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CHAPTER XII

AISLING

Once the blue rabbits, at long last, left their quarters in search of supper, Aisling undressed. She stripped off her gown, loosened her braids, unbuckled Sarwen from her back, and slinked off her jewels. All save for Anduril, glittering across her naked hips. For a moment, she considered unclasping the belt. It was both heavy and large, bruising her where it tightened and loosened from time to time.

You need me , the belt whispered into her mind. Aisling swatted at the words, but they sank into her consciousness like teeth. So, Aisling forwent removing the belt.

The sorceress sank into a steaming bath prepared for her by three silent sylphs. The bath however, was more of a pool than a tub, located in a separate room attached to her chambers by an opaque, crystal entryway.

Shamrocks grew from the bottom, rising so their beryl-green leaves bubbled at the surface. A fountain carved in the image of a Sidhe poured steaming water into the pool eternally. Water laced with what Aisling believed was star root, silk petals, and mint.

Finally, Aisling was alone. Her thoughts grew loud. Too loud, scratching at her fears, her anxieties, wondering where the fae king was. He occupied her mind like a haunting, driving Aisling mad the harder Anduril burned the image of him, the name of him, the sound of him from her mind.

Aisling sank further into the pool until only her eyes peered above the surface. She could breathe not with her lungs but with the draiocht ––a spell someone had taught her when they’d first wandered through Annwyn’s greenwood. Anduril bloomed awake and scalded her flesh. Aisling whimpered out in pain, grabbing the edge of the bath. But once the pain had subsided, she couldn’t remember what she’d been thinking of.

Aisling closed her eyes, her mind wiped clean as she breathed in and out slowly, hushing Racat back into acquiescence after thoughts of the Sidhe king. But while her mind cleared, her heart remained heavy, filling her dreams with images and voices. Dreams Anduril couldn’t seem to prevent from unspooling.

You and the Sidhe king can never be , an ancient creature boomed before a spindle. Yet still, Aisling felt the fae king’s fingers on her bare flesh. Felt the bliss of him inside her, making her whole once more, wrapped in the dark lord’s embrace, hot, heaving, and intertwined.

* * *

“ Where are you, Aisling ?” a familiar voice cooed from the corridors of a starry forest.

Aisling immediately recoiled, staggering back but tripping on the hem of her gown. She hit the ground hard, struggling to her feet before she made herself seen. Yet, Aisling’s body felt both heavier and slower here in this realm of dreams. As though Aisling were once more nothing but a mortal princess, slave to the whim of all those more powerful. Anduril gone from her hips.

“ Aisling ,” the voice called again in a sing-song tone that sent chills up Aisling’s spine. “ Where are you ?”

“Enough!” Aisling screamed into the darkness, refusing to be haunted by her .

“ Tsk tsk ,” she said, “ Isn’t it I who should be furious? Isn’t it I who should want your bones deep beneath the earth? For wasn’t it you who destroyed my loom ?”

The Lady laughed, high and shrill and wholly inhuman. A sound that challenged neither good nor evil, taking on an alignment of its own. Something of yore that was better left forgotten.

“Go on.” Aisling bared her teeth, becoming a feral wolf cornered in a cage. “Bore me with another of your long-winded prophecies, your riddles, your warnings. For your loom will continue to break, your threads will fray, and your shears will grow blunt.”

“ Perhaps .” The Lady’s voice filled the emptiness of her starry forest, vibrating through Aisling’s bones. “ But at what cost? You’ve already lost so much, child .”

“I’ve become Sidhe queen of the fae and before long, I’ll rule over the Other. I have everything.”

“ Poor Dagfin would beg to differ if he bore a life to protest your arrogance .” The Lady laughed louder as though overcome with joyful tears. “ He’d despise what you’ve become. By the gods, I’m certain he wouldn’t even recognize you .”

Aisling stilled.

Her tongue turned to ash, a bloody wound in her heart slashed open once more by the mere mention of Dagfin’s name.

“ Where are you, Aisling ?” the Lady asked again, but Aisling could barely hear her. “ Where are you, child ?”

* * *

“What did she say to you?!”

Aisling was jerked out of water, gasping for air. She floundered at the edge of a pool but no longer was she in her chambers. She was somewhere else, somewhere thundering and flashing with lightning, yet still deep within Niamh’s castle. Aisling must’ve fallen asleep while bathing and the Lady hadn’t wasted an opportunity to violate her dreams.

Aisling choked up water, reaching for the edge of the pool. She pulled herself over the brim, hands lit with flame in her panic.

“What spells did she cast?!” Someone spoke again. And when Aisling bore the strength to focus and address who spoke to her, she spotted the cloud-like hem of Niamh’s gown.

