Chapter XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVI
AISLING
One by one they traveled up and into the dark.
Aisling cupped her hands together and bloomed the draiocht . A bud of fire that fluttered into individual flames like rose petals, catching the mountain’s sighs and lighting their path as it floated through their party.
“Impossible. Ina’s been dead for centuries, how could she have invited her?” Filverel asked, glancing at Aisling over his shoulder.
“Her draiocht takes the form of Racat. Is it really so outlandish to believe she’s been foreseen by Ina herself?” Gilrel argued, eyes narrowed as she led their party up the mountain.
“You needn’t speak of me as though I’m not here,” Aisling said. “Perhaps the entrance responded to magic and spells alone.”
“Then it would’ve allowed Peitho in,” Galad replied. “Her lungs alike breathe with magic, as do all the Sidhe.”
Aisling’s brow furrowed. When she’d first arrived in Annwyn, a snake had guided her to a hidden chamber. One adorned with a large fountain and the image of an owl, watching her as she appraised it. Her first invitation, Aisling was now realizing. A chill crept up her spine at the thought.
Lir avoided Aisling’s eyes, preferring to stare into the dark instead. He knew something, but Aisling wasn’t certain what. Only that no matter the situation, she could depend on Lir to harbor his secrets.
Aisling swatted the questions away lest her anxiety worsen. Everything she’d ever wanted rested at the tip of Lofgren’s Rise. Just within reach, yet Aisling couldn’t help feeling like it were somehow farther away than it’d ever been.
At last, they arrived at a landing that spilled into a wide corridor. One that belonged inside a magnificent fae castle, dressed in banners of ivory and embroidered with three-eyed owls. Fae light hung from the beams overhead in quilts of white clover, illuminating the velvet carpets, the vases spilling over with prickly poinsettias and holly. Ceilings distantly high, knotted with ribbons, wind chimes, and dripping with dark jewels mined from within the mountains, Aisling assumed.
And just before them, at the center of the corridor was a mighty threshold made of wood. Carvings of thorny wreaths, interlace, and one slender dragon adorned the door, vibrating with the sound of music on the other side.
“It’s a trap,” Filverel said, drawing his sword from his back. “No one goes near the door.”
The advisor approached slowly, weighing the possibilities of what lay beyond. It sounded like a celebration. One of wild music, of swishing gowns, and uninhibited laughter.
“The corridors aren’t predictable,” Dagfin said. “They shift and change direction, leading further into the mountain until it’s near impossible to find one’s way back.”
“What’s your alternative then, princeling?” Gilrel leapt atop Filverel’s shoulder.
“The mountain is divided in two,” Dagfin said. “The left side is trickery. The right side is riddled with beasts. At least, that’s what I pieced together last I was here.”
“And why were you here, princeling?” Peitho asked, arching a brow.
“ Faerak business.”
“Care to share?” Galad pried.
Dagfin grew taut, glaring at the fae through shadowed eyes. Each day he grew weaker, Aisling could tell. His Ocras lessened by the hour as he consumed more than he ought to. And despite standing in Iod now, where Ocras was harvested from the stone, Aisling didn’t know how or if it were possible for one Faerak to reap the Ocras alone. So, Aisling was left to hope Dagfin knew what he was doing. And selfishly, Aisling needed him to indulge in the Ocras lest he perish. Lest he be another mortal caught in the crossfire.
“Is there another way?” Aisling interjected. “Or do you know what lies on the other side of this door?”
Dagfin shook his head. “Last I was here, I chose the corridors instead of this threshold. The music persisted even then, meaning?—”
“It’s an enchantment,” Filverel conjectured.
“Not all enchantments are bad.” Peitho shrugged.
“And what of the corridors?” Galad asked.
“As I said, most are deceptive, but it isn’t impossible to navigate them. Based on the landscape of the rest of the mountain, however, the ballroom should be the quickest route to the top. Almost a direct path.”
Aisling eyed the trail of blood. It traveled down the right-hand side corridor and into darkness. Starn was being sloppy. A sign of desperation.
“We’ll divide ourselves,” Aisling said. “Half can follow Starn’s trail of blood through the corridors, a guide despite the labyrinth. The rest will venture through this threshold in case the corridors are a deception. If either or both of us are successful, this doubles our chances of reaching the top of Lofgren’s Rise before anyone else.”
