Page 102 of The Mortal Queen

“Release her!” she heard Galad hiss and by the time she lifted her eyes, the fae knight had his sword pressed against Starn’s throat, face twisted with white rage as he addressed Dagfin. “Release her or I’ll slit your future high king’s throat without a moment’s hesitation.” And kill him he would, Aisling knew. Knew Galad had been dreaming of spilling her brother’s blood since he’d captured Morrin. Since he’d branded his chest with the mortal crest.

“Stand down, fae,” Nemed barked, the veins in his neck bulging above his ebony collar. “We’ll release her once we’re certain she’s not a threat. A threat to us as well as yourself, which I’m sure you well know.”

Galad considered the high king, eyes flashing towards where Dagfin stood still as death, his fingers curled around the hilts of two throwing knives at his sides.

“Did you intend for her to kill us all? Was that the plan?” Starn seethed beneath the fae knight’s pressure, his face reddening, purpling with every furthering second.

“She’s of no harm to anyone now. The magic has drained her. She couldn’t summon it again if she tried,” Galad insisted, unwilling to surrender his leverage. “You should be more concerned that right now the queen of the Sidhe is bound like an animal in your custody.”

Nemed’s lips spread into a thin line, losing their color. He considered Aisling slumped on her knees, the iron shackles around her wrists pushing her against the earth despite her efforts to remain upright. Her mind was dizzied by the smell of the chain’s rust, its surface like needles to her. A substance that repelled magic, a magic that now flowed freely throughher veins.

Nemed nodded to Dagfin. “Release her.”

“Father, you can’t possibly—she’ll kill us all!” Annind shouted, bloodshot eyes darting between the Roktan prince and his sister as Dagfin swiftly cut the distance between them.

“She won’t,” Nemed said, regaining a sliver of his composure. “She’s been detained. I’ve witnessed the Faerak do it before on the Unseelie; such iron suffocates Unseelie and fae magic. And magic is where they derive their strength. The fae is right. No creature, Unseelie or Seelie, is powerful enough to nullify such a sedative.”

Fergus opened his mouth as if to speak but one glance from his father and he snapped his maw shut, redirecting his attention to Dagfin carefully untying the bolo from around his sister’s wrists.

“Is she Unseelie then? An Aos Sí?!” Iarbonel asked, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

“It’s not feasible,” Annind piped, rubbing his face with his hands. “One cannot simply become another race. There is no spell, no enchantment to perform such a feat. Unless”—Annind’s face blanched—“unless she’s a changeling.”

“Impossible,” Dagfin said. “We would’ve known.” A hint of betrayal, of doubt betraying his expression, nonetheless.

“Fin is right.” Nemed removed the crown from his head and set it on the table. “I witnessed Clodagh birth her, and ever since, she was kept within the close, attentive watch of Tilrish, mortal wet-nurses. Never was there a moment she was left unattended or unobserved, precautions to prevent the Unseelie and their mischief from meddling with the royal clann.”

“Then what is she?!” Fergus asked, eyeing his sister as though she might devour him whole if he so much as flinched.

“I’d like to know,” Nemed said, lifting his fingers to silence each of them.

Dizzied, Aisling swayed from side to side, concentrating on regaining her self-control, rendered nearly ill by the stormblue eyes that circled around her, flashing like stars as they searched her expression.

“You’ll be alright,” Dagfin whispered, surprisingly calm. And once the shackles were fully removed, tossed across the room so their effects dwindled in her periphery, Galad shoved Starn from him, still scowling as the future high king collided against the center table, knocking half its contents onto the ground.

Dagfin lifted Aisling to her feet until she slumped against him; the smell of him was of salt and ocean air. Of the Ashild slapping against Castle Roktling. A cologne that sobered her. Rebuilt the melted bones beneath her flesh limb by limb. Dagfin was much taller than her now. Not like he’d been when they were children.

“What is she?” Iarbonel asked, standing in a puddle of his own spilled wine. “What have you done to her?!”

Galad ignored him, concentrating instead on sheathing his sword into his scabbard.

“What have you done to her?!” Iarbonel shouted again, this time louder, the white of his complexion greying.

“Nothing,” Galad said, flashing his pointed canines. And it was the truth as far as even Aisling was concerned. No one was certain where such abilities originated or why. Not even Danu. Only that she now possessed them.

“Let’s not be sparse for words,” Nemed chided, clicking his tongue. “Tell me what happened to my daughter or my Faerak will detain you next.”

“You threaten me with a princeling?” Galad scoffed, shooting daggers at Dagfin from across the room. But the Roktan prince didn’t notice, instead preoccupied with lifting Aisling’s chin, so she looked up at him, tilting her face from side to side inquisitively. As if there were nothing more important than beholding her up close, this strange creature he’d once known. Was once intended for. As if he’d enjoy nothing more than to hunt her down likeany other Unseelie. Capture her. Bridle her.

“He’s slaughtered creatures far bigger than you, fae.” Nemed smiled uneasily, his purple eyes glinting with a string of madness. “Now, tell me; what happened to my daughter whilst she was inyourcustody?”

Galad considered Aisling, his expression softening slightly. But Aisling knew even the fae knight, even the fae king, didn’t know where she’d encountered thedraiochtor why it whispered to her. Didn’t know why or how or when. Only that it had. And while Aisling knew the fair folk would’ve gone to the ends of the Isles of Rinn Dúin to prevent the fire hand from discovering her abilities, it was already too late. She’d lost control and any dishonesty would prove destructive in securing continued prosperity within their delicate alliance. So, the fae knight licked his lips, shoulders slackening a hair as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I speak the truth: the Sidhe aren’t responsible for the magic she now wields. And if we are, it is unbeknownst to even ourselves. In fact, these are all questions and answers we’ve sought as well.”

“When did it first manifest?” Nemed demanded, turning from Galad and instead, ambling towards where Aisling rested her head against Dagfin’s chest. Slowly regaining the strength to lift her neck, the stench of the iron fading.

“She was attacked, nearly killed by a Fomori. She saved herself by bidding the magic for the first time.”

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