Page 19 of The Forever Queen

Their every movement was uncanny. Eyes bright with strange flame and teeth stained with soot. There was magic at work here. Something dark. Something wrong. Something stolen.Scull draiocht.

“Keep it alive!” Starn shouted to his men. “It cannot give us what we want if it’s dead.”

The tree flung itself to the side and the mortal men atop, including Starn, flew like ants across the forest. They groaned as they collapsed against the earth—some caught in trees.

“Again!” Starn shouted in a fit of coughs from the smoke. He staggered to his feet, bidding his blade dart for the tree once more. It swung its great body further into the forest, desperately trying to disappear. It moved quickly, awkwardly, roots and branches breaking as it shoved itself through the densest corridors of the greenwood.

Starn’s men pursued it, shouting at one another, but it was futile. Leshy moved quickly despite its injuries.

The tree left a trail of blood in its wake. Every droplet stank and steamed, but where it pooled on the forest floor from Starn’s violence, flowers, clovers, and fruit grew in its place. Vines bloomed from the blood and wrapped themselves around the limbs of prone mortals, eager to prevent more mortal destruction.

Still, Starn hunted Leshy, devoured by the forest as he sunk deeper into its depths in pursuit, his blade just ahead.

Aisling knew not what chaos her clann was brewing. Only that the Lady teased her with glimpses of their progress from time to time, eager to watch Aisling squirm.

* * *

For as long as Castle Annwyn remembered, sylphs haunted their passages. And the great hall was no exception. A sylph flew between branches tangled in the rafters and squeezed their berries between its fingertips. Juice dribbled down their fingers and into Aisling’s glass, the consistency of blood and the taste of seed-filled marmalades. The Seelie queen gulped until it stained her lips red. The sylphs above giggled, searching for another bottle to offer Aisling.

Galad and Gilrel sat on either side of her while Peitho and Filverel ate quietly further down the table. Two chairs left empty.

Their quiet was louder than usual considering the great hall wasn’t booming with music, the laughter of tipsy animals, nor the rustling of skirts and wings as the Sidhe danced till they were left breathless. Annwyn still mourned the tragedy ofImbolc—a celebration meant to herald life but that was now tainted with so much death. And what’s more, Lir requested this meeting be kept private, only inviting the members seated around the table. A request made after Aisling had learned that Lir visited Fionn in the dungeons.

Aisling nodded and the sylphs unstoppered the next bottle.

At long last, the entrance was pulled open by seven or so owls—ribbons in their beaks tied to the gold hoops embroidered along the doors’ edges.

Unceremoniously, Lir walked into the great hall.

The sylphs sucked in a collective breath, eyes of fog, glistening. And every clover, every bluethorn, every bat sleeping behind the beams and branches, perked up, buzzing with the presence of their sovereign.

“Mo Damh Bán,” Filverel said and the room pushed back their chairs to stand. All except Aisling who kept her eyes fixed on the Sidhe king, measuring his every gesture. She hadn’t seen him since they’d all spoken in the throne room the day followingImbolc. Lir was usually elusive, but when chaos unraveled—especially within his kingdom’s walls—he was a ghost vanishing from room to room, his attention demanded by everyone and everything.

Lir took his seat beside Aisling, a swarm of sylphs darting to be the first to fill his glass.

He glanced at Aisling. The moment their eyes met, Aisling’s heart ached. She realized she’d die of such pain if it meant waiting all her life to endure it again. Yet, something was different. Aisling could feel Anduril taking in the sight of the Sidhe king as well. The belt observed, watching and listening closely to the way Aisling’s heart raced in Lir’s presence.

“Ellwyn.” Lir greeted Aisling, a playful smile brushing across his lips. Lips Aisling’s gaze lingered on a moment too long, for Lir’s smile grew wider, collapsing shortly thereafter when Anduril caught his attention, beaming from where it wrapped around Aisling’s waist.

Lir frowned but said nothing. Aisling felt Lir’s obsession with her as richly as she felt hers for him, and yet, Lir was still the nightmare legend spoken of around the hearth and creeping into the sweet dreams of children taught to fear the woodland and the wilds. He, the brutal, barbarian king of the Aos Sí––and no amount of lust, of want, of affection, of obsession could let Aisling forget it.

“Should we begin?” Filverel asked.

Lir leaned back in his seat, eyes flicking to the doors he’d just entered. The flowers released a collective “brr” as all attention centered on Fionn’s silhouette, Frigg a pace behind. Lir’s thorns were still tightly wrapped around Fionn’s wrists and Frigg’s muzzle.

Peitho huffed, crossing her arms. The rest felt similarly—perhaps having hoped that Lir had killed Fionn regardless of Aisling’s wishes—but none said a word as the son of Winter took his seat around the table. Silver eyes searching for Aisling’s and locking into place once they had.

“Now you can begin,” Fionn said as Frigg paced behind his chair. “Unless you’d like to remove these first.” Fionn raised his hands, gesturing toward the thorny shackles.

Filverel, instead, exhaled, exchanging glances with Peitho before, reluctantly, continuing. “Tonight, at the stroke of midnight, is Niamh’s own version ofImbolc:L? Brear.”

“The Isle of Rain’s welcoming of the storm season,” Gilrel explained to Aisling, stabbing her potatoes with her wooden fork.

“I’ve sent a message to Niamh and received a response just this morning,” Filverel said, reaching into his tunic’s breast pocket. The advisor pulled out a folded piece of parchment, its resplendent seal already cracked in half.

Aisling leaned forward in her chair, eyes locked on the letter.

“Word from the Other?” Aisling asked. Indeed, Niamh, the Seelie queen of the Isle of Rain, lived in the Forge’s realm.

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