Page 23 of The Forever Queen

Lir opened his mouth to speak, but the words fell from his tongue in silence. His mind was overwhelmed with questions, thrashing like a muzzled wolf dying to bite. How far away was Aisling’s spirit now and could he speak to her? His mind spun with concern, with anger, with confusion, whipping back and forth and unable to produce anything tangible enough to speak aloud. Until he recognized the answers before him for what they were. Aisling stared at Lir without recognition, and Anduril glittered mischievously at her hips, winking at the lord of the greenwood.

“I am your king,” Lir said at last. “And you are my queen.”

Aisling straightened, lowering Sarwen for the first time. She breathed steadily, comfortable with the dense quiet.

“I am beholden to no king,” she answered at last.

CHAPTER VII

LIR

The Sidhe king cut through the corridors of Castle Annwyn.

Aisling was gone. One moment she’d been his and the next…the fire of recognition in her eyes was extinguished. Like the petering out of a night’s old fire or a plume of smoke. Not the blazing, destructive magic he understood flamed around the hollows of her heart. Lir searched for their connection—that intangible cord between them—and felt nothing. Instead, there was only a profound emptiness that clawed at his throat for a scream, a curse, a malediction to darken even the life heart of his forests.

Lir raced up the spiral stairwells, wishing for his mother’s wings. He was a blur of darkness as he moved, and still, he wasn’t quick enough. “Aisling,” he repeated beneath his breath. A prayer, a spell, a means to keep her close to him when he felt out of control.

Lir burst through the doors of Ina’s chamber. Fionn, Filverel, Galad, Gilrel, and Peitho stood inside the room, heads whipping toward their Sidhe king as his silhouette came into focus at the threshold.

“What have you done?” Lir asked, almost a whisper. His reflective eyes addressed Fionn from across the room, eliciting a conspicuous gulp from his elder brother.

“I’m sorry?” Fionn replied dubiously.

“You have one opportunity to speak the full truth, here and now,” Lir said, eerily calm. “Or,” he continued, “I’ll bleed you dry and cut your tongue from your mouth.”

The room darkened and even the stone statues shuddered.

Fionn glanced around Ina’s chamber, exchanging expressions with Peitho. The princess of Niltaor turned away quickly, abandoning the son of Winter to explain himself.

“I don’t know to what you refer,” Fionn said, planting his boots onto the stone floors. And in response Lir flashed a wicked grin.

“I was counting on your dishonesty,” Lir said, spinning his twin blades.

“Wait—” Fionn began, but it was too late.

Lir tore past the rest of the room and pummeled into Fionn.

Both brothers crashed into the chamber’s windows, shattering the glass with their force.

Winter against green, they fell. Plummeting through the night like twin stars, just before slamming against the mosaic-jeweled towers. Castle Annwyn shook, stones and debris crumbling into the river and flying buttresses below.

“Anduril—Lugh––has entirely consumed her,” Lir shouted, fangs lengthening and dripping with rain. Lir pinned Fionn to the tower’s steepled roof, pushing his head into the chipped gemstones. Fionn shoved his brother back, but Lir had always been the stronger of the two. The dark lord’s hands tightly coiled around Fionn’s throat while he seethed.

“The belt is meant to aid Aisling so she might stand a chance in the Other!” Fionn yelled back, summoning hisdraiocht. The magic huffed awake, climbing up and out of him. Fionn’s iris was swallowed by the white of his eyes. “You must surrender to the magic that aids her, even if it is against your will.”

Ice climbed up Lir’s hands where he held Fionn. Sharp and sparkling, the ice grew, devouring Lir’s limbs up to the shoulder. The Sidhe king of the greenwood roared, breaking his arms free yet also releasing Fionn.

Wet ice spread across the turret, allowing Fionn to slide down its side and away from Lir. Fionn rolled onto his side and down the side of the turret, plunging further down Castle Annwyn with Lir shortly behind.

Fionn crashed into a nearby pine in one of Annwyn’s courtyard gardens, his arms flailing as he reached for branches to break his fall. His hands blistered and broke, at last, catching a limb that snapped almost immediately. He fell through the pine, sliding down until he slammed into a tiered lily-pad pond, shattering the stone fountains that moved when they believed none were watching.

Lir, on the other hand, caught himself with his magic, the pine’s branches cradling him as he descended. Lir hit the cobbled path of the garden in which they stood, rolling with momentum till he lithely found his footing.

Lir wasted not a moment, starting toward Fionn as he unsheathed and threw one of his twin blades. The axe was wicked, cutting through the rain like a silver star.

Fionn reacted, quickly turning his head to the side. The axe brushed his cheek, carving a cut across the son of Winter’s face.

“You’re wasting our time fighting me, brother!” Fionn shouted, raising his hand in a gesture of magic. Winter rose from the cobbles like spears, almost knocking Lir off his feet. Lir steadied himself, catching the axe he’d thrown like a boomerang.

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