Page 71 of The Forever Queen

“Flasing has long felt their approach. Their mortal touch is infecting that which makes the Other everlasting, spreading their fleshling diseases, their rot, and their death into our world of spirits and magic,” Dorkoth said. “They are coming.”

“You’ve experienced it yourself?” Lir continued.

“As have you,” Dorkoth said.

The grin. A rotting of the natural world that didn’t encumber the Otherworld…until now.

“As their mortal influence nears, the Forge heats and bubbles, blistering the veil that once separated us from them,” Dorkoth explained. “More and more will we experience evidence of their mortality infecting that which was once eternal.”

“Unless they’re stopped,” Aisling said. “Unless I obtain the Goblet and prevent my father—the mortals––from destroying the Sidhe, the Other, the?—”

“From destroying you?” Dorkoth asked. The table froze, swallowing hard as they shifted their attention to Aisling. “You’re what they search for are you not?” Dorkoth pushed. “You’re the curse breaker, the mortal reaper, the daughter of he who threatens us?”

“What do you ask?” Lir said.

Dorkoth rocked his head from side to side.

The tavern keeper said at last, “I only wonder what they want with you.”

“It matters not,” Lir replied quickly.

“But it would end the war, would it not?” Dorkoth pressed.

“What are you suggesting?” Lir challenged again, his expression becoming more inhuman.

Silence fell and splattered across the table. Eyes darted back and forth.

“I suggest nothing. Only if you do choose to proceed, you feast and celebrate tonight. No warrior enters a battle without proper celebration—be it death or victory that follows,” the tavern keeper said.

Dorkoth clapped his hands, and the lanterns bled a scarlet glow. The music grew louder and quicker, and the food laid across the banquet table multiplied. His guests shrieked with delight, lunging across the table for buttered sweet rolls, hot cookies, charred meats, steaming vegetables, poached apples, and overstuffed pies. Goblets, mugs, and chalices bubbled over with punches, meads, and wines, whilst the trees swayed back and forth excitedly. Flasing hummed joyously, chuckling to itself as it observed the growing temperature of the celebration.

“Enjoy the evening, faerie,” Dorkoth said, his voice just loud enough above the frenzy. “For it may be your last.”

Plum juice dribbled down Aisling’s chin. She’d eaten several plates from Dorkoth’s feasts and tipped back several goblets of wine. All and each, enjoyed as she did her best to avoid the nymphs begging the fae king to dance with them. Lir ignored their wandering hands as he wove through the tavern center, speaking with several guests, but every now and again, he’d catch Aisling watching him. His dark green eyes depthless and haunting—both frightening and tempting all at once.

Aisling wasn’t certain why she cared or why Anduril’s protests were reddening the flesh on her hips. Only that her chest grew tight and her palms sweaty, heart racing several beats quicker each time he caught her looking.

“Your eyes are dimming,” Helm said from her right side. Aisling didn’t bother turning. She remained still, attention focused on the table before her. “You should retire for the evening.”

“I’m fine,” Aisling insisted. She stood up abruptly, almost knocking over her chair. Helm caught it quickly, reaching out a hand to steady Aisling by the elbow.

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“Wine has that effect,” Aisling bit, swaying slightly as she turned to look at him. “Which is why I drank it.”

“You should be resting,” Helm said.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

“Which might be as soon as tomorrow if you aren’t careful,” Helm warned.

Aisling shook her head. “You see this belt?” Helm considered Anduril, his eyes reflecting the gold of its metal. “With this belt, I’m invincible.”

Helm shook his head, not understanding.

“It’s a shield?”

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