Page 11 of The Mortal Queen

Both Lir and Aisling approached the group of knights sitting around the crackling fire, burning some skinned creature knotted to a large beam, an image that matched the sounds she’d been listening to for the past several hours. Like wild dogs feasting on carrion, they tore large strips of meat from the unfortunate beast’s bones, washing down each bite with black wine.

Relieved it wasn’t some lost human huntsman or shepherd they smoked over the fire, a weight lifted from Aisling’s shoulders. Its build suggested it was some sort of pig, most likely a wild boar: an impressive, nearly impossible beast for a mortal to hunt in the amount of time it had taken the Aos Sí to find, kill, and prep the animal for consumption. A pang of anger struck Aisling then, thinking of how many mortal kingdoms starved, wasted away, too afraid to hunt or gather lest the fair folk attack. And yet, here were the Aos Sí with the entire wilderness at their disposal. The greatest predators in any land. But all land was mortal land despite what the Aos Sí staked claim to.

“Man was born of nothing but nevertheless born first,” Nemed taught. “Man grew strong, mastered his own skills, and became great. Then the Aos Sí arrived, stealing man’s land. Taking what man had already conquered—the wilderness—and spinning it in their favor.”

This was all mortalterritory and yet, the mortals were caged within their walls as Aisling had been all her life. Hidden away from those who stole and continued to steal what was man’s.

Aisling savored the feeling of her dagger pressed against her waist where she’d newly tucked it.

Their stags stood beside the mountain’s edge, calmly being fed and tended to by one of the fae. However, they were not tethered. Weren’t the Aos Sí concerned they’d run? Wander aimlessly into the night? Perhaps they didn’t care, but Aisling guessed that wasn’t the reason either. As Aisling searched for Saoirse, she heard voices erupting from the group of mounts. Not quite voices but murmurings, a rustle of sentient thought. There was a jolt of hunger, of weariness, of rejoicing at the wind against their pelts.

Aisling quickly tore her gaze away as though the sensation had burned her. She needn’t dwell on fae unknowns just yet. Fae mysteries that still turned her skin cold.

Meanwhile, eight or so knights prowled the camp, watchfully peering into the creases of the mountain, the valley, and the forests beyond. Aisling didn’t see the point. The greatest threat in all the continents were the fair folk. They haunted the wilds, the places even man found too untamable to possibly burn their mortal mark into the earth. Ironically, there was no place safer for Aisling to be than sleeping amongst the monsters themselves. So, who did they fear? Who did they guard against?

Before Lir could say a word, various of his knights stood from their spots and made way for the mortal queen, finding openings to wedge themselves into the circle. They glared at her, no doubt whispering about her beneath their breath. Aisling scoffed to herself; it mattered little if they whispered or screamed their disapproval at the peaks of the summit. Either way, Aisling couldn’t understand their tongue andthus, their likely spiteful words.

But one glance from their fae king quieted their musings, quickly snapping whatever sneers they’d brewed into bewildered yet obedient expressions. Aisling quite liked their expressions. They somehow made this strange race more…human.

Lir leaned forward and tore off a large bone wrapped with meat. He handed it to Aisling and the queen awkwardly accepted it. Aisling hadn’t expected silverware, crystal goblets, or pottered plates. Still, eating straight from the bone was strange—unnatural—entirely improper for a gentleman much less a lady, a princess, a queen. But Aisling couldn’t deny that she’d often wished she could throw such rules and etiquette at Clodagh’s sharp nose, and dive into the feast held within her mortal castle’s halls. Eat with her hands and her poor posture even if just a hair from its dignified, erect stance.

“Is it bewitched?” Aisling asked the fae king, turning it over in her hands. Lir raised his brows, considering her for a moment. Aisling resisted the urge to look away. There was something raw about the glint in his eyes, something unbroken and deadly, yet wondrous and inexplicably lovely.

