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CHAPTER XXXIX

LIR

Traveling between worlds was an act of worship. One didn’t slip between realms without feeling the guttural rattle of the gods’ breath on your nape, the cosmic hum of the stars, or the vertigo of being flung like a leaf in a storm across spiritual bridges. But this time was different. Lir had no explicit direction he wished to travel. He only had someone he wished to travel toward. So, he clawed for the thread of fate that bound Aisling’s soul to his, and once he’d taken hold, he didn’t let go. His body flickering in and out of existence, bending and warping like a dream on the cusp of vanishing.

Lir woke in a bed of water, the surface glittering distantly above him. He blinked several times, allowing his mind to focus.

He tasted the water: salt, eastern spices, and rainwater churned by a forge-whittled ladle.

The Silver Sea.

A hundred or more ships bobbed close by, the shadow of their hulls like beasts surfacing for a breath of air. They reeked of iron, poisoning the waters in which he lay. But none so much as the largest ship of all at their center.

Lir swam toward the largest ship, ignoring the delirium, his blurry vision, or the ache in his centuries-old bones. He could feel the pounding of her heart, smell her perfume, and hear her heavy breath. He was close.

Lir emerged from the sea, wiping his dark hair from his eyes. Fog rolled atop the surface of beetle-black waters. It spoke manically, snapping its chops and spraying the seas with the foam that gathered at the corner of its fiendish lips.

The ceo. An Eastern Unseelie species that lacked sentience. It only wished to devour and to spread, claiming the lives of those it ate—dooming its victims to become that which reaped its life without mercy.

Lir cursed. The ceo had already skulked through the mortal village that surrounded the river in which he swam, climbing over the edge of the iron ship where he was certain Aisling was being held captive.

Lir’s draiocht growled, thrashing inside and desperate to be freed. The moment the rabbit confessed Aisling was missing, Lir had feared it was mortal mischief at play. And of course, no such mischief could be executed without the Lady’s help.

Lir fumed, unsheathing his axes and slamming one into the side of the ship. He climbed up its side, his pointed ears overhearing the screeching of those hiding below deck the moment his blades punctured the ship’s iron and wood.

He used his second axe as a stepping stone so he could leap over the edge when the time was right. For now, he peered through the railing at the fore-deck like a wolf in wait.