Máthair’s attention shifted to me, her mouth tight. “How could you have endangered them like this, Ciara?” She swept her arm out to indicate the shore. “Here, of all places?”
Her words triggered a heavy guilt, but I forced my back to straighten. She wasn’t truly upset over the fact that my sisters were riding. Ever since Alana, she feared anything that could potentially endanger them—even if it was a necessary skill like riding. “I wanted them to learn to ride without having someone lead them. The soft sands of the beach are safer than the rocky meadow. They wouldn’t have been harmed if they fell.”
“But the Northmen have been spotted not far from here. Why did you not at least bring a guard?”
Because none would want to accompany me willingly. I met her narrowed gaze. “Because I can keep my sisters safe.”
The bluster seemed to leave her all at once, and she let out her breath. She couldn’t argue with the truth. “Ask for my permission next time,” she said. “Come, girls. We missed you at Lauds, but it’s not too late to go before the altar and pray for your father’s safe return.” With her arms around my sisters, she started back toward the keep, toward the chapel where my presence was so unwelcome that the faithful members of our clan believed I tainted its sacred ground. I schooled my features to hide the twinge of sadness I always felt at being so painfully excluded—it would only upset my sisters.
“I should help Ciara with the ponies,” Branna said, but I waved her off.
“I can get them,” I said, taking hold of the ponies’ reins.
As I followed behind, winding slowly upward on the rocky path that led to our father’s castle, a flickering shadow drew my gaze to the cloudless sky. The same crow circled high above, its inky feathers slicing through the weak morning sun.
It watched me with an interest no ordinary crow would have. And then I knew for sure.
They’re coming, a voice whispered in my mind, and a cold shiver snaked down my back. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the crow’s voice, and I knew it warned of only one thing: death. There could be no doubt: the Northmen were coming to our shores.
Then the crow let out a caw-caw-caw so startling even my mother and sisters paused.
Branna’s eyes were on the crow. “What does it mean?” she asked, her voice hushed. She had learned long ago that no omen should be ignored.
I met Máthair’s worried glance—a shared fear we couldn’t voice. Northmen.
“We should get back to the castle.” I gave the ponies another gentle tug to keep pace with me.
As we entered the castle bailey, where the stables, the kitchens, and the armory were located, I scanned the wide expanse, wondering if anyone else had noticed anything amiss. The morning buzzed with activity; two men guiding pigs and sheep through the bailey bowed their heads briefly when they noticed me watching. Kitchen servants beat the dust and ash from two matching red-and-gold rugs, chatting, oblivious to the tension that thrummed through the air and made the hair on the back of my neck rise.
Then a sound came that made my heart pound: a horn’s bellow echoed across the crowded courtyard, grinding everything to a stop. The color in our mother’s face drained away, and she tightened her grip on my sisters.
A shout from one of my clansmen rang out. Everything that was frozen leaped into frantic motion. Children were herded alongside livestock as too few of the men hurried to gather weapons.
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.