Page 10 of The Forever Queen

The corner of Fionn’s lips curled as he shot forth with wicked abandon.

A gasp escaped Aisling just as she stumbled to the side, clumsily avoiding the onslaught. Instinctively, herdraiochtrose like a midnight bonfire at the center of Annwyn’s wine-muddled evenings, but she swallowed it down. Racat flailed, whipped back as if yanked by a leash only Aisling held.

From the corner of Aisling’s eye, she saw Lir stand from his throne. His broad shoulders cast a shadow across the floor of the hall, swathing Fionn’s swing as he turned on his heel for another attack.

This time, Aisling wasn’t so quick. She stumbled back.

“Your blade, Aisling!” Gilrel shouted from the side. “Sarwen is as much a shield as a blade!”

Aisling, understanding, lifted Sarwen above her head and braced against the impact of Fionn’s next blow. Fionn swung down and hard, the force of his strike rippling through Aisling’s arms as she gritted her teeth to withstand it.

Lir stepped forward, but Aisling steeled herself, her feet sliding back across the floor as Fionn continued to push. Aisling wrenched her eyes shut, gathering the mettle to withdraw her blade and release herself from Fionn’s hold. She sucked in a breath and pulled Sarwen back, stepping to the left in the same movement. Fionn flew forward, rolling onto the ground before he found his feet. But it was not enough.

Fionn threw Tyr’s blade and the sword spun.

Aisling’s eyes grew wide, but her feet were rooted to the floor. Aisling raised Sarwen once more. This time, the force of Tyr’s blade against her own knocked her off balance and onto her back. Aisling hissed in pain, her fingers searching for her sword in the chaos. Sarwen clattered beside her, vibrating as Aisling’sdraiochtbubbled inside, begging to be released.

Fionn defeated the distance between himself and Aisling in no more than a single breath. Before Aisling could fumble for Sarwen beside her, the son of Winter was already atop her, Tyr’s blade collected once more, and its tip poised at the center of her throat.

Aisling had lost.

The duel was complete, and Fionn had easily bested Aisling in no time at all. The great commotion followed by a moment of equal violence: silence.

Before a word could be uttered, black vines coiled around Fionn’s hands and wrists, forcing Tyr’s blade from his grasp.

Aisling looked to Lir, quiet, unpredictable rage storming beneath his stoicism. His anger flaming against herdraiochtinexplicably.

“You’ve all seen it for yourselves,” Fionn said, despite his struggle against Lir’s bonds. “Aisling is a knight only by the law of magic, but not by blade.”

“Is that why you’ve come?” Lir asked, his voice frighteningly calm. “This was Aisling’s first duel, and it will be your last. In Aisling’s eternity, she will carve you bone by bone with her blade.”

“Perhaps,” Fionn said, clenching his teeth as Lir’s vines grew slender, needle-sharp thorns. “But not today. You see, brother, I have something you need.”

At this, Lir’s smile broadened, yet his grin was joyless. The hall shuddered as the Sidhe king of the greenwood and his brother locked gazes.

“You have nothing,” Lir said, his voice vibrating darkly through Castle Annwyn.

“There’s rumor the Seelie king and the queen of Annwyn intend to venture into the Other to win the gods’ favor,” Fionn said. “A necessary requirement to reign over both this plane and the next: harness enough power to defeat not only Danu and the Lady, but the mortals as well and turn the tide of destiny. I believe such ambitions can be achieved, should you not first destroy yourselves and, as a result, the world.”

Aisling arched her brow, unfurling from the floor as Gilrel and Peitho both raced to stand on either side of her.

Fionn continued, “Niamh, the Seelie queen of the Isle of Rain, is the fabled keeper of the Goblet; a token of the gods’ favor.”

Legend claimed Niamh lived in the Other; a supernatural plane where the Forge bubbled and the gods slept—both the beginning and the end of everything, the cradle of creation, and the cauldron of magic itself. The Sidhe were ripped from the Other in the beginning of time, forcing them to make a home in the mortal world between the wind, within the waters, through the trees. The responsibility to stay and watch over the mortal plane, heavy on their shoulders even as they yearned to return. Which forced Aisling to wonderwhyNiamh and the rest of the other Sidhe of the Other, stayed behind. Why they still reigned in the world of magic, of dreams, of visions, of the afterlife.

“The Goblet of Lore.” Filverel repeated the object’s full name. “A chalice said to hold the bubbling brew of the Forge of Creation itself. Whosoever sips from its lip, can build, write, create at the limit of their own imagination but only beneath the light of a storm moon.”

The room swelled with wonder, eyes wide and mouths parting.

“The Goblet could win this war,” Galad said, bringing his fist to his mouth in thought.

“Why doesn’t Niamh use the Goblet herself?” Aisling asked. “She, a queen of the Other, assisted by the Goblet, could change the course of ill omens and prophecies herself. She could save us all.”

Lir inhaled before speaking. “Ifshe knew its resting place,” the Sidhe king said.

“Few know where the Goblet lies—even its keeper,” Gilrel said, speaking directly to Aisling. “After the gods lent Niamh its power, they hid the Goblet between the folds of the Other—a token not to be found by the unworthy.”

“Find the Goblet and we find Sidhe victory of the mortals, Danu, and the Lady,” Filverel said.

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