The Savage Queen (The Aisling Trilogy #2)

Chapter XXIII

CHAPTER XXIII

DAGFIN

Dagfin wasn’t familiar with Aos Sí tribes in either size or gathering. Yet, it appeared as if all Oighir stood before Fionn’s castle holding their breath. Watching as Fionn and Lir stood on either side of a glass bridge connecting Oighir to its surrounding kingdom of ice before dissolving into the feywilds. A treacherous drop beneath, filled by a river of fog.

The final test had yet to be announced. This was the only challenge during which Lir was allowed to wield his magic. The finality to the son of Winter’s game.

“Whether or not the opportunity presents itself, we leave tonight,” Starn said. Killian, Iarbonel, Fergus, and a mostly recovered Annind nodded their heads in agreement. All save for Dagfin, too focused on Aisling standing at the front of Castle Oighir to form a coherent thought. Greum and Frigg paced behind Aisling. A great mirror looming over her: the threshold to Oighir’s keep, reflecting the spectacle.

She was statuesque, clad in a sage gown and wrapped in the Roktan cloak he’d gifted her aboard the Starling . How she’d managed to preserve it, he knew not. Only that it lit a fire in his heart where even the Ocras couldn’t.

“Ready, brother?” Fionn asked, as their audience fell silent with anticipation. “Let’s begin and correct an ages-old mistake.”

Lir’s posture turned lethal, yet to Dagfin’s surprise, the fae king drew his twin axes. Prepared to battle the son of Winter for the last test and the conclusion to Fionn’s games.

“Not so fast, brother.” Fionn quirked a knowing brow. Lir shifted, twirling his axe in his grip as he focused on his brother.

“Bring me Aisling,” Fionn said, and at his command, Greum and Frigg nudged Aisling toward the son of Winter. Aisling didn’t protest, the collar of ice glittering more brightly around her throat as though it anticipated the conclusion to the deal as much as those around it.

Now it was Dagfin’s turn to pause, a pit forming in his stomach at the sight of Aisling moving toward the bridge of glass and into the crossfire.

AISLING

Aisling held her chin high––even as she passed Lir, not daring a glance in his direction despite the way his eyes studied her, counting every step that led her away from him and to Fionn at the other end of the bridge.

Fionn offered a hand to Aisling. Forearms chiming with bracelets and cuffs as Aisling placed her hand in his own and he pulled her to his side.

Lir’s expression dimmed at her and Fionn’s proximity, his axes twirling more quickly, more sharply between his fingers.

“The third and final test is a joust,” Fionn announced. The audience rustled, whispering back and forth.

“And my opponent?” Lir asked.

Fionn stifled a chuckle, moving behind Aisling. She stiffened, skin crawling the moment his fingers grazed her shoulders and wet her gown with frost.

“Your only opponent is yourself. Your objective: to destroy my heart of ice with the tip of your joust.”

Lir nodded his head. “Simple enough.”

Fionn smirked. “I hope you consider this second portion just as simple.” Fionn waved a hand in front of Aisling, pressing a finger between Aisling’s breasts. Aisling inhaled sharply, biting down her protests as the crystal collar around her neck gripped, reacting to the flicker of draiocht heating alongside her anger, her outrage. Lir stepped forward, axes stilling. The veins in his forearms, in his neck, growing bolder as his eyes flicked between Fionn’s hand and the collar at her throat, weighing a decision.

“Hold your ground, brother,” Fionn scolded, jagged ice creeping around Aisling’s torso in his anger.

At the son of Winter’s touch, an ice-carved heart grew from Aisling’s chest, floating just in front of her true heart. If Aisling moved, it followed, hovering a breath before her yet magicked to her being all the same.

Dread seeped beneath Aisling’s bones, a new chill taking root. And by the expression on Lir’s face, horror gripped him as well, swiftly evolving into undiluted anger.

“You wish for me to kill her?” Lir growled, the rumble of his voice, inspiring newfound terror in every surrounding spectator.

“The quicker your mount’s gait, the fainter the prick to destroy the ice heart, brother. Break the heart and you win. Whether or not you kill your caera in the process, well, that’s another story entirely. Of course, if you’ve no faith in yourself that you can win and still have a breathing bride, surrendering is always an option.” Fionn leaned closer to Aisling, kissing the backs of her ears till jewels dripped from her lobes, sprouted between her braids, and her tangled tresses. A crown of ice speared from her head like the rays of a frostbitten sun, transforming Aisling into a queen of Oighir. The queen she’d become if left to rot here for all eternity should Lir fail the tests, imprisoned as Fionn’s prize. The other alternative, death, whether Lir succeeded or not. This, considering destroying the ice heart without also impaling Aisling was impossible.

