Page 12 of The Mortal Queen

“Cathan,eun fir nak fall big!” they shouted at him. Aisling’s gaze darted around the circle wondering what they were coaxing him to do. Although she couldn’t translate their words, there were certain tones, gestures, and social contexts that, the mortal queen realized, transcended race. Unspoken cues that helped Aisling follow along.

“Eughlig ler mi gag,” they shouted till Cathan, at last, nodded and cleared his throat. The group quieted their excited jeers and silence befell the group, all eyes pinned to Cathan. Several moments passed before he began to sing.

Just like the melodies Aisling had overheard, hiding in her tent, this one was different than anything she’d heard before. For one, she’d never listened to a male sing before. It was a pastime designated only to women in Tilren and, Aisling assumed, all the mortal world. But these male fair folk sang beautifully. The deep timber of their voices, wildly satisfying to the ears.

“Never follow the songs you hear in the dead of night or if lost in the wilderness,” Nemed forewarned Aisling and her brothers. “The Aos Sí sing with voices so divine, a mortal couldn’t resist wandering into pits of unimaginable danger. This is one of many ways the Aos Sí lure innocent humans into the wilds.”

Aisling had always imagined pale, foul creatures blessed with such an ability. Not the glorious males that sat around her. Perhaps that was another deception Nemed hadn’t had time to divulge. To prepare her for. For already so much contradicted what she’d always been taught.

But it appeared as if his lullaby had done more than merely charm Aisling. The whole group had stilled, drinking his tune—gulping as quickly as their ears would allow whilealso savoring every note. Aisling closed her eyes. She focused on the foreign words, the roll of his tongue, the intonations so unlike her own language. What would Starn, Iarbonel, Annind, or Fergus think of his voice? Of this song? What would they make of all these strange fae customs?

“He chronicles the legend of Ina,” Lir whispered, startling the mortal queen. Aisling opened her eyes to find Lir leaning back on his arms, the flames illuminating his markings till they became molten. “She was one of the first of our kind to be cast in the Great Forge of Creation, shaped by the gods alongside the highlands, the seas, the rain, the sun.” He spoke as Cathan’s tune unraveled, translating each verse. “When the six Sidhe kings were chosen—Lugh, Bres, Mac Cuill, Delbaeth, Fiacha, and Nuada—so too were the six Sidhe queens—Dagda, Lottie, Niamh, Siofra, Aoibh, and Ina. Each appointed an enchanted weapon by the gods—a tool unique to only themselves: the mace for Siofra, the spear for Lugh, the axes for Bres, and so on.”

Cathan continued to sing, leaving even the stars enraptured by his voice. It felt as if, Aisling believed, the mountains themselves leaned closer to listen. As if the smoke from the fire took shape and gave life to each word, images in grey, wispy tendrils rapidly forming and reforming.

Aisling knew of the gods and the six kings and queens they’d chosen. These fae sovereigns had been the ones to begin the library known to mortals as the Forbidden Lore. But never had these monarchs been given names. Nemed believed it unimportant for all of it was fiction: lies, empty religion, and stories that dulled the mind.

“And what was Ina’s weapon?” Aisling asked, her voice heavy, weighted by the stupor of the lullaby. Her eyes pinned to the images spun by the smoke.

“She was not given a weapon,” Lir said. “Instead, they allowed her to peer into the Forge. A gaze that gave hersight, capable of seeing beyond the day in which we live andinto the vast realm of another day, the day we might live should we make the choices she anticipates,” Lir said, glaring into the flames that danced between the logs.

“But as with all great tragedies, she fell in love,” Rian piped, meeting Aisling’s eyes. Lir shifted beside her, his gaze lowering, growing more distant than before. Then it always was. As if he was never truly beside another but in some distant, untouchable realm.

So, Rian could speak Aisling’s tongue as well. Could they all speak it and chose not to? Aisling swallowed the bitterness churning in the pit of her stomach. Fought the sneer burning the backs of her eyes.

“Ina was besotted with Bres, a sentiment forbidden amongst the Sidhe kings and queens. For the gods divided them across the Earth, giving them sovereignty of their own share of the land and the wilderness,” Rian continued, his accent thicker than his king’s.

Aisling bristled. The Aos Sí believed they’d been given divine right to the land? What would Nemed think of such lies? He’d most likely threaten to cut out their tongues and char their land—threats he’d managed to accomplish before, after taking fae hostages. Aisling remembered Nemed, his men, and Starn marching into Tilren’s gates, four fair folk bound at the wrists with iron shackles. Wool bags were placed over their heads. It was some years ago, but Aisling could never forget what he did to them before the whole of Tilren.

“It is unfortunate that us mortals were not blessed with the strength or magic the Aos Sí wield, but given enough cleverness anything can be done,” Nemed had told Aisling. “There are no gods; do not let the religion of the Aos Sí deceive you, plague your mind. This world is an earthly one, designed by mortals and for mortals. The Aos Sí, on the other hand, are intruders, aberrations, a perverse mutation of mankind.”

Aisling chilled at the memory. That day, her father stood atop the great walls surrounding Tilren, lecturing Starn. HadAisling not been following her brother around the castle, Nemed wouldn’t have bothered to lecture her. To waste his kingly time with a child who would never inherit his throne. His kingdom. His people.

Aisling shook away the thoughts, refocusing her attention.

“The northern continents went to Bres and Ina, the king and queen of the forests and the mountains,” Rian said.

“The forests and the mountains?” Aisling repeated. How could one rule the wilds? The mountains and the forest obeyed no one and no thing. Neither did the rest of the wilderness for that matter.

“Aye, all of the Sidhe belong to a certain court—courts already divided by the natural world.”

“And what then is your court?” Aisling asked.

“The forests,” Rian said. “Lir inherited the kingdom of the greenwood from his father.” Rian tipped his head in Lir’s direction.

King of the greenwood, Aisling repeated the title in her mind. Were the trees his subjects so much as the Aos Sí were? Aisling had known the Aos Sí to be vile creatures but never had she realized just how strange they were.

“If the rulers married, however, the gods feared they’d stray from their own kingdoms, leaving that part of the world unguarded.”Unguarded against who? Aisling wondered but did not ask, fearing her questions would reveal a certain bias for her own kind, although such a bias would be inevitable. “However, Ina ignored the gods after having foreseen Bres dying in battle.”

A battle against the mortals? Aisling had never heard of this war. Had never learned of it. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep during her lessons. Did Starn, Fergus, Iarbonel, and Annind know or remember this tale? It seemed unlikely considering Cathan’s rendition was already blasphemous to the mortal understanding of their collective history.

“Ina raced to Annwyn,the forest court, leaving her kingdom vulnerable, knowing the outcome. A selfish mistake that cost her her land and countless Sidhe lives alike. And in the end, she was unable to prevent Bres’s death. What she’d seen, had come to pass.”

Aisling shifted her eyes back to the fae king. Lir’s expression had turned cold. Unreadable. A thick wall of ice.

“What became of Ina?” Aisling asked Rian, leaning forward. The fae took a large swig of wine, licking his lips after, but it was Lir who spoke first:

“She was punished by the gods; both she and her mountain kingdom were cursed for all eternity.”

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