“Is it wise to divide ourselves against unknown enemies?” Peitho asked, appraising the reaction of the rest of their party. “We have no idea what else lies here, much less who. Our chances of survival are slim when apart.”
“Peitho’s right,” Galad said. “There’s no guarantee we’ll find one another again considering we lack communication whilst inside this keep. If anyone were to grow lost or…” The rest of his sentiment died in the air between them. The perils of their quest made tangible and bitter on their tongues.
“Not one of us was ignorant to the risks involved when entering Iod,” Aisling said. “Whatever our motivation, we came to reach Lofgren’s Rise before any others, not to dawdle in fear.”
Aisling could taste what she’d coveted for so long. It was close. All the answers she needed were right here, beating like fae drums. She couldn’t— wouldn’t ––slow her pace now. Wouldn’t let the frivolities of fear keep her from losing what was just within reach to the ambitions of another.
“Your impatience blinds?—”
“Enough,” Lir interrupted. “Your queen has spoken.”
His tone commanded silence. Filverel swallowed his rebuttal, bowing his head at Aisling. And at the gesture, Aisling’s stomach fluttered. As though his acquiescence was born from more than just his respect for Lir but his respect for Aisling as well. Yet, it wasn’t possible. Filverel despised and distrusted Aisling more than most, yet the glister of recognition in his opalescent orbs spoke a different sentiment entirely. One Aisling hadn’t been prepared to receive.
“How should we divide ourselves then?” Gilrel asked, brushing dust off her pauldrons.
“The princeling knows these corridors best,” Galad said. “Gilrel and Peitho will follow him through.”
“I go where Aisling goes,” Dagfin said. Immediately, Lir’s posture tightened.
“You’ll go where she commands you to go,” Lir said.
Yet Aisling didn’t protest. In truth, Aisling didn’t want Dagfin to leave her sight whilst inside Iod’s keep. The whole of their relationship lived thus far, Dagfin had protected Aisling. From the other children, from her father and tutors, and from herself. Now it was Aisling’s turn. She wasn’t certain how much Ocras Dagfin had left, and she wasn’t willing to risk it. So long as he was near, Aisling would know he was alright.
“Then you’ll accompany me through these doors, alongside Galad and Lir,” she said, the music growing louder on the other side.
“He’s mortal, mo Lúra ,” Galad said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “An enchantment could deal…fatal consequences on any who lack fae blood whilst inside Iod.”
“Regardless,” Filverel continued. “We need him to navigate through the corridors.”
Aisling studied the trail of blood till it disappeared into the hallway’s abyss. Aisling bit her bottom lip, weighing the choice. Caught between her impatience and her anxiety for the Faerak .
“Aisling and Lir are the most powerful among us,” Gilrel said. “Let us venture through the corridors with Filverel and Galad as well. Especially if the princeling is correct and this path boasts more physical means of guarding whatever lies atop Lofgren’s Rise.”
Dagfin shook his head, a cord wrapping around his neck.
“Lead the others through the corridors, princeling,” Lir said to Dagfin, drawing one of his axes. “You can rest assured I won’t keep my eyes off her.”
Dagfin’s nostrils flared but already the group was dividing itself, those chosen to accompany Dagfin through the corridors drawing their weapons and starting down the tunnels.
The Faerak hesitated but Aisling knew Dagfin couldn’t forsake even the Sidhe to wander unguided when he alone knew the way.
So, reluctantly, Dagfin tore himself from Aisling.
Aisling caught his hand. She felt Lir shift behind her, the gesture catching his eye.
Dagfin appraised her, eyes at once softening despite the rigidity of his lips.
“Be careful,” she whispered. “And don’t do anything too heroic.”
Dagfin curled his fingers around hers. “If I didn’t, they wouldn’t sing ballads about me.”
The Faerak bent his head and kissed Aisling on the cheek, bathing Aisling in his cologne of crisp waves, starry nights, and sea-faring adventure. In his warmth. In iron and fire. In home.
Dagfin’s mouth lingered by her cheek for a breath too long, at last, pulling away and searching her expression. Hopeful for what he might find. Aisling wasn’t certain if he was pleased with whatever he’d gleaned or disappointed. Stormy eyes awash with emotion.
He untangled his fingers from Aisling’s and started into the dark.