Aisling coughed, struggling to her feet and entirely nude from her bath earlier.

“You are referring to the Lady.”

“Aye,” Niamh said impatiently, glaring at Aisling as though she herself was the primordial creature bound to the threads of her loom of fate. “Did you tell her where you were? Did you let her needle her way inside your mind?!”

Aisling wiped the hair sticking to her face, still processing her surroundings. This must’ve been Niamh’s bathing chambers for the ceiling was dense with dark clouds, lightning spidering down the slick, obsidian walls that opened at the center of the room into a pool as black as night, crowned by steam. And what’s more, petrified rain hung in the air like glass beads, bursting when touched.

“I told her nothing. She knows not where I am nor how to reach me,” Aisling said, her voice still rough where her lungs burned.

“Do not grow overly confident. If I hadn’t pulled you out of your careless dreams, she would’ve dug deeper, clawing inside your mind for where to find you.”

“She must know I’m in the Other,” Aisling said, looking down at her bare form and Anduril that Niamh wholly ignored.

“It’s likely,” Niamh said, the clouds of her dress gathering more thickly. “But we cannot assume she knows anything. Give her nothing, allow her nothing, gift her no advantage.” Niamh stepped closer to Aisling, her words spoken more quickly, more urgently, and sharper the longer she spoke.

Aisling took a step back. A gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

“You speak as though we’re allies, yet I know nothing of your intentions,” Aisling said, her voice clear and unmuddied despite the whiplash.

Niamh searched Aisling’s expression, her mind undoubtedly determining what information to offer in exchange for Aisling’s. Her face flashed wildly with several emotions. Heartbeats ago, the Seelie queen of Rain had behaved as though she’d known Aisling for a millennium, yet they’d only just met. She’d been angry, concerned, fret with worry as Aisling stood dripping and nude before her, only Anduril returned to her hips after the Lady had stripped it from her body whilst inside her realm of dreams.

“You’re right,” Niamh said to Aisling’s surprise. Her earlier anxious rage clearing like the sky after a cloudburst. “Let’s remedy that. Will you dress with me for L? Brear ?” Niamh’s lips softened, her uptilted eyes foregoing their serrated edge in exchange for something warmer. Something almost familiar.

Aisling hesitated, eyes darting around the room as though in search of an answer. She understood trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Both the mortal plane and the Other bore a stake on Aisling’s life—she, both the prophesied doom of the Sidhe and the curse breaker for the mortals. Wartime loyalties were fickle, and strangers were threats. Especially powerful ones. Even if Niamh welcomed her to the Other, Aisling knew better than to find comfort in the den of a creature more fabled than most. And yet, the legend before her was necessary to the Goblet of Lore, to gaining the gods’ favor, to preventing mortal victory. To everything.

So, Aisling steeled herself. Anduril singing softly in her ears.

“I’d love to,” Aisling said at last, offering Niamh her prettiest smile. Deception was more effective when its bitter intentions were masked with something sweet: a smile, a glance, a kiss. More effective as a weapon than most blades or jinxes. Indeed, this much Aisling had learned.

The Seelie queen of Rain watched intently as the corners of Aisling’s lips curled, her own expression mirroring Aisling’s. The smile was still cold but in the uncanny, otherworldly manner the Sidhe moved. Not in cruelty. In fact, it gave Aisling the impression of two serpents slithering side by side, neither allies nor enemies but alike just the same.

“Follow me,” Niamh said, starting for the door.

They slipped into an adjacent room inside another spire. Petrified rain bejeweled every inch of this room as well, hanging in the air, on the thick moss that clung to every wall, the river stones, the mosaicked floors, and the oak leaf garlands that bulged from the rafters. A trove of crystals, a spiderweb dressed in morning dew, a room that smelled of freshly wet soil and cool, woodland breezes.

Dozens of winged sylphs flew through this room, carrying gowns and jewels and crowns, but Niamh paid them little attention as she grabbed Aisling’s hand and gently tugged her toward a mirror in the center of the room.

Aisling took in her bare form. Raven-black hair sticking to her back, her arms, her hips, and Anduril’s supple gold. Her cheeks and chest were red from coughing and her violet eyes were ringed with dark circles. And somehow, standing beside Niamh and her forget-me-not-blue hair, her perpetually wet skin, her dress of clouds, Aisling looked more otherworldly than she ever had in Annwyn. As though a part of her belonged here in the Other.

Racat hummed gleefully, stirring inside. Anduril glittered with approval.

“I’ve been dying to dress you for several centuries now,” Niamh said.

