Page 20 of The Mortal Queen

“Gilrel,” Aisling called, “what’s happened?”

The chambermaid dropped whatever she’d been busied with, the magpies leaping into the air startled, and joined the woman atop the balcony.

Gilrel inhaled sharply. “It appears there’s been another attack.”

Attack? But there was peace between the mortals and the Aos Sí as far as both races were concerned. Aisling’s marriage to a fae king was evidence of that. Who would possibly launch an offense two days post a political union?

And, as if sensing her thoughts, Gilrel spoke. “This is no mortal attack. I can smell their blood from here and their wounds reek of Unseelie.”

Unseelie.

Aisling blinked.

Gilrel, understanding Aisling’s confusion, continued, “The Unseelie are all the creatures inhabiting the feywilds, the forests belonging to the Sidhe. They are like the Sidhe, forged alongside them, but far more chaotic in nature. This includes great monsters and?—”

“The dryads?” Aisling interrupted, remembering her encounter in the forest.

“Aye, the dryads, among others,” Gilrel said.

Aisling bit her bottom lip. Why had she never heard of these Unseelie? Why had her tutors, Friseal, her father never spoken of these creatures? Perhaps they were unaware of such dangers, in which case, someone must warn them. Warn all of mankind of these other races, beings that could harm the fair folk themselves. Even fae knights. And the possibility that Nemed, her tuath, the northern kings, chieftains, and tiarnas had known of the Unseelie and kept it a secret…such a possibility was unimaginable. What reason was there to lie to the northern people? To Aisling herself?

The knights raced up the steps to the castle’s front entrance, near enough that Aisling caught sight of Galad and Lir among the flurry of fae warriors. Even from this distance, Aisling could see the dents in the fae king’s armor, the dirt caking his joints, the scarlet bleeding across his hands and neck. Was it his own, the blood of his men, or the blood of his enemy?

Had they gone chasing after the dryads? Or some other Unseelie Aisling didn’t yet know of? If Lir and his knights had gone in pursuit of such creatures, it could only mean they were a direct threat to the fair folk and their land. In which case, mortals hardly stood a chance against such enemies. They needed to be warned. Aisling shook away the thoughts of Starn, Fergus, Iarbonel, or Annind stumbling upon such demons. They would be defenseless, doomed before they’d realized what unknown threats lie just outside Tilren’s walls.

“Come,mo Lúra,” Gilrel said, shattering Aisling’s trance, “You’d do well not to dwell on it. We must prepare you for theSnaidhm.”

Aisling sat before her vanity alone.

Gilrel had dressed Aisling in that emerald gown, trimmed with white forget-me-nots, a point of contention between the mortal queen and her marten, for the fair folk dressed so differently than the mortals. Humans were forbidden to wear color lest they draw too much attention to themselves when near the wilds. But here in Annwyn, among the Aos Sí, it was normal, if not expected.

That morning, Gilrel had done her best to encourage Aisling to wear her hair undone but the mortal queen required more time to adopt their customs. Even wearing these sparkling, jewel-tone gowns with their flowers and leaves had been a leap of courage. Aisling wasn’t yet prepared to unpin her hair in public. Not yet.

It had been several hours since the chambermaid had said she’d return. This was after a mouse had come squeaking about a broken cage. Gilrel had appeared reluctant to leave Aisling alone, especially before theSnaidhmbut had done so regardless to address whatever the small rodent was alarmed about. So now Aisling sat in silence, listening to the soft chirping of the songbirds hovering around her head at Gilrel’s command. It was becoming more and more clear Aisling wasn’t trusted.

But the door to her chambers whispered her name as the sun’s crown turned gold, inviting her to explore Castle Annwyn. To prowl around its seemingly infinite spiral stairwells as she’d done as a child in Castle Neimedh. After all, these night-time explorations had been just as forbidden then as they appeared to be now. The only difference was Dagfin at her side, encouraging her mischief as she encouraged his. Not to mention, the vast and darkly enchanted corridors that awaited her here in Annwyn.

“Castle Annwyn was not designed for humans to traverse unaccompanied,” Gilrel had once said when Aisling had inquired why she wasn’t allowed to leave her rooms withoutan escort. The thought bothered her, fanning the embers of her curiosity.

So, Aisling abruptly stood from the vanity, grabbed Iarbonel’s dagger, and slid it beneath her corset. She rushed towards her chamber doors, shutting the heavy threshold as quickly as she was able, so as to trap the magpies in her rooms. Three slipped through a small crevice in the nick of time, refusing to allow her the privacy she craved. Aisling cursed them beneath her breath, straightening herself and continuing down a corridor.

The halls were narrow but crowded with glowing flower bulbs. Silence grew potently here, interrupted only by the whispers of the wind slipping through the castle or the fluttering wings of the magpies clouding around Aisling’s head. Of course, no servants or guards or fair folk traversed these halls now. Most likely they were already at theSnaidhmawaiting her arrival.

Aisling travelled through the castle, tempted by every bolted door, every poorly lit chamber, every portrait rotting away beneath the oppressive vines. Leaves that curled in her direction, inspecting their mortal passerby.

And just as Aisling made to return to her rooms, unamused by the endless winding of Castle Annwyn’s passages, did something slither by in her periphery.

An onyx serpent glided across the stone floors, lifting its head as though in greeting. Its amethyst eyes locked onto her own, before proceeding through the window of an arched doorway, a wooden threshold whose knob was whittled into the shape of a hand, poised to shake palms with whosoever wished to enter.

The magpies, still tweeting nervously, pulled on Aisling’s braids in the direction she’d come, unravelling Gilrel’s handiwork till curls framed her face.

Aisling ignored the birds, instead tugging on thestrange knob.

The door groaned open easily, presenting several dim chambers, each smelling of mildew, of duchess fungi, of dust left to settle.

So, Aisling followed the sinuous shape of the serpent as it continued on, glancing backwards as though ensuring the mortal queen indeed followed. It wasn’t until they both entered a round chamber that Aisling diverted her attention, setting eyes on a large fountain pressed against the far wall. A forest of thorns and bone ivy clung to the structure, climbing up the wings of fair folk molded by stone. Creatures who, frozen in time, all strained to reach an owl at the apex of the sculpture. The owl’s three eyes inlaid with twinkling jewels and wings outstretched.

The snake journeyed up the fountain before disappearing into the gaping mouth of the owl, reflected in the inky waters below.

---