The Savage Queen (The Aisling Trilogy #2)

Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII

AISLING

Aisling stepped onto a floating bridge of solid ice. It glittered in the soft light cast by frozen flower bulbs. The pollen at their center imbued with an ivory radiance.

Fae light. An alternative to fire, which the Aos Sí all despised and feared. Their only weakness other than iron. But in Annwyn, such fae light was warm and golden. Here, it was only cold.

Beneath the bridge were thickets of eyebright. A forest of twinkling light, tangling beneath the walkway and powdered in fog.

Yet it was what lay ahead that captured Aisling’s attention and held it. A platform cut from the same ice as all else, crowned by an imperial staircase with a glimmering, sharp dais atop it. Eight colossal columns carved in the image of bears lined the room, each one hunched and carrying the weight of the ornamental ceilings polished with ice. Ice, a bed for the frozen hands that grew from the rafters to claw for the dais below.

Aisling followed Greum over the bridge, carefully placing each step lest she slip.

The bear escorted her up one side of the imperial staircase till she stood before a throne. An ornate seat seemingly carved from snow as resplendent as diamonds and surrounded by bowing pines, white with frost.

Several other Sidhe, plated in artful armor, stood around the throne. Their eyes as silver as their lord’s, sharp and upturned, with irises as pale as pearls. A fierceness far outweighing even the wolves that prowled around the base of the throne in defense of he who sat atop it.

The fae king.

Striking, primeval, and inhumanly lovely.

Silver hair sparkling, his greatsword, once sheathed at his waist, now jutted from his throne, watching as Aisling came into view. The fae king crossed his legs and leaned lithely to the side till his head rested in one slender, tattooed hand.

“I could gaze upon you for a lifetime, mo Lúra .” His voice filled the room despite the softness of it. The inherent calm he instilled in a chamber full of feral, forge-brewed creatures. “Wintertide compliments you.”

“You’re Delbaeth,” Aisling said, ignoring the heavy glares of every Aos Sí and beast in the room. “One of the twelve Sidhe sovereigns.”

Indeed, Delbaeth, as Aisling had learned during her time amongst the Aos Sí, was the Sidhe king of ice. Son of Winter, they called him. A greatsword as tall as himself, gifted to him by the Forge, now displayed at the back of his throne.

“No,” he said, amused. “Delbaeth was my father. My name is Fionn. And yours is Aisling.”

A chill crept up Aisling’s spine at the sound of her name on his lips. She considered him, glancing about the room and meeting the eyes of the others for the first time. Something between curiosity and fear flickering across their otherworldly expressions.

“Where are Dagfin and my brothers?” Aisling asked, ignoring his introductions. She bore little patience for those who stood in her way and a fae king, one with as much reason to either wish harm on Aisling or want the curse breaker as much as anyone else, would stop Aisling or deter her from achieving her ends entirely. Indeed, Aisling knew not what the inter-relations between the Aos Sí were like. Gilrel had mentioned conflict between the courts in passing but never divulged more than a handful of details. A fact which Aisling now cursed.

“How about an exchange, mo Lúra ?” Fionn smiled, the edges of his lips curling gently. “I’ll return your brothers and the Faerak in exchange for Lir’s whereabouts.”

Aisling shook her head.

“You ask for information I cannot give. I bear no knowledge of Lir’s whereabouts.”

The Sidhe, Greum, and the wolves all shifted. As though the mere mention of Lir’s name was enough to inspire unease amongst even his own kind.

“What a privilege you wield: to draw upon Sidhe strength while encumbered by only one of our weaknesses. For here you stand, lying between your teeth.”

The ease of his posture stiffened with frustration. A deadly, lethal sort of poise that made frigid the breath they shared.

Aisling steeled herself, praying to the godsforsaken Forge none saw her swallow before speaking.

“It’s no lie. I’ve not laid eyes on him since he betrayed the union between man and Aos Sí. A fact of which I’m sure you’re well aware.”

Fionn stood from his throne, his Sidhe guards rigid as he swept down the stairs. He wore no shirt, no tunic, no blouse. Only a translucent robe of sparkling black, exposing his muscled abdomen and arms painted with fae markings. His trousers belted at his hips.

Aisling’s breath caught in her throat as he approached, the vast height of him quickly becoming more apparent. He smelled of frost. Of wet wood and rivers frozen by winter’s overzealous touch.

At last, he slowed to a halt, tilting his head to meet her.

“Bring them in,” he said, but not to Aisling. The wolves nodded their heads, exiting briefly through the arched doorways on either side of the chamber.

