Beyond a Darkened Shore(3)

I took a steadying breath, forcing down the panic that threatened to engulf me. Memories overtook my mind—

The horn’s bellow calling our clansmen to war.

The clang of axes meeting swords.

The smell of coppery blood in the air.

The pale form of my sister broken and bleeding on the hard ground, her hair spread out behind her.

And me, powerless to help.

But I wasn’t powerless now. I’d spent years training and honing my skills through battle, ensuring I’d never be powerless again.

Máthair pulled my sisters toward the safety of the keep, practically dragging them in her wake. Before they could reach the steps, Branna freed herself from her grasp and ran to me.

“Branna!” our mother cried.

“Come with us,” Branna said, her eyes pleading with me.

“Go to Máthair. Stay hidden.” I pressed a hurried kiss to the top of her head.

She grabbed my arm before I could run for my own horse, her grip almost painful. “Please don’t go. The Northmen—”

“I must,” I said, my tone firm. “Now hurry.” I gave her a little push toward the keep, and hopefully, to safety.

Before I turned away, I met Máthair’s gaze. “God keep you safe,” she said, and fled into the castle.





2





As I ran to the stables—ponies in tow—my mind already shifted to the battle ahead. Without my father here, I would lead my clansmen, and I clenched my teeth at the thought of giving them orders. I might have been heir to the throne, but my strange abilities ensured that I didn’t have the trust of my clansmen. They would listen to me, but they wouldn’t like it.

Killing Northmen was far easier.

All around me, women and children ran to take cover. They relied on the steep, rocky cliff to protect them from the Northmen raiders. But I knew better. It hadn’t kept them out seven years ago.

More worrisome was the fact that the Northmen were here instead of at the monastery with its rich treasures. Had they defeated my father? Or had my father defended the monks only to have the raiders turn their eyes toward our home as vengeance?

The stables greeted me with a torrent of sounds: men shouted to one another, warhorses trumpeted, and swords clanged as they were pulled from the rack. My sisters’ ponies eagerly returned to their own stalls as soon as I pulled their bridles free. When the men caught sight of me, a whisper of unease ran through them.

I straightened my spine and pulled my own broadsword free before I turned to address the men in the now uncomfortable silence. “With the king and half our army gone, we are few in number, but we are the only thing standing between the Northmen and our families.” Most of them just stared at me, but a few nodded tersely. They couldn’t argue with the need to protect our own. We knew how much was at stake. “They will hope to ambush us, to catch us unawares, but we will meet them at the top of the cliff.” My grip tightened on my sword. “We will slaughter them one by one.”

The men shouted their approval, brandishing their own weapons high in the air as horses neighed and stamped their feet.

Fergus, one of the few clansmen who I considered a friend, grinned. His teeth looked whiter than usual against the dark blue paint slathered on his face. “We have nothing to fear, lads. Not with Princess Ciara leading us.”

He meant it ironically, of course—I was the one they feared. It was one of the reasons my father had banned me from the church—my people welcomed my power on the battlefield, but they believed it tainted any sacred space.

I smiled in return, but didn’t stop on my way to my horse’s stall. Riordan, a man whose arms and chest bulged with muscle, shied away from me like a horse from a snake. Demon, he had said about me once, and I could practically hear him thinking it now. I forced myself to stand unflinchingly in the face of such rejection even as pain and loneliness clawed at me.

There was little I wouldn’t do, and little I wouldn’t endure, to keep my sisters safe.

I continued toward my horse and another of my clansmen caught my eye—Séamus. For one painful moment, I thought he might grin at me like he used to while we worked with the young warhorses together, the smile softening his sharp features. But instead he turned away, his face paling beneath his war paint. My mouth drew into a grim line, and pinpricks of shame sneaked across my skin. It had been two winters since he’d been forced to train with me, but it might as well have been yesterday.

I remembered how he looked standing before me: wary but strong.

Even he hadn’t been able to withstand my power.

My hand reached for the carved wooden horse hidden on its fraying piece of leather beneath my armor. It’s the only thing I know how to carve, he had said with a nervous smile, but I wanted to give you something to show you how much you mean to me. That was years ago, before he knew who I really was. I could still see him in the stable where we’d first met, surrounded by the soft sounds of horses.

He’d sworn he didn’t fear my abilities, but that was before he was subjected to them. My mind assaulted me with another memory: Séamus on his knees.

Stay away from me, he’d shouted, his hands curled protectively around his head.

I blinked rapidly and let the necklace fall back in place against my chest.

I didn’t want to speak to him, but I knew I must. With so many of the other clansmen gone, his skill with a sword and as a horseman would be more useful than ever. Squaring my shoulders, I walked over to where he was saddling his horse.