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CHAPTER XXIV

AISLING

“ His bride, he brings ,” the forest prattled in Rún. Aisling understood every alder, every yew, every ash perfectly as if they spoke inside her mind.

Lies, lies, liars, liars , Anduril said. Aisling ground her teeth. She knew the mischief of the fae world, but still her draiocht huffed weakly, reaching for the trees’ words. Aisling shook away the warring of her thoughts, biting at the dissonance for the truth.

Ellwyn bloomed beneath Geld’s hooves as they climbed off the last stepping stone and moved across the meadow before the forest. Every step summoned a bloom of violet petals and their sparkling pollen. Aisling wasn’t certain if Lir had intentionally or unintentionally grown ellwyn or if the forest had done so in his stead. But she marveled at the cloud of glittering dust following their wake.

“ Over the threshold of a castle made of trees, they come, they come ,” the forest sang.

A muscle flashed across Lir’s jaw.

“Do they speak to you like this often?” Aisling asked him, so softly only he could hear.

“Always,” he said, staring straight ahead as they wove through the gnarled, ghoulish aisle of bone apple trees. “When I wake, when I sleep, when I can’t think of anything else but…”

The Sidhe king’s voice trailed off. Aisling considered asking him to complete the thought but decided against it.

The forest groaned as their trunks bent and bowed when their sovereign passed. The vision unsettled Aisling. In the mortal plane, the trees, the forest, and the draiocht were phantoms—always most visible when caught slipping at the edges of one’s vision. But if looked directly upon, the magic vanished. Popped like a soap bubble. Here in the Other, on the other hand, the magic was fully alive, proud, and eager to be seen. The trees were behemoth beasts themselves, moving with the strength of storm-blown giants.

“That’s enough to render anyone mad,” Aisling said. “Which explains the lunacy of a centuries-old forge-born lord.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to it,” Lir said, not biting the bait Aisling had laid with her teasing.

“ I vow to you the first cut of my heart, the first taste of my blood, and the last words from my lips ,” the forest cooed.

Anduril objected immediately, but Aisling couldn’t deny how familiar the words sounded. As if she’d once treasured them.

“Were you born with such an ability?” Aisling asked. He’d told her the answer before, but she’d forgotten.

“No,” Lir said. “Upon coronation, the Sidhe sovereign of the greenwood inherits the ability to speak to and, in turn, listen to the whole of his kingdom—including the trees themselves and the animals they shelter.”

“So, why can I hear them too?” Aisling asked.

Lir tilted his head back, avoiding her eyes.

“Because as my bride, you, too, are sovereign to the greenwood, Aisling,” he said. “No matter bargains, enchantments, or legends, you are queen to my kingdom by the law of our oaths. And the forest recognizes you as such.”

Aisling looked around the woodland.

She remembered handfasting the fae king. She remembered her crimson gown, the ring of fire, the three blades, the nightmarish barbarians that burned Fiacha’s evening with their hedonism. She didn’t remember Lir’s face, his voice, or the way she’d felt afterward. The memories were distorted and complex, drifting in and out of clarity.

Yet, from the moment she’d handfasted the Sidhe king, she’d felt the rush of her mare beneath her, the mood of the trees, the whims of the owls that hooted from their perches. Even then, she and Lir had been bound in a way she didn’t entirely understand and didn’t think she ever would. How could she have forgotten their marriage was a union tied only by a duty to their people and nothing more?

Eventually, the trees thinned and the dense carpet of hollow grass spilled into wetland where wetweed grew rampant. The aspens dipped their spidery roots into the waters, overgrown with moss and colorful fungi. And beyond, rested a cottage that puffed clouds from its toppling chimney like an old man and his pipe. The shingles of its roof reminiscent of a tattered, pointed hat, protecting the weathered face of the home from the rain.

Aisling smelled the herbs and spices that cooked inside. The cottage’s warmth, steaming against the windowpanes decorated in salt gems, small brownie skulls, and wind chimes.

“We’re here,” Lir said. He guided Geld to the cottage’s entrance before jumping off the mount first. Without hesitation, the fae king turned and carried Aisling off the stag, setting her gingerly on the ground. And had Aisling still believed the fae king held any affections for her, she might’ve thought the lingering of his hands at her waist was a token of his attraction. But she knew better.

Yes, yes, yes , Anduril encouraged her.

Aisling found her footing, peeling strands of wet hair from her face.

Lir knocked on the door, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed the knob and pushed the door open.

“Wait,” Aisling said, touching his elbow. Lir’s eyes shot to her hand on his arm, lingering for a moment longer than Aisling anticipated. “Shouldn’t we be invited inside first?”

Lir shook his head. “It’s alright.”

And so, Lir entered, Aisling a step behind.

Immediately, the heat of the cottage rushed toward Aisling like a banshee intent to possess. Her bones and flesh thawed where she’d been too afraid to use her draiocht to warm herself from Niamh’s rains. It was as if Lir and Aisling had stepped into the belly of a beast—bubbling, hot, and ripe with all manner of unidentifiable objects. A plethora of stacked jars, hanging pots, bundles of sage, sugared bones, and shelves stuffed with books whose spines changed titles when you looked too closely.

