Page 55 of The Mortal Queen

Aisling inhaled sharply, rendered mute by shock, afraid thedraiochtwould drown her. For now, thedraiochtdidn’t limit itself to Aisling’s exterior but dove inside, filling her lungs as it did the pines and oaks, the flowers and the weeds, the stones and the river.It spoke to her but she couldn’t understand. Couldn’t translate this lullaby Yddra spilled into her ears.

Aisling reached for Iarbonel’s dagger with her free hand.She hesitated briefly before swinging for Lir. The iron blade licked the back of his palm, singing a bloody red streak. With a curse, Lir released her from his grapple.

And at the loss of Lir’s concentration, thedraiochtdissipated as quickly as a passing wind, deflating the world of its impatient energy. Aisling’s ears popped as she tucked her hand against her chest.

“The trees, the animals, they’ve been warning me for quite some time, and I ignored them. It was time I saw for myself,” Lir said, glancing back at his fae procession, waiting on him a distance away. Had they felt what Aisling had felt? Been alarmed by the dancing of the trees on a windless night?

“And what is it that you think you saw?” Aisling seethed, too furious to mind who or what may hear her shouts.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, his voice ragged. “But know, princess, that like the Sidhe, trees cannot tell a lie.”

CHAPTER XVIII

As the dawn cast rapids of lavender across the horizon, each member of the fae party unpacked their bags and squabbled over the most comfortable place to rest their head. The grass here was soft, long, and interrupted by tufted beds of wildflowers. It was in this glade, pressed against a mound of boulders, that they would rest, feed their stags, and themselves, until the early evening.

Three nights had passed and still there had been no sign of the Unseelie. Even the trees were evasive, reluctant to share more information with their fae king than was necessary.

“Tonight they will show themselves,” Rian encouraged, flopping onto a particularly fluffy mound of greenery.

“Nikulic sef net tall esca mell,”,” Aedh added in Rún. Aisling looked up and met Gilrel’s eyes. The pine marten translated for Aisling in hushed tones whilst still tending the fire at the center of their camp with Liam.

“We’re near fomorian land. I can smell them,” Aedh had said.

“So long as the mortal queen rides with Lir, they’ll remain elusive. As will all the Unseelie. They aren’t so stupid as to leap from their dwellings before Lir and his men,” Filverel argued. The court advisor stood at the brim of the glade, squinting between the surrounding columns of pines.

“And a fire shan’t help either,” Hagre whined. “They’ll smell that smoke for miles.”

The lady’s maid and squire hesitated, looking to Lir for direction.

“Would you prefer your queen freeze?” Lir said in Aisling’s tongue.

“She may be mortal but surely the daylight will warm her enough,” Cathan said, sneering at Aisling over his shoulder. Aisling stood by Saoirse, feeding her the blend of hay and molasses Liam had prepared for the trip. The beasts ate ravenously, already collapsing to their knees to feel the cool edge of the pasture beneath their round bellies.

“The night is cold, Cathan. Mortals need warmth and comfort for optimal survival,” Gilrel chided.

Hagre staked his sword into the earth beneath him. “I thought we were bringing her along as bait. Not a liability.”

“Come nightfall, we’ll take a different approach to ensnaring any Unseelie,” Lir said, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. “For now, rest and think no more of it.”

And as though prompted, Galad emerged from the surrounding woodland, five rabbits hanging limply by their ears in his right fist. Aisling stared at their bloodied hides as Galad skinned and prepped the hares to be cooked over the flame. The mortal queen had enjoyed rabbit before, but Aisling knew these rabbits would taste nothing like what she’d experienced in the mortal world. For fae spices, their manner of baking, their treatment of the creature was unlike anything mankind did to similar dishes. Aisling began to wonder: if she weren’t here, would these fae knights have eaten the rabbits raw, considering how they griped about the fire? But Aisling realized to her own horror, she was just ravenous enough to eat the creature raw if she must.

As best she could, the mortal queen ignored the fae king, deigning to glance in his direction. But she felt his eyes on her, watching her from across the glade. Those feline jades stalking her every step.

“Not quite mortal. Not quiteSidhe.”

“The trees never lie.”

Aisling shut her eyes. The smoke burned and blurred her vision. It billowed in great clouds of grey, carrying with it the scent of cooking hare and whatever fae herbs Galad had spread across its back.

Gilrel sat beside Aisling now, fiddling with a bowl of mashed leaves.

“The sun has burned your face,” Gilrel said when all the fae knights were too distracted to eavesdrop. Now, each of them sat around the crackling flames, their faces lit with orange firelight and cheeks pink with warmth. Everyone except for Tyr and Hagre; they stood at opposing ends of the glade, hands wrapped around the hilts of their weapons. These were the first of the knights to stand guard. And in a few hours, Einri and Aedh would take their shift. The males would continue to rotate this way until nightfall when it was once more time to pack up and venture onward.

“This is perhaps the most time I’ve spent beneath the open sky since I was a small child,” Aisling replied. “The majority of life in Tilren takes place beneath the shadow of our walls, unless you manage to sneak away with evening’s help”—Aisling considered for a moment—“and a brew just strong enough to put the guards to sleep.”

Gilrel dabbed the balm onto Aisling’s cheeks; despite the slimy texture, the mashed leaves indeed soothed her skin, cooling and seeping into her pores. But Aisling hardly enjoyed the respite for the look on Gilrel’s face told the mortal queen the marten pitied her. Aisling nearly scoffed aloud. When had Gilrel turned the corner from pure resentment to sympathy? Especially when it was she who’d lost her sister so tragically.

“Regardless, I was never a fan of the sun, always having preferred the moonlight,” Aisling said, watching the fae knights pass around a large flask, adorned now with a sticky rabbit’s foot.

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