The Savage Queen (The Aisling Trilogy #2)

Chapter XXXVII

CHAPTER XXXVII

AISLING

The door shook with laughter.

Music like a Tilrish reel thrummed beneath their feet. Yet its tune was distorted, made more alive, as though every note of the fiddle, the flute, the tambourine, and the harp were the blood of Iod, coursing through its corridors like veins till the heart of it pumped rapturous melodies from the door just beyond.

Its sound was familiar. Not only because it was fae but rather because every inflection, note, and melody was reminiscent of another time.

“That sounds like?—”

“A Snaidhm ,” Lir replied. The festival’s name was a spell, showering Aisling in memories. A Snaidhm was the celebration of a consummation between two caeras intended to bless the coming of an heir. Last Aisling had attended a Snaidhm , it had been her own. The evening she’d both committed her first kill and encountered a Cú Scáth Lir swiftly slayed. Yet the festival had been in vain, celebrating a consummation that’d never occurred.

“Is it possible Iod isn’t abandoned?” Aisling asked, for who else would be partaking in such merriment on the other side? This, considering an enchantment of these proportions would require someone capable of mass magic. And the only beings capable of draiocht in that magnitude were fae sovereigns, some Unseelie, and the gods themselves.

“It’s not possible,” Lir said, his expression still thrashing with the fury of a woodland storm after Aisling’s interaction with Dagfin. But still, there was more. As though the fae king was experiencing a persistent memory, forcing itself to be remembered.

The threshold’s owl carvings peered more closely as Aisling and Lir approached.

“This isn’t an enchantment,” Lir continued, placing his palm against the door.

“ Samhain spirits,” Aisling gauged. “Are they not a threat?”

“Not typically,” Lir replied. “The spirits of Samhain are fae-pardoned and allowed to exist in the Other. They bear no ties to this realm, nor do they wish to. They’re chaotic in nature, interested only in entertainment and mischief but this close to Lofgren’s Rise and so potent…yes, they could be a threat.”

Aisling swallowed. Whoever celebrated on the other side of that door was indeed powerful. Pulsing with the draiocht and rattling the whole of Iod.

“They’ll recognize us ‘non-spirits’ the moment we step through those doors.” Lir cracked his neck, bending it side to side before turning to face Aisling.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them, Aisling could smell the essence of his glamour. Of pine needles, rain-steeped earth, and crisp leaves.

Lir’s leathers had vanished entirely in exchange for a loose-fitted, unbuttoned blouse that unveiled the length of his chiseled abdomen. Trousers belted indecently low while a gold leaf, embroidered jacket held the weight of a pauldron and scaly chainmail shimmering down his left arm. Rose gold chains like thorny vines wrapped around his throat. The complement to the small hoops in his left ear.

Aisling, against her own volition, traced his fae markings with her eyes, creeping up the hard, muscled angles of his abdomen. Her attention inspired a dimpled grin from the fae king that could’ve undone Aisling if she’d lingered a moment longer than necessary. Heat bleeding behind her cheeks as she broke eye contact.

Aisling looked down at herself, discovering a floor length, form-fitting gown of sensual violet. Silk folds, sparkling spider’s lace, and secret-thin panels of sheer chiffon hugged her curves like simmering cauldron teas. The neckline dipped dangerously low, exposing the rapid pace of Aisling’s every breath. Parts of her abdomen, hips, and arms made vulnerable and exposed to Iod’s chill thanks to the sheer panels that sparkled with dew. Droplets scattered across her skirts and jeweled the bluebells braided through her undone hair; their hue, dipped in the memory of amethysts.

Lir’s expression flashed with something unholy, marveling with wicked satisfaction at the gown he’d sewn in his mind then glamoured onto Aisling. A dress fit for a royal Snaidhm . So she resisted the urge to burn, her toes curling.

“This will disguise us well enough,” Lir said, adjusting the rings magicked onto his fingers.

“And what of my mortal scent? Whatever remains of my mortality, the spirits will identify the moment I step through those doors.”

Lir frowned, glancing at the door.

“By now, it’s barely recognizable,” he said. “Although, you’re partially correct. Even a sliver would be enough for the spirits to recognize. And my blood will only mask yours to an extent lest you travel directly beside me the whole way through."

