Page 70 of The Forever Queen

“A faerie and her knight,” Dorkoth said, brows pinching as he weighed the words in his mind. “And what business do a faerie and her knight have in Flasing’s cradle?”

“Private business,” Lir bit, watching Dorkoth beneath half-lidded eyes.

“In this tavern,” Dorkoth said, lowering his voice in the slightest, “we speak freely.”

Lir bristled, so Aisling spoke quickly.

“We’re in search of Eogi,” Aisling said. Every head in the tavern swiveled to Aisling. Lir ground his teeth but said nothing, focusing on his plate instead.

“Eogi,” Dorkoth repeated. “The keeper of beginnings.”

“You won’t reach him,” Helm piped. The tavern switched their attentions.

“Reach?” Lir asked.

“He rests just north of here,” Dorkoth said. “Up the spindly steps and through Breka’s mirror. Beyond, a cave darkens, chilled like metal without flame. That’s where the keeper sleeps. The cool basin of the Forge dusted after years without use.”

“However,” Helm said, “Eogi is not alone. A guard stands before the mirror with a moon-bright blade prepared to prevent whoever disrupts his rest.”

“How do we pass?” Aisling asked.

Helm shrugged. “You don’t.”

“Unless,” Dorkoth suggested, “you kill it.”

Aisling and Lir exchanged quick glances.

“So, no one has passed before?” Aisling asked, aware of every guest’s eyes studying their conversation. They whispered amongst one another, nodding their heads and hissing replies.

“Few have tried,” Helm said. “But no, no one has ever passed before.”

Silence filled their mouths, but the foxes and the badgers continued plucking their fiddles and lutes while the lanterns floated across the feasting table.

“What did you expect?” Dorkoth asked. “The caliber of a soul must be high to speak with a forge-old being—nearly a deity itself. And so, few if any, will succeed. Your quest is a death coin, already paid and collected by intent.”

“You don’t believe me capable?” Aisling asked.

“No,” Dorkoth replied. “But perhaps your knight might stand a chance,” Dorkoth said, eyes darting toward Lir before returning to Aisling.

“It isn’t his challenge to take,” Aisling said. “It’s mine.”

Dorkoth laughed and Helm swallowed.

“I speak with your best intentions in mind, faerie,” Dorkoth said, his voice lowering as he pinned Aisling in place with his stony eyes. “To venture forward on this path, is to die.”

The table erupted into soft chatter, clinking glasses and plates as they moved to better hear one another.

Aisling leaned back in her chair, a glass of wine in one hand.

“There is no other path,” Aisling said.

“They seek the Goblet,” Helm said. “Or so the rumors say. A weapon to vanquish the mortals and prevent Sidhe destruction.”

Dorkoth tilted back his head, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he considered. The rest of the tavern’s guests awkwardly ate their dinners, ears perked and eyes flashing, waiting for the tavern keeper’s response.

“What do you know of the mortals’ advances?” Lir spoke first, the depth of his voice rumbling across the feasting table till it sent shivers down every guest’s spine. The nymphs shuddered despite themselves, eyes dilating as they fully fixed their eyes on the fae king. Aisling bristled like a wolf with its hackles standing straight up.

Dorkoth cleared his throat.

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