Page 115 of The Mortal Queen

But before Aisling could respond, a mortal man leapt for her. Dark eyes of abhorrence, wielder of a sword of undiluted iron. He cursed her as mortals cursed the Sidhe, spitting on her gown as he made to deliver her soul to the Other. A Tilrish soldier forge-bent on eliminating the once princess of his tuath. In his mind, such a woman was dead and gone. Nothing but a sorceress left in her wake.

The mortal queen gasped in horror, summoning thedraiochtin a panic just as Dagfin turned to block the onslaught. None of their attempts mattered, however, for themortal guard was brought to the earth by great serpents for roots, coiling around his iron-clad body and crushing his bones one by one.

Aisling lifted her eyes only to meet Lir’s from across the field.

His marvelous features were riddled with sweat, dirt, and the ichor of others. None of which rivalled the fury in his sage eyes that bid the grass below him to transform, to grow into a forest of its own. Giant yews sprouting between unassuming mortals and fair folk alike. This was impossible. Lir himself had deemed growing trees like this, growing a new forest, a dream but never reality. So how now, did he manage the strength to conjure so potently. To summon such wrath and vengeance, breathing it into the titan pines that burst from the earth. This was a new power. Something ancient. Something raw. Something Aisling and none of the Isles of Rinn Dúin had seen before.

“Stay with me,” the fae king whispered across the expanse, yet Aisling heard it as if it were spoken directly in her ear.

“Aisling,” Dagfin pulled her, his voice ragged with urgency as more trees burst from the earth, impaling mortal and Unseelie alike. But his voice was lost as he was tossed away from her, a new elm severing their hands and tearing she and Dagfin apart. For it was quickly becoming apparent Lir was forming a path. A path for her to walk towards him, undeterred by the mayhem around them. Rows of trees leading her towards the fae lord.

So, Aisling followed, defeating the distance that lay between them. Listening to the pull of the string beckoning her closer with every beat of their hearts.

The forest knelt around her, arching their great backs, like a counsel of trees, eclipsing the only light able to percolate through the dense layer of canopy. Encouraging her onward.

And once she was near enough, Lir held hishand out to her. A hand she accepted, despite her fury, every hair on her skin standing at attention.

“Some say the fair folk play tricks, spill mischief with a heavy hand.” Aisling spoke first, searching his eyes. Glittering, red-rimmed orbs of feral, lethal intent. The sort of violent madness that only death can stifle. Madness and longing. An insatiable desire stirred within him the moment their eyes met. The moment they touched. For indeed, Lir had not only retained fountains of information but deceived his bride alongside all others. Enough to harden Aisling’s heart and rue her naivety she’d so desperately believed no longer plagued her as it once had in Tilren.

“Those tales are all true,” he confessed, his voice thick, warming her flesh. He pulled her nearer. Together they both stood in a realm of their own. Away from the pandemonium hovering just outside their periphery. Inching nearer.

He leaned towards her, the threat of a smile on his lips. “Return with me, Aisling.”

“Our union was sworn in the spirit of an alliance, an alliance you’ve now betrayed.”

“Your kind traded you to the enemy like a prize mare, unable to wield a dagger, unable to speak our tongue, and uneducated in the true Lore, helpless, defenseless, and ignorant. But it was the Sidhe and theirdraiochtthat made you powerful. Opened your eyes to that which your clann kept hidden from you. Taught you to be predator and not prey.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You belong amongst the Sidhe, Aisling. For you are no longer a princess of Tilren. You are something far more deadly.”

Aisling glanced over her shoulder. Dagfin fought his way in her direction, cutting down goblin after goblin like a violent star hurtling towards her.

Lir tightened his grip at the sight of him, a muscle flaring in his jaw.

Aisling shook her head. “I don’t belong anywhere. Notamongst mortals and not amongst the Sidhe.” She paused, considering before continuing. “There’s someone or something that has mentioned the coming of sorcerers, of mages, of witches and wizards. Words I’d never heard spoken till they fell from Danu’s lips. I must find this someone or something, discover what it is I’ve become or have always been.”

Lir’s expression hollowed, eyes glazing over, devoid of the sanity that tempered his rage. Danu’s prophecy and believing Aisling dead had killed the half of the fae king that embodied the stag. And now, Lir’s wolf was all that remained.

“I must go.”

For Aisling found she no longer cared for forgiveness. Forgiveness for either her family or the Sidhe. Whether they’d lied to her, traded her, used her as bait, insulted her, none of it mattered so long as she was powerful. So naturally, she couldn’t find it in herself to relent what little power she’d been given nor discard an opportunity to embolden such might. For power, magic, thedraiochtcould give her everything and anything she’d ever wanted.

Aisling now knew such desires came at a cost whether it be cruelty, pain, or suffering, and to pay them, to inflict them, was inevitable if she were to reign supreme. Ideals of goodness were as naive as she was once herself. For there was no such thing as good or bad. Only those who are powerful and those who are weak. Only those who eat and those who are eaten.

“Is this what you want?” His voice was calm, as ice-ridden as the highland woodlands.

Roots ruptured from the earth with greater zeal, showered them in mud, dirt, and grass. Darting towards the clouds with unmet rage.

“Aye, it is.” Aisling nodded, witnessing his jadeite orbs morph into the beast she’d seen a handful of times. That vacant, wicked glint transforming him. “In time, we’ll find one another once more. And perhaps then, we’ll be equally matched.”

For all that stood in the way of Aislinghoning her newfound abilities, was knowledge of herself and her belonging. The legacy the Unseelie—the creature Dagfin claimed he’d encountered—had intimated she’d begin. She was on the cusp of power, and it drove her to such boldness. For once a taste was had, the appetite was insatiable.

“I swore an oath to you and such bargains amongst the Sidhe cannot be broken: a heart for a heart.”

“By the Forge, I vow to you the first cut of my heart, the first taste of my blood, and the last words from my lips.” Aisling remembered the words, lighting the cord between them till it branded their souls. Knotting, groaning, straining painfully.

Lir hesitated for a moment, searching her expression. What he found, Aisling was unsure. But it mattered little.

He brought his lips to her own.

His kiss was hungry. The taste of a single drop on the forest’s tongue after years of drought. The cord between them unraveled, at last loosening, disentangling, slackening, as he wrapped his blood-stained arms around her and she him. The heat within her daring to flood the Isles of Rinn Dúin in waves of violet flame if she didn’t pull away, yet all the while forge-bent on one more moment of this dark indulgence. For she felt his fangs against her tongue and knew he tasted her blood. Knew he wanted more but couldn’t have it. Perhaps ever. A thought that maddened the fae king. Made thedraiochtcoursing through him, spark her in return. Flow through her. A sensation she indulged. Relished. That overwhelming magic: primeval, old, all-knowing, and all-wanting. But the pocket of time they’d forged for themselves could no longer withstand the chaos that surrounded them.

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