Page 26 of The Forever Queen

“An ordinary belt, perhaps,” Filverel said, eyes drifting toward the Sidhe king. “But this is no ordinary garment.”

Lir glared at his mother’s fountain, imagining different ways to destroy Anduril either by the strength of his bare hands, hisdraiocht, or the godsforsaken Forge.

“Only the master of Anduril can remove the belt,” Peitho said, this time louder. “It must be a choice from Aisling’s will and not another’s.”

Lir’s heart sank, rage and despair alike filling his throat with unswallowable stones.

“What is there to be done then?” Galad asked, his mouth bent with frustration.

The room exchanged glances. The answers eluded them, and the silence mocked them. Lir thought he would descend into madness if there weren’t a seedling of hope. A single root could bloom into an oak.

Despite bitter winter and its formidable blade, even death’s knee will bend to the bloom.

Lir sucked in a breath and straightened, reaching for his axes. Ina’s fountain rippled and the ruby eyes of the owl blossomed to life.

It was time.

“Aisling will find the Goblet, earn the gods’ favor, and spare the Sidhe from mortal destruction,” Lir said. “And then, I’ll remove the belt myself.”

“It’s impossible—” Peitho began but was swiftly cut short.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway. As elegant as long-cast shadows, Aisling stood at the threshold to Ina’s chamber considering each of them closely. Her violet eyes gently swept from one face to the next until, at last, they met Lir’s eyes and stayed. The Sidhe king’s heart stuttered, but he held her gaze.

“I’ll make it possible,” Lir said beneath his breath, his knuckles bone-white against the wood of his axes.

CHAPTER VIII

AISLING

Aisling remembered her lungs on fire, skidding to a halt at the end of Annwyn’s bridge. Her mind was filled with dense clouds, muddying her thoughts and feelings. She remembered wandering through the castle confused and delirious. And then, she remembered there was a new voice inside her mind.

Aisling, it had spoken to her. Strong and steady, it had filled her chest with warmth. It was an anchor in a tossing sea, a light amidst the mist, and a beacon in the storm. So, Aisling had listened.

Aisling remembered the bear’s armor scraping her cheek when he moved to draw his blade. The boar on his right side had followed shortly after, prepared to end whosoever pursued Aisling down Annwyn’s bridge. Aisling remembered shouting for her guards to kill the intruder, her hair flying into her eyes as she spoke and moved. Instead, they’d lowered their weapons the moment the intruder came into view. Both the bear and the boar had fallen into bows, lowering their heads to the cobbled floor of the bridge.

“What are you doing?!” Aisling remembered screaming, Sarwen spearing toward the intruder and keeping him at large. “End him!”

Lastly, she remembered his eyes. Her intruder shed the darkness and padded into the light. Aisling had sucked in a sharp breath despite herself, gasping in either horror or awe, she was uncertain. He was beautiful and horrible all at once—hideous in his perfection. Heartbreak incarnate, he moved lithe as a shadow but not without some unspoken, elegant violence. His eyes green and bright as blades.

“Mo Damh Bán,” the guards said in unison, falling into bows before her intruder.

Mo Damh Bán.

Aisling clawed at her mind, swatting through thoughts shifting in both shadow and light. She remembered and then she did not. So whilst her memories piled high, toppling over with their growth on one side of her mind, the other was empty and dark. A void she couldn’t enter if she dared.

“Seize him!” Aisling had yelled, but her guards kept their eyes lowered to the floor and their knees bent. Statues before the intruder who’d stood slick and tall, armor licked by shadows.

“Bow before your king,” the intruder had said, his voice deep and wet with a fae accent. The corners of his mouth curled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, his gaze was annoyed, cold, and sharp. His disdain for her clear enough if his words weren’t already.

Your king.

Aisling had stepped backward. Her mind spun and her heart raced. Anduril squeezed her tightly, ringing with heat.

“But I’d prefer you take my hand,” the intruder had said, watching Aisling intently. He offered a hand, palm to the sky above. “Bri?—

Anduril had flashed with light before the world fell dark.

And then, Aisling remembered collapsing against the cold stone of Annwyn’s bridge. The final part of the memory.

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