Page 78 of The Savage Queen

“I came to you when Niltaor was in need and you swore?—”

“I will keep my promises to the South. Niltaor will remain under the protection of Annwyn and Racat if that’s what concerns you.”

Lir and Peitho’s union had been discussed long before Lir had ever met Aisling, in the hopes that Annwyn would aid Niltaor. A union Lir had almost forgotten until now.

Lir started back through the woods, brushing past Peitho without another glance. The princess glared vacantly at the valley below, seemingly on the verge of tears. Until she reached out and grabbed Lir’s arm without warning, moving her mouth toward his.

Instinctually, Lir jerked back, avoiding her kiss. He tore himself from her hold, watching the red humiliation blur over her cheeks alongside her anger. And yet neither emotion rivalled Lir’s frustration, his thinning patience.

“And you and me? Is this what’s become of you and me?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion as Lir increased the distance between them, stepping further back.

“There’s nothing between you and me,” he said, his voice slick. And by the twitch of Peitho’s expression, as though she’d just endured a physical blow, Lir knew it was for the best.

“I don’t believe you. Niltaor and Annwyn could unite the Sidhe once more, breed fear into the Unseelie once more, but it is she who undermines you! It is she who betrayed our kind, who burned me! Who threatens everything and if it weren’t for you, I’d have killed Aisling thrice over by now!”

Lir tossed his right axe, and the blade flew. Spiraled toward Peitho, forcing her to duck in time to dodge the gleaming edge. Thudding into the birch behind her.

Peitho rose, eyes wide, as Lir approached, reaching over her to draw his blade back from the tree in a flurry of splinters.

“Speak her name again, and next time I won’t miss.”

AISLING

Even through the labyrinth of snow, the voice of a mortal town forced its way through. Churning, bleating, heaving. The teeth of its furnace grinding till smoke rose into the sky and steeped the forest in its musk.

“What mortals build a settlement in the middle of the feywilds?” Aisling asked, turning to face Galad walking beside her, covering his nose with the fae-spun wool of his hood.

But it was Lir who replied from behind.

“Those who worship it.”

Aisling’s brows knotted.

“Druids,” Gilrel clarified.

And as though summoned, a great wall appeared between the woodland’s bones.

The height of age-old oaks and made of stone, it was formidable and christened with a thick drawbridge lying over a river of sparkling black.

A weathered plaque reading “Bludhaven” hung above the drawbridge.

Yet the Aos Sí symbols, dripping from the walls in sheep’s blood, drew Aisling’s attention and held it. Characters in Rún mirroring many of the images etched into Lir’s, Galad’s, Filverel’s, and Peitho’s skin.

“Protection runes,” Gilrel said, climbing a nearby tree to get a better look.

“Protection against the Sidhe?” Aisling asked, remembering the runes Killian had carved into Dagfin’s and her brothers’ flesh.

None of their group replied. The anger, the resentment, the frustration they harbored for her after she’d run from Dagfin and Peitho’s union potent in the air. Tangible in the way they kept their distance, only spoke to her when necessary, and enjoyed most of their conversations in Rún. Masking what they could from her. A coldness that rivaled the surrounding landscape. None quite so painful as Galad and Gilrel’s flippant disregard for her.

“No,” Dagfin responded. “Protection against a beast.”

The forest reacted, chittering and thrashing its limbs.

Aisling shuddered. “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen its likeness before,” Dagfin said. “Runes painted to ward off Unseelie lest their sacrifices not appease the feywilds.”

Aisling eyed the surrounding woods more closely. They peered back at her, shifting to get a better look. More composed than they’d been outside Lir’s presence. Where they once clawed for her, now they stood in the periphery, watching intently as she passed.

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