“There will be food, going forward, that is not designed for mortal consumption. But you can trust that whatever I give you is safe to eat,” he said, taking a swig from his flask, “but the wine…never drink the wine.” He tapped one of the men beside him; Aisling believed she’d overheard him be called Rian earlier in the day. His red hair was cropped shorter but bore two lines on either side, shaved to the scalp. His fae markings ran around his neck, as if strangling him, before stroking the angles of his jaw.

Rian met Aisling’s eyes, standing and starting towards the stags.

“It’s enchanted then?” Aisling asked, considering the inky brew.

“In a sense, but not for the purpose of harming mortals.” Lir tilted his chalice so Aisling could see more clearly. “It’ssimply not made for your kind. Humans are overwhelmed by what they see and experience.”

“And what do they experience?” Aisling continued.

“I’ve heard some say that humans are made vulnerable to the senses of the Sidhe—the way we feel, understand, interpret the world.” Lir glanced at the mountains and the forest, the gale sweeping through his dark hair. So, they called themselves theSidhe. Not the Aos Sí. It struck Aisling as odd she’d never been taught that. “They can temporarily see, smell, listen, and touch the way we do.”

“And that’s too much for a human?” Aisling asked.

“It would appear so,” Lir said, taking another drink, watching her from behind thick lashes.

Rian returned, offering Aisling a flask of water. Water taken from the stags’ reserves considering they were the only ones, other than Aisling, who did not drink the wine. The queen accepted the flask, setting it on the ground beside her feet, and nodded to the fae knight.

“Eat,” Lir said, reminding her of the meat she still grasped in her left hand.

A moment passed where Aisling considered it could be a trick—a prank made to make a fool of the human queen should the food be enchanted, spelled to mortals. It was clear none of them wished for her company, but she was hungry, and if she didn’t eat she wouldn’t have the strength she needed to continue the journey. It was a strange balance she realized she must strike. To trust the Aos Sí enough to live amongst them but all the while maintain enough caution to not be deceived nor harmed by the enemy of her race. To remember who she was and where she came from. To both be apart and a part. Either way, she supposed, she must eat.

So, Aisling dove into the meat. She wondered what Clodagh would make of such manners. Perhaps she’d faint or her skin would flush beet red. At the thought, the corners of Aisling’s mouth couldn’t help but curl. After all, it was she whoproposed Aisling be used as a bargaining chip and traded into the hands of the enemy. Whatever became of Aisling would be Clodagh’s fault. A sentiment that burned in Aisling’s core no matter how honored she knew she should be. No matter that this was her purpose, Clodagh or not.

Lir exhaled a laugh, watching her with a startled expression.

“Is everything alright?” Aisling asked Lir, noticing several of the fae knights’ attention shifting towards her.

“They—wehaven’t been in the close presence of many mortals,” the king said, “other than when an iron arrow aims for our heart or a blade for our throats.”

Aisling often wondered what they thought of her. Did they smell her and grow hungry? Did they find her weak and brittle? Did their fingers itch to cast an enchantment on such a susceptible, unassuming target? Some of the Aos Sí acted as if they feared her, keeping their distance from her stag as they rode. But that, Aisling realized, was most likely resentment.

Upon arriving, the Aos Sí had hushed their conversation, awkwardly staring and whispering as she and Lir spoke. Now, their voices had risen once more, too distracted by their own musings to remember the mortal queen was still amongst them. Lir participated in their discussions as well—all of it nothing more than brutish babble to Aisling. Even if she dared to blend amongst them, laughing when they did, cheering when they did, clapping when they did, it would be an obvious if not embarrassing ruse for all knew she didn’t understand. Would it always be like this? Aisling felt like a phantom. No, not a phantom. A social pariah, a mouse in a lion’s den allowed to live because it did away with numerous pests. Nothing more. She should be happy. She should be grateful they were not tearing her limb from limb, drinking her blood, or using her when and how they liked. Still, Aisling found comfort in the dagger at her waist, its hilt cool against her hip.

All the attention eventually landed on anothermember of the Aos Sí. He grinned, pointed ear to pointed ear, baring those sharp canines. But it wasn’t a fearsome sight; he was happy, playful, blushing with too much wine as he stood shakily and waved at his comrades to settle.

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