The Savage Queen (The Aisling Trilogy #2)

Chapter XXV

CHAPTER XXV

AISLING

Aisling emerged, gasping for air.

Everything was ice. Cold and water. Here and there, up and down, a streak of light and shadow.

Her eyes blinked repeatedly, chin struggling to stay above the surface as she gulped down mouthful after mouthful of water.

Arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her nearer and delivering them both to a shore of river stones and verglas.

They’d traveled to a pool amidst the Fjallnorrian feywilds, pummeled at one edge by a waterfall, now frozen over by high winter’s bite.

Aisling coughed up water, emptying her lungs as she rolled over. She couldn’t feel her limbs, but she could see them trembling.

“Use your draiocht , ellwyn ,” she heard Lir say, his voice sobering.

She summoned her flames and exhaled. Painful at first, her bones thawed, then her muscles, and lastly, her flesh. The draiocht breeding new life into her body after months asleep.

LIR

“The forest tastes her,” the trees whispered in his ears. “The forest couldn’t forget the texture of her magic even after we’ve wilted and grown gnarled with age.”

Lir stood before Aisling, watching as her fires dissolved into plumes of smoke and then nothing. The smell of her intoxicating as he weighed the density of the air between them.

Lir gripped his hands into fists, white knuckled.

“Have you already forgotten everything I taught you?” he asked, despising himself for the humor in his tone. His fury struggling to break the surface. For now.

“When there is no air, no space for life, you must forge it yourself.”

Indeed, Lir had taught Aisling how to breathe beneath the water while venturing through the feywilds. A lesson that proved useful when Danu had thrust her forward in time.

Lir summoned the draiocht , his own, a thrashing wolf snapping inside, eager to be let loose.

Vines grew from the earth, breaking through the frozen dirt and sprouting through the rocks, wrapping Aisling in their embrace. The feel of her against his magic raised the hair on his body. But it was short-lived.

Aisling burst into flame once more, scorching his vines and dissolving them to ash. She conjured a den of snakes licked by violet fire and they snapped at Lir, slithering nearer.

“Wasn’t it I who advised we muzzle her?” Filverel seethed between his fangs as he, Galad, Peitho, and Gilrel, stepped forward to intervene.

“Stay back,” Lir ordered and reluctantly they did, expressions taut.

“You will not shackle me,” Aisling said, gesturing to the vines shriveled to ash around her feet. Currents of ink-black hair sticking to her back, her arms, her neck despite her draiocht . Her gown blessedly clinging to the shape of her.

Lir laughed.

“Trust it’s for our safety and not your own, ellwyn .”

He raised the vines again with the intent to bind her till she calmed. The first taste of a fully summoned draiocht after months without was a euphoric one. The magic of Fionn’s mirrors distorting her perspective. Enough to drive the mind mad till it was fully slaked, and the magic indulged.

Aisling growled, the tension in her muscles mirrored in her flames as they grew, lashing at Lir in a whip of fire.

The Sidhe king moved lithely to the side, avoiding her strike the same moment the earth rose from beneath the ice, folding over Aisling’s flames and snuffing all her might. The tree branches craned in her direction, reaching to apprehend her to no avail. She burned again, glorious and bright scalding Lir’s trees as they recoiled in a collective hiss.

“I have to admit, I only half believed you when you promised to run from me after you broke free of Oighir,” Lir said, padding toward her. “You’re more ruthless than even I believed.”

Aisling tilted her head to the side.

“You wouldn’t like me quite as much if I weren’t.”

Lir grinned. “I like you no matter what form you take. We’re made for one another. That’s why you chose to align with me, to refuse an unbinding, and aid me in the tests.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You were an opportunity. Nothing more,” she said, casting a bolt of flame at his head. But despite the sharp edge of her words, the soft glimmer in her eyes was wholly unconvincing.

As quick as any could blink, Lir drew one of his axes, blocking the bolt and sending it hurtling for the waterfall as he continued forward.

“So, you used me.”

“Does that wound you?” Aisling mocked, conjuring another bolt and then another. Lir deflected them both, defeating the distance between them. His axe, dividing her from him.

“On the contrary, ellwyn , you’re becoming irresistible.”

