Page 67 of The Mortal Queen

Here in the highlands, the wilderness morphed into something new. One moment, the fae procession had beenswept in the cool, evening winds of the verdant northern forests, delighted come morning when the sun warmed the earth once more. And the next moment, the fae parade had seemingly stepped into a realm of rock, crystal, and cold where the highlands rolled in their sleep to the lullaby of trees dressed in ice, clicking their frozen branches in the wind like the cylindrical chimes hanging in Annwyn.

At last, they stopped to set up camp beside a cliff’s edge. Gradually, they unpacked their belongings, tethering the stags to the surrounding pines. Not because the stags would run. No, Lir spoke with them and knew they were loyal, obedient creatures. But because the Unseelie were deceitful fiends, the fair folk explained, capable of luring even the animals into their depths when none were awake to witness their mischief.

Gilrel brushed through Aisling’s hair, locks knotted with dried blood, dirt, and fomorian death dust. Already the chambermaid had prepared Aisling a fresh set of clothes and a bathing rag, the best means of cleanliness given the circumstances. Not too long ago, Aisling would’ve been horrified at the prospect of not being able to bathe in a proper tub, to eat her mortal meals, to spend the days travelling and walking and hiking through the wilderness. Excited, curious, intrigued but horrified nonetheless. She’d never not been spoiled with every luxury man had to offer. And now that she lived this way, trekked alongside the Aos Sí, she found she enjoyed it. Of course, her face was burnt, her muscles ached, her thighs were chafed, her feet blistered by the leather of the boots, and her stomach growled for something other than wild rabbit, or deer, or boar, or berries, or leaves. Craved a proper bath more than anything. But she could grow accustomed to not having those things. The mortal queen’s muscles would eventually grow stronger, her skin more resilient, her stomach content with the diet of such questing. Aisling, however, became increasingly concerned she could never return to her life before, a life locked away in an iron keep.Forced to walk, talk, eat, read, sleep like a lady. Not the barefoot savage she claimed to be in the make-believe games she played with Dagfin.

“No matter what, Aisling, do not forget who you are,” Nemed had said. “Don’t forget the world that made you. No matter what or how much they take from you, do not let them take who you are. Where you come from.”

“Are you well,mo Lúra?” Gilrel asked.

“There’s no need to call me that, Gilrel,” Aisling replied. “You can call me Ash.”

Gilrel hesitated as she pinned back Aisling’s hair.

“Very well…Ash,” the chambermaid said, her voice softening, “are you faring alright? Nuala always hated encountering the Unseelie. Even if she’d done so despite my guidance, it was always out of a responsibility she felt burdened to carry. I can’t imagine what a mortal might feel…” Gilrel trailed off, sitting beside Aisling. The firelight danced across her stained fur.

“Yes, thank you, Gilrel,” and it wasn’t a lie. Aisling felt surprisingly alright. Of course, the Unseelie would haunt her dreams till the day she died but the mortal queen was content. Fine. Eager to continue travelling through the forest. What sort of monster did that make Aisling? That she could behold violence, bloodshed, primordial beasts, and feel…hungry for more?

Gnoll’s burning body flashed in her mind’s eye. What she’d felt in that moment was frightening, to say the least. A power she’d never held before. Not as a sheltered princess. Not as a sacrificial lamb. An unbridled barbarity within her mortal bones. Another voice coaxing her to unleash it. Nemed had warned her of the beasts outside their iron walls but never of the beast that lurked within.

The rest of the fae knights sat around the fire, stealing glances at the mortal queen as they chewed their strips of freshly broiled meat. Lir, Filverel, Galad, and Rian whisperedwildly by the stags, spitting back and forth so quickly it was evident enough they were arguing. Even if Aisling couldn’t understand their fae tongue.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Aisling whispered to Gilrel, popping several berries onto her tongue. Between bites, the chambermaid cautiously snuck a glance in the fae king’s direction.

“They’re arguing about you.”

“And what do they say?”

But before Gilrel could respond,the fae king, Filverel, Galad, and Rian approached the fire. The mortal queen avoided Lir’s gaze, those feline eyes studying her till she felt bare before him. The knights, on the other hand, steered clear of meeting her expression entirely, taking their seats around the fire.

The next several days passed similarly. The fair folk eyed her suspiciously, lengthening the distance between themselves and the mortal queen while Filverel and Lir argued for hours on end in Rún. And no more Unseelie crawled out of their holes nor did the Aos Sí approach any.

So, what were they waiting for?

After the first few weeks, Aisling stopped counting the days. It didn’t seem to matter out in the wilderness. In fact, time moved differently out here. A day was a week and a week a month. And as far as Aisling was concerned, they’d spent years blazing through the feywilds during the evenings and sleeping during the day. Everyone, except Aisling.

The mortal queen struggled to sleep so Lir lay awake with her most days, recounting tales of the Forbidden Lore. All stories that were incongruent with the versions her father had taught. A father who, for all Aisling knew, had beenswept off the face of the Earth, for he still hadn’t responded to her letter. Did he not believe her any longer? Trust her? Care for her opinion? Aisling’s greatest fear was swiftly becoming realized: in the eyes of the mortals, Aisling had died the night of her union. Contaminated by her marriage to the Aos Sí.

But out here in the wilderness, where she ran and hid and faced otherworldly danger, none of that bothered her. Not the opinion of her mother, the approval of her father, or the validation of her brothers. It was just the fair folk, she and the trees who leaned closer as she passed. The wildflowers she collected in her pockets. The newly made scars she counted. The number of woodland creatures that visited Lir when they believed none to be watching.

Nevertheless, although softening each day to the mortal queen, the Aos Sí still distrusted Aisling. Kept her an arm’s length away, wary of her mortal blood.

In the last hours of the night, the fae procession stopped to rest beside a frozen lake. The stags drank their fill, tethered to nearby trees. The fae knights drank and sang and played, less anxious than they’d been since their journey had begun.

“Place your feet here and grip the sword with two hands,” Galad said, demonstrating himself. Aisling mirrored his position, struggling to hold the blade’s haft steady by the brim of the lake.

“You’re shaking like you’ve just seen a sluagh,” Rian said, steadying her hands.

“It’s too heavy.” Aisling’s arms shook despite Galad’s sword being among the thinner longswords, one the mortal queen recognized from the night of her union to the fae king.

“Perhaps we should stick to daggers,” Rian said.

“She can hardly throw one more than a few feet.” Galad steadied the tip of the blade, releasing Aisling from its weight.

“Then maybe our time is better spent teaching her to run.” Rian laughed before he too assisted Aisling in lowering theblade’s tip to the pebbles carpeting the lake’s shore.

Aisling exhaled, blowing the loose strands out of her freckled face.

“I can run fine,” Aisling huffed.

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