Aisling clenched her jaw. A torrent of emotion whirling violently within her at the prospect of her brothers having been harmed. Hoping Dagfin was safe.

Starn, Iarbonel, Fergus, and Annind limped into the room, shoved roughly about by the wolves that escorted them.

Annind winced, his complexion somehow paler than it’d been the last time Aisling saw him. Hands and ankles shackled with chains of enchanted ice.

They oriented themselves as they emerged from whatever dungeons the fae king no doubt kept them in, finding Aisling standing before Fionn. The difference was obvious. While they’d been imprisoned, Aisling wore a gown as lustrous as an opal and had been given a private audience with the fae king.

Starn’s expression was all fire, twisted with rage and frustration. Indeed, Starn was accustomed to being the respected sibling: the one amongst them acclaimed, admired, and gifted luxury whilst Aisling was nothing more than a pawn designed to be slid across a board by the hands of lairds, chieftains, and kings. But not in the fae world.

None of Aisling’s brothers reached for her. None shouted her name nor fretted over her well-being. They only hung their heads and sneered, enduring the moment.

Instinctively, Aisling stepped past Fionn, starting for her brothers, but the fae king caught her wrist and pulled her back.

“Not so fast, mo Lúra . We had a deal.”

Aisling jerked her arm, but it was no use. The fae king was seemingly made of Oxheim stone and as powerful as the crags it built.

For a fragment of a second, Aisling considered summoning the draiocht . But not only did Greum’s voice echo inside her mind that her power would be futile here, she also knew it unwise to be so reckless in the face of her captor. Not to mention, she felt the same witchery that’d dulled her magic in the presence of the fear gorta strangling her draiocht even now. A pale comparison to her draiocht ’s usual might. She was trapped in this ice fortress and at the mercy of its lord. Dread seeped beneath her flesh at the thought. She did her best to stifle the panic fluttering inside her chest. They were outnumbered, overpowered, and caught when vulnerable. If she wished to free herself and Dagfin, then she must be cunning.

And as if reading her thoughts, Fionn continued, “I heard what you did aboard the mortal ship. Burning alive handfuls of mortals to save the breath of those you cherish most. Both attractive and impressive. You’re ruthless, powerful, and great, Aisling. Everything necessary to be queen. But if you even so much as conjure a spark whilst in my presence, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

Aisling seethed, rolling her neck from side to side to keep her anger at bay. But it was Dagfin and Killian being shoved into the throne room that diverted her temper.

Starn scowled at the sight of both Faeraks , stripped of their weapons.

Dagfin’s eyes were circled with blue, and his posture slumped. The ghost of the warrior he’d been not long ago. Still, tempests brewed behind his dark lashes, sparking with renewed electricity the moment he recognized Aisling, held by Fionn.

“Aisling—” he said without thinking, quickly struck in the gut by the butt of a sword from a nearby Sidhe.

Aisling dug her nails into her palms.

“So hostile, Your Lordship. Is this how you treat all your guests?” Aisling asked.

Fionn’s expression brightened, seemingly eager to banter with Aisling. “The Faera k has been…troublesome. But once we deprived him of his Ocras, he became vastly more manageable.”

There was silence as Dagfin collected himself, rising from the shimmering floors with blood dripping from his bottom lip.

“You care for the Faerak , don’t you?” Fionn said abruptly. “You composed yourself quite well until he entered. I’d wondered which one of all these princes you preferred.”

Aisling could feel his pale eyes studying her, stripping her of all and anything he could glean. A tingle of frost electrifying her nerves each time his eyes fixed upon her own.

“Although I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected this.” Fionn licked his lips. “What would the Damh Bán say?”

“Do you intend to insult a foreign queen? To hold her and her escorts prisoner?”

“You see, Aisling,” he said, using her name as though he’d known her all his age-old life. “You might be a prisoner but a cherished one. I’ve always had a bad habit of wanting whatever is Lir’s. Every oak, every ash, yew, and elm must eventually succumb to winter. As should his bride.”

Aisling reeled, unprepared for the words that left his lips. The cracking of the shackles around Dagfin’s wrists echoing inside the chamber as he struggled to free himself.

“Release me so that we might fight hand to hand,” Dagfin spat between clenched teeth. “Then we’ll see who the bloody Forge blesses, fae.”

“Fae?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Your prejudices have grown stale. Indeed, if the mortals ever wish to survive Danu, they’ll need to rely on every Sidhe they damned the past several centuries.”

Aisling whipped her head toward the fae lord.

“Danu?”

