Page 89 of The Princess Knight
She knew she couldn’t argue. Having him here at Caisleán had brought a comfort to her she didn’t know she needed, but it would be selfish to keep him here. Álainndore needed him.
“Promise you’ll visit again?” Her voice was as delicate as the lace trim of her blouse.
“I promise,” he said.
For a moment, her smile faltered. A slight twitch. One he didn’t miss.
“Do you remember when you first started sewing? You were five, and you were determined to become a seamstress.”
“Really?” Clía asked.
Ó Connor laughed. “Yes. It was after one of Domhnall’s first visits to the palace. During a banquet, some girl at court made a mean comment about the dress you wore, and you were so upset. You asked me for a needle and thread and decided to fix the problem yourself. It wasn’t very successful, but something in you seemed to calm in the process. When you wanted to shadow the palace tailors, your parents insisted it was beneath you, but you weren’t discouraged. You learned everything you could from that moment on. And now look at you.
“When you first told me about your plan to come here, I saw that same fire in you. I knew you would do great things, but you still managed to surprise me.” His arms wrapped around her in a tight hug. “Your kingdom will be proud.I’mso proud of you.”
When Clía had first walked through the halls of Caisleán, she felt as if all she knew was crumbling. Fractures tore into her sense of self, her confidence, and were sealed with doubt. In these past months, she’d built herself up into the person she knew she was meant to be. Someone strong. Someone brave.
Ó Connor’s pride was proof of her growth, and while she had to blink away the emotion building behind her eyes, she knew she didn’t need these words of validation. She no longer chased them as she once had. Still, she tucked her chin into his shoulder, giving herself this one moment.
When he pulled back, she stood straight and tall.
He walked out the doors, leaving her behind in the empty atrium.
By the time Clía reached the stables, Niamh, Ronan, and Ó Dálaigh were already waiting. It was no surprise. The latter had a responsibility to make sure this ran smoothly; Ronan was, well, Ronan; and Niamh simply had no flaws.
Clía stood beside Ronan, and he spoke too low for anyone else to hear. “You left early this morning. I was worried.”
“I had to say goodbye to Ó Connor,” she replied.
He must have seen the bittersweet feelings threatening to rise, because his fingers brushed hers. Even after last night, the small touch sent a shock through her.
Before they could talk more, Dornáin and MacCraith arrived, and everyone shifted into motion. Ó Dálaigh was quick to remind them of the day of traveling they had ahead of them. It would be a brief journey, with time allocated for making camp at night. Something Clía was grateful for. She might have grown in physical strength and combat skills, but she would rather surrender to Tinelann than ride on a horse overnight in a Scáilcan winter.
They rode in a single-file line, with Dornáin leading and Ó Dálaigh trailing behind. The three rookies were placed in the middle. Niamh, with the innate ability to know what would bother Clía most, positioned herself between Clía and Ronan.
Scáilca looked so different from when she arrived in the summer. Where green used to cling to trees, spindly branches remained. Pale arms reached out from the forest surrounding them. There were no happy birdsong or scurrying animals inbushes. The music of nature had gone quiet, replaced with the murmurs of the wind.
Ó Dálaigh had them travel through the day, with no breaks for meals—rations would be eaten while riding. Clía had been expecting the same travel regimen as their trip to the Ghostwood, but she could begrudgingly admit that the difference made sense. The Ghostwood quest had been merely a game to Kordislaen.
The sun began to dip below the horizon when Ó Dálaigh told them they would be stopping for the night. There were no landmarks or villages to signify where they were, but Ó Dálaigh seemed confident this was where they needed to be. Their group split, as half went to scout and secure the area, leaving Clía with Niamh and Dornáin to make camp.
She found herself grateful for her classes with Draoi Griffin, where he spent time going over how to properly prepare a camp for missions like this. Including setting up the ridiculous tent that was currently besting her. Unfortunately, knowing how to do something and succeeding at it were two different skills.
As she tangled with the ropes, Niamh approached. “May I?” she asked, motioning for the rope that was currently holding Clía prisoner.
“Please.”
She uncoiled it from around Clía’s hand, freeing her. Together, they set up the first tent and moved on to the next. “These are a lot more challenging to put together than it seems.”
Niamh was handing her an olive branch. A truce. “I see that now. Thank you.”
Niamh just nodded.
They worked in silence, passing each other ropes and helping hold down the folds and poles. When the three tents were set up, they breathed a shared sigh of relief before moving on to the fire.
Dornáin collected the wood. He knew the area around here better than either of them.
Niamh stacked the logs, and Clía added dead grass and leaves in the gaps. It was a one-person job, but neither of them left. They listened for each other’s silent commands, a quiet but swift team. After the fire was blazing, they helped Dornáin with the remaining duties until there was nothing left but to wait for the rest of their group.