Aisling swallowed, ignoring the fluttering of her stomach as Lir stepped nearer.

“Stay close to me,” he said. “And never leave my side.”

Aisling opened her mouth to speak, but before she could manage a word the door creaked ajar, pushed open by a phantom hand. A ribbon of light spilling into the stone corridor.

An invitation.

Music colored the air in decadent golds, rich emeralds, royal blues, hungry reds, and lush lavenders. The smell and taste of fae buttered rolls, sweet cakes, gelatins, roasted pig, and freshly plucked apples marinated in syrup and baked in artfully kneaded dough, hung in the air.

Aisling squinted, bracing herself against the contrast. The lip of icy highland corridor, a cliff’s edge to the revelry that took place before her. A glittering, rib-vaulted chamber of glowing roses puckering from garlands that coiled around great ashes, sprouting from the marbled floors, dappled in leaves and petals, and winding to the ceilings. Every branch draped with bluebells, wisterias, bushes of bone’s breath and Connemara poppies, cocooning the room in their embrace. A gathering blessed by showers of flowers, braided branches, and ripe fruit begging to be plucked.

Aisling inhaled, brushed by a rogue firefly slipping through the threshold they’d opened. One of hundreds, floating lazily between winged dancers. Countless of them, twirling, spinning, leaping to the drums, the flutes, the fiddles, laughing.

“Care to dance?” Lir asked. Aisling whipped her head in his direction. He offered her his hand, fangs shimmering where his lips curled like a wolf.

Aisling shook her head, her tongue suddenly thick. “It isn’t worth of the risk.”

Lir’s smile broadened. “To walk would risk discovery.”

“You mean to say they haven’t noticed us yet?” Aisling asked, as a gathering of toads crowned by hoops of daisies leapt to the rhythm, hand in hand with mice. The mice’s paws full of soft cheeses stolen from the banquet table.

Bears lounged at the base of trees, the roots of the mightiest oaks their throne, as they huffed on pipes beside giggling phantom nymphs, brushing one another’s hair.

“The veil between here and the Other is thin thanks to Samhain but not torn entirely. To disrupt a procession of spirits would award us their full attention. And such attention is never recommended.”

Aisling stepped toward him so Lir bowed his head in invitation as the badger, the tortoise, and the fox adjusted their instruments and flipped their sheet music, preparing to begin another song.

“Whatever you do,” he whispered, “don’t stop dancing whilst the music plays.”

Aisling slipped her hand into his, the contact scalding. So, Lir pulled her close, wrapping his other hand around her waist till they stood chest to chest. The thump of his heart accelerating beside her own.

Aisling tipped her head entirely up, finding his verdant gaze.

“Is this necessary?” Aisling frowned.

“Depends,” he said. “Would you rather be disemboweled by the fangs of millennia-old spirits? Or stay this close to me?” Lir’s lips split into a hot-blooded grin.

Already, the spirits’ attention was wandering toward them, raising a brow at the stillness of their legs.

“Both bear unfathomable consequences.”

“I’m flattered.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Aisling bit, but Lir was already plunging them both into the crush of spirits.

The flowers hanging above their heads danced, nodding their bulbs to the music. Sprites bathed and leapt between the punch bowls. And the billowing smoke puffed from the bears’ pipes traveled above and through the flying dancers in countless characters. Three of the six were wispy dragúns .

Racat, Muirdris, and Aengus.

Among the others were an owl, a stag, a badger, a fox, and a white bear.

Animals symbolic of the fae monarchies across the mortal realm. Aisling knew many of them but not all.

Ina, the queen of Iod, the owl. Bres, the king of Annwyn, the stag. Delbaeth, king of Oighir, the white bear.

“They narrate the Wild Hunt,” Lir said, spinning in pace with the music. “The twelve Sidhe kingdoms battling for Racat, Muirdris, and Aengus. Each desperate for either power, prosperity, or immortality.”

Aisling had seen this tale portrayed in smoke before. Around a campfire after hers and Lir’s union, told by Rian. But never had she seen the part of the story where Ina was besotted with Delbaeth, Fionn’s father. A story Fionn mentioned; perhaps this particular chapter was often excluded when chronicled in Annwyn.

