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Chapter 38 ~ Two Truths and the Lie

Rígan

I gritted my teeth as our group waited for Dàibhid in his tent. Bigger this time, thanks to the supplies Brí’s soldiers brought. Plenty of space for the lot of us with room to spare, a nice table, a decent bed. The wooden stool beneath me was as rigid as my jaw.

Even from afar, I’d recognized the two male Exiles Dàibhid had talked to, but the central one had captured my attention the most—the golden blond hair, the jagged cut áine had dealt him, the sun tattoo. Shock rolled through me that we’d been that close to the Exile leader without even knowing it.

Rage replaced it when I learned he wasn’t Balor.

The fucking audacity of that man was unbelievable.

Now, with nothing better to do, the other Shadow Swords, Liam, and Thomas seethed in silence with me. Even Bryn was twitchy like she wanted to punch something.

The anger was good, though. Because if I didn’t have it to hold on to, worry for Dàibhid would consume me instead. Worry he was freaking out, worry he would backtrack to keep his soldiers and guards safe from their own jobs. Worry none of us would be able to talk him down this time. And then I’d worry about getting too close to him again and focus on whether my cover was about to be blown to smithereens.

No, the rage was a better use of my time. I fantasized about getting my hands around the blond Exile’s throat and squeezing until his damn eyes popped out. And then finding Balor—whatever the fuck he looked like—and doing the same.

The tent flaps pushed aside, and my heart stumbled. So much for keeping the worry at bay. Because the second I saw Dàibhid’s face, my gruesome daydreams evaporated as I took to scanning him for any signs of distress.

Instead, all I found was tiredness and . . . determination?

He took a seat, Cianán taking one next to him.

“It looks like we’re doing this,” Dàibhid said.

“You’re certain?” Brí asked, voicing our shared concern.

“I am.”

What could have changed for him to be so calm about it? He wasn’t shaking, wasn’t pacing, and there wasn’t that subtle but wild panic about him. Which meant this wasn’t a show for us, or even for himself. He wasn’t wavering. This was his decision.

I kept my smile to myself.

“Even with the unexpected recruits?” Cianán asked. What was he talking about?

Dàibhid shifted before trailing his gaze on me and sitting a little straighter. He’d been doing that a lot, looking at me during difficult conversations before launching into a confident speech. The thought was both flattering and, given the circumstances, unsettling.

“Even with them. The Exiles would see retreat as a weakness. We’re beyond a peaceful bowing out. Besides, the people deserve the chance to defend Cunlaran.” He shot a frown toward Brí.

“I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried,” Brí said.

“Yes, you could have,” he said.

“Would you rather I had?”

The crease in his forehead deepened. “I can’t blame you for not.”

“I know retreat would be taken as a sign of weakness,” Cianán said, “but keep in mind that it is an option, if needed. We can regroup, replan, come back stronger. Even bring the self-inserted recruits with us, if they so choose.”

Did they mean there were civilians here? Dàibhid nodded slightly, as though reading my mind. His and Cianán’s reluctance made sense. So did Dàibhid’s frustration at Brí. I’d be frustrated, too. Despite what I’d told him, our jobs were to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. But these people wanted to try. And that was different.

“We prepared for practically this exact outcome, civilians or no.” Dàibhid’s voice was hard with conviction. “We have enough people to face the Exiles, so we need to take this opportunity. Perhaps if we’re victorious, Balor will actually listen for one godsdamn minute of his life and talk to me himself. And the people do deserve this chance. The guards and soldiers have dealt with enough of the Exiles’ bullshit. So have civilians. If, while we’re fighting, retreat seems like the most viable option, we’ll look into that route. Otherwise, we stand our ground.”

A pleasant tingle spread through me at his display of confidence. I shut it down as quickly as I could.

It wasn’t easy. The confidence was sexy as fuck.

Shit.

“What do you need us to do?” Lou asked. Maya shifted beside me, like she was ready to take action now.

“I suggest everyone get some rest,” Dàibhid said. “We’ll regroup early in the morning. Go over the plan again as a team, then with everyone else. Liam, make sure Commander Lochlin is here for that.”

