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CHAPTER III

AISLING

Fionn took another step closer to Aisling, and Lir shifted, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Thief,” Peitho snarled, her face twisting into hatred. “How dare you don an artifact that rightly belongs to Niltaor and the southern Sidhe kingdom?”

The room inhaled, heads leaning against one another to better hear their muffled chatter.

“You misremember, princess,” Fionn said, unflinching. “This belt was given to Oighir on behalf of Niltaor and Lugh, one of the original Sidhe sovereigns.”

“It was stolen!” Peitho shouted, cheeks flushing with her temper.

“It’s irrelevant,” Fionn said. “The belt is what Aisling needs to spare the Sidhe and so, Niltaor.”

Peitho opened her mouth to speak but shut it swiftly thereafter, her words caught in her throat.

“A belt will find no Goblet,” Galad said, scoffing at the glittering artifact winking against the son of Winter’s robes.

“Aye, no ordinary belt could aid Aisling and compensate for her…” Fionn considered, “lesser talents. After all, the path you’ll carve to find the Goblet will be laced with monstrous guardians tasked by the gods themselves.” His eyes darted toward Sarwen in her porcelain, uncalloused hands.

Aisling resisted the urge to avert her eyes—to look away in shame or embarrassment. Physical strength, athleticism, and a knight’s prowess with a blade had always eluded her. She had scarcely lifted a blade before having wed Lir.

“But this is no ordinary belt,” Fionn said.

“Anduril is an enchanted object,” Peitho chimed through clenched teeth. “Whosoever wears the Blood Cord is transformed into a warrior of legendary prowess.”

Aisling’s eyes glittered a shade brighter.

“If I wore the belt, it would render me a proficient swordswoman?” she asked, studying Anduril anew.

Fionn smiled, watching Aisling’s expression intently.

“You’d be unstoppable,” Fionn said. “Worthy of the gods’ favor, of sovereignty, and of the Goblet.”

Aisling’s stomach knotted. Her heart took off racing. The belt rang more loudly, tearing through the fabric of the Other and swelling inside Aisling’s ears.

Aisling exchanged glances with Gilrel, Galad, Peitho, and finally, Lir.

“And the cost of the belt’s magic?” Lir asked.

Fionn hesitated, eyes darting back and forth.

“Impossible to know exactly…” Fionn’s voice trailed off.

“Then it’s no option,” Lir said, his voice booming through the hall.

Fionn took an instinctive step forward, almost a pace from Aisling and Lir, not far atop the dais. The son of Winter reached for Aisling, but Lir reacted quickly, summoning mighty roots before his brother’s boots. The marble floors cracked before they exploded, debris flying across the hall.

“Lir, wait!” Fionn called above the mayhem. “Anduril does have but one condition.”

Lir turned slightly, indicating Fionn to continue. In response, the Winter king sucked in a breath and swallowed hard.

“Lugh’s spirit remains trapped within Anduril, animating the object with desire, thought, and ambition. And so”––Fionn swallowed again––“whosoever wears Anduril will share their spirit with Lugh.”

The green of Lir’s eyes turned an inhuman black. His attention darted to Anduril, glowing hotly on the son of Winter as if eager to be removed.

“ Bind him ,” Lir said in Rún. “ Bind him and offer him to the bocanach, limb by limb .”

Fionn turned to Aisling, searching her expression. A silent plea in the pinch of his brows.

“Or to Racat’s physical body in the gorge,” Lir continued, switching tongues effortlessly, “whoever will relish his death more.”

“No,” Fionn hissed so softly, only Aisling could hear. The panic in his voice, splintering something inside her. “You provoked me!”

“Take him now!” Lir yelled, his temper growing as each of his knights hesitated. Hands on the hafts of their age-old blades, yet their boots firmly planted on the ground.

Aisling gritted her teeth, forcing herself to meet their terrified expressions. Their fae features riddled with the haunting future Fionn described. That the Lady described. That Danu described. Each and all, forewarning of Lir and Aisling’s union. Of Aisling’s inability to save them. And a part of Lir’s knights…believed it.

Galad, Gilrel, Peitho, Filverel—all had witnessed what Aisling and Lir’s magic was capable of when they were together. Immense power but also inevitable destruction. And yet, Imbolc hadn’t yet shown what a full release of either of their draiocht would look like. Perhaps, such a demonstration would be the last, Aisling realized to her own horror.

“ Take him now !” Lir shouted again, the surrounding trees groaning with his rage.

“Wait,” Aisling said as Galad charged forward first, his jaw clenched even as he bit through the paranoia. Their enemy’s words that’d slipped through the cracks of Castle Annwyn like a vine between stones.

Aisling dared not meet Lir’s gaze, afraid as any other of his wrath.

Galad grabbed Fionn—Cathan and Einri shortly behind. They pinned Fionn’s arms behind his back, thorns climbing up his legs and around his wrists.

They tied Frigg’s muzzle too, even as he clawed, and his barks were smothered. And if the belt could’ve aided Fionn in escaping Annwyn altogether, he never used it. Instead, he surrendered to Lir’s knights and looked to Aisling until Anduril broke from the son of Winter’s hips, slithering down his robes like a snake till it clinked against the marble of Lir’s hall. Aisling eyed it, compelled to approach it by its otherworldly humming. A siren’s call, enticing her nearer.

“Lir, stop,” Aisling said, at last mustering the courage to spin on her heel and face the fae king.

His expression promised violence, tattooed hands white at the knuckles. And Aisling thanked the Forge the axes crossed at his throne weren’t in his grip.

“He speaks only in mischief and tricks,” Lir said, his voice terrifyingly soft as the fog before the storm.

