Page 113 of The Savage Queen

“I go where Aisling goes,” Dagfin said. Immediately, Lir’s posture tightened.

“You’ll go where she commands you to go,” Lir said.

Yet Aisling didn’t protest. In truth, Aisling didn’t want Dagfin to leave her sight whilst inside Iod’s keep. The whole of their relationship lived thus far, Dagfin had protected Aisling. From the other children, from her father and tutors, and from herself. Now it was Aisling’s turn. She wasn’t certain how much Ocras Dagfin had left, and she wasn’t willing to risk it. So long as he was near, Aisling would know he was alright.

“Then you’ll accompany me through these doors, alongside Galad and Lir,” she said, the music growing louder on the other side.

“He’s mortal,mo Lúra,” Galad said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “An enchantment could deal…fatal consequences on any who lack fae blood whilst inside Iod.”

“Regardless,” Filverel continued. “We need him to navigate through the corridors.”

Aisling studied the trail of blood till it disappeared into the hallway’s abyss. Aisling bit her bottom lip, weighing the choice. Caught between her impatience and her anxiety for theFaerak.

“Aisling and Lir are the most powerful among us,” Gilrel said. “Let us venture through the corridors with Filverel and Galad as well. Especially if the princeling is correct and this path boasts more physical means of guarding whatever lies atop Lofgren’s Rise.”

Dagfin shook his head, a cord wrapping around his neck.

“Lead the others through the corridors, princeling,” Lir said to Dagfin, drawing one of his axes. “You can rest assured I won’t keep my eyes off her.”

Dagfin’s nostrils flared but already the group was dividing itself, those chosen to accompany Dagfin through the corridors drawing their weapons and starting down the tunnels.

TheFaerakhesitated but Aisling knew Dagfin couldn’t forsake even the Sidhe to wander unguided when he alone knew the way.

So, reluctantly, Dagfin tore himself from Aisling.

Aisling caught his hand. She felt Lir shift behind her, the gesture catching his eye.

Dagfin appraised her, eyes at once softening despite the rigidity of his lips.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “And don’t do anything too heroic.”

Dagfin curled his fingers around hers. “If I didn’t, they wouldn’t sing ballads about me.”

TheFaerakbent his head and kissed Aisling on the cheek, bathing Aisling in his cologne of crisp waves, starry nights, and sea-faring adventure. In his warmth. In iron and fire. In home.

Dagfin’s mouth lingered by her cheek for a breath too long, at last, pulling away and searching her expression. Hopeful for what he might find. Aisling wasn’t certain if he was pleased with whatever he’d gleaned or disappointed. Stormy eyes awash with emotion.

He untangled his fingers from Aisling’s and started into the dark.

CHAPTER XXXVII

AISLING

The door shook with laughter.

Music like a Tilrish reel thrummed beneath their feet. Yet its tune was distorted, made more alive, as though every note of the fiddle, the flute, the tambourine, and the harp were the blood of Iod, coursing through its corridors like veins till the heart of it pumped rapturous melodies from the door just beyond.

Its sound was familiar. Not only because it was fae but rather because every inflection, note, and melody was reminiscent of another time.

“That sounds like?—”

“ASnaidhm,” Lir replied. The festival’s name was a spell, showering Aisling in memories. ASnaidhmwas the celebration of a consummation between twocaerasintended to bless the coming of an heir. Last Aisling had attended aSnaidhm, it had been her own. The evening she’d both committed her first kill and encountered a Cú Scáth Lir swiftly slayed. Yet the festival had been in vain, celebrating a consummation that’d never occurred.

“Is it possible Iod isn’t abandoned?” Aisling asked, for who else would be partaking in such merriment on the other side? This, considering an enchantment of these proportions wouldrequire someone capable of mass magic. And the only beings capable ofdraiochtin that magnitude were fae sovereigns, some Unseelie, and the gods themselves.

“It’s not possible,” Lir said, his expression still thrashing with the fury of a woodland storm after Aisling’s interaction with Dagfin. But still, there was more. As though the fae king was experiencing a persistent memory, forcing itself to be remembered.

The threshold’s owl carvings peered more closely as Aisling and Lir approached.

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