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CHAPTER XVIII

AISLING

The fae king held Aisling’s gaze like a dagger staked through the heart. Aisling’s expression turned cold, tugged by two sides of the soul. She felt both a strange melancholy and an eager excitement. Her fingers twitching at her sides to draw Sarwen from her back and slake its thirst for the fae king’s blood. And yet, inexplicably, she hesitated. Her body stiffened, torn between divided thoughts.

“Step forth and begin,” Niamh said, commanding both Aisling and Lir. She gestured for them to approach the center of the celebration. The crowds parted like bunches of flowers searching for sunlight in the creases of the room.

“Step forth,” Niamh repeated when neither Aisling nor Lir moved. Her saber-sharp eyes cut to Anduril at Aisling’s waist, pulling the sorceress forward with fiery intent.

“ Gladly ,” Anduril spoke through Aisling’s lips.

At last, the sorceress stepped down the dais. Niamh hemmed Aisling’s beaded raindrop gown as Aisling descended, transforming her elegance into a battle-ready beauty. Aisling unsheathed Sarwen from its scabbard as she walked. Tendrils of water braiding through her hair until her inky tresses were pinned behind her.

Aisling and Lir met at the center. The few paces that separated them, dense and prickling with energy.

“While I’m certain Lir knows the law of first knight combat duels, I’ll repeat them for Aisling,” Niamh said. “To protect, first you must attack, and any first knight must best their liege in combat and prove their strength, their cunning, and their will. The first to draw blood, wins.” Niamh clapped her hands and lightning snapped like a whip across the star-embroidered sky.

Both Gilrel and Galad had explained this law to Aisling before. By now, the sorceress was becoming well accustomed to the culture of the Sidhe––traditions drunk with mischief, tricks, games, and bargains. All bloody, violent, and steeped with magic.

“Address your opponent,” the Seelie queen of Rain said.

Lir frowned, but he stepped closer regardless. He fixed his eyes on Aisling. Had Aisling sunk beneath the surface of their Connemara oblivion before, or did the fae king bespell all and any who dared to meet his gaze?

Wicked stranger , Anduril seethed in her ears, the belt’s determination running thickly through Aisling’s veins.

Aisling forced herself to lock eyes with Lir. Her draiocht lashing inside like a bridled horse, gums bloody where it ripped at the bit in its mouth.

Hush , Anduril hissed at her draiocht .

The fae king lowered his gaze and Aisling drew a breath. Regally, he bowed. Aisling mirrored the gesture. Her blood, hot, rushing through her ears till she could scarcely hear the anxious susurrations of their audience.

“Begin,” Niamh said, and Aisling tasted the plum-ripe taste of the draiocht from a duel begun. Aisling’s stomach jumped into her throat.

Lir drew his twin axes, spinning them between his fingers. Anduril chuckled, the sound clawing up Aisling’s throat until her lips bent into a smile.

“I’ll go easy on you, sorceress,” the fae king said, tilting his head back. The edges of his lips curled like a fox—his easy arrogance provoking Anduril further.

Aisling felt the belt’s ache to fight and then she felt her own reluctance. Her own fear. A warrior of legends standing across from her. He, who for centuries, defeated mortal legions, brought the Unseelie to their knees, and defended his keep by the edge of his twin blades.

On her own, Aisling could scarcely lift the blade she now tested, tossing it gently to familiarize herself with its balance and poise. But with Anduril thrumming at her hips, she could defeat him. This much she knew.

“And here I was,” Aisling replied, “hoping for a challenge.”

At this, Lir’s eyes lit like embers. His smile cutting further across the sharp edge of his jaw.

Aisling lunged first, Sarwen’s tip spearing for the fae king. Lir stepped deftly to the side, swinging and knocking Sarwen’s blade to the right. In the same movement, the fae king moved forward, snaking his arms around Aisling till he held her from behind, locked behind the cross of both his axes.

“You can do better than that,” he whispered just loud enough for Aisling to hear. His breath hot at the crown of her head.

Aisling’s stomach twisted, her draiocht bristling like wool at the edge of a flame. Anduril possessed her, compelling her ambition, her resolve, her hunger to its will. The sorceress stabbed her right elbow into the fae king’s ribs while her left foot slammed into his boot. The fae king tightened his grip, startled by the strength of her struggle. It was enough.