“And yet he speaks the truth,” Aisling said.

Lir’s face shuddered, eyes widening with the horror of Aisling’s words before he settled, once more, into quiet, shadowy rage.

He turned from Aisling and faced his throne, broad shoulders eclipsing him. This was Lir’s way of ignoring—of willing the existence of this one, tragic truth into black oblivion. A gesture that shattered something in Aisling she couldn’t quite describe. His back to her, a door slammed in the face.

“This might be the answer we’ve been searching for! My father has made use of dark spells and magic, we’ve all seen it and experienced it for ourselves!” Aisling yelled at Lir. “If we’re to survive, we must also make use of every advantage possible. At whatever cost.”

The Seelie king didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t speak. His mood thinly veiled by the groaning of the surrounding trees. So, Aisling climbed the steps of the dais, her skirts in one hand and the other reaching for Lir’s arm so she could force him to face her. Her shoulder aching from her still tender arrow wound.

Lir turned and leaned toward her, dipping his chin as though to kiss her. As though to slide his hands around her waist and pull her close. To press his lips against her own and feel the rise and fall of her breast against his chest. To run his fingers through her hair.

Still, Lir didn’t move further. Didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to. The maple leaves blooming from the antlers of their thrones, the redslips hanging overhead, the bark of every surrounding yew, and ash, and pine, and oak, bursting into flame, spoke for him. Every lick of flame rising toward the rafters with the pace of Aisling’s heart.

“The world will burn if we continue this way,” Aisling whispered, watching as he focused on her lips. “And then, we will have nothing.”

“Then let it burn,” Lir said. “Let it burn so long as you do not.”

Aisling shut her eyes, the ache in her chest budding painfully.

“Perhaps,” Aisling began, “perhaps, there’s a future where we can have everything.”

Everything .

The word hung between them, dripping with meaning like honey.

Lir’s knights held Fionn firmly in their grip, his thorns digging into the flesh of his wrists and Frigg’s muzzle the more they struggled.

“Perhaps we won’t need to choose between each other and ruling—bearing dominion over everything. Perhaps, there’s a way we can have both. But we cannot continue as we have…lest Danu, the Lady, and mankind use our recklessness—our weaknesses against us,” Aisling said. “My father is more powerful than ever. You’ve seen the smoke in their eyes, the fire between their teeth, the strength of their iron.”

Lir searched her violet eyes for what felt like an eternity, weighing her words in his mind. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, biting his bottom lip with his fangs.

“Is this what you want?” Lir asked at last. “In a few decades, I intend for your clann to perish—mortal flesh and bone no more than the ash from which they were born. On the other hand, what you covet is everlasting, and the risks…costly. If this is merely vengeance for the crimes of your father, your brother, I’ll capture them for you, bend their crowns with my bare hands, and make them sing their apologies to you through pained and gnarled voices…”

“It’s more than that,” Aisling said. “It is who I am. I ventured through the North only to discover that who I am was nothing my hands could grapple externally, but rather the feral bloom within and present since birth. Since Ina hid it there. It is a hunger born in my blood and come alive with the will of Racat. It is the oak that my seed is destined to grow into. It is the reflection I desire. The ‘me’, I desire. And I fear I’ll perish if this 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.”

Lir’s face grew shadows, and there was something animalistic in the way he studied her. He watched how her lips moved, listened to the clicking of her tongue, the sound of her blood running through her veins. A certain sadness clouded his gaze and poisoned the words that fell from his lips.

“If you continue to chase desire, you’ll be in pursuit all your life,” Lir said.

Aisling turned from him. The same sentiment had crossed her mind more than once. Aisling was indeed fearful that, like Racat, she’d never be fully satisfied. She’d once blazed through Unseelie-ridden forests, ran from the dark lord of the greenwood, escaped Fionn’s ice fortress, and burned fleets of mortal men to discover who she was. And now that she knew, she couldn’t help but seize it. Seize all her potential and never let it slip between her fingers like a dream she could wake from. The very possibility, spine-chilling.

And what’s more, Aisling feared vulnerability. Feared being subject to another ever again—capable of being sold, of being traded, of being imprisoned. And so, she’d stop at nothing to harness who Ina intended her to be and ensure her clann, the world, never made her feel weak again. Aisling would stop at nothing to witness the regret in the eyes of those who’d wronged her.

“Perhaps,” Aisling conceded. “But a wolf will never catch its prey if it ceases to hunt.”

Lir rubbed the back of his neck—a habit he’d developed from reaching for his axes even when they weren’t there, in times of need. But no blade could fight this battle for him. Once Aisling’s mind was made up, all were aware that little, if anything, could change it.

“Very well,” Lir said at last. “Whatever you covet, shall be my heart’s labor.”

And for reasons unknown to Aisling, the draiocht sealed the promise with an incorporeal laugh, punctuating Lir’s words with a finality Aisling couldn’t understand.

Aisling approached Anduril, still lying on the floor. She bent to collect it, admiring it in both hands.

The belt rang, vibrating through Aisling’s palms, up her arms, and into her chest. Her draiocht responded immediately, flickering to life like a fire stoked. Its magic filled her, reaching out and familiarizing itself with her spirit with the belt’s darkly gilded fingers. It was alive, Aisling could feel it. A heartbeat thrumming through her till it fell into pace with her own.

Slowly, Aisling clipped the belt around her hips. The belt was heavier than Aisling anticipated. And what’s more, the belt’s mysterious ringing ceased the moment Aisling took possession, followed by a ghostly silence.

Aisling shivered, every hair on her body standing straight.