The smoke moved to the rhythm of the melody, increasing its speed as the beat rose in tempo. The owl not lunging for Racat with the intent to hunt, but rather twirling around it, finding a pattern of flight till they flew together. Both the stag and the white bear, chasing shortly behind.

“Did Ina learn before or after Delbaeth her caera was Bres?” Aisling asked, watching as the stag and the bear battled one another, growing dizzy with every furthering step.

Lir hesitated. “Before.”

Aisling twirled in a circle, clasping hands with a spirit before the dance returned her to Lir. This spirit appeared like any other fae, though made of forest fog and dappled in mist. A bygone glint in its opalescent eyes that forced a shudder from Aisling’s bones.

“She despised my father at first,” the fae king continued. “Intended to wed Delbaeth instead.”

“A union that would’ve left one or the other dead considering they weren’t caera . Bres and Ina were.”

Lir nodded his head. “In the Old Age, there was no mention of caeras . Ina and Bres were the first. So, there would be no way of knowing until some years later when magic reared its head at an un-fated union.”

“Then Fionn was spared the loss of a father as a result of Ina’s change of heart.”

“An inevitability delayed only by a handful of days,” Lir said. “Delbaeth, believing both Ina and her victory during the Wild Hunt—Racat—to be rightfully his, sieged war on Ina and Bres the day they were to be handfasted atop Lofgren’s Rise. And so, Ina unleashed Racat, slumbering atop her mountain in the Linn of Wanting, and burned Delbaeth alive as well as his legions.”

A drunken toad bumped into Aisling’s knee, almost knocking her off balance. So as the toad leapt away, Lir sprouted a root from the floor, tripping the little beast.

“Your questions, are they born of interest for Racat or Fionn’s motives?”

“Both,” Aisling answered honestly. “Why is it that my draiocht is manifested by Racat? A question worsened by the involvement of the Winter Court. Delbaeth felt cheated for having lost Ina and, by default Racat, and now his son wishes to truly bind with me? It takes no stretch of the imagination to realize Fionn is under the impression Racat and I are in some way, one. Binding with me, a form of achieving what his father never could and avenging Delbaeth’s death. And if his beliefs are true, why ? What reason is there for my draiocht taking Racat’s shape?”

Aisling spun, facing Lir. His expression taut with rage.

“Fionn wished to truly bind with you?” he repeated, woodland storms brewing behind his dark lashes. Made electric by the flecks of fae light reflected in his eyes. Aisling was aware Lir had known Fionn wished to unbind he and Aisling. But there’d been no mention of a true binding between Aisling and Fionn whilst in Lir’s presence.

Aisling didn’t need to respond. The truth hung in the air between them.

“Aye,” Lir forced himself to continue, his voice nearly a growl. “Fionn believes not only Racat to be rightfully Delbaeth’s, but that he is the rightful heir to the dragún . You see, Fionn was born of both Delbaeth and Ina before Bres ever became involved. Yet, Ina chose to bequeath Racat to Annwyn and to me. In which case, not only did Ina kill his father, but Ina also circumvented her firstborn’s inheritance for my sake. And so, Fionn is of the opinion that everything I am, and have, is his. Including you.”

Aisling stepped to the side, another spirit taking her hand and dipping her. And as soon as their clasp unlatched, Lir found her, catching her and bringing her back to him. Chest to chest, forced to gaze up and into his eyes.

The music heated. The beating of animal skins growing louder. The pipe smoke thickening.

“How long must we dance like this?” Aisling asked, more breathless than she anticipated.

“Till we reach the other threshold.”

The other end of the ballroom was still a lengthy distance away. Their pace slow and gradual as they danced from line to line. And at the far wall, another door materialized behind the folds of ballooning gowns and sparkling armor.

“We could race for it,” Aisling said, impatient.

“Not unless you wish to disrupt their dance and tear the veil. The two of us against a legion of war-bred spirits.”

Aisling swallowed, reminded of the weapons that hung from their wispy belts, the fangs glistening behind parted lips, and the savage sparkle that grew more hollow, hungrier by the moment.

