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Chapter 29 ~ Victory Before Death

Rígan

Dàibhid’s mouth opened and closed as he processed. I stared at him—casually—while he worked through Brí’s words. Balor is lying in wait .

When I’d seen him in that tent, standing so quickly he’d stumbled, I’d been able to breathe for the first time since leaving Ardanna to the Exiles. My plan to maintain distance had been temporarily forgotten, and relief had pounded through every limb. I’d been so godsdamn terrified for him. But he was utterly unharmed, at least physically. It felt like all I’d wanted to do since getting here was look at him, reassure myself that he’d gotten out. Even though I’d reassured myself plenty, I still couldn’t stop checking.

He bowed his head, twining his fingers in his lap. “Let’s back up a moment. Where’s this ledger and letter?”

I grabbed them from my satchel and walked over to him. Our fingers touched, lingering, during the exchange, and my breathing stalled again. I remembered the way he’d tensed reflexively at the mention of my history with Nial. The way the brief show of, what, jealousy? had lit me up until I’d snuffed it out.

I returned to my spot.

He examined the pages, read the letter, absorbed the contents. “You’re right, these are small groups. There may be weight to what the rebel told you. That there are more rebels than Exiles. At least for now.”

“It seems only a handful are moving the pieces while rebels are doing the heavy lifting,” Liam said.

“But there are Exiles coming, and more are arriving soon,” I said. “That’s not nothing.”

“You’re right,” Dàibhid said. “The numbers add up, even if they are spread out.”

“We know for certain they’re in Tírdorcha,” Maya said. “And Ardanna. Probably the Keep.”

“Drawing rebels to them,” Lou said.

Liam pointed to the ledger. “We need to consider that these numbers could be off.”

“You think the Exiles planted false information?” Cianán asked.

“It’s a possibility, isn’t it? The Exiles know how to spread rumors.”

“I don’t think that’s the case with this,” I said. “Something about it feels too real.”

“This is Balor’s handwriting,” Dàibhid said, holding up the letter. His voice was hoarse like he was holding down panic. “That, at least, is accurate.”

“Unless that was planted, too,” Liam said.

“Why would they go to all that trouble on the off chance that someone would find it?” I asked.

“I doubt they would,” Cianán said. “I agree with you, Miss Feighlí—this feels too real. Leaders like Balor tend to let others do the work for them and then strike. The bulk of his forces in Cunlaran does appear to be rebels. He often utilizes them, not his own people, to attack. Which means he’s only sent that smaller number of Exiles, likely handpicked, to oversee the rebels and bring more to his cause. Except apparently you sometimes get rebels who don’t know how to hide evidence properly. The fool didn’t even burn the letter.”

I snorted. Balor may have been smart, but he certainly had some faulty beams under him.

Beams he was getting to do his dirty work for him. My blood boiled once more.

“Balor simply wants to walk onto the throne,” I said. The bitterness grew. Why get your own hands bloody when you can orchestrate massacres from afar, right?

“Well, almost,” Cianán said. “Balor is a fighter. The whole Exile culture is an extension of the Cunlaran warrior tradition. He’ll want to fight himself, but why risk death before a victory feels achievable?”

I wanted to scoff.

“The numbers could still be off,” Liam said. “We can’t take the ledger for complete fact.”

“Perhaps we need to plan for multiple options,” Brí said. “The chance that the information we gathered is accurate and there are few, but not insignificant, Exile forces here, with more coming soon, and the chance that there are more Exiles than the ledger suggests. We prepare to block entrance to any Exile yet to arrive and prepare ourselves to meet a mass already here. Leave as little to chance as possible.”

“They do still seem to be focused on the north,” Dàibhid said. “That makes it easier to figure out what to do. Did you find anything else? Anything that could be of use?”

“Maybe,” I said, shoving the bitterness aside for now. “We found shipping records, but I didn’t bother grabbing them. They seemed legitimate.”

“What did they say?”

“That Tírdorcha is getting a good amount of stock in. And that more is being spread throughout the country.”

“But Tírdorcha is retaining enough for themselves?”

“I believe so.” áine sounded her agreement.

“Good. That’s good. They have plenty of local resources, too. They could manage without use of their port for a while.”

“Your Majesty?” Cianán said.

“I’m going to send a letter to Lady Umber. Tell her to shut down the port. It’ll at least help for now while we consider next moves, and keep those new Exiles from landing. I’ll send something to Onyx, too. Have them watch the coast. Hopefully the Exiles will take a while to find somewhere else to land. However it is they’re managing that.”

I bit my tongue. Shutting the port was the best option for now, but I hated how the opportunity to learn more about how Exiles were arriving undetected was slipping away.

“What were the Exiles like?” Lochlin asked.

“Angry,” Maya said. “Like they had all this rage that needed loose. Basically rebels, but sharper.”