Everyone rose, but something kept me glued to my seat. Despite the sexy confidence and my apparently still-warring feelings, we were close to facing off against the Exiles. Possibly in a fight. Which meant Dàibhid would need to send his letter to Fenwald.

I had to risk talking to him about it.

Lou touched my shoulder. “You coming?”

“In a minute.” He smiled, loving like always, and my stomach dropped unexpectedly.

They all filed out, and my leg started bouncing of its own volition. “Can we talk?”

Dàibhid spun. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Sorry for the fright.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you, too.” He took a seat facing me, nothing between us, and his own leg bounced. “But . . . why are you still here?”

I startled, unprepared for the question. “What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me like I’ll infect you with something hideous.”

I let out a shaky laugh. He wanted to know why I was still in the tent. Not the country. “I think I’m safe from any serious physical damage.”

He stared at me with a look that could only be translated as Come on .

I sighed. “I told you, I want to talk to you about something.”

He shifted forward, leaving barely any space between our knees. Each motion was tentative, calculated, like he thought if he made one wrong move, he’d spook me. I almost laughed, except it wasn’t funny.

“Can I ask my thing first?” he asked.

I leaned back, like the question didn’t put me on edge. “Sure.”

“Why did you end our friendship when we were younger?”

My jaw dropped. “That’s what you want to ask me about?”

“It . . . Yes? I don’t know what’s going to happen out there. And the thought of not talking to you about this stuff is worse than putting it off.”

“We aren’t going to die tomorrow, Dàibhid.”

“You don’t know that.”

That shut me up. I slumped, too tired to fight this conversation. Besides, maybe it would influence him to keep me out of his letter.

Or guarantee that I’m in it.

The answer to his question was more complicated than a short explanation, but I gave him one anyway, uncertain of where else to start. “Because the last time we spoke, I walked away feeling like shit. And I vowed to not feel like shit again.”

He stared at me. Was he replaying our last Forest Ball? Regretting any of it?

“I’m sorry I made you feel like shit,” he said quietly. “What did I say to cause that?”

“You thought I was Bryn.”

By the Faith, saying it out loud, especially as an adult, made it sound so petty.

His face contorted between something like a smirk and a frown. “And that made you feel shitty?”

“The clear disappointment on your face when you realized I was the youngest made me feel shitty.”

Realization dawned. “Ah. Rígan, I was thirteen . Being unexpectedly told my best friend was the same age as my little sister was not something I was particularly excited about.” He held up a hand as I made to interrupt him. “But I got over it quickly. By the time we’d returned to Ardanna, I realized I’d made a mistake in not seeking you out before we left. So I wrote you a letter. Multiple letters. Which you pointedly ignored.”

I crossed my arms to hide the cringe. “Yes, well. Like I said, I vowed never to feel that way again.” He arched a brow. “Yes, I know, it was stubborn of me. But I got over it too, you know. I get it. You were thirteen, I was eleven, and I blame no one for that part anymore. I’d just always been made out to be the youngest in more than age. Pretty much everyone older than me always made me feel young. Precious .” I spat the word. “And I hated it. Your reaction made me realize exactly how much I hated it. But it also made me realize that I loved being anonymous. Because every friend I tried to make who was my own age? The second they learned I was a princess, they shut me out. Put me behind glass. Acted like a dutiful companion rather than an actual friend. And I couldn’t live with that anymore. I couldn’t be a distant princess, or little Nina. I needed to be me .”

His expression softened as he listened. “Is that why you’re here? In Cunlaran, I mean.”

“Partly, yeah.”

“And the rest?”

“Why do you think?” I joked, needing to lighten the mood. I patted my sword. “To be the best damn sellsword the world has ever seen.”

He gave me a half smile. “Meaning, to protect as many people as you can.”

My intake of breath was sudden. He’d always known how to read me.

He shuffled his feet, a hairsbreadth away from tapping his toes to mine. “So, when did you get over what I’d said?”

“A couple years after? But you’d stopped writing, and I’d moved on.”

He looked down as though hurt, feet stilling. I looked away so I wouldn’t take it back. There was still the matter of the present.

