The Savage Queen (The Aisling Trilogy #2)

Chapter XIX

CHAPTER XIX

AISLING

A roar rippled through the arena.

Aisling sat back down in her throne, pulling Dagfin along so he stood beside her. And if either Fionn or Greum had any protests, they didn’t voice them. Right now, she found comfort in her friend’s presence, but more so in knowing he was alright. That he was safe and well cared for even in Oighir. In a land that feared his blood near as much as they loathed it.

“Herein begins the first of three tests. An Oighir tradition of deciding the rightful hand of all and anything contested,” Greum shouted before the arena. “In this case, Lir, king of the greenwood, challenges Your Lordship, Fionn, son of Winter, for his caera , the not-so-mortal queen of Annwyn!” Greum’s audience stomped, clapped, and screamed from the tops of their lungs. Chanting Fionn’s name.

“Should the Damh Bán lose, however, Fionn will carve out his heart with his own axe.”

Somehow, the spectators’ excitement increased, bleeding the realm till Aisling believed the veil thinned by Samhain might tear.

“Let the tests begin!”

Aisling shuddered, stomach knotting fiercely.

Lir still stood at the center of the stadium, completely composed. He gave one glance to his right where his knights watched from the side. They nodded in encouragement. Peitho shouted something Aisling couldn’t hear, while Galad crossed his arms, staring at the mighty archway shrouded in shadow that Lir faced.

Then he gave his last glance to Aisling, smiling knowingly.

Aisling crossed her legs, her body jittery with anxiety and trembling.

The roars that’d erupted earlier resurfaced. At first a guttural growl then a fully-fledged cry, this one more like a bird than whatever had sounded before.

Aisling held her breath.

What appeared from the shadows was nothing Aisling had ever heard of much less seen.

A colossal, three-headed beast lumbered forth. One head like a hawk, one a wolf, and the last a serpent, hissing madly at the bright contrast it experienced after having emerged from the dark. Its back legs belonged to the bird, its front paws to the wolf, and its tail to the serpent.

Aisling turned to Fionn, smirking in his throne beside her.

“What is that?!”

His eyes shifted lazily to her, but it was Dagfin who replied.

“ Ellén Trechend . Centuries ago, it’s said the Aos Sí that hail from a land called Cruachan in the West, tore open a hole in the veil between this realm and the Other on the eve of Samhain , ushering in the Ellén Trechend. One of the beasts made by the gods to guard the Forge during the Old Age.”

Aisling’s breathing was short, her lungs small as she beheld it. Growling, screeching, hissing.

“You can’t possibly mean for Lir to slaughter this beast?!” Aisling said to Fionn, louder than she’d anticipated, palms growing slick even as she dug her nails into the arms of her throne.

“You should thank me,” he said, resting his head on his fist. His beaded headdress clicking as he did so. “This will prove what you’re worth to him. Isn’t that what you want?”

Aisling seethed at the winter king. Indeed, it was what Aisling wanted. Beyond her loathing of Lir, and in the depths of her most guilty desires, she wanted him to want her. Wanted him to need her. And never had she ever believed he truly could or ever would outside his own self-serving motives. Nevertheless, this demon was anything but reassuring. It smelled of ancient caverns in the wild and of logs broken at the end of the fire when the tales became more lawless.

Filverel and Galad noticeably tensed, Peitho gripped the bar at the periphery of the pitch, and Gilrel gestured a silent prayer to the Forge as Lir stalked forth.

The Ellén Trechend struck first, its serpent’s head snapping for the fae king.

Lir stepped to the side easily, assessing the creature as though he bore all the time in the world.

The wolf, salivating onto the pitch in great globs, snarled, its muzzle wrinkling, peeling back to reveal a collection of blade-sharp teeth. So, the hawk head screeched before pecking at Lir with its beak.

This time Lir rolled to the side, gathering to his feet once more.

“Why hasn’t he struck yet?” Aisling asked, to no one in particular. Voicing her anxiety aloud.

“He’s a hunter,” Dagfin replied first.

Aisling glared up at the Roktan prince. His jawline was sharp, clenching his teeth as he assessed the duel for himself. “He bides his time, is patient, studying his opponent before pouncing.”

Indeed, Lir paced before the creature, watching how it moved, when it was most provoked, and when he neared, which areas of its body it instinctively protected.

And although this reassured Aisling, she still cursed the small eternity before Lir at last swiped at the serpent’s eyes when it lunged for him.

The movement was so quick, Aisling almost missed it. Evidence of the onslaught provided in the form of carnage sprayed into the surrounding audience, steaming in the wintry air.

The serpent reeled, baring its fangs, but the second attack was met similarly, forcing the hawk at the right to drive for Lir even as the serpent still recovered.

Lir struck for the hawk as well, but this time, the beast expected it, jutting its beak out first so its more vulnerable flesh was out of reach.

Lir dove out of the way, rolling onto his feet, and striking the center wolf that bit for his head.

The wolf howled as Lir’s axe plunged into its skull.

Dagfin cursed beneath his breath.

“What is it?” Aisling asked.

“The bones of forged-brewed creatures are said to be near impenetrable. It doesn’t surprise me his axes broke bone but releasing the blades might be a more difficult battle.”

And just as Dagfin said, Lir struggled to release his axe from the wolf.

The Ellén Trechend roared, lifting onto its hind legs as Lir pulled for his axe. Yet it didn’t come free, taking the fae king with it. He was flung through the air, hand gripping the axe.