Lir slid his hands to her waist, pressing her closer. The tips of his fingers grazing her bare thigh where the slit of her dress parted.

Aisling hesitated.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, the air suddenly stifling, her palm instinctively finding his chest and holding him at bay.

“Dancing,” he whispered, the fire in his breath sending chills down Aisling’s spine.

Aisling forced herself to look around. Indeed, the pace of the song had grown slower, headier, as the celebration dissolved into something more primal. Losing the elegance and grace-like patterns of the earlier dance for something far more savage.

Aisling dithered, fighting Lir’s enchantment cast only by touch. By the gale soft brush of his fingers against her bare skin, the sensation of his abdomen flush against her own, moving to the rhythm of the song. The caress of his every breath against her throat as he bent his head beside her neck. Afraid she couldn’t find her way out of his spells if she dared enter one.

You will perish in a world of your own making. An axe in your heart .

“Dance, ellwyn ,” he said against her ear. The eyes of countless spirits wandering back to Aisling as she stalled. Their ancient expressions studying Aisling for the first time. Nostrils flaring at whatever scent Lir’s own couldn’t mask.

At last, Aisling wrapped her arms around Lir’s neck, moving against his body. This was the closest they’d ever been with one another without the intent to slit the other’s throat. Yet, this was a duel all the same. A dare with mortal stakes. So, Aisling didn’t look up at his expression, but she could feel the easy arrogance of his smile. One inspired by bloody victories and ruthless triumphs. His hands finding her waist and pressing her closer still. Till she could feel every hard edge of his body, his forge-blessed muscle, smell the forest as though doused in its incense.

“Prophecy says we’ll destroy this realm,” Aisling said, enveloped by the smell of him. “Centuries of war, ruin, and death. This realm will crumble.”

She wasn’t certain why she said it. Only that every touch, every meeting of the eyes, every breath they shared was cursed by the omen. Compelled Aisling to remember if only to dissuade her from ever touching him a second time, a third time, a fourth. To sever the thread between them.

Lir tangled his fingers through her hair, breathing against her neck, breaking away only to tip her chin toward him.

“So be it,” he said.

Aisling shivered, fully bespelled by his verdant eyes as they drowned in her own. Unapologetically, they flicked to her mouth.

“What is there to rule if everything becomes ash?” she asked, as he traced the length of her arm with one hand, finding her own and tangling his fingers between hers. The press of his palm against her own excruciating.

Then, once more, his hands found her thighs, but this time, his grip deepened. His touch possessive. The torture made unbearable as they continued to spin to the music.

He ignored her question in favor of another.

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted more?” he purred against her ear.

Aisling ran her fingers down his arms, exploring the contours of his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms as they, in response, tensed and flexed to clutch her more tightly. No doubt bruising what mortal flesh remained. Yet she didn’t care. She’d craved this, and wondered what Lir felt like against her own bare flesh. What it would feel like for him to want her, even if this were all pretend. A means to deceive ghosts and their ravenous appetites but nothing more.

“I’d be a fool to believe anything you said.”

“You’re well aware I can’t lie.”

“So, you’ve mastered trickery.”

He smiled, flashing his fangs. “Ask me what lies I would tell if I could.”

The fae king twirled Aisling, stopping her so her back faced him, finding her waist and bringing her flush against him once more. Her spine against his abdomen.

Lir found the slits in her dress and slipped his hands underneath, sliding his palms to the round curve of her hips. Elegant fingers pressing against her skin, the sensation coursing through her muscles and dizzying the mind.

Aisling inhaled sharply, leaning the back of her head against his shoulder. An invitation for him to slowly graze her neck with his fangs. The pulse in his throat, beating against her own with increased need.

“Very well,” she said, her voice thick with wanting. “What lies would you tell if you could?”

Against her own volition, Aisling pressed her backside against him and moved. Lir let loose a noise Aisling could only describe as half exhale, half growl, his heart thrashing against her shoulder blades. The music, the spirits, the surrounding realm churning, bubbling in a forge that revolved around Aisling and Lir as they danced. As their thread pulled, groaning, and fraying with desire.

Lir reached through her arms from where he stood behind her, grazing the naked flesh where her neckline began with the back of his knuckles––intentionally or not, Aisling couldn’t tell.