Aisling burned more brightly, conjuring what remnants of her strength she could muster. Pulsing with fire toward the Sidhe king.

Lir focused, commanding an oak to grow between them. It shot from the earth, turning over soil, rocks, and ice and shoving Aisling back several steps.

Stunned, she hesitated, searching for Lir around the tree, until she turned and came face to face with the Sidhe king.

Lir grabbed her throat, pushing her against the oak, studying her as she burned, fires desperately trying and failing to puncture his fae gauntlets. And anything more, any other new talent she bore, was swiftly bled from her lungs as Lir held her throat firmly, stifling her draiocht .

“In truth, ellwyn , nothing could stop me from finding you,” he said, allowing himself to drown in her violet eyes as he tilted his head down to meet her. “Not a mortal legion, not the Sidhe, not even fate could keep me from you.”

Aisling’s expression twisted with rage.

“In Oighir we were allies thanks to a common goal, my freedom. Outside, we’re competitors once more. If you think you can prevent me from achieving my ends at the cost of the curse breaker, I’ll make certain you rue the day you ever found me again.”

The corners of Lir’s lips curled like a fox. “Your chances of surviving and reaching Lofgren’s Rise alone are not forge- blessed.” He leaned closer till their lips were a mere breath apart. “Whether our goals are aligned or not, you need me.”

Aisling stopped her struggling, seemingly as bespelled as he himself. She appraised him, hesitating before speaking. Her attention burned his blood the way her magic was designed to by nature. Allowing Lir a moment to look upon her fully for the first time. As they couldn’t in the shadows of the alcove, the steam of Oighir’s bath, or the veil of night atop Fionn’s castle. The two of them lost between the folds of this realm and the Other.

She was heartbreaking. The nuances of her features, blessedly unholy. Enough to bring Lir to his knees if just for one more?—

A clang of metal sounded to their right.

Lir and Aisling fell apart, searching and finding the source of their interruption.

“I’ll wear your bones around my neck, Faerak !” Peitho screamed.

They both turned to find Peitho mid-tussle with another. But Galad, Filverel, and Gilrel all stood to the side, wringing their garments of ice water. In which case, Lir could piece together who’d leaped through the mirror alongside them, masked by chaos.

Dagfin unpinned himself from Peitho’s grip, slamming her into the shore and poising a dagger beneath her chin.

Dagfin grimaced. “Enough! Before you force me to harm y?—”

Peitho headbutted Dagfin. He flew backward, shoved to the ground in mid-air.

Dagfin slammed into the stones, the wind knocked from his lungs and Peitho’s boot atop his chest.

Unable to stop himself, Lir’s eyes drifted to Aisling. She’d already jolted upright, hair sticking to her back, her arms, her neck, watching in horror as the Faerak struggled without his dust.

“So, this is the great strength of a mortal Faerak .” Peitho smirked.

“He isn’t supplied with his Ocras, Peitho,” Gilrel chimed, shoulder still bandaged from the second test and rifling through every one of Dagfin’s pockets while he lay prone. “And judging by his complexion, not for some time.”

“If you’re searching for iron, it’s all been confiscated by Fionn,” Dagfin growled, nailed to the ground by Peitho’s otherworldly strength.

“Iron, poisons, coins. Whatever piques my fancy,” the pine marten huffed, finding nothing but lint and water.

“Speaking of Fionn, we must move,” Galad said, already scouring the surrounding wilderness for a direction. “If it weren’t for his mirror shattering, he’d already be a step behind.”

“I’ll be quick.” Peitho drew her blade, Luinagren , from her back.

“No!” Aisling shouted, stepping forward.

Instinctively, Lir’s fingers twitched, his body reaching for her without his consent. But he stopped himself, forcing his body still.

Peitho whipped toward Aisling, brandishing the tip of Luinagren at her instead, eyes wandering to Aisling’s fists at her sides.

“This is none of your concern. The mortal prince still owes a debt to the Forge, and I intend to deliver it.”

This was true. Dagfin had deceived the draiocht . Magic intended to bind one caera to another at his and Peitho’s union. A mortal trickery the Forge wouldn’t soon forget. Magic given was always magic taken.

