Page 125 of The Forever Queen

“I’m not certain,” Niamh replied honestly. “But it’s worth a try.”

CHAPTER LII

LIR

The forest called the Sidhe king to its lip before devouring him whole. He sank into the labyrinth, his every sense more alive and eager to explore the Other—his intimacy with Aisling, strengthening hisdraiochtin a way he’d never felt before. Had never experienced. He hungered for those feelings, for her, for their destiny together. He’d woken without Aisling, wondering where she’d gone. He’d wanted to stay and hold her. Touch her. Hear her voice and look into her eyes. But he knew better than to indulge in the future when they sat on the eve of war. He knew better than to hope for more, for goodness, when the second boot would always drop and violence would ensue.

It was the trees that told Lir where his bride fled. That she, dressed in shadows, sunk into the forest and wove through its depths beneath the light of the last storm moon. And so, he’d follow.

Lir’s heart drummed inside him. He paced the forest floor unable to sleep when war was approaching, twisting the rings on each of his fingers. He felt afraid. Terrified. He tasted the end of everything and all that consumed his mind was Aisling. Where was she? How was she? Where would she be when it was all over? It was happening more quickly than Lir was prepared for. His greatest fears on the brink of being realized by mortal makings.

He sucked on the sap of alder pines to calm his nerves when he couldn’t find her and still, his heart beat like the drums before blood was shed. And what’s more, the grin had contaminated almost everything, spreading like wildfire from the forest and into the meadows. An infection that took but never gave, leaving death in its wake. He saw its influence for miles and tasted its contagion in the sap of every tree he passed.

“Over there!” The trees called to him.

Through the branches, Lir saw a ghost. No, not a ghost. Two maidens racing through the forest like spirits in the night. Like banshees.

Aisling and Niamh raced on white stags. They cut through the trees, the forest bending and twisting to make a path for them both.

Lir’s chest seized, his hand wandering toward his heart.

Aisling’s beauty was poetry; a verse that both wounded and healed, staking you through the heart with unfathomable, unmistakable, and horrible recognition. She, a forbidden whisper, a confession, a bearing of the darkest depths of the soul.

Lir wasn’t certain how long he stared at Aisling as she raced, only that it wasn’t enough. For as soon as she was out of sight, his heart sank and his boots flew in the direction she fled.

CHAPTER LIII

AISLING

Aisling and Niamh slipped out of the forest and into the meadow where the great gate stood. The gateway to the Other and the mortal plane. A behemoth dream tree split at the center where water rippled vertically. Already the dream tree was infected with the grin. Her clann was close.

“Destroy this one,” Niamh said. “And all others will collapse. Including Leshy.”

Aisling nodded her head, flying off the stag with the Goblet in hand. She stared up at the gateway, at the cool, peaceful night, and her stomach rose into her throat.

The stars gleamed down at her, smiling sweetly and curiously.

“What now?” Aisling asked, facing the end of everything. The gate was a giant, looming above her ominously. Challenging her to destroy it fully and completely.

“Take a sip,” Niamh said.

The sorceress, the faerie, the mortal princess looked up at the star-beaded sky. The last storm moon shimmered between curtains of rain, considering Aisling with intention. It’sdraiochtcalling to the Goblet and inviting its power.

In the roar of the storm and in the light of the moon, Aisling brought the Goblet of Lore to her lips.

Aisling drank tentatively at first and then in great gulps. It tasted of rich plum syrups and bubbling jinxes. Of sorcery and magic incarnate. Her stomach tumbled madly as every word was another step closer to either her ruination or ultimate victory. She’d known the consequences would be cosmic and her own life was at stake. But for the first time, she’d tasted the reality on the lip of the Goblet.

“A sacrifice is demanded: one made of the self,” Niamh said. “The Forge demands blood.”

Aisling’s attention followed Niamh’s line of sight, landing on a serpent coiling tightly around her ankle.

Aisling’s stomach dropped.

Lir’s ruthlessness was but one of the various characteristics Aisling admired of the Sidhe king. One she intended to master as she aged into eternity. Yet, she’d found time and time again, whenever her own ruthlessness was tested, that such a sacrifice was no sacrifice at all. Her bloodthirst wet her tongue and coaxed her arm forward till the serpent hung from her hand, biting her fingers and struggling to keep hold of Aisling. Like the sting of coin bees, its fangs sank into the scars she’d earned burning Danu’s nettle from inside Lir.

The Other leaned closer. So she lit it aflame and watched as it hissed and squealed, shriveling until it, at last, released Aisling and was swallowed whole by flame.

Niamh grinned ear to ear, her fangs sparkling. “By the Forge, I pray thee laurel the worthy in garlands of glory and damn the unworthy.”

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