Page 111 of The Savage Queen

And if the ghost of Iod’s past wasn’t enough, Aisling felt as though she were being watched. Studied as she entered. Every owl, glaring at her with their bulbous eyes till her skin crawled.

The trail of blood ended beside a staircase that barreled into the side of the mountain.

Above the staircase, letters were etched in Rún. So Gilrel translated for both Aisling and Dagfin.

Enter here only the invited.

The chosen, the mighty, and the knighted.

Otherwise, pay by breath,

the lasting coin of death.

Their attention wandered to a hand of stone, protruding from the wall beside the threshold.

“Ina enjoyed her riddles, it appears.” Filverel read the passage a few more times, disassembling each sentence word by word, syllable by syllable.

“This is ridiculous.” Peitho rushed to the entrance, prepared to dive into the darkness. Her hand slipped past the entryway first, snatching a bloodcurdling scream from her lips. And when she drew back her hand, it was skeletal; phantom white, the flesh stripped from her fingers and shriveled to dust, slowly returning to normal the longer she stayed away from the threshold. Horror marked her features until her hand, at last, bore no signs of the death-given bones it had just donned.

“I suppose we haven’t an invitation after all,” Gilrel said, grabbing Peitho’s hand and studying it up close.

“From whom?” Dagfin asked.

“Ina.” Aisling moved forward, tracing the stone hand with her fingertips.

“Careful,” Galad said, moving beside her as if to take her hand away. Before he could, Aisling’s fingertips lit like matches, sparked by the magic of the mountain.

“Remember the doorknob in Annwyn?” Aisling asked the knight. “The whittled hand each and every visitor must clasp to make its acquaintance? This is no different. Only now, we meet the mountain itself. Lofgren’s Rise will determine if Ina has invited us or not.”

At Aisling’s words, they each peered through the threshold.

Darkness veiled its full passage, but Aisling could nevertheless see its path spin upwards into the heart of god-forged rock.

Aisling folded her hand into the stone’s grasp.

The mountain heaved in and out, as though gasping for breath. Its every expire low, thick, and timbersome, vibrating with magic lingering from the beginning of time. With rain pelting its jagged back, trees growing over its boulders, and stars bending lower to lick its peaks. This giant annealed by the Forge and the gods themselves, weary after centuries of hoarding Iod’s abandoned kingdom.

Fire ignited around Aisling’s knuckles, wove across the stone hand’s wrist, and spilled into the interlace tracing the door. Every stroke and groove filled with flame, lighting the entryway in violet fire.

“Wait,” Dagfin and Lir said in unison, but Aisling was already stepping through the threshold. She crossed, unharmed, and purpled by the glow of her flames.

CHAPTER XXXVI

AISLING

One by one they traveled up and into the dark.

Aisling cupped her hands together and bloomed thedraiocht. A bud of fire that fluttered into individual flames like rose petals, catching the mountain’s sighs and lighting their path as it floated through their party.

“Impossible. Ina’s been dead for centuries, how could she have invited her?” Filverel asked, glancing at Aisling over his shoulder.

“Herdraiochttakes the form of Racat. Is it really so outlandish to believe she’s been foreseen by Ina herself?” Gilrel argued, eyes narrowed as she led their party up the mountain.

“You needn’t speak of me as though I’m not here,” Aisling said. “Perhaps the entrance responded to magic and spells alone.”

“Then it would’ve allowed Peitho in,” Galad replied. “Her lungs alike breathe with magic, as do all the Sidhe.”

Aisling’s brow furrowed. When she’d first arrived in Annwyn, a snake had guided her to a hidden chamber. One adorned with a large fountain and the image of an owl, watching her as she appraised it. Her first invitation, Aisling was now realizing. A chill crept up her spine at the thought.

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