Burn , Aisling commanded her draiocht with the intention of lighting like a match. Instead, her draiocht exploded, flaring like wildfire and ripping the fae king from her body. Lir reeled, staggering back to escape her violet flames.

Aisling inhaled sharply. The hair on her body standing straight with the intensity of her draiocht ’s excitement. Racat and Anduril clashing inside her with wild abandon.

“Like that?” Aisling asked, turning on her heel to face the fae king as he collected himself.

“Just like that,” Lir said, eyes darkening as he deepened his glare. The forest-green of his attention bleeding shadow-black as he considered her, chin dipping with wolf-like hunger. All need as he defeated the distance between them, spinning like the nightmare of myth Aisling recognized.

Their blades struck against one another, ringing into the fabric of the Other. Nose to nose, their blades crossed between them. Aisling cursed. Her draiocht relished the fae king’s proximity. It hungered for his scent: pine needles, wood smoke, and summer woodland sighs. The strength of his Sidhe arms pushing against Anduril’s force left her breathless. His great height casting a shadow atop her whose darkness fed the ravenous appetence of her heart. The draiocht purred in the rattle of their heaving breaths. Half-lidded, the fae king’s eyes dropped to Aisling’s lips. His fangs lengthening with a hunger Aisling understood. A tease, for she wished to be closer still, but by the way Lir clenched his jaw, she imagined he’d rather be anywhere else. His hatred for her tangible in Aisling’s eyes.

Three beads of blood fell from Aisling’s nose. Her draiocht was pushing at her lungs, begging to be unleashed, and Anduril was struggling for sovereignty of both her body and mind. A fact Lir recognized, for his eyes flicked to the Blood Cord at Aisling’s hips. He smiled, pushing his blades harder against Aisling’s own.

At last, Aisling severed the tension and slipped to the left, lowering her body and rushing into the fae king’s legs. Knocked off balance, Lir nimbly caught himself before blocking Aisling’s second swipe of the blade. He crashed his axes into Sarwen’s curved swing, snatching Aisling’s wrist with vines of ellwyn .

Aisling ripped herself free, throwing her weight into the next jab. Lir dipped low, striking Sarwen’s edge and loosening the sorceress’s grip. Aisling took a breath, flowers sprouting in her hair, around her gown, her hands, her legs, crawling around her neck, her waist, and gripping tightly—till Aisling tore petals between her nails. Ellwyn , blocking her vision as she struck again and again, her draiocht seeping between her clenched teeth like pipe smoke.

Anduril roared from Aisling’s lips, slamming Sarwen into the Sidhe king. At last, the vines swarmed her, burying her in the life breath of the woodland.

Aisling summoned more of her draiocht , lighting like a torch. Lir’s magic hissed against her own, screaming as she burned. Lir pulled his magic back, jerking at Aisling’s ankles and throwing her to the ground.

The sorceress smacked into the glass floor. Cracks spidered across the surface, reminding them all of the descent the cloudburst underwent to slake the earth below. The glass platform higher than Aisling remembered as she swallowed the stone in her throat.

Aisling, still burning, rendered the fae king’s magic to ash. She started to her feet, but Lir was quicker.

Lithely, Lir climbed atop her, his vines holding her prisoner. For every flower, thorn, or liana burnt, two more grew, shackling the sorceress to him. He held a blade to her throat.

“First taste of my blood,” Lir said as he held her eyes. Anduril screamed, feral and raging. The words were familiar. Painfully so.

The fae king lifted Aisling’s hand with his vines and brought one of his axes to her palm. A nick, he scraped her palm and a bead of blood bloomed.

The Other’s draiocht giggled into the caverns of oblivion, smacking its lips.

Aisling hissed, snatching her hand back to little avail. Lir held her tightly, watching her with curious eyes. She felt the heat of his attention and found herself drawn to its warmth. He was a stranger and yet…familiar. He blew on the embers of her soul, fanning their fires with the nearby humming of his magic. This close, Aisling could believe she’d once been in love with the fae king. But how? How when he despised her so, the mere image of her seemingly painful for him to behold?

The Other smelled her blood, then tasted it, sealing the duel and the fae king’s victory.