Page 48 of The Savage Queen

Lir brushed his knuckles against his lips, apple still in hand. Even now, he tasted her. Felt her lips against his own, her body in his arms. A memory rich enough to relive again and again even after having cast it out each time it bloomed.

And the collar glimmering around her throat burned Lir’s bones till his thoughts for Fionn’s punishment grew more creative by the hour.

Filverel shifted, waking Lir from his reverie.

“Whatever you do, Lir, whilst we’re in Oighir don’t seek her out. Heed Fionn’s rules lest this all be in vain.”

Yet still, Fionn’s voice was a distant whisper as Lir followed Aisling from the cloister with his eyes, studying her shadow as it disappeared through another corridor.

AISLING

Aisling stood in a forest made of stars.

The branches clicked together, chiming like the bells laced through the branches in Annwyn. But there was no music. No foxes fixing tea nor the joyous weeping of willows. Only silence and the shape of a woman approaching.

The Lady.

Aisling paled, her body cold, numb, immoveable. Locked in place as though by invisible shackles.

“Aisling, you disappoint me,” she said as her face illuminated beneath the stars. “It could have been done with. Your wounds already healing.”

Aisling fought to move, finding, to her horror, her entire being bespelled. Save her tongue.

“You died. Reaped by Lir’s axe.”

The Lady cackled. “I am no fleshling. Tear apart my bones and rip my skin, my spirit lives in all, reborn again and again till time meets its end.”

Now, she stood before her, reaching out and grabbing Aisling’s throat. She squeezed. Aisling struggled for breath. Face purpling.

“You will pay for this, Aisling. I will stop at nothing to rip you and your Sidhe king apart if it means every last star must fall and the loom must break.”

Aisling sipped on a tea brewed with crushed moonflower petals, doused in cinnamon and nutmeg, and boiled in fae milk. It warmed her soul, but nothing could defrost the arctic aura of Fionn’s company nor the hours of restless sleep, haunted by the Lady herself.

The fae lord sat across from her at the dining table. Dwarven hares serving spiced porridge, broiled meats, and cardamom buns, forming a feast atop their table.

“Eat,mo Lúra.”

“I’ve already told you: if you wish to purchase a morsel of my compliance, then show me to the Roktan prince.” Aisling needed to know Fionn’s good treatment hadn’t ended the moment his deal with Lir was struck. The moment the collar around her neck had been sealed and forged around her throat.

“Again, you ignore your own blood, deign not to mention your brothers. Why is that?”

Aisling pressed her mouth into a thin line, setting her teacup down in response. She’d made her conditions clear.

Fionn exhaled, exasperated. “Your prince is well cared for I assure you as I’ve already proved at my masquerade.”

“Show me.”

A cord snaked around Fionn’s neck, visible just beneath the silk collar.

“I’ll have him brought to you at the first test, if it pleases you. As proof of my kindness.”

Aisling cleared her throat, content with his response. The first test was tomorrow evening and if Dagfin was present, alive, and well, the rest of her stay at Oighir would be easier to stomach. Especially considering the vast luxury of her stay, all provided by Fionn himself as well as his personal servants.

“You needn’t be so difficult with me,mo Lúra. I’m here to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, all that you desire, and anything you need.”

“Then tell me, what is it you forgot to tell me the other night?”

“You reference my relationship with Lir.”

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