He grabbed her throat, then her jaw, turning her head so she could see the darkening of his eyes as they bled black with yearning.

“I’d lie and say I care nothing for you,” he said. “I’d tell you I want nothing to do with you. That I pray you stay as far from me as this realm could take you. I’d lie and say I wish I never thought of you. That you didn’t possess my every waking thought.”

Lir’s hands traveled further, finding the inside of her thighs as she danced against him. Pressing the tips of his fingers into the soft flesh between her legs, just beneath her apex, as though forcing himself to stop short. As though begging whatever will remained to shackle his need. His every movement more protective than the last as the spirits celebrated around them, closing in. Splashed them both in fae wine and petals from the hanging branches above. The smoke purling into Aisling’s lungs till the chamber burned in a soft gold as they shifted, moved, glided through the hall in a mess of limbs, of wetted fangs, of hot pulses, and reckless whispers.

He released her legs, moved his hands up till one pressed her lower abdomen, moving her hips back so her backside shifted against the hardness of him. Aisling inhaled sharply. So, Lir slid his free hand and held her throat gently, turning her head so it faced him.

“Whatever it is you truly covet, Lir: power, vengeance, both at once,” Aisling said. “Our binding will risk it all. Would be a damnation.”

Lir leaned forward, as though to kiss her. To taste her lips but forced himself short.

“For a kiss,” Lir said, “I’d damn the world.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t lie.”

“I can’t.”

The music broke and the sea of spirits cheered, clapping their hands. And in the abrupt shift, Lir and Aisling broke apart.

Aisling, flushed, adjusted her dress, forcing herself to stand on weak knees. Lir also composed himself, posture shifting back into the barbarian lord of the fae before her eyes. As though their dance had been nothing more than the work of the love potions Aisling and the Tilrish children would brew with spices and champagne they’d stolen from their family’s banquets.

Aisling couldn’t deny the sight of his walls building once more stung. Needled into her chest. Everything, her gown, her pinned hair, the festival, she and Lir, were just a phantom, bursting into mist at the insinuation of a passing breeze. Just pretend.

Yet it was for the best, Aisling knew, no matter how painful. For caring for the fae king was a death sentence—a promise of heartbreak.

But Aisling didn’t have the luxury of time to dwell on her own feelings or lack thereof. Her attention was swiftly diverted by the jeering of the spirits around her. Fists in the air, a storm of petals descending from the vaulted ceilings, punctuated by butterflies of all size and color.

A spirit couple stood at the top of an imperial staircase.

They were miraculous, shifting in the light, their edges bleeding like mist. The female smiled at the male. The dimples framing her pearlescent beam, familiar. Her beauty familiar, feline, and resplendently lovely, clad in a dress made entirely from the wind and accented with highland mist. Spirals of silver hair spilling down her back, and beneath her headdress, a crown that sprouted two snowy owl wings from both temples, partially covered by a red veil.

Beside her, the male worshiped her with a mere glance. He was breathtaking as well, sage green eyes crinkled by the force of his smile. Brushing aside his shoulder-length dark hair to reveal a pair of twin axes at his back.

Hiraeth.

Aisling paused, whipping her attention to Lir.

The fae king was entranced, ceasing all movement. His lips parted open and eyes glazed the longer he forgot to blink.

Aisling herself felt as though her stomach were in her throat. Recognition dawning.

This was Ina and Bres, their spirits reliving their Snaidhm for all eternity.

Aisling wasn’t certain if Lir was enraged or overjoyed, heart aching or filled with sorrow. Only that he froze, watching his parents with undiluted attention. But Aisling and Lir couldn’t remain here, for already the spirits’ attention was sliding to them despite the dance having ended. Lingering would only result in their death.

Mercifully, both Ina and Bres waved at the ballroom of spirits, vanishing through the threshold on the other side of the room.

“We must keep moving,” Aisling said, her voice as soft as she was capable. She reached out and touched the back of his arm, bracing herself for his temper, his fangs, his flippant disregard for her feelings.

Instead, he found her eyes and Aisling was dumbstruck at the sight of them. His father’s orbs awash with grief. All of it, left for Aisling to behold.