Page 96 of The Forever Queen

But where Aisling expected to be lost in a sea of stars at the center of the Ashild, she rather found herself drifting along the river roads of some eastern mortal kingdom that spilled into the Silver Sea.

The midnight black of evening’s cloak was gilded by the lanterns hanging on strings between the kingdom’s sharp towers, ornate domes, every narrow thoroughfare, and even across the great width of the river on which they sailed. Hundreds of mortal ships surrounded the one in which they bobbed, cannons loaded with iron, fire-laced ammunition.

Rain misted over the landscape, dusting the world in shimmers.

“Daughter.” Nemed greeted Aisling from the stern castle. The whole crew paused or slowed their business, turning to lay eyes on Aisling for themselves. Although the reprieve was slight, Aisling relished what fresh air surrounded her for the stench of iron and mortality fought for attention amongst her senses. Aisling frowned, wrinkling her nose as Starn pulled her toward their father.

They climbed two sets of ladders until Aisling faced her father atop the stern castle. They looked out over the ship, watching as the crew busied themselves once more. Iarbonel, Fergus, and Annind worked alongside the crew or spoke amongst one another. Clodagh, on the other hand, breathed deeply at the edge of the ship, pale with sea sickness.

“Tell me, Aisling, how does one hunt a myth?” her father asked. His violet eyes twinkled despite their age.

“You take it by force,” Starn said, smirking to himself.

Aisling exhaled. “You find its maker,” she corrected.

“Precisely,” Nemed said. Starn’s smile fell, replaced with a familiar scowl.

“There are countless legends of the gateways to the spirit realm,” Nemed said. “Most of Tilren’s folktales involve a ‘crossing over.’ But how is it done? Well, you enter as you would anywhere else,” Nemed said. “Through the front door.”

Aisling glanced at the inky waters beneath the belly of the ship and beyond. They rocked side to side, jagged and tipped with the gold light from above. The ocean––one of the twin gods’ eldest sons—both arcane depth and breathtaking beauty.

“The ocean is vast, father,” Aisling said, but her eyes drifted to the mist veiling their passage, dappling her cheeks with dew. Every droplet pricked her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

“Aye,” he acknowledged, “but a myth is vain, daughter. Legends are vanity incarnate. They refuse to be ignored. They crave your attention. And they long to be caught in the light.” Nemed’s eyes followed Aisling’s, appraising the sheets of rain.

Niamh’s rain.

“The Silver Sea rests between three storm lands in the east and we are at the center of it. Or,” Nemed reconsidered, stroking his chin, “close to it. With the help of your rescuers, we’ll arrive within a week’s time if not sooner.”

Aisling swallowed the lump in her throat. Her tongue had run dry, and her eyes burned.

“Why are you telling me this?” Aisling asked, doing her best to conceal the dread in her voice.

“Because when we lay waste to the spirit world, destroy their gate, and reclaim all that is rightfully mankind’s”––Nemed looked his daughter in the eyes––“you will not be here. But I wanted you to know.”

Aisling didn’t flinch. She steeled herself, straightening and keeping her father’s stare.

“No,” Aisling admitted, “because you recount dreams, father. But I only exist in your nightmares.”

Nemed’s expression shuttered with emotion. His brows knotted, eyes flicking to the iron cuffs at Aisling’s wrists that prevented her from casting magic.

Before either could speak another word, a bell rang from four different towers in the kingdom. The figures that speckled the landscape hurried indoors, slamming shutters, and locking doors.

Several shouts erupted across the ship and panic descended. Half the crew gaped at the surrounding kingdom, mouths hanging open at what traveled in their direction.

Aisling, Nemed, and Starn followed their line of sight.

As the ship floated, a dense fog rolled through the kingdom, across the river and toward their ships. It whispered frantically, taking odd and jagged shapes uncharacteristic of natural fog. Aisling was the first to feel it: the ripple of thedraiochtas it spilled from a fresh source.

“By the Forge,” Aisling cursed beneath her breath.

“What is it?” Starn snapped, his voice breaking. “What have you summoned, fae?!”

Aisling shook her head silently, watching with wide eyes as the fog approached more quickly. The crew busied themselves, loading the cannons and lifting the sails. Yet, nothing could prevent what was coming. Nothing could be done.

Aisling knew not its name, but she knew its kind: Unseelie.

The fog arrived and it creeped up the belly of their ships. Various men released the cannons, leaped overboard, or fought to fit below deck in a panic. They struck one another in the frenzy, chaos descending.

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