He was still looking down when he said, “I see.”

He couldn’t.

He finally looked up, features neutral. At least, as neutral as they could be around me. Because I still saw the hurt lingering there. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

I shifted, awkward. Right. “The letter you wrote to Fenwald. When are you sending it?”

“Tonight.”

My throat threatened to close, barring the words. Scared of his answer even before I could ask the question.

But I had to know. Bryn had to know.

“I need you to keep me and Bryn out of it. I know what sort of position that puts you in. I know it’s selfish to ask. But my life is here, not in Fenwald. And if my father learns we’re here, he’ll haul our asses right back, and I’d die, just a little, if he did that.”

The recovering breath I took only relieved part of me. I hadn’t dumped that much about my worries on anyone but Bryn before. I hated how comfortable it had been the more I’d talked. How I wanted him to know my fears.

Hurt did mar his features now. I gripped my thighs.

“Rígan . . .”

My breath stopped. Had he already sent something? Perhaps that’s what the hurt was for. That he did care about me, but couldn’t risk losing an ally. I understood that, but the safety I’d felt talking to him threatened to crumble beneath me.

He put up a finger as though I’d bolt like I had in the Grove. Maybe he was right. “Wait right there.” He walked over to his satchel, producing a letter from within. “Read it.”

I took it, tentative, and unfolded it. King Wilhelm , the address line stated. My mouth went dry.

Details about what we’d learned of the Exiles and their location, including the updates about the south, and the capture of the capital. A request for supplies, and a notice that a second letter would follow with details of the battle’s outcome, with a potential need for Fenwaldan soldiers.

Not a single mention of me or Bryn.

Without looking up, I struggled to ask, “Was this the only letter for him?”

“Yes.” The word came out strangled.

“Why aren’t you telling him?”

He knelt, his hands on either side of my legs, not touching me, and waited until I made eye contact. His were vivid, emotional. “You’re too important to me.”

Everything in me constricted. “I am?”

“Of course you are.”

Everything uncoiled. All of the worries I’d held since he’d called me Kit, all the tension I’d endured while telling myself I had to keep my distance from him. The fear that I could never fully trust him. Because clearly, I could.

He wasn’t going to tell my parents. He cared about me too much.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For not trusting you.”

A tear slid down his cheek. Shit. I had hurt him.

“I get why you didn’t,” he said, wiping it away.

“I still should’ve.”

He didn’t say anything to that, and it clawed me up.

“This could turn against you, not telling my father about me and Bryn.”

“It could.”

“Even if it doesn’t,” I said, needing something more grounding than the spiraling, giddy relief taking hold of me and the guilt over causing him pain. “I’m not sure he’d send soldiers to help. Fenwald isn’t a military country.”

“There is a military, though.”

“Yeah, for show and status. It’s symbolic. My father will send provisions, and supplies, maybe some metal for smithing. But I don’t know that he’ll ever send people.”

My mind jerked like I’d missed the bottom step on a staircase. I’d talked about my father without masking anything for the second time in a handful of minutes. I hadn’t done that in three years.

“I know there’s that chance,” he said. “But Fenwald needs to know, anyway. What if the Exiles turn on them next?”

Cold settled over me. It wasn’t a new thought, but it wasn’t a welcome one, either.

“But we don’t need to worry about that yet.” Dàibhid extended a hand as he stood. I stared at the face I’d come to enjoy seeing every day. The hair I still wanted to run my hands through, and the eyes I could lose myself in.

I took his hand, soft and warm, and a pleasant hum coursed through me.

“I promise, your secret and Bryn’s is safe with me, alright?”

Tears clogged every passage. “Alright. I trust you.”

The smile he gave me made everything feel better.

Damn Dàibhid and his openness and acceptance and his whole we might die mentality. Because what if something did happen to any one of us, and one of us died with the truth not out there?

What if I never came clean to Maya and Lou. What if I’d misjudged what would happen this entire time.

Usually, I’d brush the notion off. They knew the real me, anyway.

But that wasn’t enough anymore.

