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CHAPTER XVI

AISLING

Niamh took Aisling’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Their hands fit perfectly together, the warmth of the gesture giving Aisling reason for pause. A part of her wanted to pull away. To snatch her hand back. And another part found she craved this affection. It made Aisling feel as if she belonged. The Other, a home she could grow to love: a realization that only made her ends that much more desperate.

And as if Niamh read her thoughts, she dipped her chin and looked Aisling in the eyes.

“You could belong here,” Niamh said. “Forever.”

Aisling focused on Niamh’s expression, studying the swelling of her pupils as she considered the sorceress with an unnerving intensity.

“My home is Annwyn,” Aisling said without thinking. She hadn’t given much consideration to what would become of her life after she’d taken vengeance against the mortals. She’d been so focused on achieving everything she’d ever desired that she hadn’t spared a moment to wonder…what then?

“And from that throne you’ll rule beside the Sidhe king for eternity?” Niamh pushed. Aisling’s brow furrowed and suddenly her mouth grew dry. The premise felt correct: Aisling and the fae king would rule from the heart of the Sidhe and heat the Great Forge of Creation until both this plane and the next bubbled with the draiocht and their power. The images fluttered through Aisling’s mind like visions seen through the rippling surface of the Isle of Mirrors.

Anduril growled softly as if warning Aisling of its temper if her mind wandered too far. Her mind snapped like burning braids and the visions collapsed into dread that filled her chest.

Nightmare king, deceiver, villain , Anduril chanted inside her mind, reminding her why she despised the fae king.

“ From that throne ,” Anduril spoke through Aisling’s lips, “ I’ll rule alone .”

“Mercy be upon your Sidhe king,” Niamh said, barely a whisper. Aisling shook her head, ripping thoughts like gossamer—either hers or Anduril’s, she could no longer tell the difference.

“The Sidhe king?” Aisling asked, grasping for clarity.

“Lir—your caera ,” Niamh said, speaking his name like a bygone curse better left forgotten.

Racat whimpered the moment Anduril muzzled him quiet. Aisling felt her heart tear in two, her mind muddled. Anduril’s voice and her own warring for attention as she desperately tore at the tangles of her thoughts. The longer Anduril settled on her hips, the more Anduril felt as essential to her body as the bones that built her. Yet, the longer Anduril armored her, the more Aisling couldn’t differentiate its voice from her own—its thoughts from her own.

Something was wrong. Aisling couldn’t put her finger on it, but Niamh bore some responsibility for separating herself and the fae king.

Wondering about Lir’s whereabouts was starting to bubble between Aisling’s thoughts, conscious or unconscious, swiftly punished by Anduril’s intensity.

Niamh’s words had struck a chord in Aisling. The tone of Niamh’s voice suggested the Seelie queen found joy in the fae king’s misfortune or potential for it. Niamh wasn’t being entirely forthcoming. And while the Sidhe couldn’t tell a lie, they could tangle you between words until the truth was no longer so evident.

Aisling would expose Niamh’s intentions soon enough whether they be aligned with her own or not. But she couldn’t forget to tread lightly. Aisling still needed Niamh’s adoration if she were to convince the Seelie queen to bless her pursuit of the Goblet and replace her as the gods’ favored one.

“Think no more of it as we celebrate this evening,” Niamh said, “my sorceress champion.”

Aisling nodded her head, doing her best to convince Niamh she believed her. Widening her eyes with the same naivety that’d consumed her when she was a Tilrish princess traded to the Aos Sí. And had Aisling been the woman she’d been before she’d met the Sidhe, she might’ve believed the Seelie queen.

“Let us welcome the storm season together,” Aisling said.

Niamh grinned and the great doors opened wide.

A storm of starlight descended silently as far as the eye could see.

Aisling stood atop a checkered, glass floor suspended far above Castle Yillen, still floating like a leaf in the wind. Transparent, Aisling could just see the earth far, far below, past a confection of clouds and mist and falling stars. The water from Niamh’s showers spilling over the edge of the floor in cascades of light.

Winged Sidhe danced through the sky, glittering ball gowns ballooning like buds blooming come spring. Ethereal, they moved with such grace, every step rhythmically aligned with the orchestra of wild beasts playing harps, fiddles, lutes, and beating drums. The music rapturous.

And if there were a single guest more, Aisling worried there wouldn’t be room for the tables that stretched endlessly at the center of L? Brear , overflowing with steaming rolls, chocolate puddings, plum candies, sweet moon cakes, hot wines, and apple roasted pigs among much, much more, gloriously displayed beneath chandeliers of pulsing lightning.

