Page 30 of The Forever Queen

Niamh’s eyebrows rose, the droplets streaming down her cheeks running more quickly.

“What of love?” she asked, an intensity piercing from her pale gaze.

Aisling’s heart inexplicably twisted. Herdraiochtsnapped its jaws and Racat’s eyes opened from their slumber, alive with a fire Aisling recognized but couldn’t understand.

“My love is a blade,” Aisling said, but the words were not her own. They were Anduril’s.

“Or perhaps a shield,” Niamh countered, glaring at Aisling from head to toe with narrowed eyes. “And yet,” she continued, “I smell him: the dark lord of the greenwood. He’s here—in the Other.”

Aisling’s heart jolted. So Lir was alive and well somewhere in the Other. He’d made it across, but why had he separated himself from Aisling? The sorceress bit her bottom lip, mind racing. The fae king hadn’t lied when he’d claimed to follow Aisling into the gateway and yet, he was missing still. His absence was reason enough for suspicion.

“Or…” Niamh trailed off. “Do I smell him all over you, sorceress?” Her attention honed in on Aisling. The sensation of a lightning bolt striking the tallest tree in a wood.

“Like lust and want and need and?—”

“I am here to request the gods’ favor,” Anduril interjected through Aisling’s lips despite Racat’s writhing, thedragún’s biting, thedragún’s growling. “I understand I must first find the Goblet to prove my worth, and so, I humbly submit myself to the task.”

Niamh seemed taken aback, pausing for a moment, the rain falling silver down the straight edge of her nose. As though any deceit might make itself known by staring straight through Aisling’s very flesh and into her soul.

Niamh tore her eyes off Aisling. She moved slowly.The urgency of a queen who bathed in the suds of eternity. Ancient limbs carrying the weight of a millennia each moment she so much as blinked or tipped her chin.

“Of course,” she simpered, eyes narrowing as she bared her fangs in a toothy, hollow grin. The image of someone who knew not what a smile was but desperately attempted to mimic one.

Aisling shuddered.

“As an honored guest of mine, you’re welcome to stay in the Isle of Rain for as long as you please. Tonight, we shall celebrate you as our guest of honor.”

Aisling tried to bite her tongue, but it was too late. The words slipped before she could catch them.

“And Lir? Will he make it tonight?” Aisling asked against her own volition, Anduril pinching her the moment the fae king’s name left her lips. Aisling, too, despised herself for how her voice cracked the moment his name was spoken.

Niamh quirked a brow, staring down at Aisling. Aisling was tall for a female and still Niamh towered over her. Larger than life, Niamh was statuesque and made of heaven’s tears.

“Fate will decide such outcomes,” she said, “but I’m certain the Sidhe king of the greenwood can handle a bit of bad weather.” Niamh giggled, turning on her heel with her beasts right behind.

“I’ll have you escorted to your rooms,” she called back. “Welcome to Castle Yillen,” Niamh said just before she crossed the doors.

Panic bubbled inside Aisling’s throat, rising to her tongue and escaping from her lips.

“I don’t think—” Aisling piped again, but this time, she bore the clarity of mind to stop herself.

“Careful, sorceress,” Niamh replied. “Stand there too long and you might catch a chill.” Niamh met Aisling’s eyes over her shoulder before disappearing into her castle, the roar of the waterfall echoing inside Aisling’s mind while the storm soaked her to the bone.

CHAPTER X

AISLING

Castle Yillen was not made of brick and mortar but of fabled spells and jinxes.

The chamber Aisling entered was sheathed with emerald moss, dripping with the rain that cried down the walls. A castle pebbled together by an infinity of brilliant river stones and gems, polished by storm and fog. And the passages that weren’t artfully mosaicked, were stained glass and bejeweled by every droplet that beat against their panes. This was the style and make of most of Niamh’s castle: a labyrinth of floating bridges, suspended turrets, and flying buttresses, all alive with the life heart of ancient forests, drenched with the rain and mist that pressed against every windowpane, eager to hear its keepers’ voices.

Although, if the beauty of Castle Yillen wasn’t enough, as soon as Aisling’s appetite tugged for attention, the vanity, the bedside tables, the terrace, and the tray atop the silk quilts of their giant bed, spilled over with Sidhe treats. Delicacies and desserts Gilrel would’ve devoured if she’d been staying in the same room.

Yet, even Aisling’s appetite couldn’t distract her from the discomfort of her wet and heavy gown. Her dress had been bathed by the gateway and again by Niamh’s rain. The ivory of her slip was translucent and clinging to her body. She needed to change.

Aisling wandered toward an extension of her chambers, divided by a sheet of water. As she passed through, the water separated into a steepled arch, revealing a cerulean and sage quilted bed with a night slip prepared and strewn across. Forget-me-nots dangled from the four-poster frame, laughing to one another in voices like Sidhe children. But it was the blue rabbits that busied themselves with steeping a pot of tea, a small basket of leaves, and a plate of steaming sweet rolls, that caught Aisling’s attention.

The rabbits jumped when they noticed the sorceress.

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