Page 86 of The Mortal Queen

“And? The first ancient, dangerous beast I ever encountered I married.”

Both Galad and Rian laughed. A sound that inexplicably warmed the mortal queen’s heart, for none had laughed with her since she’d left her mortal world; the sound of her brothers’ howls while they chased the feast pig down Castle Neimedh’s corridors echoed in her heart.

“I agree with the mortal queen,” Rian said. “She might even find herself right at home amongst the dragons.”

“Some breathe fire.” Galad’s eyes shot towards her hands.

“I thought the Sidhe and Unseelie were unable to wield fire,” Aisling asked, clumsily doing her best to match their lengthy strides.

“The Sidhe cannot. But the Unseelie don’t follow the same rules as we do. They are a subspecies. A variation of the original race that is the Sidhe and so, the gods created rare but few exceptions for a select few.”

Aisling opened her mouth to respond but before she could, Lir made himself visible amongst the trees.

Immediately their eyes met, his emerald pools glittering even from a distance and piercing her, a spear straight to her chest.

Aisling’s breath caught, unable to look away. The fae king’s face was just as forlorn as it’d been since their last conversation at the cliff’s edge. Not even Galad nor Rian dared provoke their king in such a state. He was the image of a wounded wolf, burdened by the pain of his afflictions. Surely it hadn’t been Aisling’s words that had affected him so. No, there was something more. The way his expression had twisted at the mention of Ina and Bres…there was something the fae king wasn’t fully prepared to divulge.

“We’re here,” Lir said once he was within earshot. “We’ve reached the Isle of Mirrors.”

Aisling couldn’t see thedraiocht,but she could hear and feel it rising from the earth and evaporating into the woodland air. Such magic danced alongside the fog billowing playfully at their knees, tickled the trees, and skulked amongst the shadows. Watching, listening, clouding the world around them in a dreamy haze. As invisible yet forceful as a pungent fragrance, straight from the bottle of an empress.

Lir pulled the thread of starlight from his pocket, spreading it out and reaching for Aisling’s wrist. The fae king wrapped the tether around her joint. One, two knots this time. Their eyes met and Aisling held her breath unwittingly, eyes that mirrored the chartreuse, peppermint, and juniper of the forest around them.

The snowy land they’d trekked through thus far was swiftly melting away. The nearer they approached, the greenwood transformed into a world of eternal spring: mighty oaks and firs, ashes and cedars, bedizened with needles and leaves like verdant jewels. Blooming with pastel buds and ripe fruit.

“Don’t leave my side,” Lir said, his voice low and quiet enough that only she could hear.

“Lir,” Rian interrupted, approaching alongside Galad. “They’re here.”

The fae king nodded in response, tearing his gaze from Aisling.

Aisling bit her bottom lip, following Lir onward. Galad and Rian walked shortly behind.

It began as a single whisper, a woman’s voice slithering through the undergrowth. Then it became a chorus, a symphony of unintelligible sighs, a collective susurration of phantom breath. A sensation that reminded Aisling of her first journey into Annwyn and all she’d experienced whilecloaked by Lir’s glamour. Now, she wasn’t glamoured. There was no magical barrier or bubble to muffle the dryad’s spell. It was overwhelming. All consuming. Hauntingly divine. Sinister and seductive. Both a caustic clamor of mismatched ruckus and the supple glide of voices made of rich velvet. All reaching towards her, pulling at their disembodied joints to come closer. To see her, to hear her, to smell her.

Aisling willed her gaze straight. Despite fear’s pleading for her to swivel madly on her heels, searching to the right and left, above and below. Instinct told her to swallow hard, to grind her teeth, and keep one foot in front of the other. Lir’s stride beside her a steady beat beside the staccato of her own heart.

The trees ahead, at last, bent on their sides till their branches connected at the top. A steeple made of birch, groaning as the bark snapped and pulled beneath the bend. Impressive, fearsome if not for what came next. The skin of the trees peeled forward, as though duplicating themselves, stretching from the body of the birch until another entity stood before it: two females, one from each tree, whose skin gradually shed the layers of the woodland’s sheathing like a snake strips its old flesh. And once every morsel of the birch was clawed away by an invisible hand, the strange women stood before them, mossy hair billowing in the sighs of the forest, embellished with berries and twigs. Their wood-like complexion was a canvas for their sharp features: onyx eyes, pale lips, and two pairs of finely tipped ears. Ears far longer than their Aos Sí counterparts.

“At last,mo Damh Bán.” The one on the left spoke first, her voice as ethereal as Aisling had anticipated. A sound so delicate, it could very well be an echo in her own mind.

“The wait has been excruciating,” the second purred, both inching forward on bare feet. The vines coiled around each of their limbs, crawling like serpents whenever they moved.

“How long has she known?” Lir said, his expression bored.And if it weren’t for the grip he held on the tether of starlight, wrapped around his wrist and bundled in his fist, Aisling would’ve believed him entirely unamused.

“A few weeks. Perhaps more. She saw you with the fomorians first. The merrow. But before she saw you coming, she smelled you,” the dryad said, eyes flicking towards Aisling.

“Take me to her,” Lir commanded, stepping forward. Where Aisling believed the dryads would hiss with disapproval for their sovereign’s boldness, instead they flinched, pacing back like cornered cats. Their gowns of greenwood scrap, swaying around their lithe forms.

The two dryads nodded their heads in response. And with their long thin limbs, they gestured for the Aos Sí and their mortal queen to follow.

With each of the dryad’s steps, flora sprouted from the earth. The chorus of whispers continued but dampened slightly. A great, invisible council murmuring to one another as their guests passed. Aisling swallowed, glancing back at both Galad and Rian. Their hands rested on the hilt of their greatswords hooked to their belts.

Up ahead, the dryads guided them towards an audience of weeping willows. These trees swayed to the hums of the dryad’s song, but Aisling knew they weren’t normal trees. They were dryads themselves. Waiting, watching, leaning closer to behold their guests. Their giant bodies stretching to the heavens and canopies above, like the cross-vaulted ceilings of a cathedral, flowered branches hanging like chandeliers that dusted the floors beneath with sweetest pollen.

Across the fluffy, green field that stretched before them, countless pools glimmered in the afternoon smog. Aisling gaped at their still bodies, reflecting the dancing of the dryad willows. Sheets of finest, thinnest glass whose depths dove into the earth in blue, crystal-clear waters. Separated only by the thin paths of softest moss. The frothy breath of the forest, bridging a trail forthe fae king.

This was the Isle of Mirrors.

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