Page 49 of The Forever Queen

“We’ve thought that on a few occasions now,” Starn replied, careful not to get the fire hand’s hopes up.

“We’ve done it considerable damage,” Nemed said. “Surely it’s only a matter of time.”

“Perhaps,” Starn said. “Once we stop it, we’ll gut it or break it…but it still remains to open it.”

Nemed nodded his head, understanding.

“Can you not request the Lady’s aid once more?” Nemed asked. “She favors you and her goals are aligned with our own. I cannot see a reason?—”

“No,” Starn said. “I will take aid when necessary. The rest of Aisling’s justice will be served by my hand alone.”

Nemed’s lips thinned into a line.

“The end is near,” the fire hand said. “Fae territories are falling each day as we apply pressure on their kingdoms. The gateway is within our reach. We’re close. Don’t forget that.”

CHAPTER XX

AISLING

Outside the glass dome of Niamh’s throne room, thunder cracked.

The boom vibrated through the wooden archway, the steepled doors, and the stained-glass panels. Every mosaic portrait wept rain filled tears before the altar of the twin gods, Breka and Arawn.

Aisling inhaled deeply, standing below the marbled statues of Breka and Arawn, bewitched to breathe incense smoke from their nostrils as they loomed over Niamh’s court. Trooping fae solemnly surrounded the hall’s arcade, hands clasped before their jeweled robes.

“Protector of my blade and my breath,” Aisling addressed the fae king in Rún, “By the Forge, I dub thee my knight.” The sorceress gently laid Sarwen’s tip on Lir’s right shoulder and then his left.

Anduril rang angrily at her hips, searing into her flesh, but Aisling ignored the Blood Cord. She was compelled by duty, duel, and bargain to honor the fae king’s victory whether she liked it or not. Even Anduril’s protests, its hissing, its temper could not prevent Aisling from fulfilling the accolade as Niamh’s court bore witness. Fate cackling like bats set loose from the chasm of eternity. And whilst Aisling would never admit this truth even in the privacy of her own mind, for once, she and fate were aligned—Aisling needed the fae king’s strength, his power, and his bloodthirst if she were to successfully find the Goblet. He’d proven his mythic might in their duel, for no other soul could wage battle against Anduril and win. A fact that enraged the Blood Cord, grinding its metal-like teeth in a monster’s mouth.

A warren of blue rabbits carried a quilt of midnight blue and draped it over the fae king’s shoulders. The supple velvet spilled in folds of embroidered stars, shimmering like lanterns in the dark. And upon his neck, a wreath of bluebells was laid honorably by a flutter of butterflies.

“Rise,” Aisling commanded the fae king.

Lir unfurled from his kneel and met her eyes. Sage and sharp, they cut past her defenses and pillaged her heart. His left brow twitched in the same moment, forcing Aisling to wonder if he felt the same: if he, too, felt the magnetic pull, mercilessly drawing them closer together. And as if summoned by her thoughts alone, a trickle of blood escaped the fae king’s tear ducts as it did Aisling’s.

“Stand and take your first breath,” Aisling said, her voice thick. Her temples throbbing from Anduril’s voice screaming and grating against her own. “And join me in my quest for the Goblet so that we might spare the Sidhe from mortal desolation. My knight,” Aisling addressed the fae king.

The court burst into applause. Petals showered from the vaulted ceiling, the glass dome, and the gallery whilst the storm outside gathered more thickly. Their Sidhe wings fluttered with excitement and the forge-born beasts howled, croaked, and hooted with celebration. They blew their spiral horns, plucked their fiddles, and cast pretty charms of sparkling light. It was a feverish glimpse of joy that warmed the room sweetly. And yet, the deep groans of Niamh’s tempests reminded Aisling that such magic and merriment was fickle—easily squashed by the iron boot of mankind should she fail to successfully obtain the Goblet. Easily ground into the earth by the will of her clann.

The fae king bowed and the court grew more joyous. Still, his gaze remained locked on hers. His distrust for her tangible.

CHAPTER XXI

LIR

Once the ceremony was complete, Niamh wasted not a moment before cleansing her throne room of every courtier and forge-born beast. Even Aisling was sent to her chambers to rest for the evening despite her protestations and the fiery temper in which she left the hall.

Yet, the moment the doors locked behind Aisling, Lir’s heart steadied. His mind cleared. The murder of ravens in his stomach settled. The torture of her nearness abated until they’d be together again. And yet, he mourned it. Yearned for the suffering her presence afflicted.

“Thank you for remaining a while longer so we might speak in private,” Niamh said, “Sidhe sovereign to Sidhe sovereign.”

Lir flicked his eyes to the Seelie queen.

“We both seek the triumph of the Sidhe, Niamh,” Lir said. “What else is there to speak of?”

“You were once bound to Peitho,” Niamh said, taking a seat on the steps of her dais.

Lir arched a brow, curious as to the direction of the conversation.

---