Aisling should’ve anticipated this; Fionn would ensure it was impossible for Lir to win. If Fionn couldn’t have Aisling and the power she promised, no one could.

Aisling bit down on her tongue till she tasted blood, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides.

“So, what say you? Will you surrender or accept the third and final test?” Fionn continued, straightening.

Lir’s nostrils flared, eyes shifting between his brother and Aisling. No doubt weighing the same consequences Aisling had as well. Verdant eyes flashing with woodland tempests the whole of Fjallnorr felt until, at last, Lir sheathed his axes.

“Let’s begin,” Lir said, calmer than his posture implied.

Aisling couldn’t see Fionn’s smile from where he stood, but she could feel it tiptoeing across her nerves till her entire body shook with the cold.

An ebony stag was escorted to the bridge, six or so silver wolves nipping at its heels to herd it. It huffed, stomping atop the bridge as Fionn summoned a ‘tilt’ railing of stone-hard snow along the length of the bridge.

“You’ll ride on the left side of my tilt. Aisling will stand at the end of the bridge to the right of said tilt. Destroy the heart with the tip of your joust and Aisling is yours, dead or alive. Fail to do so and Aisling stays here with me. Forever.”

Forever.

The word struck Aisling like a punch to the gut, leaving her struggling for breath. And at the faintest sign of her draiocht , the collar around her throat squeezed till the edges of her vision blurred black.

Lir tore his eyes from her, shoulders taut as he appraised the stag. He brushed his palm over the beast’s muzzle, soothing its restless energy after having been corralled by the wolves. Aisling too could feel its anxiety. Could feel the brush of the fae king’s fingertips atop the stag’s pelt as though he were stroking her own bare flesh.

“Ready, mo Lúra ?” Fionn whispered as he guided her to her position atop the bridge.

Aisling pursed her lips, biting down every insult sprouting inside her mind. Words were a consolation for the true punishment the son of Winter would eventually face at Aisling’s hands. And when the time came, Aisling wouldn’t hold back.

“Don’t look so vexed with me, Aisling,” Fionn continued.

“Vexed isn’t nearly a sufficient description, my Lord. There are far more colorful terms I had in mind.”

“Before or after our kiss?”

Aisling stiffened, gently fanning the embers of her anger.

“Have I enchanted you so that a single kiss still weighs heavily on your mind even as you position me for my death?”

“Death?” Fionn feigned outrage. “Who said anything about death?”

“Lir’s to break your ice heart, isn’t he? The object floating just before my own. To break it would be to break my own.”

Fionn laughed. “Surely you know my brother better than that, mo Lúra . Or is it coyness that compels you to deny the deathless longing in his eyes each time his eyes gravitate to you? How he bloodies himself failing to resist your natural enchantments? You’re his obsession, mo Lúra .”

Aisling turned away, hiding whatever emotion Fionn’s words provoked.

“He hungers for power and nothing more.”

“Aye, Lir doesn’t know anything else. And so, he’d never let you die, much less kill you. You’re the key to his ambitions, and so neither would I for what it’s worth. Lir will surrender. He’ll choke and the test will be lost.”

Aisling blinked. So, this was how Fionn anticipated a win. One laced with humiliation on Lir’s part.

“You’re hoping Lir will forfeit?”

“I don’t hope. I know.”

Aisling scowled at Fionn, simmering with heat.

“Then perhaps you’ve spoken one true statement: I do know Lir better than you.” Aisling planted her feet in place, steeling herself atop the bridge. “Lir would rather die than ever surrender.”

Fionn made a mocking sound, but Aisling saw the bobbing of his throat and the flash of doubt. For if Fionn had misjudged Lir, he’d lose Aisling too. Aisling, his answer to correcting the history he believed illegitimate. His answer to correcting everything he believed Lir had taken from him. Not to mention, usurping his brother and Danu alike to rule the realm with Aisling at his side.

LIR

Galad handed Lir his lance. A lengthy, translucent spear, settled into a grapper hooked to his right pauldron with a belt. The stag beneath him stirred, inhaling the smell of the hunter-green needles wrapping around the lance, summoned by Lir’s temper.