Empress of dryads––Aisling had met her once before. A seer like Lir’s mother Ina, who foresaw the end to the war between mortals and fair folk. Who gleaned the fair folk’s doom, spiraling Lir into madness. An Unseelie of immeasurable power and with a legion of followers.

“I thought you knew,” he said, returning his attention to Aisling. The glimmer in his eyes punctuated with the intensity of a bird of prey, appraising its catch. “The Unseelie need a formidable sovereign, capable of protecting their interests and their realm. A task Lir ignored for the sake of Annwyn and the Seelie at large and suffered because of.”

Aisling’s eyes narrowed. The draiocht stirring to the taste of her annoyance. Aisling couldn’t explain it, but she could hardly bear to hear Lir spoken of in such a way. As though she’d burn any who spoke ill of him. A right she alone felt entitled to.

Nevertheless, the fomorians had disavowed Lir as their king when Aisling and his knights had traversed the feywilds, claiming a need for a new leader. Just before Lir slaughtered all dissenters who spoke of such treasonous intentions.

“Yet his forsaking of the peace treaty between mortals and Sidhe re-established himself as king. Lord of both Seelie and Unseelie. I saw the fomorians, beasts, ghouls, and Leshy ride into battle at his command, ambushing what the mortals believed was another union of peace.”

Fionn laughed beneath his breath, stepping closer to Aisling.

“Yet, there are those still unconvinced. Still bitter their king turned their back on the Unseelie. Those who support someone else. Someone new. Someone capable of changing the course of Danu’s prophecies.”

Aisling’s brows knotted.

“Danu herself.”

Fionn nodded his head. “Precisely. You didn’t think Lir was immune to usurpers, did you? It was inevitable. Lir is passionate, obsessive, powerful, and ruthless. I’m only surprised it took this long for those who both fear and despise him to wish him dethroned.”

Aisling bristled, the subject of Lir on this fae king’s tongue breeding fire beneath her skin. But she knew better than to react. So, she ignored his taunting.

“And I suppose you intend to support Danu?”

Fionn tilted his head to the side.

“I intend to do what I believe Lir cannot. Regain Sidhe authority over the feywilds, in this continent and every continent, every court, every kingdom, every realm. And if that means ending Danu myself, then so be it.”

“You’re a fool to even consider challenging Lir. He’ll tear your court limb from limb before he ever surrenders even a morsel of his power to another.”

Fionn stepped nearer still, his breath cold and biting, traveling through Aisling’s hair till it billowed on a phantom wind. The hairs on her arms standing to attention.

“Perhaps. But not if I have you.”

He reached to stroke her cheek.

“Don’t touch her!” Dagfin shouted, shattering the chains of ice with pure force. Quicker than Aisling could blink, he rose, stole a dagger from a nearby sentinel, and threw it at the fae king’s chest.

Fionn caught Dagfin’s dagger, freezing it solid and crushing it between his fingers. A sharp crack followed by the shatter of glass.

Three more sentinels grappled Dagfin to the floor with a blade at his throat. The wolves snapping mere inches from his face.

“Impressive,” the fae king said, “for a mortal. The Ocras still courses deep in your veins, emboldened by natural heroism. Although, I’d suggest going lightly on the Ocras from now on, Faerak . Magic always takes all that it gives. As I’m sure you’re already experiencing.”

“Let them go,” Aisling said, eyeing Dagfin and ignoring her brothers. Starn, Iarbonel, Fergus, Annind, and Killian, unable to move, speak, or flinch without a response from the fair folk around them.

Greum circled them, a low rumble vibrating through his core.

“How quickly and often you forget our deal: Lir’s whereabouts, for your kin’s freedom.”

“I told you, I know not where he is, and even if I did, you’d have to pry it from my lips.”

“As much as I’d love to explore your lips, mo Lúra , let’s make another deal.”

Aisling hesitated, glancing at Dagfin, Killian, and her brothers. Annind was weak and conditions such as this would only kill him more quickly. Imprisonment was death for her youngest brother. The snapping of her heartstrings worsening the resentment she already felt for her clann. She should leave them. Give them time to recognize how they’d wronged her. Continued to wrong her. Make them rue every last disgusted glance. But try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to forsake them. To abandon the last vestiges of who she was before Annwyn. Before Lir.

“What are your terms?” She forced out the words.

Fionn’s mouth split into a devious smile as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

“Your escorts’ freedom in exchange for our true binding.”

A true binding ? Aisling assumed he meant a union. A marriage.

A marriage to the fae was a sacred event where souls were bound and knotted in a tapestry woven with fate’s threads.

Aisling staggered back a step, tearing herself from his touch.

“You have until the end of Samhain to agree.”