Page 75 of The Mortal Queen

“Neither did the trees,” Lir confessed, turning towards Aisling. The mortal queen shifted awkwardly. She glanced at her pale, wet hand. So small in comparison to the Aos Sí that surrounded her.

“The daughter of the northern fire hand is not the lamb she was presumed to be,” Sakaala said, seemingly speaking her thoughts aloud. “How did you do it?” The merrow’s lips peeled back as she bore her fangs.

Aisling paled, speaking through her dried throat.

“What?”

“How did you steal thedraiocht?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Aisling said as Lir helped her to her feet.

“No mortal can wield thedraiocht.It’s part of the curse. You’ve done something, you fleshling. What have you done?!”

The fae king took a step forward, protectively curling an arm around Aisling.

“Féachail art dol thring,” Lir warned, his words sharp as shards of ice. Sakaala recoiled further into the cavern, the rest of the merrow, following her movement or spiraling down into the depths of the pool.

“Once the rest of the Sidhe find out what she is, what she’s taken, they’ll want her dead. Treaty or not.” Sakaala’s delicate face twisted with loathing. “They’ll ask for her head on a pike.”

“Speak that way again about your queen, a queen of the Sidhe?—”

“She is no Sidhe queen, Lir. She’s a thief. The fire hand’s thief. This is thieves’ sorcery. Nothing good can come of it. He will use her. He will take her and use her to end this war. Just as Danu has foreseen.”

“No longer is she the fire hand’s,” Lir growled. A sound so menacing Aisling wrenched her eyes shut. It was true. Up until Aisling’s marriage to the fae king, she’d been her father’s. Under his veil of protection, of care. But once she was bound, tethered to the fair folk, she was released from Nemed’s hand. Nevertheless, to hear the words on Lir’s lips was strange. Liberating, yet terrifying as all freedom was. Even if she wasn’t free entirely. No. She’d gone from one prisoner to the next, she needed to remind herself.

“You may wish to erase the pain of Narisea and your unborn child’s death with love from another. A secondcaera. But those desires will only prove you are your mother’s son. Don’t make the same mistakes as she.”

Lir bared his teeth, vines growing from his fingertips in rage. But Sakaala continued.

“A word of advice,mo Damh Bán.Once they uncover herdraiocht,Aisling’s death will be demanded by the Sidhe. Better it be at the hand of hercaerathan another’s.”

CHAPTER XXIII

The fae procession rode when the moon sailed currents of midnight blue and slept when the sun blanketed them with rays of gold. But now, Lir challenged their harts, exhausting each stag until they collapsed against the clearings, mounds, valleys, and cliffsides where they rested. Aisling could feel Saoirse’s stress, the longing for water throughout the night, and the relief of sleep when the sun shattered the shadows and ascended come dawn.

“How much farther?” Aisling asked her handmaid, both kneeling beside Saoirse resting on her side at the center of a frosted valley. The rest of the Aos Sí spoke amongst themselves, built a fire, and argued over the coming weather. Lir, however, had disappeared into the surrounding forest.

“I’m not certain. I’ve never been to the Isle of Mirrors before,” Gilrel said, lovingly stroking Saoirse’s belly.

The Isle of Mirrors, where Danu had foreseen the outcome of centuries of blood rivalry between man and fair folk. Answers Lir needed. Wanted with a manic sort of thirst that frightened the mortal queen more than she’d admit.

“Have any Aos Sí gone there before?”

“None that I know of. It’s nearly a place of both myth and legend.”

“I didn’t think the Aos Sí had those. To the mortals, the Aos Sí are myth and legend.”

Gilrel laughed. “Aye, we have many. Stories that aren’t recorded in the Lore but passed down generations with seemingly no beginning nor end.”

“Tales of gods and monsters and mystical lands,” Aisling said, hushing Saoirse’s restless snorts as the beast struggled to rid her muscles of the adrenaline purling within. “My father says there are no gods. That the Lore is forbidden to mortals because it is a deception of the true history.”

“And what is the true history according to the fire hand?” Gilrel asked, meeting the mortal queen’s eyes.

“Man was born of nothing, but nevertheless born first. Burned his way into the Earth and thus, became its master. Taking the Earth’s stone to build his castles, the Earth’s wood to burn his fires, the Earth’s water to propel his mills.”

“And yet, the mortals cower at the coming storm. Fear the beasts of the wood. Shut out the winter lest they die of sickness and frailty.” Gilrel huffed, averting her eyes to watch Rian and Cathan playfully wrestling on the ground. Snow dusted their leathers as they rolled around the meadow.

“And what of this Danu? The empress of the dryads Lir pursues?” Aisling asked.

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