“I’m in favor of Peitho exacting her justice,” Filverel said, tying his hair behind his head. “The draiocht isn’t the only one owed a debt. Peitho, too, was cheated.”

Aisling scowled, but Galad spoke first.

“The magic will take when it deems fit. It doesn’t need anyone or anything to do its bidding.”

Peitho seethed, baring her fangs and tightening her grip on the haft of her blade.

“Very well, then I’ll make it so he begs for the draiocht to reap what it’s due.”

Peitho lifted the sword.

Dagfin cursed under his breath, searching for an escape. A way to free himself from her strength. Fionn’s blade strapped to the Faerak ’s back beneath him. So, Aisling inhaled. Just as she always did before she summoned her flames.

“Do not interrupt,” the pines whispered to Lir, clicking their branches together. “It’s not wise to meddle in the affairs of the Forge. The forest knows.”

Lir didn’t need the reminder. Yet should he do or say nothing, with what strength Aisling still harbored, she’d set them all aflame, the forest included. And although he’d enjoy nothing more than to witness the mortal prince’s life reaped, when that blessed day arrived, it would be his axes cleaving the Faerak ’s body and soul, and not another’s blade.

“Release him,” Lir said, ignoring the surrounding evergreens.

They each froze, his voice commanding acquiescence as he approached.

“You can’t possibly—” Filverel began but was quickly silenced by Lir’s glance.

“Let him flee into the feywilds. Without his Ocras, he won’t survive long.”

Hopefully , Lir thought to himself.

Galad, Filverel, Peitho, and Gilrel exchanged glances, but none said a word.

Peitho, grumbling under her breath, at last, complied and freed Dagfin from the stones.

He stood, his knuckles bruised and bloody where they’d collided with Peitho’s face, leaving an equally angry mark on the princess of Niltaor.

“Forge be with you on your travels, Faerak ,” Gilrel said as she crossed her arms and paws.

Yet the Roktan prince didn’t flee nor wilt, planting his feet in the snow instead.

“I’m coming with you,” Dagfin said.

Lir bit down his annoyance, scraping his bottom lip with his fangs.

“No,” Lir said, starting for the trees.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“Nor is it an option,” Lir growled.

“Aisling ne?—”

At the sound of Aisling’s name on his lips, Lir paused, interrupting the Faerak before he could say another word.

“Every breath you withhold from what you owe is a breath you jeopardize the lives of those around you. The draiocht is searching, waiting, hunting you, and during Samhain , your chances of survival are slim if none,” Lir growled. “Return to your mortal haven. You’ve done enough, princeling.”

A wise man would’ve obeyed the Sidhe king and taken his leave. A wise man couldn’t imagine all the ways Lir could maim and artfully torture them, but the suggestion alone would set them racing.

Instead, Dagfin scoffed, knocking them all off guard. A sound that tightened the curve of Lir’s shoulders and inspired unique rage.

And yet, the Faerak gambled his life further. “I’ve brought Aisling this far, what have you done, fae?”

Stilling, the forest held its breath, anticipating the Sidhe king’s reaction.

Lir grinned, fangs glinting beneath a winter sun. The consequences of, at last, slaughtering the Faerak growing less and less potent in comparison to the unadulterated satisfaction he’d glean from bleeding him dry. Aisling already loathed Lir and so, there was little else to lose. Yet still, Aisling’s presence was the Faerak ’s last and only saving grace.

“Dagfin has made the trek to Lofgren’s Rise before,” Aisling interjected.

At the sound of her voice, Lir’s heart leaped, violent thoughts made sober.

“You can purchase my compliance with Dagfin’s life,” she said. “He’ll accompany us.”

“I don’t need your compliance, ellwyn .”

“Yet you’ll want it.”

A muscle flashed across Lir’s jaw, the forest groaning around them. Words made worse by she who wielded them.

“ Easca, Damh Bán ,” the trees hissed. Awaiting his inevitable fury. For Lir still loathed his not-so-mortal queen as well. Loathed her the way he despised all that bore power over him.

“Very well, princeling,” Lir said, at last, cracking his neck side to side. “Let’s see how long you last.”