Centuries ? Aisling thought to herself, but before she could speak it aloud, Niamh stepped behind Aisling and ran her fingers through her hair. Immediately, Aisling flinched. She wasn’t accustomed to being touched at all and certainly not by those she’d only just met. Nevertheless, Niamh wasn’t discouraged, moving closer to Aisling as she untangled her tresses. So, for the sake of the Goblet of Lore, Aisling let her.

“This belt, however, is ancient and unfit for your beauty,” Niamh said. “May I remove it?” she asked, hands already starting toward its clasp.

Without hesitation, Anduril hardened to stone, coiling around Aisling like a snake. The sorceress’s eyes lit like embers and before she could think better of it, her hands snatched at Niamh’s wrist.

“ The belt remains ,” Anduril spoke through Aisling’s lips—a primeval growl lacing her voice.

Niamh bristled, slowly taking back her wrist. Her lips pursed tightly, but she eventually nodded her head in understanding. The Seelie queen cleared her throat and continued her work. Anduril settled back into place on Aisling’s hips, quieting once more.

The sensation of Niamh’s long, slender fingers against Aisling’s scalp, combing through her knots, was too comforting. Too maternal to resist. A touch Aisling had barely, if ever, felt. Her life had been shaped by the rough hands of men and not the sensitive touch of a woman who cared deeply for her. Yet, against her better judgment, Aisling sank into Niamh, allowing herself the affection.

Niamh’s touch straightened Aisling’s hair till it fell like the waters in Annwyn’s gorge. Her fingers traveled toward her scalp, dancing through the strands but leaving behind beads of rain as she worked. They grew along her collarbone, along the edge of her ears, speckled around the crown of her head. And at last, Niamh traced the edge of Aisling’s arms and a dress took form. A gown made entirely of water hugged and draped around her every curve till it spilled atop the mosaicked floors. Pearl-tipped crests protecting her most precious parts.

Aisling’s eyes burned, glossing over with unshed tears. She’d almost forgotten what she looked like in gowns that didn’t burn mourning-white.

“Is everything alright?” Niamh asked, brows arching with genuine concern.

Aisling blinked away the tears, nodding her head.

“The dress is lovely, is all,” she lied.

A sylph darted from the rafters and pressed a scarlet cherry to Aisling’s lips, staining them red. Niamh smiled, admiring her work before she plucked a single bead of rain from her clavicle and blew.

The bead of rain grew, splashing upward before falling and forming a whirlpool around their feet. The churning of the waters akin to the gentle stirring of tea.

“Ina and I were close friends,” Niamh said, eyes reflecting the spinning of the waters beneath them. “She and I were like sisters. I cared— care–– for her deeply. And although her soul is lost in the fogs of death beyond my realm, my heart finds a piece of her in you, Aisling.”

Aisling’s brows pinched. She felt the sincerity of Niamh’s words weaving between them. She felt the Seelie queen’s love for the fae king’s mother as potently as she might’ve felt the love for a sister of her own had she ever been blessed with one. And what’s more, Aisling wanted to believe Niamh. She wanted to believe in her kindness, in this newfound warmth, in this…affection Aisling hadn’t realized she’d craved all her life.

“I remember the day Ina found you amidst the folds of the tapestry of time. How she searched for decades for the perfect hiding place for her most cherished gift. She knew her end was coming swiftly.

“We wept together when she placed her gift inside an iron, Tilrish keep.” Niamh’s voice thickened, lost to the memory. “And so I vowed to watch over you. Vowed to keep you as safe as I knew how. Bringing rain to Tilren, beating it against your windowpanes, finding you in the neighboring loch, watching you from the brim of every goblet of wine.”

Aisling’s head whipped toward the pool below their feet. The waters reflected not themselves, rather Aisling as a child, Aisling as she grew older, Aisling as she grew lost in Annwyn’s feywilds, swimming with Lir in the hot springs the day he taught her how to summon her draiocht . Aisling gasped, her mind stretching before Anduril dug into Aisling’s flesh with anger, distracting her from the visions and instead, biting Aisling with a venom of equal rage at the sight of the fae king. Aisling fought the feeling, bending the thoughts in her mind to make sense of them, but Anduril insisted, muddling Aisling’s mind further.

Just as Danu’s Isle of Mirrors used water to watch, to travel, to speak, so did Niamh’s. Water was transformative. Water was magic. And water was a part of the draiocht .

But the memories the water chose to reveal were not all pleasant. Some were shameful, some were dark, and some were better left unremembered. The image of Nemed locking Aisling inside her chambers, forced to watch Starn, Iarbonel, Annind, and Fergus from the iron teeth of her window while they were raised to be kings.

“It wasn’t Ina who invited you to the Other at Lofgren’s Rise or in Castle Annwyn,” Niamh said, meeting Aisling’s eyes. “It was me.”