Page 97 of The Forever Queen

Clodagh was escorted first by both Fergus and Annind, speaking frantically into the collars of their tunics.

Starn summoned his phantom blade from where it hung on the main deck, and Nemed gripped the banister of the stern castle.

“Onward!” Nemed shouted, directing the ship to sail forward and swiftly. But it was too late.

The fog creeped over the lip of their ship. It rolled in slowly, building anticipation before it brushed the boot of the first crewman remaining above deck. In a heartbeat, the fog snatched the man in a blur of blood and teeth and white mist, leaving nothing but splatter and ichor in its place.

The crew screamed, shouting prayers and begging for their lives.

“Release my bindings,” Aisling growled, lifting the iron fists wrapped tightly around her hands.

“Have you gone mad?” Starn simmered, face red with fear and anger alike. “None have forgotten what you did to the last ship you and I shared.”

Aisling’s mind flashed back to Dagfin’s ship, theStarling. Then, they’d been attacked by merrow, and to survive, to spare the ship and themselves, Aisling had lit the entire galleon on fire. And while she’d spared the lives of her clann, herself, and most importantly Dagfin, she’d forsaken the lives of the rest of the crew.

“Then you’ll remember you’re in debt to me,” Aisling bit back. “For had I not intervened, you wouldn’t be standing here today…unfortunately.”

Nemed shoved the skipper standing before the wheel of the ship and took hold of it himself.

“Your shackles remain, daughter,” her father said, jerking the wheel to the right. The ship obeyed, swinging from one side to the other.

Aisling flew across the stern castle, slamming into the side of the balustrade with her hip.

She seethed, watching as the fog continued to devour more crew members. Nemed couldn’t outsail or outrun this Unseelie. Whatever it was, it was determined to devour them whole, and they had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no way to fight the fog.

Aisling slammed her fists against the mizzenmast. The iron fists didn’t bend nor dent. Instead, her bones rattled inside, forcing a scream from her lips.

Starn whipped his head in her direction, raising his phantom blade at Aisling’s throat.

“Attempt something like that again and I’ll sever your hands off altogether,” he yelled, veins bulging at his neck and forehead.

Aisling slapped the blade from where it floated, poised before her. It clattered to the ground where Starn hadn’t expected retaliation. Her brother, swiftly, lifted it once more and drove it between Aisling’s eyes.

“Starn!” Nemed shouted, staring at them over his shoulder. Aisling wasn’t certain how they’d cut the curse breaker from her, but she assumed it wasn’t this way.

Aisling dodged the onslaught, stepping lithely to the side. Starn watched her move, eyes growing wide. Her brother swung again, this time for the legs. Aisling leaped, landing on her feet and swinging at the blade again. She knocked it to the side and even after the sword clanked against the floorboards, it continued to slide with momentum, falling off the stern castle and onto the main deck.

Aisling lunged for her brother, throwing the iron fists at his temples.

Starn staggered backward, clumsily avoiding her attacks.

“Enough!” he grunted as he moved his head side to side, but Aisling persisted, pushed her brother until his back was against the balustrade, threatening to send him off the edge in pursuit of his phantom blade.

“Where’s your magic, brother?” Aisling asked. “Where’s the Lady to help you now?”

She threw another punch, twisting with her entire body as Peitho had shown her. At last, the attempt hit. Her fist collided into the side of his face, sending Starn reeling. The top half of his body was backward and horizontal over the railing.

Aisling, huffing with exertion, took a step back.

Starn froze. As slow as the moon wanes, her brother turned to face her. Already the blow had painted an ugly, purpled gash across his cheekbone. He touched it gently with his fingertips, eyes becoming saucers when they spotted the blood at the tips of his fingers.

He met Aisling’s eyes.

“You’ll regret that,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

The fog grew in their periphery, the ship rocking side to side in Nemed’s desperation. Yet, Aisling’s eyes remained glued to her brother’s, fury pulsing between them.

“Perhaps,” Aisling said, “but only that it wasn’t fatal.”

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