Page 118 of The Forever Queen

“You should retire for the evening,” Gilrel said. “You’ll need your rest in the coming days.” Galad nodded his head in agreement, placing a gentle hand on the small of Aisling’s back.

“Where is Lir?” Aisling asked, the words falling from her lips before she understood them herself. As if the Sidhe king’s name found the tip of her tongue of its own accord.

Galad and Gilrel exchanged glances. Fionn, on the other hand, scowled, silver eyes freezing over. The son of Winter said not a word, grinding his fangs together in anticipation of their answer.

“He prepares for the end,” Galad said. Both his and Gilrel’s eyes wandered up and toward a tower floating at the height of Castle Yillen. It was one of the few whose windows were gilded with warm light.

“Can I speak with him?” Aisling asked. The moment the words fell from her lips, Fionn reacted. He moved lissomly, wrapping his hand around Aisling’s waist and knocking Galad’s away in the process.

Galad frowned, both he and Gilrel noticeably bristling.

Aisling’s heart leaped, but her mind resisted the impulse to sink into his side. She bit her tongue, growing angry in her confusion.

“Galad and Gilrel are right,” Fionn said, breaking the silence. “You need your rest. Let me take you to your rooms.”

“We’re more than happy to do so,” Gilrel said, stepping in front of their path.

“No,” Aisling interjected. “I need to focus on the Goblet and so, I prefer solitude this evening.” The sorceress smiled sweetly, exchanging glances with Fionn, Galad, and Gilrel. But while Fionn’s posture was hard and restrained, Galad and Gilrel offered knowing, smug smiles, nodding their heads at one another.

“Mo Lúrareceives as she requests,” Galad said. “Her word is final.” The knight gestured toward the threshold to the rest of the castle, making a path for the sorceress.

Aisling bowed her head at Fionn, not glancing back as she retired. Still, she felt Fionn’s gaze follow her to the doors, into the darkened corridor, until, at last, the door shut and his sight was severed.

The castle purred with the muffled bedlam from Niamh’s festivities, their dancing, their drinking, their howling undoubtedly burning the midnight wick. Aisling wandered through Castle Yillen afraid to find her chambers for she knew what awaited her. Before Aisling could fall into sleep’s chasm, she’d lie awake, reminded of Lir, of her clann, of the Goblet, of the Sidhe, of Dagfin standing before her. Thoughts she’d avoided well enough until now. So she wandered further, growing lost in the castle till she could no longer find her chambers even if she so wished.

Aisling roamed the corridors like a ghost, slipping between rooms. At last, she found a wing she recognized, the cross-vaulted ceilings spreading into a great arched entryway that led into the throne room.

Aisling approached the doors, hesitating before pulling their handles. Both doors were already cracked ajar, a ribbon of light leaking into the hall. The sorceress listened closely for several breaths. She took off her headdress, holding it between her hands so she could better hear who occupied the room beyond.

To Aisling’s surprise, she heard not silence, not music, not conversation but weeping—labored breathing punctuated by soft sobs, wracking their keeper. And whilst the rain wept relentlessly and the stained-glass portraits cried at all hours, nothing compared to the sorrow that wracked this miserable creature.

Curiosity took hold and Aisling peered inside.

The threshold’s hinges squealed, and the moment Aisling laid eyes on Niamh curled into a ball before her throne, so, too, did the Seelie queen lay eyes on Aisling. The Goblet of Lore sitting beside her on the dais.

A heartbeat passed and Niamh collected herself, unfurling from her position on the ground. She straightened her gown, smoothing the sheets of clouds on her lap.

“I apologize,” Niamh said, addressing Aisling for the first time. “I didn’t realize any still wandered Yillen at this hour.”

Aisling shifted awkwardly, pushing the doors open fully.

“Come in, please.” Niamh welcomed her, still wiping tears from her eyes.

“I should return to my chambers,” Aisling said. “But first, I’ll take the Goblet back for safekeeping.

The Seelie queen of Rain’s eyes darted to the chalice before finding Aisling once more. A fleck of panic in her eyes—of fear.

“No, no,” Niamh replied. “It will do well in my keeping. I’d meant to speak with you before tomorrow regardless.”

Aisling stilled, arms hanging at her sides and unsure of what to say. The sorceress glanced around the throne room, noticing for the first time that there was not one but two thrones cresting the dais.

The last Aisling had occupied this room, there had only been one throne.

Niamh followed Aisling’s line of sight, softening her gaze when she looked back at the sorceress.

“That was the throne I’d designed for Ina,” she said. “Before I realized she’d never truly join me here, of course.”

Aisling’s brows lifted. “You intended to rule the Other with Ina?”

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