Page 17 of The Mortal Queen

The doors to the fortress were perhaps fifty men tall, embellished with enormous stag-head door knockers, whose muzzles gripped the rings. Such rings were not needed, however, for the threshold opened of its own accord, revealing the inside of both the mountain and the castle itself.

Aisling gasped as they entered the fae bastion for even the interior of the castle burst with wildlife, a forest growing from within the heart of the fortress despite the immaculately polished floors and gilded ornamentation. The walls weremasterfully sculpted with large, epic narratives. Pots bubbling over with flowers sat on glass tables, on staircase steps, along the walls, hanging from the ceilings. In fact, large pillars molded into the image of winged fae females held up such ceilings. Bluebirds and sparrows fluttering from pillar to pillar, foxes skittering up the winding staircases on two feet and chasing rabbit tails. A room cast in the breath of the woods. Hardly the bestial den or monstrous cavern she’d imagined a day prior. No, this was something different. A palace spun on a spindle of dreams and enchantment.

Once Aisling, Lir, Galad, and several other knights had stepped inside the castle, the knights dispersed themselves, melting into the colossal fortress, either tending to duties unbeknownst to Aisling or enjoying some rest after their travels. They slipped into the corridors, travelled up the numerous staircases, or spoke to one another. The fae king was one of them. For nearly the moment their group stepped into the fortress, Lir was abruptly requested by one of his court advisors—Aisling assumed the role based on the Aos Sí’s dress—leaving Galad to accompany the mortal queen. Perhaps, Aisling thought to herself, the urgency with which the advisor had pulled Lir from Aisling’s side was related to the dryads they’d encountered passing through the forest.

Still, the queen found herself staring after the fae king, watching as he vanished further into the castle without a word or glance in her direction. She was glad for it. He, more than all the rest combined, unsettled her. Struck fear into her core, a fear that inspired both dread and a bizarre sort of thrill she knew was best stifled and not entertained.

As Galad guided Aisling through the castle, they passed several fae servants, what appeared to be cooks, musicians, masons, and falconers, amongst others, cursing the mortal queen beneath their breath. All taking the form of those strange, bipedal animals she’d seen loitering about Annwyn before. And they were each lovely, dressed in finely sewnservant attire draped neatly over their gleaming pelts or feathers. Nothing like the faded robes and frocks the help wore in Tilren.

“Ba hadith rekka dú fuile a lur,” Galad addressed the staff as they swept by, gesturing between Aisling and the bestial servants around them. They bowed as he did so, eyeing their new sovereign beneath hateful expressions.

“This is the primary staff for the castle,” Galad explained. Aisling schooled her expression but within she was shocked there weren’t more. Castle Neimedh was half the size of this enormous bastion, and yet their servants tripled what Lir possessed here. “In time you’ll become familiar with both their names and their individual responsibilities. For now, know they are all eager and willing to serve you.”

Galad eyed each of them as he said the last words. None dared counter his statement nor did they have time as the fae knight travelled further into the keep with Aisling following shortly behind.

There was seldom a moment Aisling forgot about the pointed canines hiding behind both the fair folk’s and these bipedal animals’ calculated, smiling lips. Fangs that could rip out her windpipe at a moment’s notice. Not to mention their otherworldly strength. Even the fae commoners she’d seen in the streets. Aisling was a fly in a spider’s nest, offered by her own tuath.

“This is Gilrel,” Galad said at last, gesturing to an obscenely large—large for its species—pine marten crouched on the floor as they rounded another corner. Its paws were cushioned in clouds of bubbles as the beast wiped the checkered floors in consistent, shapely circles. By the look of it, the marten had already buffed an entire hall, the marble glossy enough to witness one’s own reflection. But it was not alone. Kestrels fluttered high above, making use of their wings to sponge the highest panels of stained glass while the squirrels dusted the rafters, and swabbedthe vaulted ceilings.

“She will be your handmaiden. Your comfort and all that you require is Gilrel’s concern.” Aisling hid her surprise. So, she would not spend her remaining years in whatever loathsome pit they called their dungeons after all. Even if that meant being waited upon by a furry little beast like the one who glowered at her now.

