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CHAPTER XXI

LIR

Once the ceremony was complete, Niamh wasted not a moment before cleansing her throne room of every courtier and forge-born beast. Even Aisling was sent to her chambers to rest for the evening despite her protestations and the fiery temper in which she left the hall.

Yet, the moment the doors locked behind Aisling, Lir’s heart steadied. His mind cleared. The murder of ravens in his stomach settled. The torture of her nearness abated until they’d be together again. And yet, he mourned it. Yearned for the suffering her presence afflicted.

“Thank you for remaining a while longer so we might speak in private,” Niamh said, “Sidhe sovereign to Sidhe sovereign.”

Lir flicked his eyes to the Seelie queen.

“We both seek the triumph of the Sidhe, Niamh,” Lir said. “What else is there to speak of?”

“You were once bound to Peitho,” Niamh said, taking a seat on the steps of her dais.

Lir arched a brow, curious as to the direction of the conversation.

“She’s still a valued member of my knight’s guild.”

“Aye, because your affections for her were never near what you shared with a mortal princess,” Niamh said, the corners of her lips curling.

Lir rolled his head back, his throat working. Speaking of another felt strangely intimate to Lir. Words were powerful spells and if spoken just right, carried weighted magic. So for an enemy—or at the very least, someone untrusted—to speak of Aisling, made Lir’s canines sharpen to a point.

“I fell in love with a mortal princess, traded to the fae,” Lir said.

“And you still love her?” Niamh asked.

Lir hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t lie, but he could twist his words.

“She is formidable,” he said instead.

“That isn’t an answer,” Niamh pushed, her gaze hardening.

Lir exhaled, annoyed. “I carry no apathy for her.”

“Answer my question, mo Damh Bán ,” Niamh said, her voice like a chorus of many, shaking the stained glass.

Lir ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling it.

“I cannot love her,” he said.

“If love required permission, few among us would experience it,” Niamh said. “You love her.”

Lir crossed his arms, his heart pounding inside his chest.

“Aye.” He spoke the truth, the confession blooming primroses and bluebells around the arcade like piles of gold spilling onto the marbled floors.

Niamh laughed, tipping back her head. Her voice was as shrill as sleet.

Gasping for breath, she spoke: “Unfortunately, your love is unrequited.”

Lir remained stoic—his face expressionless as he endured Niamh’s blows. For while Anduril’s possession of Aisling enraged Lir, he was no fool, and even anger wouldn’t make him one. Niamh’s motives were ulterior to his own, this much was evident. And conceding even a morsel of emotion to the Seelie queen was to make oneself prone before the edge of a blade. Regardless, Lir wasn’t certain whether Niamh was aware of Anduril’s possession or if the Seelie queen believed Aisling’s change of heart to be in earnest. For now, it was a boon Niamh didn’t know: they couldn’t trust her and she seemed to align more closely with Anduril’s will than Aisling’s when it came to the Sidhe king. Either way, he’d unearth the truth through Niamh’s recklessness and not his own.

“I serve and honor the Lady Aisling as queen,” Lir said matter-of-factly. “Whether or not I remain a lover, is at the Lady Aisling’s discretion.”

Niamh smiled coyly, brushing a raindrop from the sharp cliff of her cheekbones.

“What devotion,” she cooed. “The legendary barbarian king of the greenwood leashed into such obedience for the likes of a sorceress.”

“For our salvation,” Lir corrected, but he’d made certain not to speak in a full sentence lest the Forge identify his lie for what it was. Lir had feared Aisling from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Not on account of her hands, her iron, or even her magic. But on account of the spells she cast so effortlessly around his heart—enchantments prayed to life by her mettle when she’d dueled him, her elegance and posture whilst she’d stood before the supernatural court of the Other, and the steel of her voice when she’d laid her blade on both his shoulders.

“Does this not pain you? To see Aisling use you to obtain the world she wishes to rule?”

Lir licked his lips, patiently waiting for the correct response to come to mind. Every word exchanged with Niamh needed to be perfect. He couldn’t make a mistake. Not when everything—when Aisling—depended upon it.

“I’m no stranger to pain,” Lir said, his first caera , Narisea, and his late child sprouting inside his mind like poison gorta. “And as for Aisling’s ambitions, they align with my own. We both wish to see the supremacy of the Sidhe and the triumph of the Forge above all else.”

“You believe Aisling, once a mortal princess, to be capable of leading the Sidhe to victory?” Niamh asked. “Only a few years prior, these very words would’ve been curses on your tongue.”

“Just as the seasons change, so do our minds, our desires, our spirits. It’s the nature of growth, as you well know,” Lir said. “Regardless, I don’t need to believe it. Ina believed it. A fact you’re well aware of.”

Niamh stilled, fixing her pale eyes on the Sidhe king.

“How long I’ve waited to hear you speak your mother’s name.”

“I understand you were both close,” Lir said. “She mentioned you often, taking a vow of silence for your friendship during the storm seasons in Annwyn. I shared only a few memories with her before her passing, but those were amongst them.”

Niamh’s eyes glazed over with tears. She bit her bottom lip, hands balling into fists. The rains roared outside, cascading against the floating tower in which they stood. The vibration of her draiocht thrumming beneath Lir’s boots.