Dàibhid sat back, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “And likely with more information on Balor.”

“Likely,” I said. The wind rustled through the trees, kicking up the early scents of autumn. The leaves were still largely green, my favorite color, helping to keep some of the anger and worry at bay. Some fluttered to the ground. If only we could locate Balor, take him out; the Exiles would surely scatter without their leader.

“We need to draw him out,” I said. “Figure out exactly where he is.”

“The letters come soon after attacks,” Thomas said. “I wonder if that’s because he is already here.”

Dàibhid’s eyes only widened for a moment, but it was enough. My anger spiked, hating that Balor put Dàibhid in this position.

“He’s also a thorough planner,” Cianán said. “He could very well still be on Doaríc, sending the letters in advance. I’d suggest anticipating both options for this as well.”

“Agreed,” Brí said.

An unfortunate reality settled over me. “Just one problem. We don’t know what Balor looks like. How will we know if we draw out the right person?”

“I sincerely doubt any of the rebels have seen his face,” Lou said.

“But one of the Exiles likely has,” Maya said. “Especially if he did handpick them. If we can find one of them, maybe we can get them to tell us what he looks like. That way, once we know, we can start to determine if he’s here or not.”

“I agree,” Dàibhid said. “We can make that part of the plan to retake Ardanna—get an Exile while we’re storming the castle.”

“And if Balor looks like the average man?” Cianán asked.

“We’ll at least have a description.”

“What if he’s not in either location?” Lou asked. “Could he be somewhere else?”

“Like where, Fenwald?” I said. As soon as the sentence was out, dread settled in the pit of my stomach. What if he was in Fenwald? What sort of danger were my sisters and parents in? The people?

“I doubt it,” Dàibhid said. “He wouldn’t want to fend off two nations at once.”

“Still, we need to inform Fenwald,” Brí said. “Ask King Wilhelm to be ready to send aid at a moment’s notice.”

My blood ran cold.

“I’ve considered that,” Dàibhid said. “But more information would be good to have before sending anything to him and getting them involved.”

“Fenwald isn’t a warring country,” I said, blurting it out before I could think it through. All eyes fell on me, and I hesitated.

“Go on,” Dàibhid said.

I took a steely breath. “Can we rely on them to send aid? Especially when Cunlaran already has a good army.” I didn’t want Cunlaran to stand alone, but as of right now, we had it covered. Fenwald wasn’t far—it wouldn’t take long for them to send aid if needed. But for now, I had to convince Dàibhid, or at least Liam, that it wasn’t the best route. Because if my father sent aid and any of the people he sent recognized me or Bryn, we’d be on the next ship to the continent. I’d lose everything in one fell swoop.

More importantly, the Fenwaldan army really wasn’t up to snuff for a fight. It was more decorative and prestigious than anything else, as it had been for centuries. I wasn’t sure they could survive something like this.

“They wouldn’t let Cunlaran face something like this alone,” Bryn said, quiet.

“Still. They’re not ready for a fight like that.”

“We might need the numbers,” Brí said. “Who knows how many of our forces are rebels, and who knows how many Exiles Balor has lying in wait?”

Dàibhid watched me intently. Like he could see my discomfort.

“They’re Cunlaran’s closest allies, though, right?” Lou cocked their head. “Even if they aren’t prepared for a fight, they could at least send supplies.”

“Perhaps,” Dàibhid said with a degree of hesitation that surprised me. I understood why he might want to get the information on Bailanín before sending anything to my father, but why did it sound like he was in the same boat as me?

“I’d say we’ve settled enough of this for now,” Dàibhid said, the hesitation replaced by false ease. He was too stiff for it to be otherwise, but I admired the effort. “Any opposition to me bringing up a happier topic?”

No one objected. His posture told me enough, anyway; he needed a distraction. Like he said, we’d discussed enough for now.

“The Grove hosts a Midharvest Festival every autumn. It’s just over a week away. Usually, only Brí and I are invited, but given the circumstances, Priestess Calla has opened the invitation to all of us. I advise we all go, as a show of appreciation for her generosity. And, honestly, as an excuse to feel something other than stress or worry for a night.”

I’d heard of the Grove’s Midharvest Festival. It had been too long since I’d gotten all fancy and danced until I felt drunk. “I’m always down for a party.”

Lou plucked their shirt. “This is hardly festival attire.”

“You look wonderful,” Bryn reassured them.

“The Grove residents have offered to clothe us.” Thomas inspected his own shirt. “Gods know this thing isn’t presentable for a fun time.”

I clapped my hands together. “Even better.”

Dàibhid met my eyes across the pit, his almost an exact match to the deepest leaves clinging to the branches. He smiled softly at me, and my heart thudded. I coughed through the sensation, turning to Maya and Bryn to discuss the festival.

My own smile lingered long after he walked away.