I gripped my crow carving as I walked out of my and Bryn’s tent, the comforting, cold stone smooth beneath my unforgiving fingers. I hadn’t meant to seek it out, but I’d passed our tent in search of my friends, and before I’d formed the thought, I’d grabbed it from my bag.

I found Maya and Lou in their tent two down from ours with the flaps tied back, chatting with Bryn while Lou mended one of Bryn’s boots on his cot. Seeing the three of them together made me pause, knowing what I needed to do next.

“Um.” It was probably the most awkward greeting any of them had ever heard from me.

“Hi?” Maya said, matching my tone.

“I, um.” I glanced at Bryn, resolve wavering.

“Should we be worried?” Lou asked, only half teasing as he handed the boot to Bryn. His mouth was quirked, but his gaze was discerning. Caring.

I scoffed. “No.”

Maya put a hand on her hip, seeing right through me, just like Lou.

Right.

“Bryn, can we talk for a second?” My voice rose an octave as I clutched the carving tighter. I cleared my throat to cover it, as if that would actually work.

“Rígan, what’s going on?” Maya asked. “Are you alright?”

“Bryn . . .”

She came up to me and leaned in, whispering, “You can tell them. That’s what you want, right?”

I nodded as I took a shaky breath, fighting the building heat. The walls suddenly felt much closer. I stepped back from her, but held her arm, feeling I’d fall if I let go.

“I’ve been lying to you,” I blurted unceremoniously. “About my past.”

“Lying how?” Maya’s voice wasn’t just concerned anymore. It was short, defensive.

I steeled myself for the change in treatment, in interaction, reminding myself of Bryn’s acceptance. Of Dàibhid’s decision to protect me. Of Maya’s and Lou’s love for me, even as the tent seemed to grow darker. “I’ve always hated being treated differently because of who I am. And being here, with both of you, allowed me to be me, with none of those strings attached. And then I never told you, because I couldn’t risk you seeing those strings and putting more weight on them than they deserve.”

“What did you lie about, Rígan?” Maya asked, losing patience.

“I’m, we’re, Bryn and I aren’t from Glaochnamara. We aren’t even from Cunlaran. We’re from Fenwald.”

Maya’s shoulders sagged in relief, but I hadn’t finished. Would she stand straighter once I told her, out of some weird sense of respect? Would she close off her emotions from me?

“Why would you lie about what country you’re from?” Lou asked. They were being so gentle. Like nothing I could say would change how they saw me.

I wanted to throw up.

“Because it’s not just the place I lied about.” Gods, my voice was shrinking. I willed strength into it, but one look at Maya’s returning disappointment withered it right up. “I lied about my family.”

“Are you ashamed of them?” Maya asked, something like sympathy there. But that wasn’t my lie at all. It was me . My identity, my insecurities, my problems.

“No. They aren’t perfect, but I’m not ashamed of them. I sometimes really miss them.” And now I was rambling to distract myself from Maya’s souring expression. From Lou’s gentle demeanor turning to one of confusion.

“Bryn and I aren’t from a small family. It would have been too obvious if I’d told you, so I came up with a story. Some of it was true, but the rest . . . wasn’t.”

“A story. You came up with a story to keep the truth from me. From us.” Maya’s voice was thick with unshed tears as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

I sucked in a breath. I had created a story and kept her in the dark, making sure she never knew the truth—

Which was precisely how her horrible-excuse-for-a-human ex had made her wary of who she trusted. Who she gave her heart to. Bile rose.

Thanks.

For?

Being a better person than him.

Gods, what had I done?

“How big is this family?” Lou asked.

“Twelve.” It was barely a whisper. I tried again. “There are twelve of us. Sisters, I mean.”

Their eyebrows shot up. “Twelve?”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

I spun. Brí and áine loomed in the tent’s opening. A cold sweat broke out down my back as Brí stared at me. She couldn’t hear this.

She laughed.

“You’ve been lying this whole time. Did you tell Dàibhid, at least, when he hired you?”

“Brí—”

“Of course you didn’t. You selfish, reckless —”

“Hey.” Maya’s voice cut through, coming to my defense even though she was angled away from me. Refusing to look at me.