“I’m guessing any attempts to discourage you from going forward with this would be in vain,” Galad said, tightening the saddle buckles. His blade, Bréachta , winking from where it hung against his back.

Lir adjusted his grip on the lance. “Your guess would be right.”

“You’ll kill her, Lir.” The emotion in Galad’s voice surprised the Sidhe king.

“And what would you have me do?” Lir bore two choices: to either trust himself enough to win this final test against all odds or forsake Aisling to Fionn’s whims for the rest of eternity. Both paths risked Aisling’s life but at the very least, the first option was within his control. He could end this and win everything: Fionn’s test and Aisling’s freedom. Or he could lose everything. The latter, unfathomable.

Galad hesitated, opening his mouth to speak but unable to find the words.

“Be quick with it,” was all he said, nodding his head before turning to join the others.

Lir swallowed, clearing his throat as Peitho tossed him his antlered helmet.

Lir had jousted on plenty of occasions before but never like this. Never with the stakes being everything or nothing. His body setting flame the moment his eyes connected with Aisling’s from across the bridge. Two glittering amethysts amidst a landscape of ivory watching him prepare to stake her through the heart should he make a mistake. Should he commit even the slightest of misjudgments.

She inhaled deeply, finding in herself the resolve Lir had become well acquainted with. The courage she stirred awake when it was time to come face to face with a nightmare. And like most days, that nightmare was Lir himself.

Lir tore his eyes away, unable to look at Aisling for too long. He assessed the weight of the lance in his grip, shifting the shaft till he found the perfect grip.

“On the count of three, you’ll ride,” Frigg snapped at the stag’s hooves. Lir tipped his chin in acknowledgement, ignoring the mad beating of his pulse, the throbbing of his temples, the aching of his chest. Lir couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way: immeasurably nervous. Battles, wars, duels, hunts, chases, were commonplace for Lir and hardly made him dizzy, much less twisted his heart. Yet now, Lir struggled to focus, blinking away the image of Aisling as he prepared to race for her.

“ One ,” Frigg barked in Rún.

Oighir held its breath.

“ Two .”

Lir tightened his grip.

“ Three .”

Lir shot forward, a blur of color as he cut across the bridge. Fionn’s ice heart, a radiant light hovering before Aisling.

Fionn stood to the side, beaming from ear to ear even as Lir drove forward, his lance aimed at both the ice heart, and just behind it, Aisling’s own.

Lir forced himself not to glance at Aisling. To instead, focus on the tip of his spear, the gait of his mount, the distance between himself and the ice heart. Everything, all of it, unraveling as though Lir were plunging toward the earth, destined to meet his ruin.

The tip of Lir’s lance was three or so heartbeats from the ice heart. His stomach catapulting into his throat the quicker the seconds slipped through his fingers.

I summon the forest , Lir said to his draiocht and in response his wolf came snapping from its abyss, conjuring emerald vines, wrapping around Aisling and grappling her to the ground the precise moment the tip of his lance pierced the ice heart. It shattered, driving through and into the space Aisling once stood. Skimming her arm and spraying both Lir and the stag in her blood.

Shards of ice exploded from the impact as Lir leapt off his stag and reached for Aisling, already drowning in his overzealous vines. He tore them off her, ripping every leaf and thorn-ridden vine, unburying her even as they grew alongside the height of his desperation. His hands shaking with adrenaline. The same adrenaline propelling him onward as he ripped his own flora apart till emerald carnage surrounded them, unearthing Aisling at long last. He brought her against him as though she might vanish like the fog. Her blood and tears seeping into his leathers as she gasped for air and still, she wasn’t close enough.

Perhaps it was her own adrenaline, but Aisling buried her face in the curve of his neck, startling him. The pounding of her heart against his chest, everything he’d never realized he craved. His draiocht brightening feverishly to the hum of her magic.

“Don’t think this means I trust you now,” she said, her voice ragged. Despite himself, Lir smiled, knowing that despite the humor in her voice, the sentiment was both true and reciprocated.

Lir shut his eyes.

“Never,” he said into her ear, “ never make me do that again.”

But the moment, that blessed fragment of relief, evaporated the moment Fionn’s clapping erupted behind them. The mass whispers of the surrounding crowd grew into a roar as they beheld Aisling and Lir, both alive. Victors of the third and final test for Aisling’s freedom.

The collar around Aisling’s neck, shattering.