Page 124 of The Savage Queen

Gilrel, Peitho, Galad, Filverel, and Dagfin stood at the other end of the corridor, having appeared from another shadowed entrance. They were covered in red scrapes, bruised, and caked in both sweat and dirt.

Immediately, Aisling met Dagfin’s eyes. His expression brightened at the sight of her then dimmed when he noticed the collar around her throat. Before she could think differently, Aisling’s feet carried her to him. Relief, a wave crashing over her that he was still alive and well.

“Aisling,” Lir warned, drawing one of his axes. Lir’s voice held Aisling back, forcing her beating heart to stutter. The rest of the Sidhe unsheathed their weapons as well, glaring up at the surrounding webs. At the dark crevices, caves, and nooks that tunneled deeper into the mountain.

Dagfin nodded his head in her direction, a silent agreement for her to stay put as he unlatched his daggers from his bandolier.

“Are the neccakaid guarding this final path?” Aisling asked, bumping into Lir as she stepped back.

“It’s possible they’re dormant after so many years. Unbothered by any save for the spirits,” Lir said, running his fingers through his hair so it hung away from his eyes. “It’s also possible they lie in wait. We won’t know for certain until we climb our way to the top.”

Aisling’s tongue turned to ash. The neccakaid, as described by Gilrel, were behemoth arachnids and cave dwellers. Chaotic Unseelie bearing vast appetites, as well as the slayers of Gilrel’s sister, Nuala, during her efforts to save a mortal child.

And as though her sister’s death were replaying before her beady eyes, Gilrel’s expression grew taut, grasping at her steel lest the emotion flood past and drown her entirely. Ears laid back and pressed against her head as she stepped forward first. A tiny form amidst the vast landscape of web, precious stone, and highland frost.

Aisling’s heart ached for the pine marten. And whether Gilrel was still angry with her or not, Aisling hardly cared. So, she started after her, ignoring the others’ caution.

They met at the center of the chamber. A pillar of light illuminating them both.

“Should you plan to run once more,” Gilrel said, “now would be the time.”

Aisling absorbed the impact of her words, lowering onto her knees so they were eye to eye.

“From now on, the only direction I care to run is toward the fire. Preferably, with those half as wicked by my side.” Aisling swore it to Lir, to Gilrel, to the Sidhe, and to the Forge. Carved it into her heart till it rung into eternity.

Aisling wasn’t certain if the pine marten believed her or not. Only that Gilrel blinked, searching Aisling’s expression before, at last, exhaling.

“Half as wicked?” the pine marten grinned. “Let today be a test of our wickedness then.”

Aisling both mirrored her smile and nodded her head in agreement. The rest of their party joining them as they began their ascent to the tip of Lofgren’s Rise and through the neccakaid’s den.

CHAPTER XL

AISLING

“Glad to see you alive,” Aisling whispered to Dagfin as they climbed the staircase upwards. Lir and Galad traveled at the front of their procession while Peitho trailed behind. The rest trekked at the center.

Aisling’s words felt criminally insufficient to the relief she’d experienced spotting him across the chamber. Dagfin was a flicker of warmth, of home.

Aisling wanted to embrace him, to hold him close or, at the very least, hold his hand. But she denied herself this comfort, knowing the pain it would inflict.

“You have no idea how often I’ve thought the same of you. Even when we were children. And yet, my concerns weren’t in vain: you encountered Fionn didn’t you?” Dagfin said, his brows furrowing the longer he considered the collar at her throat.

Aisling nodded her head. “He’s being aided by the Lady, but I can’t imagine he survived after his encounter with Lir.”

“If he were dead that collar would’ve shattered by now.”

Aisling touched the sparkling jewels absent mindedly. “I’ll tear it off like the last. Everything will be fine, Fin. Just like we always find a way back to one another.”

Dagfin didn’t seem convinced, yet, despite himself, he smiled.

“It’s not too late to turn around.”

“Are you asking me to run away with you again?” Aisling asked in jest, yet the words sounded more sober than she’d intended. A part of her, screaming to run away with him now. To turn and flee and never think of the past again.

“The offer always stands,” Dagfin said, meeting her eyes. He ran a hand through his soft brown hair, moving closer till their shoulders brushed.

Aisling cleared her throat, physically unable to process the pain, the hope, the confusion a single glance of his inspired. Not now. Not when she was so close.

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