Page 16 of The Savage Queen

“Your wounds will become infected if not treated.”

“I’m not concerned,” Aisling bit. “I heal more quickly now.”

“Like the Aos Sí themselves,” Killian conjectured.

Aisling was reluctant to respond, wishing for theFaerakto leave her chambers so that the hate pooling in her gut would abate and the stench of his iron would seize the prickling in her nostrils.

“I can treat your hands if you let me.”

“Did Dagfin send you?”

Killian nodded his head in response.

“Then tell Dagfin he can come to help me himself if he so wishes.”

“The Roktan prince has had his hands full dealing with your…massacre. So, he sent me in his stead. You can trust me,” Killian said. But by the cruel edge of his smile, Aisling knew trusting thisFaerakwas a death sentence.

Aisling scoffed. “Trust aFaerak?”

“You trust Dagfin,” Killian argued, stepping toward her like a child afraid to frighten a doe.

“Dagfin,” Aisling said between clenched teeth, “is noFaerak.”

“No?”

“No,” Aisling maintained, gripping her hands tighter. “He’s a prince who despises his crown and will stop at nothing to flee from it. Even if he must flee into the chomps of a beast.”

“We all have our reasons, faerie,” Killian said. “But we’re allFaeraknevertheless.”

Aisling batted away the memory of Dagfin’s iron bolo wrapped around her at his union several weeks ago. Suffocating her. The pain he’d inflicted knowingly. How even he, the one she’d trusted above all others, had kept so much hidden from her.

“And,” Killian continued, “it was Dagfin who asked me to treat your hands. Of course, he warned me you might bite if I tried, but I’m no stranger to the occasional temperamental beast.” Killian chuckled, clearly amused with himself.

Aisling wondered if Dagfin knew the source of her injuries. He either assumed her burnt palms were a result of tying ropes or he knew the truth: that each time she summoned her violet flame, thedraiochtburned her in return. A cost that tore flesh from her very bones. Healing only to render such agony all over again the next time she called its name. Power at the cost of pain.

“Very well,” Aisling conceded. “I’ll allow you to treat me in exchange for a vulnerability of your own.”

Killian’s brows pinched, studying her expression. At last, he nodded his head.

“What are the symbols you painted onto your own hands, Starn, and Dagfin’s chest? The powder you dipped your dagger into? I saw how it broke the murúchs’ enchantments.”

Hesitation flashed across Killian’s amber eyes. Hesitation and thick suspicion. But he kept his promise, exhaling a long breath before speaking.

“Tell me, faerie, do you believe a mere mortal could face a forge-blessed beast and live to tell the tale?” He didn’t wait for Aisling’s reply. “No, the gods made certain that mankind’s curse purged our lungs of thedraiochtand made us weaker, our life spans shorter than both Seelie and Unseelie. So that if ever we were to stand and fight against them, we’d fail. Our only salvation, flame and iron.

“But it was aFaerakcenturies ago that discovered all curses have their weak points. Loopholes if you will. So, we made use of them.”

Aisling laughed. “You wish to fool the gods?”

“We don’t ‘wish’, faerie. We have and will continue to damn the gods by taking back what is rightfully ours. As you yourself have done.”

Aisling bit her tongue, the blood in her palms bubbling with heat.

“TheFaerakdiscovered that the minerals present where the kingdom of Iod, Ina’s mountain kingdom, existed before she’d cursed them all, bore power unique to mortals. Our ancestors’ magic. And when reintroduced to our blood, we’re capable of miraculous feats. Capable of slaughtering the very Unseelie who’d slaughter us instead. It’s called Ocras.”

Aisling’s mind spun and throbbed at the temples.

“You wield thedraiochtas well then?” she asked, her voice higher in pitch than she’d anticipated.

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