Page 80 of The Mortal Queen

“The Aos Sí say their magic comes from the gods. There are no gods. Whatever abilities they wield are aberrations. Perversities of nature. As they are themselves. Do not let them convince you otherwise.”

Wordlessly, Lir encouraged her to try again. The world around Aisling spun as she closed her eyes, clawing through the caverns of her mind for that creature, that incorporeal will that pleaded to be let loose. The panic, the anger, the frustration sparked as she felt herself losing consciousness, slipping away. Aisling clawed at Lir’s arms till she believed she’d tear through his skin.

Where are you? she called thedraiocht.

No answer.

She had but a breath left.

Where are you? she said again, grinding her teeth.

Silence. Ruthless silence. A stillness that struck fear in her, her body instinctively resorting to panic or fight till she reached the surface of the water. Until at last, Aisling felt that spark, crawling from some ancient depth. Its fingers latching onto the corner of whatever cavern it occupied.

Here, it replied.

It burst forth like a broken dam.

On the brink of exploding, her chest heaved, forcing Aisling to inhale. A sharp pain was stripping her lungs. But such pain was brief, for then she breathed underwater. Not as the fish do with their gills. Not as the mortals do with their lungs. Not by inhaling the steaming currents of the springs. But through magic.

“What the mortals call magic we calldraiocht. In your tongue, it means breath.”

And despite her newfound ability to respire alongside the fae king, her hands lit with fire, flames of plum and lilac, flowering from the palms that clung to Lir’s arms and illuminated the fae king in its heated luster.

Aisling released him, shock muddling every coherent thought. The mortal queen held her hands between herself and Lir, floating in the throat of the abyss. She wiggled her fingers, cupped her hands, capturing and releasing the flames, allowing them to dance across her fingertips like amethysts.

Both she and Lir watched, transfixed. Bewitched. Enchanted by the fire that bubbled deep below the surface of the water. A rare gem, alive and glittering between the mortal queen’s hands.

CHAPTER XXIV

This far into the wilderness, giants were born. They sat on their haunches, stony faces glaring down at their own sleek, snowy ridges dappled in evergreens and persistent field flowers, in the Oxheim Highlands, Aisling was told.

The Isle of Mirrors was close. Out here, magic seeped through the forest, the mountains, the fog that clouded around the fair folk’s weary, horned creatures. The nearer they approached, the thicker it became. Like a potent perfume rippling from the source.

Aisling rode ahead, enjoying Saoirse’s burst of energy after a lengthy day of rest. By now, the strict precautions Filverel had instilled initially for the mortal queen had slackened greatly. And although Aisling knew it was wise to save Saoirse’s strength should they need to outrace a horde of Unseelie, she couldn’t help herself. Riding as swiftly as Saoirse was capable was an opiate: the cool caress of the mountain breeze, the fragrance of wildflowers, the steady thump of Saoirse’s hooves on the grass, and the beast’s own excitement charged her. That and the mortal queen’s need to escape Lir’s advisor.

Filverel hadn’t missed an opportunity to scold his fae lordfor teaching the mortal queen to use her abilities. Small lessons every day, concentrating on summoning thedraiocht.An hour or so each night that Aisling savored, looked forward to more than anything else. And with each passing lesson, the mortal queen was improving. Slowly. Gradually. But improving, nonetheless. She could now summon a flicker of flame without risking her life, enough to light a candle. Enough to stoke and begin their campfires come daylight.

The fae knights watched her warily as she practiced, eyeing her with increased suspicion. There were days Aisling believed them to be friends. Days that were quickly replaced by the fury in their eyes each time her fingers lit with claws of violet fire. So, Aisling lay awake most days, when everyone else was asleep, toying with thedraiochtthat rose from her palms.

She spoke with thedraiochttoo, learning to summon it, to listen to it, to scold it when necessary, to praise it, to foster its growth within her lungs.

The magic was addictive. A surety of power the mortal queen never believed she’d possess. One she longed to grow, to cultivate, to understand. And she wanted more.

Aisling brought Saoirse to a halt, pulling back her reins. One glance over the mortal queen’s shoulder told her the procession was still a ways behind her, slowly following her tracks. Aisling glanced around the mountains as Saoirse pranced eagerly beneath her. The mortal queen was suddenly struck by the sensation of wind—a strong, whipping gale slipping and ruffling through obsidian feathers. Then came the determination, the need to pursue and to find. To deliver.

Aisling looked up into the skies. Above her a speck approached, gliding through the stars like a ship on a stormy sea.

Aisling considered turning around. Seeking the security of the fae procession behind her, gradually closing the distance between themselves and the mortal queen.But instead, Aisling kept Saoirse in place, watching as the creature soared over the summits and dove into the valley in which Aisling rode. A raven.

The bird flapped its wings, driving it quicker, more swiftly towards Aisling until it hovered before her. Clutched within its talons, was a scroll, wrapped in a royal blue, braided tassel. Someone had written to the mortal queen and this wondrous winged creature had found her, delivered it to her. Just as Lir claimed it would.

The rook dropped the parchment before perching atop a sickly-looking pine. Aisling lunged for the scroll and caught it before it fell to the ground.

The mortal queen’s heart pounded within her chest. She knew this seal. These colors. Remembered the braided tassel. A part of her was disappointed and another, bubbling over with enthusiasm. For this wasn’t her father’s long-awaited response. No. This was a message from Roktling, the northernmost country amongst the isles.

Aisling quickly broke the seal, unravelling the rolled parchment.

Dear Ash,

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