Page 58 of The Mortal Queen

Aisling thought for a moment. The mortal queen wasn’t certain how to articulate the truth nor if she should speak of such things with the sovereign enemy of her father.

“I know some. I know he tortured your kind. I know he destroyed forests for the sake and protection of mankind. He described himself as a guardian from the savages who stole our land. All his crimes were fulfilled in the name of goodness and thus, in Nemed’s eyes, not crimes at all. But no. I wasn’t aware of the extent of his––” Aisling hesitated. “I didn’t know the details. Political discussions were forbidden to me at my age as well as the majority of Tilren. As was, as you know, the Lore.”

“You only know what your father told you,” Lir gathered.

“And my tuath, my tutors. What reason would I have to doubt them? They’re my kind, my family, my clann.”

“And now?” he asked. “Do you doubt them now?”

Aisling opened her mouth to speak, but the words eluded her. Much of what Nemed had told her was wrong, inaccurate, or a misunderstanding of the truth. But surely such misinterpretations were common in feuds and wars. The embers of rivalries. Aisling couldn’t believe Nemed had lied to her. Her clann was all she knew. All she had.

“None are innocent in war. But, if a centuries-old Aos Sí may impart some wisdom, I suggest you find thetruth for yourself instead of parroting the words of your kind. Of your father. All of us claim to know the truth, only some of us do. Find it for yourself before you stake your life and your loyalties on unchallenged lies.”

Filverel’s words were salt in a wound. They spun in her mind, swirling alongside the image of Hagre’s scars and Galad’s branding. Painful and terrifying yet perhaps, Lir was right. Perhaps despite the torment they brought her, it was necessary that she look, to refrain from averting her eyes.

Aisling wished she could assume every word that parted from fae lips were lies and manipulations. Exactly as Nemed had taught her. But the mortal queen had heard the sharp edge of trauma in their voices, seen the scars, the physical remains and proof of their accounts, herself. How could she deny that? What reason did the fair folk have to lie to the mortal queen? Her opinion of them meant little. If only Aisling could receive word from her father. One conversation could clarify everything. He’d have a reason for all of this.

When Aisling didn’t respond, Lir continued, “You’re the only creature on the Earth that’s been given the opportunity to view this war from two pairs of eyes. Don’t blind yourself to one to uphold the lies of the other.”

CHAPTER XIX

When Aisling woke, the sky was black once more. The moon sailed on a current of stars, glittering with mischief. But the mortal queen felt the night before she saw it: the crisp hues of midnight blue, dew beading the grass with crystals, the lullaby of mating insects humming the world to sleep, the burnt, ashen wood still smoking from a dying fire.

Aisling lazily rolled over, bumping into the fae king. Lir lay dangerously near to her. Had she fallen asleep beside him? The mortal queen couldn’t remember. One moment she’d been awake, watching Lir’s breaths rise and fall, careful not to wake him lest he snap at her like a wolf, and the next, she was rousing.

Aisling sprung from her place on the ground, her wrist snatching and the resistance slamming the mortal queen to the grass once more. Aisling looked in horror at the silver, threaded chain wrapped around her wrist. Starlight threads, Aisling realized.

The tether wrapped around her joint, spiraling down in a long, wispy chain, tangled between herself and the fae king. At last, the mortal queen managed to follow the string to its end, tied around Lir’s wrist. He’d bound them together. Strung them with an impenetrable thread.

With all of Aisling’s commotion, Lir woke, or perhaps he’d been awake this entire time. Aisling couldn’t tell in the darkness.

“Good, you’re up,” he said, sitting upright, his voice ragged. “You should eat something before we leave.”

“Why have you bound me?” Aisling asked, uselessly fiddling with the knot around her wrist.

“It’s for your benefit, lest you’re eager to be stolen away or bewitched into the Unseelie’s waiting hands while we sleep.”

Aisling swallowed.

“Bewitched?”

“Aye, led happily to your death,” Lir clarified, standing himself. The fae king took hold of the string between them, tugging Aisling closer. “This way, I can keep you close.” He grinned.

“And how will this shackle allow for the Unseelie to be lured if you’re always near?”

The fae king brought them face to face, Aisling looking up at his devious expression just visible beyond the midnight veil.

“You needn’t worry yourself with that,” he said, smiling devilishly. “It’s all sorted.” A statement that made Aisling more concerned for her own longevity amongst the Aos Sí.

“Is it already time?” Galad interrupted. Aisling whipped her attention to the knight, wearily uncurling himself from the ground. One by one, the rest of the knights woke as well. The glade stirred with Aos Sí dressing themselves, readying the stags, and sheathing their weapons.

“As the cock crows,” Gilrel replied, stretching her arms, two daggers in either hand, “or, in this case, as the owl hoots.”

The fair folk munched on cheeses, dried breads, fruits, and honeycombs, braiding back their hair and slipping on their boots. It wasn’t long before they’d thoroughly dusted out the fire, gathered their belongings, and saddled the stags, leaving the glade as though they’d never been. All save for the blackened hole at the center of their camp where the firehad burned throughout their sleep.

The party mounted their stags save for Aisling and Lir, who were still standing on the grass. The mortal queen looked between the group and the fae king, wondering why they weren’t joining the others. For now, where Lir went, Aisling also went, bound to him by threads of starlight.

But the fae king said not a word, deigning to explain himself as he approached the scorched circle. Lir knelt beside the ash in a shower of moonlight. A snow-white luster illuminated him against the pitch black of night. For a moment, Aisling believed his wings would unfurl from his back, catching the misty glow of evening. As they had in her dream. But to the mortal queen’s disappointment, he kept them hidden away.

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