Page 139 of The Savage Queen

“It’s a tradition in Niltaor to gift a princess a blade on the day she’s to become queen.”

“I became queen long ago.”

Peitho raised her head, meeting Aisling’s gaze. “Not like today.”

They shared a moment of silence. A strange assessment of the other. As though both were anticipating a betrayal.

“I received my first blade from my father when I was crowned princess.Luinagren.My second will come when I become queen of Niltaor.” Peitho smiled despite herself, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a surprisingly soft expression. “I could hardly carry Luinagren at the time. My cousins laughed at me, amused when my guard steadied my arm to keep it from shaking. So, I trained until I no longer shook. Until the blade became a second limb I could no longer do without.”

Aisling took another step forward and wrapped her fingers around the hilt. Peitho released the blade and stepped back, folding her hands behind her back.

The blade was heavy, causing Aisling’s arms to shake even now in adulthood and with thedraiochtrunning through her veins.

“I chose this blade for its finesse,” Peitho said, appraising the coupling of Aisling and the sword. To the Aos Sí, a wielder bonds with their blade, the first meeting more important than any other. “It’s forged with adamant, lighter than most metals yet powerful all the same. Its tip, as sharp and biting as the most lethal venoms.”

Aisling held the blade like Galad and Rian had taught her, swinging it once. The movement was awkward and the muscles in both her abdomen and arms strained.

Peitho tilted her head to the side, and Aisling braced herself for the princess’s ridicule.

“May I?” Peitho asked instead, gesturing to the sword.

Aisling swallowed but nodded her head, handing the weapon to Peitho.

“You hold it like a male,” she said, showing Aisling how she gripped the hilt. “Your body moves differently to them and requires a more elegant approach.”

“Galad and Rian were my instructors.”

“That explains it,” Peitho said. “They’re fine warriors but they know little of what it takes to be a swordswoman. I can teach you.”

“Teach me?” Aisling nearly scoffed, watching as Peitho effortlessly spun the blade between her fingers.

“Don’t look so surprised. If you’re to be the queen of Annwyn, an ally to Niltaor, I couldn’t let you embarrass our kingdoms with your clumsy jabbing.”

Peitho tossed the blade back to Aisling and mercifully she caught it, bracing herself for the weight of it.

“What will you name it?”

Aisling’s brows pinched, considering.

“I’d never thought to name a blade.”

“Every Sidhe queen names her blade. It’s a part of the tethering of souls.”

There is power in names. Even the mortals knew that.

Aisling closed her eyes.

“Sarwen.”

Peitho did a double take, eyes widening. “Sarwen, the mortal reaper.”

Galad stepped by Aisling’s side, her personal guard now, waiting to escort her onto the balcony and join Lir’s side.

She wore a gown of scorpion black, hugging her body until it spilled from her hips like liquid metal. A slit rose to her hip, showcasing the lace-up heels Gilrel’s magpies had tied around her calves and thighs. Hair loose and wild, interspersed with braided strands glistering with onyx beads.

Peitho, Filverel, Gilrel, and the rest of Lir’s knights stood waiting behind him, silent with their heads bowed or looking over the audience. An endless crowd of those whose ears drew to a point, whose fangs were sharp, those with wings and those without, bipedal beasts of all shape and form.

“From now on,” Lir continued, “you are subjects of both myself and your queen: Aisling, the Sidhe queen of Annwyn, host of theDragún, Curse Breaker, and sorceress.”

---