Aisling stood from her chair, reaching for the banister. Sweat beading her brow.

Fionn clapped. “This is more entertaining than I initially presumed.”

Aisling shot him a scowl over her shoulder, but Fionn’s smile only brightened.

The crowd boomed. Lir, at last, finding his footing atop the wolf’s head even as the hound threw its head from side to side, desperate to toss Lir off. An opportunity arising when the wolf slumped against the ground. Yet Lir stood astride, at last releasing his axe from the beast’s skull.

“Why didn’t he leap off?!” Aisling asked.

“He will.” Dagfin joined her at the railing. “But like I said, he’s biding his time. Every attack from either the hawk or serpent has been reckless, their eagerness to strike making them sloppy. He’s using that against them.”

This time, Lir didn’t plunge his axe into the wolf’s skull again. He waited, watching as the hawk and the serpent lunged for him atop the wolf. Beak and fangs first, they struck the wolf head instead, blood spewing and a pained whimper erupting, loud enough to rupture Aisling’s ear drums. Lir leaped off the monster in the same breath, several stories above the ground. Too high for a normal Sidhe, impossible for a mortal.

Aisling wrenched her eyes shut on instinct, her heart in her throat. Peeking only at the sound of mass cheers and Gilrel’s hollering from the side. Lir landed like a feline, absorbing the impact with more rolls than usual before springing to his feet, both blades in hand, now soaked with blood.

The wolf’s head was felled by its other two heads. Both the snake and hawk turned to Lir, furious, but the weight of the wolf dragging against the snow made them slow and sluggish. Unable to reach Lir as he raced to the other end of the arena where Aisling and Fionn sat. The beast followed him, nipping at his heels and roaring with increased need.

Lir slid before the box and leaped onto the railing. Fionn’s guards immediately started forward, weapons poised to strike.

“There’s still a test to be won, Lir,” Fionn scolded from his chair, eyes shooting to the monster approaching. “The beast won’t hurt a soul outside the arena but it definitely won’t hesitate to kill you even if your back is turned.”

“Lir, what are you doing?!” Aisling shouted, staggering back a few paces.

Lir ignored Fionn, crouching on the railing and finding Aisling’s eyes.

“I need a kiss for good luck.”

Aisling shook her head, baffled, the monster picking up speed and defeating the distance between it and Lir.

“Don’t be a fool, brother,” Fionn chimed.

“Are you mad?!” Aisling asked, heart in her throat.

“So claim the legends,” he said, as calm as if he were anywhere else but the arena.

“You don’t have time for this!”

“So kiss me quick.” Lir grinned, pushing his hair away from his forehead and out of glittering eyes. His dimples framing the wicked edge of his smile.

Aisling glanced at the beast a few breaths behind Lir. The two heads preparing their maws to bite down and tear apart the Sidhe king. So, Aisling lunged forward and rose on her tiptoes, finding Lir’s mouth and pressing it to her own. Behind her, Aisling could feel both Fionn and Dagfin bristling, the world shaking violently either by the creature a few paces from crushing Lir to death or their kiss, she was uncertain. Only that he tasted of woodland secrets, of ragged breaths between lovers, and ink-black nights. Her body thrummed with heat and need despite the tightening of the collar at her throat. Immediately, Lir noticed the strain at her neck and released a quiet, instinctual groan against her lips, seemingly forcing himself to pull away a beat before death, turning and throwing his blades in one clean sweep.

The edge of his axes punctured both the serpent and hawk, blinding the serpent entirely while leaving only one eye seeing in the hawk. So, Lir leaped down from the railing and sliced at the serpent’s throat while it writhed, leaning close enough to the ground. The hawk, however, still stood rather strong, biting at Lir without pause.

He struck the beast in the skull but this time, Lir didn’t let the monster reel. Made vulnerable, he held the behemoth down with all the strength of a Sidhe king as it made sense of the pain, the chaos, Lir roaring as he did so, moving his left blade swiftly so as not to lose his hold. The second axe sliced into the hawk’s second eye, blinding the final beast before Lir wrenched both blades from its body and hammered them down into the hawk’s skull.

There was quiet.

A silence so thick, every snowflake falling from the gray-clad skies descended more slowly, rummaging through the muck of anticipation.

Aisling’s pulse pounded in her ears. Rushed at her throat. Her body cold and rigid, bracing the banister for dear life. Until, at last, the light faded from the hawk’s eyes.

Lir had won.

Fionn stood slowly from his throne, arranging his robes as Lir approached their box. The spectators still shouting, shaking the entire arena with their excitement. The body of the Ellén Trechend now blanketed in a layer of snow.

And despite the first test being over, Aisling’s hands couldn’t release the railing. The intangible cord between she and Lir growing taut the nearer he drew. Her stomach flipping and her lips burning where the memory of his mouth against her own lingered. He was arrogance personified, blood-splattered and sweat glistened, flipping his blades back into the sheathes at his back.

“Well done, brother.” Fionn clapped. “You had us on the edge of our seats.”

“I had to ensure Aisling was paying attention.” Lir’s grin widened, roguish and punctuated by knee-weakening fangs.

Dagfin shifted beside Aisling, but Fionn found the fae king’s comments less than amusing.

“Let’s see how well she pays attention when you meet your end. There are still two tests left.”

“And the clue for the next?”

Fionn smiled.

“ Nimhe .”