Chapter XIX
CHAPTER XIX
When Aisling woke, the sky was black once more. The moon sailed on a current of stars, glittering with mischief. But the mortal queen felt the night before she saw it: the crisp hues of midnight blue, dew beading the grass with crystals, the lullaby of mating insects humming the world to sleep, the burnt, ashen wood still smoking from a dying fire.
Aisling lazily rolled over, bumping into the fae king. Lir lay dangerously near to her. Had she fallen asleep beside him? The mortal queen couldn’t remember. One moment she’d been awake, watching Lir’s breaths rise and fall, careful not to wake him lest he snap at her like a wolf, and the next, she was rousing.
Aisling sprung from her place on the ground, her wrist snatching and the resistance slamming the mortal queen to the grass once more. Aisling looked in horror at the silver, threaded chain wrapped around her wrist. Starlight threads, Aisling realized.
The tether wrapped around her joint, spiraling down in a long, wispy chain, tangled between herself and the fae king. At last, the mortal queen managed to follow the string to its end, tied around Lir’s wrist. He’d bound them together. Strung them with an impenetrable thread .
With all of Aisling’s commotion, Lir woke, or perhaps he’d been awake this entire time. Aisling couldn’t tell in the darkness.
“Good, you’re up,” he said, sitting upright, his voice ragged. “You should eat something before we leave.”
“Why have you bound me?” Aisling asked, uselessly fiddling with the knot around her wrist.
“It’s for your benefit, lest you’re eager to be stolen away or bewitched into the Unseelie’s waiting hands while we sleep.”
Aisling swallowed.
“Bewitched?”
“Aye, led happily to your death,” Lir clarified, standing himself. The fae king took hold of the string between them, tugging Aisling closer. “This way, I can keep you close.” He grinned.
“And how will this shackle allow for the Unseelie to be lured if you’re always near?”
The fae king brought them face to face, Aisling looking up at his devious expression just visible beyond the midnight veil.
“You needn’t worry yourself with that,” he said, smiling devilishly. “It’s all sorted.” A statement that made Aisling more concerned for her own longevity amongst the Aos Sí.
“Is it already time?” Galad interrupted. Aisling whipped her attention to the knight, wearily uncurling himself from the ground. One by one, the rest of the knights woke as well. The glade stirred with Aos Sí dressing themselves, readying the stags, and sheathing their weapons.
“As the cock crows,” Gilrel replied, stretching her arms, two daggers in either hand, “or, in this case, as the owl hoots.”
The fair folk munched on cheeses, dried breads, fruits, and honeycombs, braiding back their hair and slipping on their boots. It wasn’t long before they’d thoroughly dusted out the fire, gathered their belongings, and saddled the stags, leaving the glade as though they’d never been. All save for the blackened hole at the center of their camp where the fire had burned throughout their sleep.
The party mounted their stags save for Aisling and Lir, who were still standing on the grass. The mortal queen looked between the group and the fae king, wondering why they weren’t joining the others. For now, where Lir went, Aisling also went, bound to him by threads of starlight.
But the fae king said not a word, deigning to explain himself as he approached the scorched circle. Lir knelt beside the ash in a shower of moonlight. A snow-white luster illuminated him against the pitch black of night. For a moment, Aisling believed his wings would unfurl from his back, catching the misty glow of evening. As they had in her dream. But to the mortal queen’s disappointment, he kept them hidden away.
With the hand untethered to Aisling, the fae king placed his palm onto the earth and stilled. His long, elegant fingers curled into the powder of cinders. His other elbow rested on his knee, his hand lazily hanging from the joint. None of the others questioned their king, watching from the edge of the clearing where they sat on their stags.
So, the mortal queen waited patiently, studying the fae king bent over the ash. His back swelled with breath. The sound was indistinguishable from the brush of forest leaves against the mountain’s spires. Lir steadily inhaled and exhaled as he, Aisling realized, summoned the draiocht . Magic.
It didn’t take long for the ground to pulse beneath their feet. As though Lir and Aisling stood on the lungs of the earth, its ragged breath billowing into Lir’s chest and filling him with the wind of the wild. A gale that seeped through his fingertips till the ashen ground beneath him sighed with green. Aisling felt the draiocht’s touch. Felt it watching her, studying her as it swept the glade in its magic. Was it sentient? Conjured like a curse or a blessing?
Yellow and cerulean flowers bubbled over freshly grown verdant sod. A layer of pasture blooming in a fleeting, passing moment beneath the moonlight. The greenery slipped between Lir’s fingers, once caked in soot, curling around his fae markings, his king’s rings with sweet fondness until the black mark was gone. Vanished. As though it never was.
And so, the fae king undid the fire. Gave back the life the flames had stolen.
“How did you do that?” Aisling asked Lir. The fae king rode behind her as the procession continued their quest through the forest. And the further they travelled, the thicker the forest became: a labyrinth of ancient, wooded sentinels, inky rivers, caves, and the edges of snow-peaked summits. Long gone was the world of man; out here, the age of iron was a distant dream. Untouched by mortal sovereigns, they trekked through the dominion of yews, apples, and Wych elms.