Aisling couldn’t help but smile. Couldn’t wait to take off dancing. To sip wine until her feet were numb and she could twirl endlessly until morning. But the moment Aisling and Niamh emerged from the doors atop a platform that split into twin staircases, the celebration stopped. Even the droplets of liquid starlight froze mid-descent, streaks of light illuminating the Sidhe’s glorious faces as they beheld the two Seelie queens.

Aisling’s stomach flipped. A sea of faces devoured the sight of her, yet she recognized not one. The sorceress was reminded she was alone in this unknown realm.

Anduril burned her hips as if reassuring Aisling of its power. But it was too late. The image of the fae king bloomed inside Aisling’s mind like a wildflower during Imbolc . He was always on her mind, especially when she felt vulnerable. It was nonsense. He was the enemy and no protector, and yet, here and now, when she felt pinned beneath the light, her mind searched for him. Aisling ripped the petals of her thoughts apart but still they remained, digging their roots into her soul.

Blood drinker, barbarian, mortal reaper, nightmare, dark king , Anduril spat like hot coals leaping from a flame. The words melted with Aisling’s own, impossible to tell Anduril’s spirit from herself. Aisling wrenched her eyes shut, clawing for clarity when at last Niamh tore her from the labyrinth of her mind.

“Welcome all,” Niamh said, gently slipping her fingers from Aisling’s so she could raise her hands in greeting. Her endless, sparkling sleeves spread like wings on either side of her, as though she were a bird of rain, lightning webbing in great cracks of light down the length of her arms and endless legs. She, half tempest incarnate. “I could think of no better way to welcome the storm season than to celebrate with you all this evening.”

The crowds erupted into cheers, heads bobbing back and forth as they laughed in one another’s pointed ears.

“And so,” Niamh said as Aisling emerged from the fuzz, “let the rains baptize the earth!”

Niamh clapped and thunder roared. The skies flashed brilliantly as the rain broke and fell once more, continuing where it’d left off, followed by the orchestra and its euphoric melodies.

“Thank you for your patience,” Niamh whispered in Aisling’s ear, tickling her neck with her breath. “Come and sit with me on the throne before the evening truly begins.”

Niamh snapped her fingers, and the rain clotted at the top of the staircase into two matching thrones of rippling, splashing water. The queen of Rain took her seat and invited Aisling to take hers.

The festivities continued to swell around them, growing louder, brighter, and more barbaric as the evening aged. Various Sidhe approached their thrones one after another, greeting Niamh with thanks and enthusiasm. Most, however, stared unapologetically at Aisling—the once-mortal princess turned Seelie queen––seated before them in the flesh.

“The fae here are happy,” Aisling said to Niamh between conversations. “They are safe from mortal retaliation and the confines of the mortal plane.”

“Aye,” Niamh said, a glimmer of pride in the tip of her chin. But it was the quiver of her bottom lip that focused Aisling’s attention. “But no one is safe.”

Silence sat between them, dense and oppressive.

Aisling’s heart beat a few paces quicker, stropping the blade of her mind. “And to think, had Ina never betrayed the Sidhe and cursed either plane with the mortal race, the fae would be spared from the fate that bleeds from us now.”

Niamh’s attention whipped to Aisling. Her eyes pierced Aisling like twin reeds, darting for the soul. Aisling held her ground, leveling her gaze with the Seelie queen’s. Aisling had successfully provoked Niamh. A victory. And so, Aisling pushed farther.

“Ina was a bane to the Sidhe who sealed her death?—”

“Quiet your tongue,” Niamh snapped. The lagoon-blue of her complexion drained to white while her fangs grew noticeably sharper. Her chest rose and fell with each great breath, the clouds above gathering like armored giants.

Aisling had known Niamh and Ina were close friends, but testing and seeing Niamh’s reaction to Ina’s death, confirmed Aisling’s suspicions: Niamh was the faerie and Ina’s death came at the cost of Niamh’s wish. To cure herself of loneliness, she’d inadvertently delivered the Seelie queen of Iod to the Other on death’s galleon.

Niamh stood from her throne, furious.

Aisling opened her mouth to speak but was cut short.

The orchestra of wild beasts screeched to a halt. The melodies of their instruments collapsing into a caustic, irritating mess of noise till half the room covered their ears.

Aisling spun on her heel and Niamh stepped closer to her side.

From Aisling’s vantage point, she could just see the crowds parting at the entrance to the ballroom, the height of the Sidhe obscuring what lay beyond.

While the evening burned, guests arrived and departed beneath a great arch curtained by rain, but now, the area was cleared as though death itself had stepped beneath the waters and into L? Brear . A drop of oil in water. A shadow of fear cast across the merriment.

Lir had come.