Page 90 of The Savage Queen

Lir struggled to bite his tongue. He needn’t draw unnecessary attention to either himself or his knights, especially duringSamhain, when thedraiochtwas especially mischievous and lawless. Capable of unveiling his glamour should Lir indulge in his rage.

“You worship the feywilds, the beasts, the Aos Sí. What reason would you have for my services?” Dagfin asked, forcing Lir to wonder if the princeling was aware of the phuka wandering the streets and claiming souls yestereve or if he’d been too consumed with inhaling Ocras to notice. Enough to kill a weaker human. And if Dagfin hadn’t wreaked of it, Lir would’ve noticed regardless. The sharp transformation from wounded mortal to gleamingFaerakin a handful of hours. His dependency deepening.

“All things worship out of fear, Your Majesty. We’re attuned to the earth and the churning of the Forge, harboring utmost respect for all its creation.” The druid paced nearer, his cloaked followers matching his movements. “But with you here, Prince of Demons Death, we bare the tools to end bloodshed until the next beast arrives, and we’re forced to strike a deal we must abide by lest we starve.”

“You wish me to hunt this Unseelie down?”

Peitho and Filverel both glanced at Lir, gauging his reaction.

“The phuka, Your Majesty.”

Aisling considered the priest through narrowed eyes, reminding Lir of their conversation the night before and wondering if Aisling felt the inclination to help once more. Angering him further.

“There’s no time,” Lir growled from up ahead, meeting Dagfin’s glare. “And this isn’t our concern.”

The druids all scowled at Lir, noticing him for the first time. Tempting Lir to strip himself of his glamour and have them fall to their knees.

“Fionn and the Lady are still nipping at our heels.” Aisling spoke to the princeling, her words nearly a whisper. “We cannot wait till the end ofSamhain.”

Dagfin worked his jaw, considering. A fact which annoyed Lir more than most things. For despite the priest’s ignorance, the choice was not the princeling’s.

“I cannot refuse them help,” he replied to Aisling, just as low. “And if placed in my position, neither would you.”

Aisling grimaced.

“You think too highly of me,” she said.

“You sacrificed your life for the mortal race once before. At the expense of all you held dear. Why should today be any different?”

Aisling held Dagfin’s gaze, expression unreadable. But Lir saw the conflicted curve at the edge of her lips. The frown that settled across her brow. The way her eyes slid to Lir’s own, weighing the correct choice. Caught in between. And so long as Aisling was lost somewhere in the middle, Lir suffered, drowning in his own longing.

“We ride now,” the Sidhe king growled, his patience spent.

Lir nudged the mount onwards, his knights following suit while Dagfin and Aisling lingered behind. A shred of doubt blooming in Lir that perhaps Aisling wouldn’t follow.

Lir’s horse reared, startled by a figure approaching from the feywilds.

Lir knew before he could make sense of its details the figure was mortal. A child, no older than a handful of years, racing for Bludhaven. Mud and blood alike, streaked across its blue cheeks and lips purpled by the cold. It wept as it collapsed across the drawbridge, but not a druid moved. Instead, they glared at him, whispering useless prayers to the gods. The guards at the front entrance raising their crossbows and aiming at the child.

“Be gone!” the priest shouted, fear mingling with anger and breaking his voice. “This is no home to you now, child!”

The child stuttered. Unable to use its tongue for shock or the cold, Lir couldn’t tell.

The Sidhe king hesitated, his mount huffing and stomping in place.

“I said be gone!” the druid repeated, voice echoing amidst the silence.

Without thinking, Lir leapt off the horse and approached the child in one movement. He felt Bludhaven stir, their whispers scraping against the cold.

“Do not touch him!” The druid’s face burned red, shaking with fury. “That child is the phuka’s now. Touch him, and you will condemn us all to certain death for entertaining an escapedsacrifice! He must go back, and our payment must be paid unless his majesty slays the phuka.”

Lir ignored the priest, kneeling before the child. He was just a fledgling.

Sidhe children, as rare as they might be, lived decades as children. On the other hand, and at the cost of mortal lifespans, human children lived only a handful of years from birth to adulthood. Meaning this child hadn’t entered life but perhaps three years prior. Its handful of years a blink in comparison to Sidhe children. Nothing more than a bairn.

Lir reached out and held the child’s cheek. Its flesh hard and waxy to the touch. Lir’s loathing for the child’s mortal blood cooled by the streaks of tears and the child’s cooing. The fluttering of its lashes, the innocence, so akin to Sidhe bairns it almost ached.

The memories of a hungry cry echoed in his mind. Nightmares of a Sidhe bairn calling out to a mother who’d presaged its own death as Lir cradled it in his arms. Desperate to keep its small fire burning if just for a breath longer. To hear its cries for an eternity. And at the time, Lir didn’t realize that despite the bairn’s death after Narisea’s, he’d indeed hear its cries forever. Its precise decibel finding him in a quiet room, a dreamless sleep, a still morning. The pain of every memory, a reminder he still bore a heart. That Lir had once loved and lost greatly.

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