Lir leveled his breath, shielding his thoughts. Studying Niamh’s every nuance to understand hers instead. Indeed, Lir had known of Niamh and Ina’s friendship at the dawn of creation, yet he hadn’t anticipated such despair, such mourning a millennium later as the Seelie queen displayed now. The depth of her emotion caught the Sidhe king off guard and gave him reason for pause. Niamh was hiding something.

“Aisling reminds me of your mother,” Niamh said. “Ina never spoke of her visions with me nor did she ever reveal why she chose Aisling to hide her gift and Racat. But I imagine she saw what we all see in her: the courage to dream greatly and the strength to seize it. Aisling may have been born a mortal princess, but long has her heart raced with the makings of legends.”

Lir ached for he didn’t need a reminder of all he loved but couldn’t have. The Sidhe king shifted, resisting the urge to clear his throat and expose the emotion Niamh had wrought from his spirit.

“So we agree.” Lir forced himself to speak past the lump in his throat. “Aisling will bring victory to the Forge, and my heart won’t break in vain if it is the Sidhe she spares in her destiny to rewrite prophecy. To force the hand of fate that might’ve once forced hers.”

“Aye,” Niamh agreed. “And yet, you are still afraid.”

Lir scoffed, his expression stretching into an amused grin.

“Afraid?”

“Ah yes, even the dark lord of the greenwood finds himself fearful,” Niamh replied with a smile in her voice. “Especially, of a sorceress.”

Lir’s heart stuttered, but he masked his feelings well, refusing to give Niamh the reaction she craved.

“You fear losing that which you love,” Niamh continued. “You’ve lost so much already…your first child, Narisea, your wings…Almost Aisling herself at one point in time…”

“Your point?” Lir asked, his patience thinning.

“Your fear of losing Aisling will prevent her success. You hold her too tightly, too close, too afraid of everything and everyone that you block her destiny from manifesting.”

Lir shook his head.

“I have done everything in my power to aid Aisling and her path.”

“This might be true,” Niamh said. “However, there is fear still to be released. The great Sidhe king of the forest has only ever allowed one other to reign supreme above even him: fear. And so, it is time to let go.”

Lir shifted, not stubborn enough to ignore the truth of her words. The Sidhe king feared the end of the Sidhe, the fall of Annwyn, the loss of Aisling—any and all heartbreaking loss he didn’t believe he bore the strength to survive. Still, he’d never confess such fears to Niamh.

“You must promise me this,” Niamh said, the words cold and bitter between them.

Lir straightened. Promise: a word that always yielded suffering. A word more binding than chains or dungeons.

“Promise me you’ll never love Aisling again. Promise me to heed the prophecies of your destructive coupling,” Niamh said, her voice strained and quick. “Promise me you’ll let Aisling go. And once your fear has been released, you’ll find a weight lifted from your back and your feet lighter.”

Lir staggered backward, his hand reaching toward his heart against his own volition. He shuddered, horrified by the venom spilling past her ancient lips and the screaming of the storm.

“Promise me and I’ll return to you—with what magic I boast—something you once lost,” Niamh said, standing. Something you once lost . “Promise me you’ll let her go and spare the Sidhe the violence your union would otherwise wreak.”

Lir’s heart pounded in his ears, his throat, his hands, thorns spiraling around the gallery, the arcade, the statues of winged Sidhe that glared down at him with such intensity he believed they’d come alive to pry the promise from his lips if he didn’t speak it willingly. And still, Lir would fight. Would rip his agency to love Aisling from the pits of the Forge if he must.

I want everything , Aisling’s words echoed in his mind. And I fear I’ll perish if such a hunger is never slaked. If my bones never grow. If everything I’ve ever wanted and never had—power, sovereignty, the world—is never mine.

Whatever you covet , Lir had said, will be my heart’s labor.

A promise.

A bargain his heart had sealed.

To break it, would be to break a vow. To break it would be to undermine Aisling. To break it would be to lose the gods’ favor and the Goblet. To lose the war against the mortals. To break it, would be to lose Aisling wholly.

Lir’s soul grew vast and dark. A cavern of sorrow that cannibalized itself, scratching at the walls of his body alongside his writhing draiocht , begging to be unleashed.

“I promise,” Lir said, and the Forge boomed like a drum, snapping lightning and thunder in its fury, threatening to crack the skies in half. The Other and the mortal plane, both trembling with the finality of their high bargain.

Something you once lost .

Promise me.

A weight lifted from your back and your feet lighter.

Something you once lost .

The spell echoed.

Lir fell to his knees. His soul was bloody where it had been ripped and left behind a gaping hole. A decision made for him by the events of the past; every moment imprisoning him against his knowledge.

The Lady’s laughter echoed in the thunder.

“And should you break such a promise,” Niamh said, “your love may throb and beat, but never shall you exist together again—Aisling’s heart, my own.”

Lir had suspected Niamh wanted to deepen the divide between himself and Aisling but now he was certain of it. Perhaps she feared their power when they were joined. Perhaps she wanted Aisling all to herself. Perhaps she enjoyed toying with the Sidhe king she feared and envied all at once. Regardless, she bore power over Lir because she recognized his greatest vulnerability: Aisling.

Just like that, fate stabbed its needle into the fabric of the universe and began to sew.