Page 17 of The Forever Queen

“I’ve said it before, yet I’ll say it again:my plan is the same as yours,” Fionn replied, dusting the chips of ice from Lir’s axe off his shoulder.

“A death wish then,” Galad said.

“To prevent Danu’s and the Lady’s visions from manifesting,”Fionn corrected, holding Lir’s glare. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking…” He smirked. “I was the Sidhe’s and all of the Other’s best chance at ensuring the mortals’ defeat once and for all. That their prophecies never came to fruition. Yet, as the Forge would have it, now we’re left with you and must make do with the spells dealt, lest all our skulls rest on iron pikes a decade from now.”

Lir studied his brother, listening for signs of deceit. Of word play, of charms, or vulnerabilities. The light of his eyes was so like their mother’s—Ina’s—it was terrible. Painful to behold and more torturous to recognize.

“I cannot rewrite a loss,” Fionn continued, “but I can still endeavor to never repeat one. As of right now, you and Aisling bear sovereignty over the twelve Sidhe kingdoms and the Unseelie as both wielders of Racat and rulers of Annwyn. Despite our differences, I’d say—given the current climate—you’re better positioned to prevent that which is the death of the Sidhe, of Oighir, and of myself. So call it self-preservation, call me your fair-weather friend, but, by the Forge, let us put the past behind us.”

Lir straightened. Unfurling from his crouch, he lifted his axe from the ice and rested it on his shoulder.

The badger, Galad, and Fionn all hung on Lir’s every breath. Aisling had chosen to accept Fionn’s aid to defeat a common enemy, but nothing was etched in stone nor any bargains sealed.

“I’d rather not,” Lir said flippantly. “But I’ll honor Aisling’s choice regardless.”

The Sidhe king turned and started back across the cistern. Fionn’s expression flashed with panic, before swiftly collecting itself.

“You’re expected in the great hall by dusk,” Lir called back, Galad and the badger on his heels. And as the dark lord crossed the threshold to ascend the stairwell—Fionn and Frigg staring up at him—the flowers dimmed and the dungeons plunged into oblivion once more.

CHAPTER V

AISLING

Beyond Annwyn’s gorge and past the oak tree meadows, grew a grove of willows. AfterImbolc, Spring had arrived and the swaying branches flowered, dappling the blue pond beneath them in a confection of petals. The edges of the pond foamed and bubbled with lavender and indigo soaps. The water sprites that lived here were generous, always eager to share their lotions, their clay, and their perfumes with Aisling and Peitho when they’d come to bathe.

Gilrel stood watch just outside the veil of weeping leaves, blade at the ready.

“Turn over every stone until the Goblet is found,” Peitho said, running her fingers through Aisling’s wet tresses, careful to avoid the butterflies that crowned her.

“How will I know where to begin looking? I imagine the Other is vast—near limitless. Is it even possible to find that which was hidden by the gods themselves?” Aisling asked, Anduril’s metal growing hot at her hips at any taste of herdraiochtwaking with anticipation. Aisling hadn’t yet received an opportunity to test the belt’s effectiveness. It neither hummed nor rang. It neither glowed nor shone when Aisling summoned herdraiocht. It was silent as if waiting for something. A fact which bred unease in Aisling.

“Most legendary objects enjoy discovery,” Peitho said, eyes flicking to Anduril at Aisling’s waist before swiftly turning away. “Half their power is born of its master’s attention and desire to wield. If you seek the Goblet, so, too, will it seek you.”

Aisling swallowed looking down at her nakedness—she was dressed in nothing but pond waters and Anduril, shimmering in the sprites’ soap bubbles.

“And how should the gods find me worthy then? Will they measure my worth by the hunt or the discovery of the Goblet alone?” Aisling asked.

“It’s up to the discretion of the gods,” Peitho said, her work effortless and graceful. “According to the Lore, Niamh was gifted the Goblet. But as for the gods’ favor?—”

“She found the Goblet once herself?” Aisling asked.

“Not quite. The gods lent Niamh the Goblet temporarily. She was allowed a single sip before the brother gods tucked the Goblet away once more, beyond even Niamh’s knowledge. My mother and father have little first-hand recollection. But the tales passed down from Lugh are remarkable,” Peitho said. “It’s said Niamh went in pursuit of the Goblet even after the gods had snatched it back and buried it in oblivion. It was in this search for the Goblet that Niamh first learned to bewitch her sword, Sarwen. The only reason she returned to her castle alive. No ordinary creature traverses the Other’s darkest corners without facing its wilderness nor the lesser gods it hides.

Aisling shifted.

“In that case, gods bless this belt,” Aisling said, aware she was no fighter nor swordswoman, and without Anduril, Aisling stood less of a chance of earning the gods’ favor.

Peitho, however, didn’t mirror Aisling’s relief. Instead, her cornelian eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed.

“You should remove that belt from time to time,” Peitho said, brows furrowing as she turned from Aisling.

“I want to familiarize myself with it and allow it to familiarize itself with me,” Aisling said, speaking her thoughts aloud for the first time.

Peitho’s expression flashed with horror before recovering once more. She smiled, but it never reached her eyes.

“Be careful with enchanted armor, weaponry, and tonics, Aisling. They aren’t to be used recklessly.”

“I treasure Anduril,” Aisling protested.

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