Page 59 of The Mortal Queen

With the hand untethered to Aisling, the fae king placed his palm onto the earth and stilled. His long, elegant fingers curled into the powder of cinders. His other elbow rested on his knee, his hand lazily hanging from the joint. None of the others questioned their king, watching from the edge of the clearing where they sat on their stags.

So, the mortal queen waited patiently, studying the fae king bent over the ash. His back swelled with breath. The sound was indistinguishable from the brush of forest leaves against the mountain’s spires. Lir steadily inhaled and exhaled as he, Aisling realized, summoned thedraiocht. Magic.

It didn’t take long for the ground to pulse beneath their feet. As though Lir and Aisling stood on the lungs of the earth, its ragged breath billowing into Lir’s chest and filling him with the wind of the wild. A gale that seeped through his fingertips till the ashen ground beneath him sighed with green. Aisling felt thedraiocht’stouch. Felt it watching her, studying her as it swept the glade in its magic. Was it sentient? Conjured like a curse or a blessing?

Yellow and cerulean flowers bubbled over freshly grown verdant sod. A layer of pasture blooming in a fleeting, passingmoment beneath the moonlight. The greenery slipped between Lir’s fingers, once caked in soot, curling around his fae markings, his king’s rings with sweet fondness until the black mark was gone. Vanished. As though it never was.

And so, the fae king undid the fire. Gave back the life the flames had stolen.

“How did you do that?” Aisling asked Lir. The fae king rode behind her as the procession continued their quest through the forest. And the further they travelled, the thicker the forest became: a labyrinth of ancient, wooded sentinels, inky rivers, caves, and the edges of snow-peaked summits. Long gone was the world of man; out here, the age of iron was a distant dream. Untouched by mortal sovereigns, they trekked through the dominion of yews, apples, and Wych elms.

“How did you regrow the earth?” Aisling clarified, idly stroking Saoirse’s mane.

“It’s a simple spell. One thedraiochtlongs to be used for,” he replied, his muscles strung tight against Aisling’s back. Poised to fight at a moment’s notice. Aisling felt it too, the growing thickness of the air they breathed, the pressure descending from the midnight skies like a thick quilt.

“Can you regrow the forests?” Aisling whispered. “After what Nemed has done?”

“Perhaps in another few centuries I’ll find a way but now…no,” he said. “The trees are too old. Too ancient. Centuries of memory and thought. To breathe so much life into the thousands that have been destroyed, it’s not possible. Only the Forge itself has such power. Has enough will to feed thedraiocht.”

Of course, Aisling thought to herself. Otherwise, Lir would’ve already done so.

“Did Nemed or your mother ever speak of thedraiochtwith you? A tutor?” he asked, leaning his head so he whispered in her ear.

“No, my father claimed magic was a perversity of nature.”

Lir laughed coolly, unsurprised. “But no one—even in passing—mentioned thedraiocht? Not in your family’s history?”

“In Tilren, to speak of such things is forbidden,” Aisling said, “so if there were mention, I wouldn’t know of it. But in Annwyn, they teach the children of thedraiocht?”

“Aye, but it’s not so much taught as it is experienced. From the time we’re born we begin to speak with thedraiocht, living with and through it. It’s inseparable from our very nature and all the while an entity in and of itself.”

Saoirse stumbled over a loose stone, so Lir clutched Aisling’s waist, bringing her against him. The mortal queen heated. The sensation of him against her, behind her, overwhelming. Prickling every inch of her skin till she managed to squirm free once more lest she dissolve in his arms.

“My mother did, however, teach me to fly,” Lir said. Aisling tilted her head to study his expression. It was strange to think that such a powerful creature as Lir had once been a child with a mother and father. Parents who were likely once as powerful as the fae king was now. Were they dead? Alive? Lir never spoke of them. Surely, if his mother were alive, Aisling would’ve already met the former queen of the greenwood. For she’d married Lir’s father after all. Aisling bit her tongue. Or had she? Why had Aisling assumed Lir’s parents to be husband and wife simply because they bore a child? That his parents had beencaeras? In the mortal world, such customs were expected, but that certainly didn’t imply fae culture followed similar rules. Perhaps they’d simply been fortunate enough to bear a child, not yet wed or proclaimedcaeras.

“Flying is an inevitability, taught ornot, but with guidance, a Sidhe child can learn to perfect such an ability for themselves and do so more efficiently, lessening the likelihood of ill-fated falls and recklessness.”

“And how does one learn to fly?” Aisling asked.

“When I wouldn’t sleep as a bairn, my mother would cradle me as she flew, praying to the Forge I’d drift to sleep so she could dream herself. From the time we’re born we memorize the rhythm of our mother’s flutter. Then when I was old enough, she’d let me graze the canopies on my own, demonstrated how to propel through a storm, manage turbulent winds, mend a tear.”

The fae king’s voice was ragged with grief, implying his mother was gone. What must it be like to carry such grief for an eternity? Especially when natural deaths were few and far between amongst the Aos Sí. Which begged the question: how had Lir’s mother died?

Abruptly, Lir brought Saoirse to a stop. The fae procession mirrored their monarch. Did they hear something Aisling couldn’t? See something? The mortal queen paled, dreading what was to come next.

“What is it?” Aisling whispered.

“Sshh,” Lir hushed softly, leaping off Saoirse’s back. “I’d encourage you not to be afraid, but I’m almost certain you’ll enjoy this.”

“Enjoy what?” Aisling continued. The fae king didn’t respond. Merely lifted Aisling from the stag, setting her on the ground beside him. Quickly, he slung a bandolier over his head and across his chest, lifting his hood so the top of his face was veiled with shadow.

“Have you heard something?” Aisling continued.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

The fae king gestured for Aisling to follow him, their wrists still tethered by the rope of starlight.

“Where are we going?” Aisling answered with a question, looking back at the group of fae knights, dismounting anddisappearing into the surrounding trees. They were ghosts, silently floating through the woods, every breath shared with the wilderness around them.

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