“How did you regrow the earth?” Aisling clarified, idly stroking Saoirse’s mane.
“It’s a simple spell. One the draiocht longs to be used for,” he replied, his muscles strung tight against Aisling’s back. Poised to fight at a moment’s notice. Aisling felt it too, the growing thickness of the air they breathed, the pressure descending from the midnight skies like a thick quilt.
“Can you regrow the forests?” Aisling whispered. “After what Nemed has done?”
“Perhaps in another few centuries I’ll find a way but now…no,” he said. “The trees are too old. Too ancient. Centuries of memory and thought. To breathe so much life into the thousands that have been destroyed, it’s not possible. Only the Forge itself has such power. Has enough will to feed the draiocht .”
Of course , Aisling thought to herself. Otherwise, Lir would’ve already done so .
“Did Nemed or your mother ever speak of the draiocht with you? A tutor?” he asked, leaning his head so he whispered in her ear.
“No, my father claimed magic was a perversity of nature.”
Lir laughed coolly, unsurprised. “But no one—even in passing—mentioned the draiocht ? Not in your family’s history?”
“In Tilren, to speak of such things is forbidden,” Aisling said, “so if there were mention, I wouldn’t know of it. But in Annwyn, they teach the children of the draiocht ?”
“Aye, but it’s not so much taught as it is experienced. From the time we’re born we begin to speak with the draiocht , living with and through it. It’s inseparable from our very nature and all the while an entity in and of itself.”
Saoirse stumbled over a loose stone, so Lir clutched Aisling’s waist, bringing her against him. The mortal queen heated. The sensation of him against her, behind her, overwhelming. Prickling every inch of her skin till she managed to squirm free once more lest she dissolve in his arms.
“My mother did, however, teach me to fly,” Lir said. Aisling tilted her head to study his expression. It was strange to think that such a powerful creature as Lir had once been a child with a mother and father. Parents who were likely once as powerful as the fae king was now. Were they dead? Alive? Lir never spoke of them. Surely, if his mother were alive, Aisling would’ve already met the former queen of the greenwood. For she’d married Lir’s father after all. Aisling bit her tongue. Or had she? Why had Aisling assumed Lir’s parents to be husband and wife simply because they bore a child? That his parents had been caeras ? In the mortal world, such customs were expected, but that certainly didn’t imply fae culture followed similar rules. Perhaps they’d simply been fortunate enough to bear a child, not yet wed or proclaimed caeras .
“Flying is an inevitability, taught or not, but with guidance, a Sidhe child can learn to perfect such an ability for themselves and do so more efficiently, lessening the likelihood of ill-fated falls and recklessness.”
“And how does one learn to fly?” Aisling asked.
“When I wouldn’t sleep as a bairn, my mother would cradle me as she flew, praying to the Forge I’d drift to sleep so she could dream herself. From the time we’re born we memorize the rhythm of our mother’s flutter. Then when I was old enough, she’d let me graze the canopies on my own, demonstrated how to propel through a storm, manage turbulent winds, mend a tear.”
The fae king’s voice was ragged with grief, implying his mother was gone. What must it be like to carry such grief for an eternity? Especially when natural deaths were few and far between amongst the Aos Sí. Which begged the question: how had Lir’s mother died?
Abruptly, Lir brought Saoirse to a stop. The fae procession mirrored their monarch. Did they hear something Aisling couldn’t? See something? The mortal queen paled, dreading what was to come next.
“What is it?” Aisling whispered.
“Sshh,” Lir hushed softly, leaping off Saoirse’s back. “I’d encourage you not to be afraid, but I’m almost certain you’ll enjoy this.”
“Enjoy what?” Aisling continued. The fae king didn’t respond. Merely lifted Aisling from the stag, setting her on the ground beside him. Quickly, he slung a bandolier over his head and across his chest, lifting his hood so the top of his face was veiled with shadow.
“Have you heard something?” Aisling continued.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
The fae king gestured for Aisling to follow him, their wrists still tethered by the rope of starlight.
“Where are we going?” Aisling answered with a question, looking back at the group of fae knights, dismounting and disappearing into the surrounding trees. They were ghosts, silently floating through the woods, every breath shared with the wilderness around them.
“Are all mortals as incapable of being silent?”
“Only the ones who know when to fear for their lives.”
“That’s the fun of all of it, isn’t it, princess?” Lir grinned wickedly. Aisling couldn’t argue, stumbling along after him as he led her to the edge of the forest.
Beyond the thinning woodland, in a wide and rocky clearing, rested three colossal mountains. But it wasn’t a clearing at all. In fact, this grey, gravelly expanse of mountain and stone was once a part of the forest, now caked with black dust. Dust that smothered the great crater, wilting all the greenery beneath it. And carved into the mountains were three large caves. They tunneled into the summits like gaping mouths waiting to snap shut. Dark and deep. Silent and eager. What Aisling imagined were bats, hanging from the cave’s gums and blinking back.
Lir shielded Aisling against a tree. The mortal queen opened her mouth to speak but Lir lifted his finger against his lips, silencing her. Were they near the Unseelie?
