Page 52 of The Mortal Queen

“No,” he said, matter-of-factly, “most live infear.”

“Do you?”

Lir hesitated before replying. His shoulders tensing.

“Yes,” he said to the mortal queen’s surprise. She hadn’t expected the fae king to say such a thing, something uniquely vulnerable. The mortal queen craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Lir’s expression, his polished emeralds shadowed by memory.

Sympathy bloomed within the mortal queen before she bore the opportunity to trample it. But by the time Aisling blinked, the fae king had already recovered, rather enchanted himself by the forest beyond.

Saoirse stomped her hooves restlessly. Aisling stroked her neck. The stag stood at the head of the procession now, eager to get this quest over and done with. The quicker they entered, the quicker they would leave.

“Coirrigh an fhoirliú deo!” Lir shouted to his men, turning Saoirse a step so he faced his knights. Each one nodded in response, slipping on their gloves, lifting their hoods, and clicking their tongues. Their mounts obeyed, propelling their riders into a steady trot behind their fae king.

Falling effortlessly into formation, each knight rode in silence. Rian and Galad journeyed side-by-side behind their king and queen. Filverel rode next. Then came Gilrel and Liam, followed by the rest of the fae knights: Cathan, Aedh, Einri, Hagre, Tyr, Yevhen, and several others Aisling didn’t yet know the names of.

Aisling held her breath as they neared the brim of the woods. That first step from glade to forest was the crossing of a threshold from one world to the next. To believe Lir was the sole sovereign to this wooded, arcane empire, the one whose breath now warmed her skin, sent a flock of crimson-eyed ravens through her belly.

Saoirse whinnied nervously, stepping one hoof and then another into the forest. One by one the fae knights sank into the greenwood, peeling back curtains of firs and pines, nothing to indicate they once stood at the forest’s edge otherthan the branches snapping back into place behind them, waving at the outside world. And just like that, they were devoured by the feywilds with nowhere to travel but onward.

The forest grew dense, dark, and deep. The arms and legs of the woods stretched their limbs to touch their visitors as the fae knights cut through the twisted roots, the fallen trees, and the carpet of fog slithering around the stags’ hooves. Guardians leaning in close to whisper about their company in a language Aisling couldn’t understand.

Together, ten Aos Sí couldn’t wrap their arms around the trunks of the eldest trees nor climb their highest branch. Only the strongest of the moon’s rays managed to break through the canopies in slender showers of white light.

They journeyed for several hours, parting the evening winds like rapids in a running river, never once stopping to rest. Aisling imagined that should this voyage be under any other circumstance, she might find herself dozing off while riding, lulled to sleep by the steady crunch of Saoirse’s hooves on the pine needles below. But adrenaline fueled her. Not to mention, little could make her forget about the savage that rode behind her, plunging them further and further into the northern wilderness. And with every snap of a branch, every hoot of an owl, every bristle of a nearby bush, Aisling hesitated, hand racing to the dagger on her thigh. A reaction met with amused laughter from the group when nothing more than a hare leapt from the surrounding foliage.

“You can rest if you need to,” Lir whispered into her ear from behind. “I’ll keep you steady.”

“And wake to an ambush of some bestial horde?”

“As good a time as any to wake,” Lir said. Aisling didn’t need to turn to witness his smirk, his wordssteeped with amusement. “Very well, if you won’t rest, tell me a story then, to keep myself from dozing.”

“Surely the great king of the Sidhe does not tire?” Aisling said sardonically, fluctuating her voice dramatically.

Lir exhaled a laugh. “Rarely but he does grow bored.”

“I know of no tales other than those smuggled by Castle Neimedh’s staff, all stories revolving around your kind.”

“And do these tales live up to the reality you’ve now faced?”

Aisling frowned. “Some, yes. Others, no. And still some, I’m not yet certain.”

“Indulge me,” he said, his voice vibrating against her back.

“There are those who claim the Aos Sí can shapeshift, take the form of a horse to steal children away into the forests. Is that true?”

Lir laughed, this time louder. “Unfortunately, no. It appears, in this story’s case, the mortals have mistaken the phuka for the Sidhe.” Aisling had assumed as much after learning of the Unseelie. It was appearing more and more as though the Unseelie were often mistaken for the Aos Sí in the eyes of mankind. Many mortal civilians were too sheltered from either the fair folk or the Unseelie to understand the difference between them. Including Aisling herself. So why hadn’t Nemed made this difference clear? He was among the few who might know of it. Instead, he perpetuated these stories.

“Tell me another,” Lir demanded, leaning forward, his chest pressed against her back.

“There are tales claiming the Aos Sí reside in caves, tunneling through the highlands. There, the Aos Sí devour lost mortals and collect their bones. Bones and hair alike.”

“Goblins,” Lir said. “Another.”

Goblins. Aisling toyed with the word in her mouth. Perhaps one day she’d meet one.

“Someone once told me the Aos Sí inhabit even the oceans,singing sailors to their deaths and collecting shipwrecks.”

“There are Sidhe who occupy the seas,” he said, adjusting the reins wrapped around his left hand, “but the creatures you speak of are sirens. Tell me something else.”

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