Page 63 of The Savage Queen

It glistered brilliantly, dripping as Lir nocked the arrow and pulled back the string.

He closed one eye.

Gilrel’s whiskers twitched. She nodded once at Lir before wrenching her eyes shut. A gesture of trust, of faith in Lir’s aim. Yet, the last thing Lir was concerned with was his aim. It was only the tincture at the tip of his reed that bred doubt.

Lir inhaled. Steadied the violent beating of his heart and soothed his nerves. Imitating the brush of a woodland wind in his lungs: slow and patient. Eyes wandering to Fionn.

He could strike his brother now. And in that case, he’d pray he’d chosen the wrong tincture. That poison saturated his arrow and slipped into Fionn’s heart. Yet an arrow to the heart was a death far from slaking Lir’s thirst for violence after the kiss Fionn shared with Aisling.

A vein snaked around Lir’s neck.

Fionn’s assassination would mean a bloodbath whilst in Oighir’s den. Nevertheless, Lir couldn’t help weighing the satisfaction of his brother’s demise with the rational choice. The one Filverel hoped for, burning through Lir’s back with his oppressive stare. Two badgers stood at each entrance to the hall, foxes crouched in the rafters, prepared to let their arrows fly, and several wolves stalked through the folds of Sidhe, eager to wet their fangs. Nevertheless, if Lir chose violence over reason, an escape was still possible so long as he reached Aisling the moment the reed sunk into Fionn’s chest. And if he didn’t…Lir’s gaze slipped to the collar gripping Aisling’s throat.

Lir exhaled, a breath that rattled through the leaves, through the moss-covered earth, through the warm rivers south of here.

The string released from Lir’s fingertips and the arrow shot forth.

It dove like a sparrow, nailing Gilrel in the shoulder.

The pine marten gritted her teeth, taking the blow valiantly. Swallowing the agony. The sight of his knight bracing against a pain he’d inflicted deepened Lir’s hatred for Fionn.

The room hushed, all eyes focused on the pine marten. Aisling sat on the edge of her seat, nails digging into the arms of her chair as the anticipation built. Gilrel either wounded or poisoned.

Gilrel swayed on her paws, sorting through the pain. Till at last, she straightened, swallowed, and stood tall.

Alive.

A second victory.

CHAPTER XXII

AISLING

Goldenrod glories tangled themselves in Aisling’s hair, curling around her face, her throat, her arms, traveling beneath the sheets of her bed and hugging her body. Gently, mischievously lingering where her bare flesh touched the midnight breeze.

Aisling opened her eyes, springing awake before she was pressed against her bed, a hand covering her mouth and an axe to her throat.

“Shh,” Lir said, leaning over and pinning her. “The bear is just outside those mirrors.”

Aisling squirmed as the flowers grew larger, gripping her curves. She inhaled sharply, meeting Lir’s eyes fully for the first time. They shone with the same reflective sheen as the bloodthirsty, skulking beneath the judgment of the moon.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he purred.

Gradually, both he and the goldenrods released her.

“How did you get in here?” Aisling jolted upright.

“I slipped through a mirror.”

“Must you be so reckless? You threaten everything by visiting me.” Aisling stood from her bed.

A chemise sewn by brownies spilled around her ankles and onto the moonstone floors the moment she rose to her feet.Detailed with floral lace and dappled in pinprick small crystals like tears, it hugged her body before unraveling from her hips in silky waves that made endless her legs. Near translucent and shimmering with the wet sheen of sleet.

Lir’s eyes smoldered, seemingly forcing himself to meet her gaze.

“I should visit you more often at this hour.”

The tops of Aisling’s ears burned crimson, yet she refused to cover herself––an omission Lir affected her. One she wasn’t quick to surrender despite the fluttering inside her chest.

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