“ Mo Damh Bán ,” a voice said from behind a curtain of garlands, obscuring a room that tunneled deeper into the cottage. An old fox emerged from between the leaves, first his nose and whiskers and then his orange face, speckled with gray above his beady black eyes. He held a stack of ornately embroidered quilts, decorated in silver constellations that reminded Aisling of a cloak she’d once been gifted.

The fox bowed to Lir before noticing Aisling as well. Taken off guard, the fox sputtered something unintelligible before bowing swiftly to Aisling.

“ Mo Lúra ,” he said. “It’s an honor to at last make your acquaintance.”

Aisling smiled softly. “The honor is all mine.”

The fox blushed, muzzle scrunching as he gathered himself. His beady eyes darting toward and hesitating on Anduril, gleaming happily on Aisling’s hips.

“Please, please, make yourselves at home,” the fox said. “Had I known you were coming, I’d have tidied up.” Frantically, the fox gathered scattered scrolls and stuffed the frog aimlessly hopping atop the floorboards into his cloak’s pocket. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lir pulled out a chair and fell into it. Lithe as a cat, he reclined, crossing his arms over his chest as his long legs nearly reached the other end of the cottage.

“ I need a favor ,” he said in Rún.

The fox set down the stack of quilts.

“ I cannot thank you enough for the kelpie ,” the old fox said. “ Already the fiend has done away with a horde of orcs twice over. So, mo Damh Bán, name your favor and it’s yours .”

Lir popped his knuckles, flexing his lean, elegant hands. “ We’re in search of the Goblet of Lore .”

The fox paused, considering Lir more closely now.

“The Goblet of Lore,” the fox repeated, tasting the words himself. His whiskers twitched as he moved his teeth, licking the tips with his pink tongue. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

“What do you know of it?” Lir asked.

The fox’s frog sprung from his cloak’s pocket. The fox caught the green thing with ease, trapping it between his paws. Idly, the fox stroked its slick back.

“The chalice from which the gods sipped the Forge’s brew, capable of mass creation at the whim of those bold enough to sip. To give in exchange for everything they will take.”

As if the gods themselves clapped their hands, thunder shook the cottage.

Aisling felt the draiocht of the Other stir knowingly, pressing its ears against the windowpanes and its eyes to the keyhole.

“The gods, however, hid the Goblet, afraid of what would become of their world if the unworthy were allowed to sip from its gilded lip,” the fox continued.

“No one hides anything without the intent of it being found,” Aisling said. “Eventually.”

“Perhaps that’s what they’ve been waiting for,” the fox said. “Someone worthy enough to find it.”

“Yet, the legends, the myths, the fables speak nothing of its whereabouts,” Lir said.

The fox patted the frog’s head.

“There is but one tale that makes mention of the Goblet’s name,” the fox said. Both Lir and Aisling leaned in closer, hanging onto the fox’s every breath. “The last anyone saw of the Goblet, it was tossed into the mouth of Eogi, the god of beginnings, and swallowed whole.”

Eogi.

Aisling had never heard the name, but by the look on Lir’s face, the fae king had. Lir exchanged glances with Aisling before clearing his throat.

“Where does Eogi lie?” Lir asked the fox.

“Normally, he rests beyond the fog, watching the death galleons sail across black waters. During the rainy season, however, many claim to have seen his lumbering shadow on the howling Isle of Rokmora,” the fox said.

Aisling glanced at Lir, hoping the fae king knew where to find this Rokmora. Lir said not a word, instead, bringing a fist to his lips as he sank into thought. And once the fae king was consumed by the labyrinth of his mind, there was little to release him from its grip.

“How long is the journey?” Aisling asked.

“It is a weeks’ long trip,” the fox said. “However, with both mo Damh Bán ’s and mo Lúra ’s strength, I’m certain you can halve that time. I’d guess three moons will pass before you reach Rokmora. One of which will be a storm moon.”

Aisling nodded her head in understanding, eyes wandering around the fox’s cottage.

“If there are any supplies you can spare us for the journey, we’ll repay you tenfold upon our return.”

The fox hopped off his seat, dropping the frog and spreading his arms.

“Of course, of course, mo Lúra ,” the fox said.

He blazed through the cottage, collecting armfuls of leather flasks, herbs, dried meats, breads, pelts, ropes, and more until neither Aisling nor Lir could see his face for the mountain of loot in his arms. The fox organized the supplies and divided them into sacks that would latch onto Geld’s saddle as they rode. At the end of the hour, Geld was decorated in the fox’s collection. The fox had even tied garlands of four-leaf clovers around the stag’s antlers for good fortune on their journey.

Aisling and Lir bowed to the fox.

“Thank you,” Aisling said, taking the fox’s paw between her two hands. The fox dipped his head nobly in return, beady eyes glistening with unwept tears.

But as Aisling and Lir approached the cottage’s threshold to leave, the fae king hesitated at the exit.

“Go on ahead,” he said, tipping his head in Geld’s direction. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Anduril buzzed hotly, but this time, Aisling’s curiosity masked the belt’s protests. She watched closely as Lir sank back into the heat of the cottage and began whispering with the fox in Rún. She couldn’t understand nor hear his voice properly over the screams of the storm, but she inclined her head toward them regardless.

The fox watched the fae king speak with familiar intensity. Of what they spoke, Aisling was still uncertain, but she was determined to find out eventually.

The sorceress, at last, turned and slipped into the rain.