My muscles are bunched, my vision edged with red, my breathing too fast. I don’t want to risk it. But I’m sure. It takes all I can to relax. To breathe. To drop the spear.
“I concede.”
MY HAND TREMBLES WITH PAIN AS PÁDRAIG GRASPS ITwith both of his own, examining the broken digit carefully.
“Not bad.” He moves it with what I am sure is more force than necessary, eliciting a strained grunt from me. “We will bind it. It will mend.”
“In time for me to fight?” It’s not the question I’m asking. I tend to heal fast. It will be strong enough, when the party returning to Caer Áras arrive there.
“If that is your fate.” Pádraig continues to fasten the fingers together.
My heart drops. “You think Tara still won’t take me?”
He just continues wrapping. Silence between us and then I shift. “I listened to the spear. It told me what to do.”
He falters. Just for a second. “I know. You must speak to Lir.”
“I do not wish to go with him.”
“That is not necessarily what will happen.” Pádraig is gentle. “He has already seen, anyway, Leathf hear. You arenasceann. The Old Ways must be followed. If you are to be a warrior for King Rónán, then you must go to Fornax.”
I look up at him. “Fornax?”
Any hope he might have imparted some new scrap of information is dashed. “He will explain. In time.” He finishes the binding. “You were foolish, to push Tara so far as to injure you.”
“I had to show her how much it meant to me.”
“I know. And she was stupid not to see it long before today. You are both stupid.” He straightens. “And she would be even more so not to take you with her.”
He walks off without anything further, without acknowledgement. Just stating a fact. I grin after him, though no one can see it. Even now, I am unused to their strange, blunt honesty. So reminiscent of Eidhin that I feel my friend is here with me, sometimes.
I follow the burly master of the crannog and return to the group, where the last of the tests have just finished. Conor, blond hair shining in the firelight, is standing out of breath and sweating but triumphant against Fearghus, who looks disgruntled, but not any more so than usual. There’s a quiet murmur from the onlookers as they spot our return.
The others give me nods of approval, and Conor slaps me on the back when he joins us. We wait as Pádraig says some words, and then Lir. They flow over me; I barely hear them, let alone take them in. The aching of my hand is a dull throb. I cannot help but steal glances in Tara’s direction. She never once looks in mine.
Then she is choosing. Iron torcs in her hand, signifying her choices. Enough for all of us, but she will not take all of us.
She chooses Conor, first. Then Seanna. Then Miach and Fearghus.
Of the older group, I am the only one remaining. My heart flutters. Sinks.
“Will you take Leathf hear?” The call comes from someone and is taken up by others, a brief clamouring for Tara to acknowledge me that I do not know whether to feel embarrassed or hopeful about. I watch her. She comes to stand in front of me. Examines me. Looks into my eyes for a long few seconds.
“No,” she says loudly.
My heart drops and I almost open my mouth to protest, but this is her decision. She is our leader and if I have still not convinced her, then I must accept it now. I keep holding her gaze.
“No,” she repeats. “But I will take Deaglán.”
She puts the iron torc around my neck to cheers.
OUR LAST MEAL AT THE CRANNOG IS A BOISTEROUS ONE.Celebratory, roasted meat for everyone, music from talented young Bryn andsongs raised in hearty, off-tune cheer. The fires on the lake’s bank burn hot, easily stealing the chill from Loch Traenala’s night air. The flames flicker orange on the still water.
I take a bite of haunch as Tara comes to sit next to me. We haven’t spoken in these past few hours—not through any particular deliberate act, but she has been busy in conversation with Pádraig and Lir, and I have been saying my farewells to the other students. “I almost beat you,” I observe around a mouthful.
She snorts at that. A true derisive snort, but with the tiniest hint of a smile at the end. “You were almost a challenge. When you finally came to fight, after the third or fourth injury I gave you.”
I grin. “I did not think you would actually break it,” I admit, holding up my hand.
