Page 94 of The Forever Queen

“I wish I could have corrupted my senseless naivety then and there,” he said. “Because the fae indeed reaped my sister.” His breath shook. “Reaped my sister at the will of my blood.”

Aisling clenched her jaw. Her chest ached, the pain of which glossed her eyes with unwelcome tears.

“Ourblood,” Aisling corrected. “We were one, then. Or so I believed.”

Both brother and sister were silent for several breaths. The churning of the Ashild a chorus of hushed voices as it frothed outside their ship.

“Do not believe us. Do not forgive us, sister,” Iarbonel said, unfurling from his position. “Fight us to the death.”

CHAPTER XXXVII

LIR

Doorways were dangerous magic. Slipping through a pond, a lake, a fountain, a pool was only possible by the will of a powerful forge-born creature. Beings such as the Lady, Danu, a Sidhe sovereign, or the gods themselves. One day, if Aisling survived the war, she, too, would command the gateways that transcended time, space, and realm.

Lir, Fionn, Niamh, Galad, Gilrel, Peitho, and Filverel stood before the first and largest half of the gateway to the Other. A colossal dream tree towered over them at the center of an emerald meadow. Larger than Danu herself, the tree was a beast, groaning while its highest branches danced beneath Niamh’s storms. It gulped the showers insatiably, humming strangely to itself. The dream tree didn’t speak to Lir as the forest and its guardians usually did. It was possessed by old magic—thedraiochtof beings who, at the beginning of all things, spoke no tongue.

The other half grew in the mortal realm: Leshy.

“There must be another way.” Peitho spoke first, sunset tresses whipping across her face as she stared up at the tree. Gilrel cleared her throat beside the Sidhe princess, unsheathing her blade.

“Let it be me who travels through,” the pine marten volunteered, masking her fear well.

“It’s my mistake to rectify.” Fionn stepped forward, clenching his fists at his sides.

Lir traced the tip of his fangs with his tongue. He said not a word, but he’d finish what he’d begun at Castle Yillen if Fionn took another step toward the dream tree.

Niamh shook her head, pulling a blade from the sapphire scabbard at her hip. Sarwen, the original mortal reaper—an enchanted sword of legendary proportions and the twin to Aisling’s blade.

“Only one of you can travel through the gateway,” Niamh said, her voice blending with the thunderstorm. “Aisling’s whereabouts are still unknown to us and so, I bear no anchor to guide the passage. Whosoever voyages past these doors, risks error, death, or an eternity stuck between worlds.”

Niamh raised Sarwen above her head and lightning struck its tip.

Peitho reached for Gilrel, pulling her back and away from Niamh’s power. In that moment, it felt as if the whole universe spun around Niamh. She, the core of the Forge.

“Esanti tenaska less track nu,” Niamh chanted in Rún, thunder mixing with the feminine lilt of her voice.

The dream tree shook. Its roots writhed beneath the earth, stirring the energy of the grass, the soil, the flowers, and the natural world it fed. Before their eyes, the body of the tree morphed. Like a bundle of snakes it moved, parting at the center until they could see through to the other side. A giant threshold made from the heart of the tree at Niamh’s command.

The gateway was open.

Lir could feel thedraiochtbreathing through the ancient lungs of the tree. Its breath rattled with age, heaving to keep the doors open at its center.

“It is done,” Niamh said, dropping Sarwen before her. She swayed, knees almost buckling before Galad stepped forward and held the Seelie queen upright. A trickle of blood spilling from her nostrils.

“Does it always require this much strength?” Filverel asked. “To open the gateway?”

Niamh winced, gathering herself.

“I am the gate, and it is me,” she said. “But it is also itself.”

Filverel, Gilrel, Galad, and Peitho exchanged glances, not understanding.

“When it wishes, the gateway opens with little effort.L? BrearandSamhainare examples of this. But when it would rather remain closed—when it does not wish to pry open its mouth —then yes, it requires this much strength,” Niamh explained.

A muscle flashed across Lir’s jaw.

“Then why does the gate protest now?” Filverel continued, considering the roots still slithering back into place.

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