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CHAPTER X

AISLING

Castle Yillen was not made of brick and mortar but of fabled spells and jinxes.

The chamber Aisling entered was sheathed with emerald moss, dripping with the rain that cried down the walls. A castle pebbled together by an infinity of brilliant river stones and gems, polished by storm and fog. And the passages that weren’t artfully mosaicked, were stained glass and bejeweled by every droplet that beat against their panes. This was the style and make of most of Niamh’s castle: a labyrinth of floating bridges, suspended turrets, and flying buttresses, all alive with the life heart of ancient forests, drenched with the rain and mist that pressed against every windowpane, eager to hear its keepers’ voices.

Although, if the beauty of Castle Yillen wasn’t enough, as soon as Aisling’s appetite tugged for attention, the vanity, the bedside tables, the terrace, and the tray atop the silk quilts of their giant bed, spilled over with Sidhe treats. Delicacies and desserts Gilrel would’ve devoured if she’d been staying in the same room.

Yet, even Aisling’s appetite couldn’t distract her from the discomfort of her wet and heavy gown. Her dress had been bathed by the gateway and again by Niamh’s rain. The ivory of her slip was translucent and clinging to her body. She needed to change.

Aisling wandered toward an extension of her chambers, divided by a sheet of water. As she passed through, the water separated into a steepled arch, revealing a cerulean and sage quilted bed with a night slip prepared and strewn across. Forget-me-nots dangled from the four-poster frame, laughing to one another in voices like Sidhe children. But it was the blue rabbits that busied themselves with steeping a pot of tea, a small basket of leaves, and a plate of steaming sweet rolls, that caught Aisling’s attention.

The rabbits jumped when they noticed the sorceress.

“ Mo Lúra !” the first exclaimed, ears flattening against its head in surprise as it bent into a bow, followed by its companion. The two rabbits rushed toward the sorceress, a clattering tray held between their four paws.

“We’ve prepared tea for you, mo Lúra ,” the second rabbit said. “So that you don’t fall ill with the weather.”

Aisling lifted the pot’s lid and inhaled. It didn’t smell anything like Annwyn’s chocolate bark, wolfberry, or jasmine brews. It was far more potent, leaves plucked from trees that didn’t grow in the mortal plane.

Anduril rang like the chime of a soft bell the moment Aisling lifted a flower cup to her lips. The belt’s vibrations were potent with suspicion, warning Aisling of the brew. But the purity of the blue rabbits’ gaze, their delicate handiwork, and their soft voices suggested they could be trusted. Aisling scrunched her nose, temples pulsing as she chose to ignore Anduril.

“That’s kind of you,” Aisling said. “Thank you.”

The belt shimmered with annoyance, hugging Aisling more tightly as a reminder of its influence.

Aisling glanced at the belt before swiftly averting her eyes, eager not to draw attention to it.

The sorceress moved toward the wardrobes carved with the likenesses of various woodland creatures. Every animal glittered, glazed in the slime of various snails and their opalescent shells that inched over all of Castle Yillen. And the moment Aisling opened both doors of the center hutch, several frogs leaped from the shadows, croaking as they scurried toward the terrace.

The blue rabbits followed their leaps, scolding the frogs for the mud on their webbed feet.

The terrace was different from what either Castle Oighir or Castle Annwyn had built—the only Sidhe castles Aisling had entered thus far. Both the balustrade and the floors were made of glass, creating the illusion one was suspended in the air like the thousands of towers that surrounded them, separated only by rain, mist, clouds, and sparkling figures that flew from one part of the castle to another, ignoring the hallways, the galleries, the staircases, or the courtyards that would aid those who otherwise bore no wings. In fact, from this vantage point, Aisling realized their quarters were inside one of the highest suspended towers, the terrace wrapping around the circumference of the detailed spire. But it was Castle Yillen’s gates far below that caught Aisling’s attention and held it.

A beast of a Sidhe ambled through the gates on the back of an obsidian horse. The hairs on the nape of Aisling’s neck stood on end, watching as the rider took in his surroundings. The rider wore black. He and his mount were shadows from the Other, followed by the tattered, wispy tail of his cape.

Badgers skittered toward the hooves of the mount, ears flat against their heads as they fearfully worked to accommodate Niamh’s new guest. Aisling smelled the badgers’ terror, the sweat beading beneath their furs as they hurried. But it was the silence that followed the rider that unnerved Aisling most of all. A quiet that hung in the air like a throat hung in a noose.

Thunder groaned perhaps hopeful it’d been Lir who’d entered Niamh’s gates. Anduril snapped at the thought without hesitation.

Aisling worked her jaw.

“Who is that?” Aisling asked the blue rabbits, looking down below at Yillen’s gates. And as though the rider could hear her voice, he tipped his head up and glared straight at her. Aisling held steady, narrowing her eyes, but beyond the sharp, intricate angles of the rider’s helmet was darkness. Empty, yet capable of filling whosoever brave enough to stare back with immeasurable despair.

“Percy,” one of the blue rabbits said, a muddy frog between its paws. The storm thickened at the mention of the visitor’s name.

Aisling placed her hands on the balustrade, leaning forward to better peer through the mist.

“We should go back inside,” the blue rabbit said, eager to forget the rider. The rabbit turned on her heel, hoping Aisling would follow. Yet Aisling, uninterested in the rabbit’s proposal, didn’t move, rather transfixed by Yillen’s new arrival.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“One of Niamh’s guests,” the rabbit said, hoping that would slake the sorceress’s curiosity.

“Yes, but who?” she pushed.

“Why do you assume I know him?” the rabbit countered, holding the terrace door open for Aisling to come inside.

“You knew his title.”

“I know many titles of many irrelevant souls.”

“You won’t answer my questions directly then,” Aisling said, finally spinning on her heel and meeting the little beast’s eyes. The rabbit’s chest hitched, the desire to both flee yet sink into her violet magic rendering her paralyzed. A fool to her spells she was quickly learning how to cast on a whim.

The rabbit exhaled. “Centuries have passed since anyone last saw Percy.”

“So, he’s renowned?”

“In a way,” the rabbit said, pushing aside the spiderwebbed curtains and sinking into the warmth of their quarters. “He’s Fiacha’s, one of the original twelve Sidhe sovereign’s sons.”

Aisling followed a step behind the rabbit, yet her interest filled the room.

“And his court?” Aisling asked.

“The stars where he hides himself away from the rest of the world,” the rabbit explained.

“But no longer,” the second rabbit said. “His court was taken by the mortals, and so, he seeks refuge here.”

Aisling straightened, eyes widening.

“Father.” Aisling spoke her thoughts aloud, despising the sound of his title on her tongue. “But how?”

“I heard the fire hand blew fire from his throat like a dragún , lighting the evening sky till every star fell,” one rabbit said.

Aisling sucked in a sharp breath.

Scull draiocht .

“I heard his men shot flaming reeds into the sky—their fire growing and spreading with unnatural hunger,” the second rabbit said.

Dread sank like an anchor in Aisling’s stomach while she thought. But it was Anduril that steeled her. The belt buzzed with excitement and the possibility of whetting its deadly appetite.

“Hopefully, he is the last victim of my father,” Aisling said, but the rabbits appeared unconvinced. Aisling shook her head, biting her bottom lip. Time was running out.

“I hope as well, m’lady,” the first rabbit agreed. “But the hope is surrounded by doubt.”

The rain tapped against the stained glass, an eager listener of theirs.