Page 57 of The Forever Queen

“Mo Lúra,” he said. “It’s an honor to at last make your acquaintance.”

Aisling smiled softly. “The honor is all mine.”

The fox blushed, muzzle scrunching as he gathered himself. His beady eyes darting toward and hesitating on Anduril, gleaming happily on Aisling’s hips.

“Please, please, make yourselves at home,” the fox said. “Had I known you were coming, I’d have tidied up.” Frantically, the fox gathered scattered scrolls and stuffed the frog aimlessly hopping atop the floorboards into his cloak’s pocket. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lir pulled out a chair and fell into it. Lithe as a cat, he reclined, crossing his arms over his chest as his long legs nearly reached the other end of the cottage.

“I need a favor,” he said in Rún.

The fox set down the stack of quilts.

“I cannot thank you enough for the kelpie,” the old fox said. “Already the fiend has done away with a horde of orcs twice over. So, mo Damh Bán, name your favor and it’s yours.”

Lir popped his knuckles, flexing his lean, elegant hands. “We’re in search of the Goblet of Lore.”

The fox paused, considering Lir more closely now.

“The Goblet of Lore,” the fox repeated, tasting the words himself. His whiskers twitched as he moved his teeth, licking the tips with his pink tongue. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

“What do you know of it?” Lir asked.

The fox’s frog sprung from his cloak’s pocket. The fox caught the green thing with ease, trapping it between his paws. Idly, the fox stroked its slick back.

“The chalice from which the gods sipped the Forge’s brew, capable of mass creation at the whim of those bold enough to sip. To give in exchange for everything they will take.”

As if the gods themselves clapped their hands, thunder shook the cottage.

Aisling felt thedraiochtof the Other stir knowingly, pressing its ears against the windowpanes and its eyes to the keyhole.

“The gods, however, hid the Goblet, afraid of what would become of their world if the unworthy were allowed to sip from its gilded lip,” the fox continued.

“No one hides anything without the intent of it being found,” Aisling said. “Eventually.”

“Perhaps that’s what they’ve been waiting for,” the fox said. “Someone worthy enough to find it.”

“Yet, the legends, the myths, the fables speak nothing of its whereabouts,” Lir said.

The fox patted the frog’s head.

“There is but one tale that makes mention of the Goblet’s name,” the fox said. Both Lir and Aisling leaned in closer, hanging onto the fox’s every breath. “The last anyone saw of the Goblet, it was tossed into the mouth of Eogi, the god of beginnings, and swallowed whole.”

Eogi.

Aisling had never heard the name, but by the look on Lir’s face, the fae king had. Lir exchanged glances with Aisling before clearing his throat.

“Where does Eogi lie?” Lir asked the fox.

“Normally, he rests beyond the fog, watching the death galleons sail across black waters. During the rainy season, however, many claim to have seen his lumbering shadow on the howling Isle of Rokmora,” the fox said.

Aisling glanced at Lir, hoping the fae king knew where to find this Rokmora. Lir said not a word, instead, bringing a fist to his lips as he sank into thought. And once the fae king was consumed by the labyrinth of his mind, there was little to release him from its grip.

“How long is the journey?” Aisling asked.

“It is a weeks’ long trip,” the fox said. “However, with bothmo Damh Bán’s andmo Lúra’s strength, I’m certain you can halve that time. I’d guess three moons will pass before you reach Rokmora. One of which will be a storm moon.”

Aisling nodded her head in understanding, eyes wandering around the fox’s cottage.

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