Page 26 of The Mortal Queen

Just as the trow’s teeth were to skim the naked flesh on Aisling’s neck, an arrow struck its enormous ear, the shaft of the reed protruding from either side. The trow screeched, a sound that nearly ripped Aisling’s eardrums in two. And from behind the beast, Rian emerged from the labyrinth, bow in hand.

Aisling’s heart leapt at the sight of him, of anyone. It mattered not that Lir was nowhere to be seen. But anger still pooled within her chest that she need wait upon anyone at all. That Lir had placed her here and requested her trust.

The trow tore the arrow from its ear, splattering Aisling’s face.

Rian raced forward, aiming the bow to strike again. He placed the arrow upon the hard edge of the bow’s rest, pulling back on the string till it could no longer budge. And just before his fingers released the reed, an axe spun through the air like a winding sparrow, slicing the string and destroying the bow. The arrow struck the trow’s shoulder instead of its heart.

Aisling’s stomach dropped the moment she saw Lir. The king raised his second axe and swung for Rian. The trow grinned, delighted that the king and his knight battled blade to blade behind him. For Rian’s two shots had merely deterred the beast, not killed it.

Tears ran down Aisling’s cheeks, interrupting the hot, smelly lines of Unseelie blood speckling her face. Watching the trow rip the second arrow from its shoulder. Why she did not run, she didn’t know.

“By the Forge,” Aisling cursed beneath her breath again, wrenching her eyes shut till darkness enveloped her. For the darkness would be what she encountered next. The nothing after death. Deepest shadow and nothing more. But where she thought, upon closing her violet eyes, she’d be alone in the darkest pits of her thoughts before death…she wasn’t.

There was something else. A creature that hadn’t been there before. Something hiding in the abyss of herself. In the chasm of her soul. A sentient being that looked back at Aisling with a curiosity that matched her own.

The trow shrieked once more, forcing Aisling out of her reverie. The mortal queen opened her eyes in time to witness ropes swinging around the thing’s arms, yanking it back and away from the mortal queen. Aisling gasped, her chest rising and falling violently as she beheld the trow squirming on the floor, tangled in those thick, dark, ropes. No—not ropes. Vines. Roots risen from the earth like serpents, snapping at the demon with sentient rage. The trow shrieked an unearthly bellow, biting at the ramblers, digging its nails into their thick flesh. But where one split, two more grew. The roots coiling around the trow, a great leaf-ridden squid pinning the monster to the mud.

The trow did its best to set itself free but it was futile. And now, what captured Aisling’s attention most of all was what stood behind the tangle of vine and trow.

Lir.

Painted in blood and mud, he watched the trow coolly, eyes as still and dark as the shadowed depths of the forest, where no man dared wander, lest he sing death to his door. A monstrous glint illuminating those orbs. And behind him, lay Rian, bloodied and defeated, falling in and out of consciousness atop the emerald grass.

TheSnaidhmerupted with excitement. Lir lifted his eyes to Aisling. The only knight to defeat both their comrades and the trow alike in order to reach her. A competition, the mortal queen now realized, between monsters. For he who saved her from the trow was no better than this foul beast screeching for its breath and pinned to the earth. Perhaps worse. Much, much worse, Aisling recognized to her own dread. So now, after all was said and done, she realized she could indeed trust Lir, entrust the faeking to be the nightmarish legend for which he was renowned.

“Damh Bán!” they chanted, their voices rising into the rain-heavy clouds above, the spidering of lightning illuminating Lir’s lovely, lethal expression.

Aisling believed the entire forest and all of Annwyn to tremble beneath the spectators’ cheers, their stomping, the shaking of the rafters, tents, and seats around them.

Then the Aos Sí’s voices melted from “Damh Bán!” to “Krie grae!” Their shouts grew louder, matching the beat of their fists against the railing.

Aisling bore little idea what the audience screamed, flicking her attention to Gilrel out of instinct. The one who answered her questions, gave her guidance. But she too beamed amongst the spectators, yelling alongside the rest and leaning her furry form over the banister.

Aisling bit her bottom lip, redirecting her attention back to Lir.

Not bothering to wipe the blood from his face, he approached steadily. That invisible cord between them snapping to attention and tugging at her chest.

But despite the mud and sweat and crimson that washed over his lean muscles, his fae markings shone beneath, wrapping around his corded arms and abdomen. Aisling did her best to keep his gaze; there was no reason for her to wilt as he shortened the distance between them. The smell of him, of the forest, enveloping her, drowning out the outside world like a sweet drug.

Lir ran his blood-soaked fingers through his hair, tipping his chin down to meet her violet orbs.

“You see?” Lir unlatched one of his axes from his back, swinging it by the haft artfully. “Nothing to fear.”

“Your arrogance precedes your success. The creature still lives,” Aisling snarled, her fear of the fae king only rivalled by her rage, a rage that could set fire to this arena. Take back what had been taken from her. For indeed, the trow stillstruggled to free itself from his magic.

“Krie grae!” the Aos Sí called, lifting the fae king’s attention to the pit of demons surrounding them. Watching their king’s and Aisling’s every interaction.

Lir flashed his fangs, amused. “They want you to kiss me.”

Aisling blinked. She searched for the words that caught in her throat. Heat rising to her blood-soaked cheeks. Rage, horror, embarrassment mixing in the pit of her stomach till she believed she might be rendered ill there and then.

“But don’t get too excited just yet, princess,” Lir said, flipping the axe between his fingers, having understood the horror on her expression. “You’re right; the game isn’t yet finished.” He released Aisling’s arm, handing her the hilt of his axe.

Aisling considered the weapon. That knotted haft slick with blood and rain and mud, his tattooed fingers still coiled around it. She’d touched this axe before. The night of her wedding. Hadn’t been able to lift it on her own. Not without his help.

Lir tilted his head towards the trow, still squealing like an angry pig in the mud.

“Kill it,” he commanded. His voice was cold. Steeped in shadows of blackest tar. Sending shivers down her spine as shock rippled through her.

---