Page 35 of The Mortal Queen

Aisling nodded her head vacantly as Gilrel spoke, dipping her pen into the pearly inkpot. Her handwriting, clumsy initially, softened as she scribbled each sentence with utmost concentration. Penmanship was of course one of the many courses offered throughout her tutelage. One she’d find useful before and after political marriage. For she’d already written and re-written this letter several times over, tossing out those with the slightest of imperfections. Had spent her morning either pacing back and forth in her chambers, counting the fish that leapt in the gorge beyond Annwyn, asking Gilrel endless amounts of questions, or ripping sheet after sheet till she resolved to finish a single letter.

Dearest Father,

I hope this letter finds you well. I write to chronicle all that I’ve seen and experienced. What the Aos Sí are like and not like. What their world is like. But to describe such thoughts would be to fill an opus worth of pages. So instead, I’ll tell you the direst of news: during the short time I’ve spent amongst the Aos Sí, I’ve become privy to a threat. A threat that jeopardizes the safety of our people despite the treaty. The Aos Sí call them Unseelie, archaic races that live within the wilds, growing more formidable by the day. But do not take the Aos Sí’s word for it. Take mine instead. I’ve seen them. I’ve?—

Aisling hesitated. Paused long enough that the quill bled into the parchment. The mortal queen crossed out the last word, shaking her head and continuing.

I realize the degree of responsibility and change you must be overseeing in the mortal world. But please, write back to me at your earliest convenience so we may discuss this in greater detail. I think often of Tilren. Of Clann Neimedh and of home.

Home.

Aisling’s chest tightened.

With love

—she continued, steadying her hand once more?—

Your daughter, Aisling

Carefully, she folded the letter and slipped the parchment into a parceled envelope: an emerald sleeve sealed with lavender bramblebee wax harvested from fae honeycomb gardens. And hopefully, her letter would arrive swiftly enough to prevent any further tragedies. After all, the mortals believed their only enemy, the Aos Sí, to be bound by a peace treaty. Inevitably, they would relax their guards, potentially venturing into Unseelie-infested feywilds.

Aisling blanched. She could and would protect her own kind. Could prevent tragedy if only the mortals were informed quickly enough. This was her responsibility to bear and not another’s. For she alone was able to ensure this information reached the appropriate ears.

Aisling stood from her chair and carried the envelope across the room, the sweeping of stray leaves catching the hem of her gown. And despite her eagerness to deliver the letter as soon as possible, the mortal queen hesitated before opening the chamber doors. For, on the other side, Galad leaned against the stone walls, idly flipping a reed betweenhis fingers.

Aisling steeled herself, lifting her chin and jerking the door open.

“Mo Lúra”—the knight straightened lazily—“how are you faring?”

Aisling frowned, biting the inside of her cheek. “I’m afraid I harbor little interest in empty concerns for my welfare.”

“What would give you the impression my concerns are empty?” Galad grinned, flashing his canines. His hair was braided differently today, tugged away from his face and beaded with fragments of bone. His sapphire eyes glinting marvelously as he leaned towards the mortal queen.

Aisling bristled. “Need I remind you I was nearly devoured by a Forge forsaken trow and then a Cú Scáth or do the fair folk enjoy misremembering their crimes against mortals?”

“Ah, but you were not actually eaten by the trow nor the Cú Scáth. The only real harm that befell you had nothing to do with what I or any of the Sidhe partook in; the Unseelie can be unpredictable. As for theSnaidhm, you were promised someone would reach you before the trow and its intentions. That promise was kept.”

“What heroism,” Aisling bit, uncertain why she’d chosen this battle with Galad instead of Lir other than the fear she still harbored towards the fae king, “to place a helpless maiden in danger only to expect praise for releasing her from said perils.”

“Helpless?” Galad dipped his head lower so his words were but a shadowed whisper between them. “Am I misremembering, as you claim, or was it you who raised Lir’s axe and behead the Unseelie yourself?”

Aisling hesitated, tongue-tied, as the memory of the trow’s rolling head resurfaced. The ease with which the blade cut through the beast’s bone. Aisling shivered, a wave of nausea rising in her gut, inspired not by shame nor disgust, but pride. Aisling wrenched her eyes shut, disgraced by her own gratification. Blinking open and willing such feelings gone.Gone and away so that the knight before her might not catch a glimmer of such pleasure in her violet eyes.

Galad laughed, still studying her. “Was there something you needed,mo Lúra?”

“A letter to be delivered with haste. Gilrel informed me you’d be able to aid me in doing so. If not, I can find?—”

“I’m assuming to Tilren?” the knight interrupted, cunning eyes darting towards the envelope folded in Aisling’s hands.

The mortal queen hesitated. “Yes, a letter for my father.” Father to Aisling. Villain to all the fair folk.

Galad slipped the reed into the quiver strapped against his back.

“I can take care of it for you,but Lir’s court advisors will need to read it before it ever leaves Annwyn.”

“For what reason?” she asked, but Aisling already knew.

“Despite beingmo Lúra, your heritage obviously suggests certain blood loyalties. Loyalties, that at least initially, the Sidhe should be wary of. If you write to your tuath, our court advisors will need to inspect more than your penmanship to ensure it doesn’t contain any sensitive information. Information that could jeopardize your union with Lir or Annwyn itself. So, any plans to poison your betrothed, steal his axes, exchange incriminating details or the like should be erased now,mo Lúra.”

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