Page 25 of The Forever Queen

The son of Winter looked up and at his brother.

Arm to arm, they hung from the side of Castle Annwyn by the blade of Lir’s axe.

“I’ll tear the belt from her body myselfafterAisling finds the Goblet and the Sidhe have been spared,” Fionn said through gritted teeth.

“No,” Lir said. “Such honor will be mine. If we survive this war, you’ll be banished to Oighir for eternity.” It was a promise. Oaths, secrets, and bargains were no thoughtless vows. They were soaked in the Forge’s wax, sealed, and locked until the end of time. No more impossible to break than the truth on the tip of a fae’s tongue.

* * *

“Anduril has possessed her,” Lir said, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. Lir, Peitho, Filverel, Galad, and Gilrel stood in Ina’s wing, beside the crowned owl fountain with ruby eyes. Eyes that studied and watched as if Ina herself saw through those very jewels from whatever depths of the Other she was laid to rest.

Aisling had been allowed inside this chamber once before, by Ina’s spirit or will, none were certain. Only that Aisling had been guided there by a garden snake, the door unlocked, and Ina’s fountain waiting. Every stone head watching with keen interest. The waters themselves still and eager in an otherwise empty room, buried in the depths of Castle Annwyn.

Lir believed in Aisling—in her power, ambition, and potential to become the Sidhe’s salvation. Aisling was the key to spare the Sidhe from extinction and, Lir speculated, Ina somehow had known that all along.

“I feared this,” Peitho said, brows pinching. “Anduril has been locked and frozen away at the edge of the world in Oighir for good reason.”

Lir’s temper flared, but he swallowed it down, biting his tongue with his fangs.

“And still, my brother lent it to Aisling. Where were your fears when Fionn offered the belt to your queen?” Lir asked, his voice descending into the gravelly depth of a primordial creature waking at a curse’s summons.

Peitho’s gaze fell to the floor.

“Aisling knew it would possess her and chose to wear the belt regardless,” Peitho swallowed. “Which is why your brawling is of little use to either Aisling or the Sidhe at large.”

“You lecture me while Aisling suffers at the cost of your double-edged gifts?” Lir’s nose scrunched in annoyance.

“Easca,mo Damh Bán,” Galad chided gently.

“The belt is a token of legends as slippery as your brother’s tongue,mo Damh Bán. There are endless versions of the same tale, and all told differently. This outcome was one of countless potentialities,” Peitho said, brow knotted with both fear and guilt alike.

Lir clenched his fists at his sides, turning from the princess of Niltaor to calm his rage. And yet, Lir knew it wise not to further divide the Sidhe by condemning Peitho altogether.

“And what is this outcome?” Lir asked, running the tip of his tongue across his fangs in frustration. “What legends speak of what’s possessed Aisling?”

Peitho hesitated before exhaling. Her shoulders rose and fell as if physically relieving a burden. “Anduril was a lover’s gift, taken from the armor of Lugh. During the Wild Hunt, the lover returned the belt to Lugh as a token of good fortune. However, when Lugh was driven mad by the sound of Muirdris’s wings just out of reach, he channeled the sun for every morsel of its blazing power in honor of the South.”

Lir cursed beneath his breath.

“And the skies bled black while Lugh absorbed the strength of the sun. But it was Anduril who took the sun’s magic,” Lir said, remembering this version of the legend he’d heard in passing over the millennia.

Peitho swallowed.

“Aye, and now—without a morsel of doubt—I believe Anduril trapped more than the sun’s strength inside its metal,” the princess said. “As Fionn suspected, I believe it also trapped Lugh’s spirit.”

“But for what reason would Lugh intend for Aisling to forget our bond?” Lir asked.

Peitho bit her bottom lip before speaking. “Enchanted objects are most formidable when they find a wearer or master with a like-minded spirit. Lugh’s obsession and pursuit of strength is not so different from Aisling’s own. In which case, Anduril views yours and Aisling’s connection as not only a barrier to her potential and focus as a warrior, but to the Sidhe and Aisling’s success at large.”

A muscle flashed across Lir’s jaw. The gums of hisdraiochtbled inside, snapping and biting as if tethered and scraped raw by invisible shackles. The thought—the mere possibility of Aisling forgetting their bond––was unthinkable. And although the Sidhe king knew such agony was selfish, it mattered not. In every lifetime, he’d condemn his soul for her.

“We remove it,” Galad piped from his dark corner for the first time. “I’ll break my blade if I must,” the first knight offered, unsheathing his sword.

Peitho’s eyes grew wet with remorse.

“It cannot be done,” the princess said, no more than a whisper. The entirety of the room turned to face her.

“My blade has cut through iron chains, bled Unseelie hearts, and tasted the armor of kings,” Gilrel said. “A belt is no match.”

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