Brí’s hands balled into fists. “You know why I’m calling her reckless?”

The cold sweat spread, my head growing light, vision darkening. Nausea overtook my whole body. This couldn’t be how they found out. It couldn’t be. But before I could explain, before I could defend myself to my family, Brí kept going.

“They’re two of the princesses of Fenwald. Our country’s closest ally . The one we’re requesting aid from. And here we have two of the king’s daughters, who I’m assuming haven’t told him a damn thing about where they actually are.” My silence answered for her. “Great. Fucking fantastic .” She stormed out. áine took one last look at me—pity in her eyes—and followed Brí out.

“Rígan?” Maya’s question constricted my chest. She sounded hurt . Not like Dàibhid had. Not a hurt that was fixed with a few words. Something deeper.

When I looked at her, I couldn’t tell if she wanted to cry or scream.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my own voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

I wished she would do as Dàibhid had. Make me see I’d been in the wrong but told me she understood. Instead, the hurt fled, replaced with something cold. Hard. A few stubborn tears fell to her cheeks, only making my chest constrict so painfully I thought it would collapse. Lou was all sadness and pain, adding to my own. None of this was what I expected.

Gods, it was so much worse.

“You didn’t tell us,” Lou said.

My vision clouded. “I didn’t tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice cracked, though no tears were visible. “We’re your family.”

I opened my mouth, unsure of what I could even say now that the moment was upon me, unable to speak past the emotions, anyway.

I’d lied to Maya like her shitty ex. I’d lied to Lou, who had so few permanent fixtures in their life. I’d lied to the two people who called me best friend. Family. I swayed at a fresh wave of nausea, bitter bile creeping back into my throat.

“Since when is there a Princess Morrígan?” Maya said.

Some twisted, distant part of me thrilled at the name. I recoiled at her accusation all the same, voice remaining small. “I hated my name, so I changed it. Only Bryn knew for a while, but I started using it in earnest here.”

“You’re the youngest then, right?” Lou said. “Princess Nina?”

I cringed. Of course they’d know about our family and figure it out. They’d have realized that Bryn was short for Brynhild, and that I, being two years younger, would be Nina. They were too smart not to.

“Yes,” I whispered, wishing I could go back to before I heard that name from their mouth. I blinked back tears, panic and pain threatening to overcome me.

Bryn stepped closer to me, shielding me from my friends’ anger. Their disappointment. “Rígan was just—”

“Don’t defend her,” Maya snapped. Bryn stumbled, eyes widening.

Heat tore through me. “Bryn was keeping my secret, Maya, don’t get angry at her.”

Maya whirled on me, my panic coming in tenfold at her rage. At her tears. Something in me started breaking before she’d even uttered a word.

She jabbed a finger at me. “I’m disappointed in her, but I’m fucking pissed at you for stringing me and Lou along for three godsdamn years and not fucking trusting our love for you! ”

A sob rose unbidden. My hand flew to cover it as a spasm rolled through me. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this.

“I need space,” Maya said, making for the exit.

“Maya.” My voice broke around her name.

“No.” She didn’t look at me as she left.

Lou came up to me, their disappointment clear. “It was unfair, what you did to us. You have to know that.”

I nodded, tears flowing freely now, salt seeping in between squished lips.

They reached for my hand, but pulled away at the last second. I hiccupped through the pain of it. “Just . . . give us time to process it.”

And then he left.

My knees gave out as a violent sob tore through me. Bryn caught me on the way down.

This was worse. This was so much worse than them viewing me as some distant royal, as someone worth coddling and protecting because of a crown.

“I’ve fucked it up.”

Bryn stroked my hair. “Just give it time.”

Her voice trembled. Her friends had just walked out on her, too. I clung to her tighter, the only comfort I could give while I crumbled.

I prayed to every deity I could think of, the Cunlaran gods and Fenwald’s Allün and the deities Lou had told me about over the years, that Bryn was right and we’d get enough time to fix the mess I’d created.

Because my heart was going through a second shattering, and I wasn’t sure how I’d mend it without my best friends.