“You are Ceara’s father. Not mine,” Croi tells him. The Tine King frowns, clearly dissatisfied with her words. “Perhaps it was your seed that created me, but your absence in my life pronounces you unfit for the position of my parent.”

“I didn’t know you existed!” the Tine King says.

“Then where did you think your child went? Did you ever try looking for me? Surely you are not going to tell me that you thought Ceara was your daughter?” Croi challenges him, her arms around herself. The king looks away. “See, you know she isn’t your child, but you are content to let everyone think she is. Why is that?”

“Things are much more complicated than you realize,” he says.

Croi snorts. “You found out yesterday that I am your child. Yet you didn’t call for me or come to me. It wasn’t until your general tried to kill me that you made an appearance. How complicated is that?” She tilts her head and looks at the king, unimpressed by his majesty. “Tell me, how are you going to punish Lorcan?”

“Didn’t you take your revenge on him?” The king frowns at her. “Aren’t you satisfied with the pain you caused him?”

Croi laughs at his words, the sound ugly and broken. “He hurt me because I hurt his daughter. A daughter he doesn’t dare claim. He just might be a better father than you.” Croi turns away from him, her rejection loud in the silent room.

A moment later the king leaves. The candle flame sputters out.

TWENTY-SEVEN

CROI SKIPS BREAKFAST THE NEXT morning, preferring to stand outside and watch the soldiers take down the camp in preparation for the final leg of the journey. The ones who took her the night before are nowhere to be seen. Neither is Lorcan, for that matter. Croi’s hungry, but she’d much rather endure the hunger than eat with those who have betrayed her. Someone told Lorcan about the happenings in the Redcap camp. It was either the princess or Tinder.

It probably wasn’t the pixie.

Croi is surprised by her inner self’s evaluation. “Why do you say that?”

She’s too scared of Lorcan to go telling tales to him. Besides, we know her personality by now, don’t we?

“We thought we knew Caolan, didn’t we?” Croi reminds her other self.

No, we didn’t. That was only you.

Croi grimaces but can’t deny her other self. She has been careful not to think about the healer’s warning or her rapidly approaching death. Perhaps she is in denial right now. Perhaps rage will follow denial, which will eventually fade to acceptance. Her life, finite though it is now, has three goals. One, get to the Caisleán and meet Irial; two, find someone to go to the human world and rescue her stone maid; and three, fulfill Uaine’s errand. Truly, she doesn’t care in the least if the HeartStone is found or not. She won’t be around to see the chaos if it remains unfound. If she can fulfill the first two of these goals, she will fade, if not happily, then contented.