Lir reached for the mortal queen’s hand. His fingers holding her by the wrist, palm up. Aisling paled as the fae king then drew one of his throwing knives, the edge glinting yellow-gold and boasting its sharp edge.
“Remember, this is for your kind too,” he whispered. “Negotiations with the Unseelie could save us all the bloodshed of mortals and Sidhe alike.”
“Aren’t we waiting for them to find us?”
“They won’t approach if they know I’m with you,” Lir said, “so we’ve come to them.”
So, the fae king hadn’t planned to tether Aisling to a sacrificial rod, like she’d anticipated. A way to lure the Unseelie without Lir being near her, a fear Aisling hadn’t realized she harbored until now.
“And what of me as bait?”
Lir’s eyes flickered with something Aisling couldn’t place. “You’re still going to help.”
“How?”
“You’re going to lure them from their caves.”
Aisling’s legs grew numb as her gaze darted between the hollows: black, bottomless, and glaring back. Thresholds to the inner workings of the mountains, where some hideous, bestial aberration no doubt lurked.
“Why don’t you simply get them to come out yourself?” Aisling demanded, more curious than anything else.
“It wouldn’t be tactful to enter their lair with only a handful of Sidhe. Besides, the fomorians will interpret any such liberties as a direct insult and threat to their municipality. Territorial fiends.” Lir said, “I’m trying to avoid further bloodshed.”
The fomorians. That was who called this dreadful, stony expanse their lair.
The fae king slipped the dagger beneath the starlight tether, wrapped it around Aisling’s wrist, and pulled, severing the thread that bound the mortal queen and fae king together.
Aisling watched the thread uncoil and slither from her wrist, tangling about the floor: a silver snake.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?”
“No,” Lir said. “I believe you’ll do anything for your kind.”
“And what if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I know what it is to want to protect those you love. It’s not always possible but when it is, there’s little to prevent either you or I from doing so.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’ve already done it. By tethering your fate to mine,” he said.
Aisling’s heart panged––with what, she did not know. Only that it hurt. For her union to Lir felt like an eternity ago and all that occurred before their marriage was another life.
“ Do not be weak ,” Nemed had always told her. This was her opportunity to be as strong and as brave as her brothers. To participate in the danger of it all as she’d always craved. She couldn’t wither now. Not when she could play a hand in protecting her people from these beasts.
Aisling tried to swallow but her tongue turned dry and brittle, an immovable stone in her mouth.
“This is for cutting me beside Yddra,” the fae king said, lowering the knife to poke her fingertip. A ball of blood bloomed from the puncture, dripping onto the forest floor between them. Aisling winced, startled by the prick.
“The quicker they smell you, the quicker we can leave,” Lir explained.
“So, what happens now?” Aisling asked, holding her finger as she warily searched the expanse beyond, a land of grey and ash and rock.
“Now we introduce you.”
“We?” Aisling asked.
Lir winked, sage eyes dancing. But the longer Aisling looked, the dimmer they grew, nearly translucent. Aisling blinked and rubbed her eyes and by the time she lifted her head once more the fae king had vanished. Like the fog on a windy sea, Lir dissolved into nothing. Suddenly gone.
Aisling’s heart hammered, swiveling on her heel.
“I’m right here,” he said, his voice an incorporeal purr amidst the darkness. Lir reached out and grabbed her hand, knotting his fingers between hers. Aisling gasped, stifling the urge to scream at the contact.
He’d glamoured himself.
From nothing, Lir exhaled a laugh, his breath white clouds in the cool evening air, the only evidence that he still stood beside her. That and the sensation of his calloused hand knotted in her own.
“Follow me,” he said, pulling Aisling from the forest’s edge and into the ashen clearing. And as they neared, Aisling realized to her own horror that the black, swampy mounds littering the center of the clearing were not rocks or foliage or some other natural substance. No. They were bodies. Rotting corpses whose bones stuck out at odd angles as the mice scuttled across them, painting their paws red and brown. The stench was unbearable, summoning bile to her throat.
They walked until they reached where the three summits stood. The gravel’s dust plastered their boots, clouding around them till it took the form of fog.
The three summits stood facing the center of the clearing like a council, prepared to both judge and measure the mortal queen. A mortal queen who appeared to stand alone, unaccompanied. A glittering speck of raven black in the shadows of the mountain, her plaits reflecting the light of the moon.
And where Aisling believed she’d find fear, Aisling was far more excited, thrilled, exhilarated than afraid. A sensation she couldn’t explain or rationalize even if she wanted to. A sensation that had plagued her since the loss of her innocence when she’d beheaded the trow.
And standing there, before the scrutiny of the peaks, Aisling weighed the silence. The hum of the gale winding through their bodies. Studied the smell of rot and bilge vegetating in the air. The taste of the citrusy forest combined with rot surrounding them. The touch of the moonlight on her pale complexion. The drip of her fingertip onto the stones beneath. Until the steady thump sounded from within the center cave. The step of a foot followed by the limp hauling of both one metal object and another fleshier belonging.
Step, drag.
Step, drag.
Step, drag.
Step, drag .
The sound grew louder, crunching some brittle substance beneath.
Lir squeezed Aisling’s hand. “Don’t move until I say.”
They were coming.