Page 44 of The Forever Queen

Anduril burned her hips as if reassuring Aisling of its power. But it was too late. The image of the fae king bloomed inside Aisling’s mind like a wildflower duringImbolc. He was always on her mind, especially when she felt vulnerable. It was nonsense. He was the enemy and no protector, and yet, here and now, when she felt pinned beneath the light, her mind searched for him. Aisling ripped the petals of her thoughts apart but still they remained, digging their roots into her soul.

Blood drinker, barbarian, mortal reaper, nightmare, dark king, Anduril spat like hot coals leaping from a flame. The words melted with Aisling’s own, impossible to tell Anduril’s spirit from herself. Aisling wrenched her eyes shut, clawing for clarity when at last Niamh tore her from the labyrinth of her mind.

“Welcome all,” Niamh said, gently slipping her fingers from Aisling’s so she could raise her hands in greeting. Her endless, sparkling sleeves spread like wings on either side of her, as though she were a bird of rain, lightning webbing in great cracks of light down the length of her arms and endless legs. She, half tempest incarnate. “I could think of no better way to welcome the storm season than to celebrate with you all this evening.”

The crowds erupted into cheers, heads bobbing back and forth as they laughed in one another’s pointed ears.

“And so,” Niamh said as Aisling emerged from the fuzz, “let the rains baptize the earth!”

Niamh clapped and thunder roared. The skies flashed brilliantly as the rain broke and fell once more, continuing where it’d left off, followed by the orchestra and its euphoric melodies.

“Thank you for your patience,” Niamh whispered in Aisling’s ear, tickling her neck with her breath. “Come and sit with me on the throne before the evening truly begins.”

Niamh snapped her fingers, and the rain clotted at the top of the staircase into two matching thrones of rippling, splashing water. The queen of Rain took her seat and invited Aisling to take hers.

The festivities continued to swell around them, growing louder, brighter, and more barbaric as the evening aged. Various Sidhe approached their thrones one after another, greeting Niamh with thanks and enthusiasm. Most, however, stared unapologetically at Aisling—the once-mortal princess turned Seelie queen––seated before them in the flesh.

“The fae here are happy,” Aisling said to Niamh between conversations. “They are safe from mortal retaliation and the confines of the mortal plane.”

“Aye,” Niamh said, a glimmer of pride in the tip of her chin. But it was the quiver of her bottom lip that focused Aisling’s attention. “But no one is safe.”

Silence sat between them, dense and oppressive.

Aisling’s heart beat a few paces quicker, stropping the blade of her mind. “And to think, had Ina never betrayed the Sidhe and cursed either plane with the mortal race, the fae would be spared from the fate that bleeds from us now.”

Niamh’s attention whipped to Aisling. Her eyes pierced Aisling like twin reeds, darting for the soul. Aisling held her ground, leveling her gaze with the Seelie queen’s. Aisling had successfully provoked Niamh. A victory. And so, Aisling pushed farther.

“Ina was a bane to the Sidhe who sealed her death?—”

“Quiet your tongue,” Niamh snapped. The lagoon-blue of her complexion drained to white while her fangs grew noticeably sharper. Her chest rose and fell with each great breath, the clouds above gathering like armored giants.

Aisling had known Niamh and Ina were close friends, but testing and seeing Niamh’s reaction to Ina’s death, confirmed Aisling’s suspicions: Niamh was the faerie and Ina’s death came at the cost of Niamh’s wish. To cure herself of loneliness, she’d inadvertently delivered the Seelie queen of Iod to the Other on death’s galleon.

Niamh stood from her throne, furious.

Aisling opened her mouth to speak but was cut short.

The orchestra of wild beasts screeched to a halt. The melodies of their instruments collapsing into a caustic, irritating mess of noise till half the room covered their ears.

Aisling spun on her heel and Niamh stepped closer to her side.

From Aisling’s vantage point, she could just see the crowds parting at the entrance to the ballroom, the height of the Sidhe obscuring what lay beyond.

While the evening burned, guests arrived and departed beneath a great arch curtained by rain, but now, the area was cleared as though death itself had stepped beneath the waters and intoL? Brear. A drop of oil in water. A shadow of fear cast across the merriment.

Lir had come.

CHAPTER XVII

LIR

The Sidhe king of the greenwood could inspire life at the beck of his slightest whim. And yet, it was the blood he shed, his violence, and his appetite for brutality that preceded him. A fact which Lir enjoyed, hisdraiochtpurring at the terror glossing the eyes of those who beheld him. The bitter smell of their dread, sweet to the taste.

Lir wicked his wet hair from his eyes and stepped intoL? Brear. Still blood-splattered from the questing beast, Lir was a grisly contrast to the lustrous opulence of Niamh’s gathering. The sound of his boots on the glass floors, echoing into oblivion. His carnage-stained axes winked where they sat crossed at his back.

“Dark lord of the forest, mo Damh Bán.” Slowly, Niamh took her seat on her throne once more, a maiden draped in piles of dewy spiderwebs and the glow of lightning bolts. Her powder-blue hair dripped onto her shoulders.

Niamh smiled knowingly, inspiring something tempestuous in Lir’s gut.

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