Page 109 of The Forever Queen

But then another changeling arrived, paddling himself forward with a gnarled staff on the back of an enormous turtle. The changeling smiled in greeting at his comrades, turning to Aisling with a gulp.

“Come,moLúra,” the first changeling said, cautiously but politely grabbing Aisling’s hand. He led her toward the last step, soaking the hem of her gown in the pool. The turtle neared, close enough for Aisling to step on top, the newest changeling helping her aboard.

Aisling teetered slightly, almost losing her footing. The shell of the turtle carried more than just Aisling and the newest changeling. Atop its shell, grumpy toads sat, snowdrops sprang, and bundles of tufted moss grew, enjoying the steady sway of the waters beneath them.

“MoLúrawishes to accompanymo Damh Bán,” the first changeling explained. The newest changeling nodded his head and shared a nervous smile with Aisling before paddling away once more. The turtle lurched forward, and Aisling dropped to her knees to keep her balance. Her gown dragged through the waters: a veil of shimmering white amidst the glittering waters of Simril.

After several moments of nothing more than the chorus of croaking frogs, the gargling of waters, and the stirring of the surrounding forest, the turtle rounded the edge of the tower, bringing the waterfall into full view.

Giant lily pads floated delicately at the surface of the pool. Twenty or so pine martens—changelings––stood atop the pads, staring ahead as if in assembly. Spectators of he who stood before the waterfall, waist deep in the waters.

Lir.

His clothes stuck to his muscled body, sprayed by the roar of the falls. He sparkled in the moonlight, kissed by stars that circled his head where a crown was destined to rest. He didn’t turn nor look over his shoulder, his eyes focused on the waterfall ahead.

Aisling rose to her feet, lips parting.

The changeling opened his mouth to announce Aisling’s presence, but the sorceress quickly shushed him.

Lir hadn’t noticed her arrival and Aisling hoped it remained that way. She wanted to see for herself what the dark lord of the greenwood preoccupied himself with within the privacy of the Simril Glade.

A bell rang thrice over. Aisling searched the glade, at last, finding the bell’s resting place at the top of the tower. It swung side to side, ringing till the forest vibrated with its strength.

Thedraiochtthickened by the breath full, saturating the air with a warm, lush breeze. It ran its fingers through Aisling’s curls, brushing her cheeks, and sliding beneath the folds of her gown. The taste of ripe plums and glittering black wine, licking her senses.

The waterfall split like a tapestry, pulling apart at the center till a steepled archway was made. Darkness filled its void, seemingly nothing beyond but the shadows of an ancient cave long since asleep.

Aisling held her breath. Thedraiochtin the air was becoming feverish, clotting and tugging at the magic inside her.

Lir stepped forward, approaching the waterfall’s threshold.

Aisling awaited a beast: a starving, salivating aberration that skulked in the Sidhe king’s wicked depths. And yet, it never came.

Instead, a lily pad materialized from the shadows, passing through the waterfall’s threshold and into the moonlight. Aisling squinted, doing her best to see what the lily pad carried.

A bundle of tartan wool, filled by the cries of a bairn.

A mortal child.

CHAPTER XLV

LIR

Lir gathered the bairn in his arms.

They were always lighter than he anticipated, the Sidhe king pressed the child against his chest tenderly. The bairn warmed, nuzzling its rosy cheeks into the fabric of Lir’s ritter until its wails softened to coos.

Despite its passing, the child smelled of mortality, of iron, of flame. Still, the backs of Lir’s eyelids burned as he held the creature, his hands almost larger than the entire bundle.

“Take flight, little wolf,” Lir sang, barely a whisper. “Let no hunter catch you, no fox outwit you, no devil master you. Take flight, little wolf.”

Thedraiochtheated, buzzing as the chorus of insects rose to a crescendo.

Lir struggled to find his breath. He held the creature more tightly, accidentally rocking it in the cradle of his arms.

“The time is nigh, m’Lord,” a changeling piped softly behind him.

Lir gritted his teeth but nodded his head regardless. This was always the most painful part: saying goodbye.

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