Page 82 of Keldori By Daybreak

“I think I liked you more when you were trying to kill me in the wheat field.”

“You didn’t have ‘a type’, and then of all the people, he’s the one that changed for?”

I rubbed at my temples, thinking again of Ciarán’s distant demeanor since our bath. “I don’t have a type, and I didn’t change for anyone! I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m sorry.” Tiernan bowed his head. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Do you think this is what normal people our age get to worry about instead of saving realms and staying alive?”

“Yeah,” I conceded. “I think it is.”

I sat down, defeated, and placed my hands back on Tiernan’s ankle, slightly more aggressively this time. As much as I hated this conversation, it probably was a nice change of pace from the horrors he’d faced the last few weeks.

He hissed through his teeth at the pressure and warmth of my magick, but I ignored him.

“You must be close with him,” Tiernan said after a moment’s silence.

“Tiernan, please.”

“I mean it. You refused to bathe with us in the Shogunate when we stopped there a few weeks ago, and you refused to again last night. But you were comfortable enough to let the Grimguard join you today.”

I bowed my head over his ankle in exasperation. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You forwent the culture of your people to engage in something that otherwise makes you uncomfortable. I think that means he is your friend.” Tiernan watched his ankle and the blue light that leaked out between my fingers instead of meeting my eyes. “Maybe that’s your type. A friend. A close friend.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “At the very least, I can promise my type is not Galahad.”

“Thank the Three Magicians for that,” Iseult called out. “Tiernan, how much do you care for your sister?”

“Not much at the moment. Why?”

“Because I don’t like the idea of being chased to the citadel. If she is out there looking for us, I think I’d rather draw her here and kill her. Is that alright? If I kill your sister?”

19. Telecommunication 101

Orla and Fana were not to know the plan. After the Second Sentinel, we couldn’t risk Orla choosing her uncle’s life over ours again. As for Fana, she was young. None of us wanted to burden her with the death of anyone, no matter how deserved.

Because if Iseult’s idea worked, all of their deaths would be ours to bear. Ferrin deserved it, and I’d happily kill him in battle if that’s what it came to, but having to sit with the fact that I was planning to kill a man ate at my stomach, even if that man was Ferrin.

The plan was straightforward enough. Draw them into the canyon, escape through the upper levels of the keep to the moorlands above, and unleash the reservoir of water resting behind the copper gate. Orla herself had mentioned the keep’s primary defense. I almost felt bad using that information against her family.

Almost.

When Ciarán returned laden with fresh rabbit meat, he already knew the plan, having listened in on our discussions through my head. We’d just started working out how to lure Ferrin and Caitria into our trap when Fana and Orla rejoined us with a mystery soup they’d made from our dwindling rations. I couldn’t bring myself to look Orla in the eye as I took my bowl and excused myself to eat it alone on the steps outside.

I stirred my bowl idly, running through our options and ignoring the fact that I was planning the death of one and probably more people.

Tiernan had suggested we light a campfire in the canyon so the smoke would give away our location to anyone searching for us, but Ciarán insisted smoke was too obvious. Ferrin would know we knew better than to light a fire so close to the Second Sentinel.

Iseult thought if a few of us ventured outside the canyon to pretend to patrol the area, Ferrin and Caitria might see us from a distance and think they had the jump on us, but that left too much up to chance. We could end up waiting days for them to spot us, especially if Orla was right about Ferrin being unlikely to look for us in the area.

“Rabbit?” A skewer of meat interrupted the view of my soup, and I recoiled, looking up at Ciarán where he stood over me, passive and cold.

“I have soup.”

“You have something resembling soup, yes. Now you have rabbit. Eat it, my Lady.”

I took the skewer, and Ciarán’s cloak brushed my shoulder as he turned to retreat into the keep.

“I told you not to call me that,” I snapped.