Page 71 of The Savage Queen

Fionn shifted, baring his fangs as the winds increased their pace.

So, Aisling closed her eyes, hair whipping in the blizzard like a pool of bleeding ink around her head.

And when she opened her eyes once more, she was fire incarnate.

“By the blood of the Forge.”

Their audience hissed, drawing blades or fleeing from the spectacle entirely, unsure whether to intervene or allow their lord to duel the flaming queen in their stead.

Aisling inhaled sharply as she summoned more fire. The sound of a spell breaking, a deal ended and met, the sound of a string being snipped, echoing throughout Fjallnorr.

Aisling held out her hand and twisted, inspired by thedraiochtwithin.

A giant serpent, shaped by fire, snapping its flame-forged fangs, rose from Fionn’s bridge.

Fionn’s jaw went slack, eyes wide as he beheld Aisling’s power anew. The serpent slithered toward him and raised its great head to peer down at its prey.

“Enough!” Fionn shouted, lifting his sword and spearing it into the floor. Ice exploded, splintering the bridge as it drove for the serpent, winter’s teeth rising and jabbing at Aisling’s fires. The serpent hissed, drawing back and away from the ice Fionn cast.

“Think rationally, Aisling,” Fionn repeated as he approached, sword in hand. “I could give you everything and anything Lir cannot.”

Aisling’s expression twisted.

“You know not what I want.” Aisling waved her fingers and the serpent lunged for Fionn’s ice.

Aisling’s work was clumsy. New. Yet it served its purpose. Fionn’s glacial onslaught burst into shards of glass, forcing every Sidhe surrounding the spectacle to stagger back several steps. His sleeping spells destroyed and burned to ash.

“You crave freedom.” Fionn swung his gleaming blade. From its tip, ice streaked for the serpent and wrapped around its neck.

“Power.” The ice squeezed Aisling’s thrashing serpent and snuffed out her fires, flame by flame. Aisling’s knees weakened, the force of thedraiochtexpelling more energy than she’d anticipated.

“And purpose.” Fionn swung again, this time, at Aisling’s fires. Her spells dissolved, captured by ice as Fionn defeated the distance between them, blade to Aisling’s throat. Lir started forward but Aisling held out her hand, stopping him. A command that corded Lir’s neck and locked his jaw. But he listened, awaiting her signal.

“You were meant to bemine,” Fionn said.

Mine.

The word sounded different than when Lir had said it. From Fionn’s lips, it was spoken with a need toownher, but Aisling had already been caged behind castle walls before. Had already been owned and given away.

Aisling grabbed the edge of his blade with her bare palm, pushing it from herself.

Fionn’s eyes grew wide, glaring between Aisling’s eyes and her hand.

Their audience stilled.

Easily. Quickly. The blade cut into her palm. Blood trailed down her arms, dying the sage of her gown crimson.

By now, Aisling was accustomed to pain. To the exact temperature of her blood as it slithered down her hands and arms. The smell of its iron anddraiochtalike. How the torment seeped into her bones. And she relished it. Not the pain. But that she could endure it.

Aisling’s body blazed. A wildfire blown into the shape of a woman. Casting Fionn off lest he burst into flames alongside her.

She watched as he collapsed backward and floundered, still clasping his greatsword, a blade sheathed in her blood. She released its edge, found its haft, and studied its fae forgery.

An exploding star, she carried Fionn’s weapon the way Galad and Rian had taught her what felt like a lifetime ago.

Fionn’s wintry elegance dissolved entirely, panicked and afraid as Aisling approached.

Unarmed. Defenseless. Fionn found himself trapped at the center of their ring. Aisling had already won the duel and yet, her body continued. Her thirst for this dominance, insatiable. The sins against her suddenly made more right with even this small victory.

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