Page 14 of The Forever Queen

“It’s more than that,” Aisling said. “It is who I am. I ventured through the North only to discover that who I am was nothing my hands could grapple externally, but rather the feral bloom within and present since birth. Since Ina hid it there. It is a hunger born in my blood and come alive with the will of Racat. It is the oak that my seed is destined to grow into. It is the reflection I desire. The ‘me’, I desire. And I fear I’ll perish if this hunger is never slaked. If my bones never grow. If everything I’ve ever wanted and never had—power, sovereignty, the world—is never mine.”

Lir’s face grew shadows, and there was something animalistic in the way he studied her. He watched how her lips moved, listened to the clicking of her tongue, the sound of her blood running through her veins. A certain sadness clouded his gaze and poisoned the words that fell from his lips.

“If you continue to chase desire, you’ll be in pursuit all your life,” Lir said.

Aisling turned from him. The same sentiment had crossed her mind more than once. Aisling was indeed fearful that, like Racat, she’d never be fully satisfied. She’d once blazed through Unseelie-ridden forests, ran from the dark lord of the greenwood, escaped Fionn’s ice fortress, and burned fleets of mortal men to discover who she was. And now that she knew, she couldn’t help but seize it. Seize all her potential and never let it slip between her fingers like a dream she could wake from. The very possibility, spine-chilling.

And what’s more, Aisling feared vulnerability. Feared being subject to another ever again—capable of being sold, of being traded, of being imprisoned. And so, she’d stop at nothing to harness who Ina intended her to be and ensure her clann, the world, never made her feel weak again. Aisling would stop at nothing to witness the regret in the eyes of those who’d wronged her.

“Perhaps,” Aisling conceded. “But a wolf will never catch its prey if it ceases to hunt.”

Lir rubbed the back of his neck—a habit he’d developed from reaching for his axes even when they weren’t there, in times of need. But no blade could fight this battle for him. Once Aisling’s mind was made up, all were aware that little, if anything, could change it.

“Very well,” Lir said at last. “Whatever you covet, shall be my heart’s labor.”

And for reasons unknown to Aisling, thedraiochtsealed the promise with an incorporeal laugh, punctuating Lir’s words with a finality Aisling couldn’t understand.

Aisling approached Anduril, still lying on the floor. She bent to collect it, admiring it in both hands.

The belt rang, vibrating through Aisling’s palms, up her arms, and into her chest. Herdraiochtresponded immediately, flickering to life like a fire stoked. Its magic filled her, reaching out and familiarizing itself with her spirit with the belt’s darkly gilded fingers. It was alive, Aisling could feel it. A heartbeat thrumming through her till it fell into pace with her own.

Slowly, Aisling clipped the belt around her hips. The belt was heavier than Aisling anticipated. And what’s more, the belt’s mysterious ringing ceased the moment Aisling took possession, followed by a ghostly silence.

Aisling shivered, every hair on her body standing straight.

CHAPTER IV

LIR

At the edge of the Isles of Rinn Dúin, the waves of the Ashild beat against the crags without reverence to their age-old songs. Only those taught to listen to the melody of the storm, the wind, the northern cliffs could hear their sad lullabies wailing for sorrow’s sake.

Lir dismounted Flaithri and left him to stand guard between two rather self-pitying pines. Down he climbed, using the basalt columns to reach the hidden grotto where the ocean’s edge frothed like a rabid animal.

Lithely, he leaped into the waters where he stood hip deep, the leather of his belt, his trousers, his boots absorbing the foam of its freshly stirred waters.

Lir closed his eyes, listening to the Ashild’s moans. He took a deep breath, concentrating on its words and the story it longed to tell. That’s how he knew he’d find her here, in this grotto. The ancient, gravelly voice of a being whose throat had been scraped with salt for millennia.

It was perhaps one or two heartbeats before theirscales glittered beneath the surface. Ivory creatures that slithered like eels, their laughter echoed by the bubbles boiling like a cauldron around Lir.

Sakaala, a powerful merrow of the Ashild, emerged. Her slimy hair plastered to both her head and her bare breasts as she skulked up the jagged rocks to fully face Lir, the end of her tail twirling seductively, eager for his admiration.

He could smell herdraiocht: charms of lust, of desperation, of need that sank more than its fair share of iron ships and mortal sailors. Its texture as smooth as obsidian pearls and its voice spilling from the gaping mouths of conch shells.

“Mo Damh Bán,” she said, ruby lips enunciating every syllable, savoring his title on her tongue. Her pod of merrow were still dancing beneath the surface of the grotto.

“Did you receive my owl?” Lir asked in Rún.

“Aye,” Sakaala replied. “The Ashild is swarming with mortal galleons that carry some eternal flame on their masts.”

Lir’s mind flashed with the memory ofImbolc. The mortals had come with iron, with vengeance, and something else. Something burning between their teeth and simmering in their bellies, gurgled from the throat of shadow magic.Scull draiocht; a practice Lir had only ever witnessed once before in all his years and for good reason. In Annwyn,sculldraiochtwasn’t forbidden, but it was frowned upon. Nevertheless, the parasitic nature of such spellcasting—feeding off the soul instead of breath—was enough to deter most Sidhe from ever attempting it.

Lir bit down, his chest tight.

“Both around the coast of Fjallnorr and all the Isles of Rinn Dúin, they sail,”Sakaala continued. “Yet, they stay stagnant. Bobbing on the eager crests of waves that cannot break till the autumn storms arrive. Storms capable of crushing those man-made vessels into splinters.Three storm moons will pass shortly, and then the seas will be calm enough for mortal conquest.”

“They have no intention of waiting so long,” Lir replied, thinking out loud.

“Whatarethey waiting for then?” Sakaala asked.

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