outrage!"
"Guards, arrest her!" Lord Fenric, bold as only he could be, gave the order with all the authority of a lord.
