Page 28 of The Violet Raven

“Callan’s not so easily toppled.”

A laugh bubbles up. “I think I surprised even myself. Truth be told, I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d put my brother on his back.”

“Eamon!” Casey’s voice cuts in, dragging the moment away. He saunters toward us with a boyish grin, arms outstretched as if he’s about to announce something grand. “Are ye two just gonna stand there or join in the revelry? Triona’s bested our mighty brother, after all!”

Eamon chuckles, shaking his head. “I reckon Triona’s earned her victory and a bit of peace, and Callan’s earned himself a bit of quiet reflection. I’ve no desire to steal this moment.” He winks, and I laugh.

Casey claps him on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. “C’mon now, Triona’s practically a legend! The Great Topple of the Brutish Sinclair! They’ll be singin’ ballads about this one.”

“Ballads?” I raise a brow. “I’m not sure my victory was quite that grand.”

Casey nods sagely. “Aye. We’ll need a proper title for ye now. Something with flair.”

Eamon hums, considering. “Triona the Triumphant.”

Casey shakes his head. “Nae, that misses the mark entirely. It’s not nearly dramatic enough. How about ‘The Fearsome Fury of the Sinclair Clan’? That’ll make ‘em tremble.”

I arch a brow. “That sounds like a poorly penned folk tale.”

Casey slings an arm around my shoulders with a dramatic flourish. “All the best tales are, lass.”

I can’t help but laugh at the exchange. Casey’s enthusiasm is infectious, while Eamon’s calm humour balances it out perfectly.

Eamon chuckles. “Callan might never live this down.”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh too much. “We can cut him a bit of a break.”

“Fat chance,” Casey replies, giving me a playful nudge. “But no matter what they call ye, Triona, ye’ve earned every bit.”

Then Casey grins, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Now come! There’s no time for rest when Callan’s pride is in ruins.”

“Leave her be and let her rest, Casey.” Eamon says as he playfully nudges Casey away.

He waves a dismissive hand. “Pish posh! There’s no time for peace when there’s opportunity to poke fun at our dear older brother.”

Eamon raises an eyebrow, his voice dipping into a playful warning. “Careful now, unless ye fancy findin’ yerself flat on yer arse next. Triona would be more than happy to oblige.”

Casey nods, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Aye, cannae have her bestin’ me next. I’m far too handsome to end up face down in the dirt.”

He claps Eamon on the back and heads toward the others, leaving us in the easy silence I’ve come to cherish when I’m with Eamon.

“Your confidence is growin’, Triona,” Eamon murmurs, his voice steady. “And it suits ye. Never doubt that.”

I glance down at my practice sword, still feeling the weight of the match in my hands. But also the truth in his words. The unease from earlier has entirely faded, replaced by something stronger.

Resilience.

“Many thanks, Eamon. It means a lot to hear that.” I nod, hoping the sincerity in my voice carries the weight of my gratitude. He holds my gaze for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile, one that says he understands the true meaning to me.

“Now, go find your Mum. I’m sure this’ll throw her for one.”

With one last look at Callan, still at the mercy of our father and Casey, I can’t help but feel a sense of peace settling over me.

Each step back toward home feels different, as if the earth beneath my feet recognises the shift within me. The weight of doubt lingers, but it no longer defines me. The girl who once questioned her place drifts further away with every stride, replaced by something steadying.

Beneath my skin, something hums—low and unfamiliar, a pulse just beneath the surface of my awareness. It’s something reaching, and it pulls at me in ways I cannot name. Whispering of something just beyond my grasp.

As I walk beneath the sun’s golden light, I know this truth—there is no turning back.