Page 62 of The Mortal Queen

In sight, there were perhaps fifteen fomorians emerging from each cave and crawling into the light. But Aisling knew there were more hidden away, watching. Waiting.

“How can you be sure?” the first said, blinking its saucer-like eyes bulging from its head. Eyes whose pupils were slit down the center like a wild cat’s.

“She looks like one,” the second said, inhaling deeply, ravenously, “small and pathetic. Delicious.”

Lir moved closer to the mortal queen, brushing her shoulder. Aisling willed herself not to respond. Not to reveal that the fae king stood beside her, invisible. For she knew not what wrath the fomorians would unleash should they know they were being herded into the fae king’s presence.

“But is it a trick?” The first fomori was now a measly pace from the mortal queen.

This close, Aisling could smell them. Beasts who reeked of manure and rot.

“She doesn’t smell like a mortal.” The horde of fomorians inched closer, surrounding her from every direction. Aisling held her breath. Could they smell Lir?

“Does it matter?” the second replied, joining the first’s side. “Just a lick won’t hurt. Or a bite.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Gnoll,” the first growled, leaning closer to smell Aisling more thoroughly. “She doesn’t smell of Sidhe either.” That ruled out Lir’s scent. Did his glamor mask even his smell?

“Look at her ears, round as a rat,” hissed anotherfrom the mouth of a cave.

“Perhaps she’s a banshee,” chimed a fomori crawling on all fours.

But it was the mighty shadow cast over her head that focused her attention, the largest fomori a pace away.

“What is your name, fleshling?” the fomori asked. His voice was guttural, deep, as though the surrounding mountains themselves addressed her.

Aisling cringed, opening her mouth to speak but her words ran dry.

“Can it not speak?” a gangly one said.

The largest fomori blinked at Aisling, lifting its skeletal, spidery fingers to touch the mortal queen’s hair. Aisling flinched, her stomach knotting. She could feel Lir’s body tense beside her own, his arm turning to solid stone.

“Aisling,” the mortal queen blurted, “my name is Aisling.”

The fomorians reeled. Exploding into whispers slithering between one another’s ears. Why Aisling’s name meant anything to these creatures, the mortal queen knew not. They reacted strangely, their bulging eyes lit with curiosity as they examined her more fully.

The great fomori before her, on the other hand, glowered at the mortal queen instead. Eyeing Aisling from head to toe until his scrutiny landed on Iarbonel’s dagger sheathed on her thigh.

“You speak my tongue,” Aisling said, unintentionally speaking her thoughts aloud.

“No,” the second fomori, Gnoll, said, “but it’s understood by mortals and varying species regardless, translated in the breath between us.”

“The trees said you came from the land of iron,” the largest said.

“Now, now, Balor. You’re in the presence of royalty,” Gnoll crooned, peeling back his lips in a gross, crooked smile, a broad smirk of dull, yellowed teeth.

“I expected as much. Could smell her in the winds,” Balor, the largest, said. “And what brings the mortal queen of the greenwood to fomorian land?” Balor moved closer.

“Do you come alone?” another fomori asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Kikkul. Where there is a queen, a king is never far behind,” Balor boomed, and Kikkul shrank at the insult, sinking back into the caves as the others snickered around him. “I’ve smelled him too.” Balor stabbed the earth with his axe, dropping to one knee. The earth rumbled beneath his great weight. And despite his kneeling position, he still towered over the mortal queen.

Closing his eyes, Balor leaned closer to sniff Aisling. The crater held its breath, listening to the fomori’s lazy, indulgent inhale, pulling his head back.

“You’re soaked in his scent,mo Lúra.”

Balor reached out to caress Aisling’s arm, and in response Aisling bit her tongue. It was all she could do to not recoil at the sight of the dried gunk buried beneath Balor’s jagged fingernails.

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And even if there were, this is where she was to remain. She could do this. She could be brave. The mortal queen held her breath as Balor’s fingers hovered above her shoulder.

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