Page 25 of The Mortal Queen

Aisling knew her instinct to run was fruitless. Lir was quicker, stronger, imbued with a magic Aisling knew not the limits of.

“My knights tell me to tether you to this column lest you attempt an escape,” he said, unhooking a single axe from his back.

“And you? What does theDamh Bánsay?”

Lir considered her for a moment, their audience growing more impatient by the moment.

“I believe trust a more formidable tether than a rope.” He threw the rope into the mud where it lay like a snake, pelted by the rain.

“I will not stand here as bait,” Aisling growled, balling her hands into fists.

“The choice is yours,” Lir said. “Run from what frightens you or challenge yourself to be a part of our world. Either way, no harm will befall you so long as I’m concerned.”

The audience began banging their fists and paws against the rafters, eager for the tournament to begin. Their animal faces, their fair folk expressions howling into the magic imbued winds of Annwyn. Fury coiled inside Aisling’s belly, a fire burning through her gut and rising with every chant.

“If there is a Forge, may you all burn in it,” Aisling hissed, planting her feet in the mud. She’d stand and wait for Lir to finish his fair folk games. For, a part of what Lir said was true: she’d been sent here to be a part of this world. Had sacrificed all she’d known––her clann, her brothers, Dagfin––to join a world she knew was bloodthirsty long before the union. Nevertheless, her bones burned with rage and terror alike.

Lir smiled triumphantly, sage eyes flashing beneath the overcast sky.

“And you allow it a head start?” Aisling’s voice cracked, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. For indeed, Aisling, judging by where the cage had disappeared behind the lofty labyrinth of hedge and rose and leaf, could assume they’d given the trow an advantage. An opportunity to race ahead of the knights.

“The trow is blind. Its only way of navigating the labyrinth is to sniff you out.”

Aisling beheld the trow across the field, paling at the sight of the beast.

“Fret not, princess,” Lir continued. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

The fae king watched Aisling, lingering, before at last, lengthening the distance between them. Aisling was left alone beside the column, facing down the trow now rattling the cage with increased fervor the longer it smelledthe mortal queen. The trow knew she was just a maze away, helpless. Unable to run quickly enough or fight hard enough.

Aisling cringed at the memory of the fiend already burned into her mind’s eye: it was short in comparison to the Aos Sí, viciously ugly with two beady, pale eyes, a grossly wide, gummy smile shadowed by an even larger, drooping nose. Its legs were thin and boney, knobby knees knocking against one another as it thrust its fat body against the bars of the prison, reaching its rough, large, spidery fingers towards Aisling. Its sharpened, serrated nails clawing at the air.

This. This was the creature inspired by the mortal tales of the Aos Sí, this nightmare born in the flesh.

Unseelie.

“By the Forge,” Aisling whispered beneath her breath, low enough so only she could hear. She didn’t know why she said it. There were no gods and certainly the ones the fair folk believed in wouldn’t save her now. No, she was helpless. Not strong enough. Agile enough. Skilled enough to break loose or escape such fate. Sold first by her family then doomed by her captors. Forsaken to glare down this abomination as it made its way to devour her.

Her only salvation: he who she loathed the most.

Once the hollow horn was blown, Aedh was the first knight to spring forward, racing towards Aisling with the others on his heels. In the same moment, the trow was released, the cage breaking apart and the creature staggering forward on his slender legs, panting with insatiable lust for the princess. The trow and each knight following Aedh, sinking into the maze where Aisling could no longer see.

Aisling sucked in a breath and held it, the roar of every spectator thrumming through her and rendering her numb.

“Mine, mine, mine,” she heard the trow growl amidst the hedges.

The Aos Sí jeered, leaning over the banisters and shaking their fists as mud splattered across their ethereal faces. Badgers carved the railing with their claws, wolves standing on their hind legs as they howled into the air. Barbarians. Brutish savages. Excited at the prospect of Aisling alone at one end of the arena, staring down the hobbling trow as it emerged from the labyrinth first.

And with every painful, passing moment the beast hobbled closer and closer, her blood and flesh its only guide. The reality of the trow biting into Aisling becoming more real, chewing on her skin a more tangible future.

And although short in comparison to the Aos Sí, the trow was the same height as Aisling. Its bizarre proportions on full display: its head thrice as large, its abdomen short and wide, while its legs stood tall and thin on wobbly knees.

Aisling opened her mouth to scream but found the sound caught in her throat. Dread seeping into her bones. Had she been more skilled in combat, prepared to stare down her foes or defend herself, perhaps she wouldn’t feel as helpless as she did now. Aisling had never felt more pathetic. Morefurious.

The trow closed the final distance between itself and Aisling, sniffing both her sweat and terror with deep, exaggerated inhales. Aisling hiked up her shoulders, as she braced for what was to come next.

“Sweet, sweet, sweet,” the creature rasped, licking its teeth and laughing wickedly to itself. Inhaling so deeply Aisling believed it might fall backwards. So, the mortal queen allowed her rage to guide her. She reached for her dagger, lodged in her corset, and drew it the way she’d imagined Starn would, waving it before the trow. A gesture that inspired a slew of gasps from her audience.

“Naughty, naughty, naughty,” it said, stepping back and narrowing its eyes before it lunged for Aislingonce more. Now Aisling did manage to scream, her voice rising above the roar of the spectators and perhaps all of Rinn Dúin.

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