The marten unfurled herself, standing tall before curtsying, her small apron wet with suds. She was hardly the nervous chambermaid Aisling had employed in Tilren. Gilrel was as lovely as a marten could be, adorned with the same tribal markings all the fair folk sported beneath their clothes, but brandished solely on her paws and ears.

As well as scars and nicks, Aisling could spot a slender scrape along her jugular, a cut across the bridge of her muzzle, and a jagged line across the back of her paw. Memories of violence whittled into her skin.

“Does she speak my tongue?” Aisling asked Galad.

“I’m fluent in most mortal dialects as well as, of course,my mother tongue,Rún,also known as the ‘divine language,’” Gilrel said, her voice as lovely as a songbird, perverted by her bitter disapproval of the human woman before her. Aisling audibly gasped, stepping back instinctively. If their ability to walk and behave like people weren’t enough, the clarity with which this beast spoke was enough to send Aisling to her grave in fright.

Aisling cleared her throat, doing her best and failing to cloak her surprise; for other than the obvious enchantments performed before her eyes, it was not common, at least in mortal society, for a servant to be so educated. Perhaps it was their lengthy lifespans that awarded them centuries to acquire the knowledge an educated mortal gained in one measly lifetime. In fact, these Aos Sí most likely lived various lives between the time of their birth and the date of their death. Did these strange bipedal beasts live so long as well? The marten handmaid had obviously––based on what Galad had said aboutall citizens of the Aos Sí serving in their armies as well as her scars––fought in several wars. This chambermaid had more experience, knowledge, than Aisling could begin to imagine. And yet, she would serve a human. One whose only education and experience were that which her court advisor deigned to provide her.

“Gilrel is an honored member of the staff,mo Lúra.You’ll be well taken care of,” Galad encouraged, perhaps sensing the tension vegetating in the air between them.

“Very well,” Aisling huffed, refusing to wilt before a servant, and an animal one at that, for Gilrel still shot daggers from her beady black eyes. That’s what her father would want. Had asked of her. “Will you show me to my chambers? I’m in desperate need of a meal and good rest.”

Gilrel nodded, her brow furrowing.

“This way,mo Lúra.”The handmaiden acridly gestured for Aisling to follow, waddling up ahead on her two paws.

The queen glanced once more at Galad, already immersed in a conversation with another servant. One of the many creatures busily scuttling in every direction, carrying bundles of roses and strawberries in baskets hooked into the crooks of their arms, piles of freshly laundered drapes, and delegating order after order. They were preparing for something. Aisling knew the signs of an approaching royal event.

“Is there a reason you don’t use fire to light your passages?” Aisling ducked beneath various flowering ramblers reaching for the crown of her head. Florets glowed with warm bulbs at the heart of their gown of petals. The same breed of plump buds responsible for illuminating Aisling’s tent the night of her wedding.

Gilrel’s gaze sharpened. “We prefer noflames in our interiors.”

Aisling nodded her head but she already knew this. Had already noticed the absence of flame when inside any fae dwelling. Aisling was rather concerned withwhythat was, but Gilrel was clearly in no mood to answer, her furry face taut with resentment, making Aisling all the more curious.

“Have you ever gotten lost in these halls?” Aisling continued, admiring the complex labyrinth that was this fae palace. A bastion Aisling would’ve believed, days prior, to exist only in her most wild machinations.

“Not for many centuries, no,” Gilrel said, considering the castle herself as they travelled through its passages.

“Perhaps when you were young?” Aisling wondered if the servant had indeed lived in Annwyn when she was young. The queen knew the Aos Sí had arrived centuries prior to the day she herself was born, but no one knew the exact year or date. Only that since this strange race stepped foot on mortal land, the humans and Aos Sí had been at constant war; Nemed was one mortal king among hundreds before him who served to protect mankind. To protect the mortal world from these abominations. Imposters. Fair folk. So perhaps their furry friends lived equally as long.

“I’ve not been a child for quite some time,” Gilrel said, her gaze growing distant. How old could the marten handmaid possibly be? It was strange to think the young marten before her, appearing no older than Aisling herself, was ages old.

“And when did you learn to speak?” Aisling bit her tongue for she knew the question was a risk. Perhaps it was rude to ask but she wanted to know.

The corner of Gilrel’s lips curled.

---