Page 78 of The Forever Queen

Blade against blade, the first clash rang through Flasing’s corridors. Sarwen glinted as its metal rubbed against the knight’s. Both fell apart, Aisling’s chest rising and falling with new adrenaline, Anduril shining as if dipped in the molten brew of the Forge itself.

“I am bound to this gateway by both Breka and Arawn,” the knight said. “I will not show mercy.” The knight sped forward, a blur of moonlight as he cut the distance with wicked speed. He jabbed at Aisling with his greatsword, light spidering from the tip of his blade when he moved.

“Neither shall I,” Aisling said, lifting Sarwen and blocking the assault narrowly. The blow shoved Aisling to the side regardless, almost knocking her off her feet.

Anduril burned, its magic pulsing through Aisling’s veins and spinning Sarwen between her fingers. She moved toward the knight, forcing her opponent to block the flurry as she approached.

The knight lifted his blade and shoved forward with his shoulder, pushing Aisling. The sorceress braced herself. She skidded backward, dropping a hand to the stone pathway to balance herself.

“He out-strengthens you, Aisling,” Lir said, his expression tight and his muscles corded. He watched the duel from the edge of the pathway, helpless to save his faerie from the fate she’d chosen. “But strength isn’t necessary to win.”

Aisling had always known she’d lacked strength—the mettle of a warrior was not in her blood. That was why she wore Anduril. Why she’d accepted Fionn’s gift and worn it like armor, like a disguise that allowed her to pretend for a short while she was the fierce fighter her clann, the Sidhe, herself didn’t believe she was.

Aisling lifted Sarwen, Anduril her strength as she threw the blade, and watched it dart toward the knight. It pierced the guardian in the shoulder, tasting his otherworldly blood for the first time.

The knight scarcely flinched, unaffected by the pain of his newfound wound. A ghoul with no heart and no true flesh to experience suffering—physical or otherwise.

Slowly, the knight pulled Sarwen from his shoulder and cast it to the side. Aisling watched with horror as her blade clattered to the ground, far from her reach.

“Yourdraiocht, Aisling,” Lir said, his voice rough and thick.

Aisling nodded her head absently, closing her eyes to call upon Racat.

Thedragúnwoke easily, sliding up her throat and burning inside her teeth. Aisling concentrated on the swelling magic, soaking up its energy like waves building and curling before they were allowed to break. Aisling balled such might in her mind, blooming the spheres of fire in her palms. She threw the violet fire, speeding toward the knight like purple comets with tails on fire.

The knight lifted his greatsword, blocking each throw with ease. Her fires ricocheted off and fizzled into the midnight air leaving nothing but wisps of smoke in their wake.

“Gods,” Lir cursed beneath his breath, watching with red-rimmed eyes.

Aisling summoned more magic, allowing the fire to consume Flasing’s cradle. The heat built and the flames grew, crackling and popping until both she and the knight were surrounded.

“Your magic is powerful,” the knight said. “But it is not enough.”

Aisling flinched. His words stabbed her where his blade had yet to harm her. She felt the sudden urge to fall to her knees. To give in and surrender to the weakness she’d been born to carry. But Anduril, Racat, and the ambition Ina had planted in her bones, compelled her otherwise.

Aisling released herdraiocht, bottled and bubbling still since Lir had kissed her a few hours prior. Ripples of fire bled from her pores, oozing down her gown and racing toward the knight.

The knight carved a circle around his feet with his blade, shielding himself from her magic.

Aisling growled in frustration, eyes flicking to Sarwen still tossed to the side.

The sorceress raced for her blade.

Now it was the knight’s turn to throw his greatsword. He tossed it expertly, finding Aisling’s hand and staking it through as she reached for Sarwen.

Aisling screamed, the agony unbearable. It struck her like lightning, sharp and webbing up her arm and into her shoulder. Blood sprayed warm and sticky atop Flasing’s cradle as she pulled the knight’s greatsword from the wound with a quivering arm.

“Ellwyn,” Lir shouted, his fangs bared. He paced the edge of the pathway, nostrils flared with the smell of her blood.

Ellwyn.

The fae king’s voice moved through Aisling and herdraiochtlike an enchantment. An alchemy of souls the Forge toyed with at the beginning of time, come to wake again when she looked at him, touched him, felt him. Anduril’s screaming and thrashing locked in her jaw like a beast with prey between its teeth.

Aisling rose to her feet, the knight’s greatsword yanked from her grasp by his magic. The blade shot back into his grip, immediately spun and twisted artfully between his fingers. The knight approached steadily and confidently, seemingly unfazed by the duel thus far whilst Aisling wobbled on shaking knees.

Anduril grew angry, its temper slaked only once Aisling collected Sarwen from the ground and poised it before her once more.

“Even with Anduril, I am no match for it,” Aisling said, speaking her thoughts aloud. Her eyes pricked with heat and, against her own volition, she looked to the fae king. She wasn’t certain why her body was magnetically pulled to his—why her mind struggled to rid him from her thoughts. But, in this moment, she hardly cared.

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