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CHAPTER XL

AISLING

Aisling hid in the mist, stepping over corpses and puddles of blood.

“Come out, come out, sister,” Starn continued to call. His voice carried a cruel smile—as if he relished the torment her eldest brother had a penchant for inspiring.

Aisling saw the glimmer of his phantom blade, dancing across the main deck in search of her. It swept through the mist and cut past the Unseelie hunched over a body in a mass of wispy white and teeth.

“Aisling,” he called for her. His voice accompanied by the screams, groans, and whispering of both mortal man and Unseelie.

Aisling sucked in a breath. Her iron fists were growing heavier by the minute and her head throbbed. Nevertheless, her adrenaline quieted her pains—the taste of revenge in the air renewing her might.

“You always lost at these games,” he said, his voice closer this time. Aisling tiptoed across the deck, cringing at the occasional clank of her chains dragging behind her. “You never could stop giggling when you were meant to be hiding.”

Aisling crouched behind three barrels pressed against the wall of the fore-deck.

“The anticipation of being caught was almost as satisfying as the hunt itself,” she said, gathering the loose chains and bundling them in her arms.

Between the mist, Aisling saw Starn’s silhouette. He paused at the sound of her voice, cocking his head to the side to gauge its direction. The phantom blade following suit.

“Did you always know?” Starn asked. “Did you always know you’d meet this fate? Did you always anticipate betraying your túath? Your blood?”

Aisling perked up, ensuring she’d heard correctly.

“Betray my túath?” she repeated.

Starn cut more quickly between the mist, slicing through another Unseelie that blocked his path.

“To think I admired you the day you wed yourself in sacrifice to the fae,” Starn spat, drawing closer to her. “The way you embraced your duty to mankind despite yourself.”

Aisling’s heart twisted.

Admired .

How many years had she longed to be recognized by her clann? How many years had she thirsted for that very word to spill from her clann’s lips? How desperately she’d craved their validation, the recognition she wasn’t as inept as she’d felt all her life.

“Be honest with yourself, brother,” Aisling said, her voice stronger and more leveled than she anticipated. “You were not glad of my sacrifice. You were glad to be rid of me.”

Aisling unfurled from where she crouched behind the barrels and darted toward the opposite side of the ship. And with her chains tangled in her arms, her progress was much quieter.

“I loved you,” Starn said, his voice different. Aisling searched for him through the mist, knocked to the ground by four or so mortal crewmen fleeing from the Unseelie. They’d seemingly materialized out of nowhere, knocking her off her feet and leading the Unseelie right toward her with the crash of her chains on the floorboards.

The creature loomed over her, sniffing her like a hound.

Aisling resisted the urge to scream lest she led Starn right to her. The mist cackled, studying Aisling more closely. The sorceress couldn’t wield her draiocht with her hands cuffed in iron and bore no blade to defend herself. The mist opened its mouth—or what appeared like a mouth—twinkling with a collection of sharp fangs. It inhaled, moaning to itself before chomping down on Aisling. Yet, the timbre of the creature’s voice sounded…familiar.

Danu.

The empress of the dryads was searching for her and…and…Aisling couldn’t remember who else the empress searched for alongside Aisling––a gap in her mind that grew the more she tried to remember. Aisling knew Danu was eager to dethrone the Sidhe king of the greenwood, Lir, and lead the Unseelie herself. Perhaps it was his name that evaded her.

Aisling shook her head, gritted her teeth as the mist leaned in closer, tangling itself between the knots in her matted tresses. Aisling could smell its draiocht , more so than most Unseelie. This was an emissary. A messenger on behalf of the empress.

Danu had aligned herself with the Lady in some capacity, their shared hatred of Aisling, binding their cause.

Aisling clenched her jaw and slowly grabbed the chains once more. The ship jolted to the right, Nemed throwing the ship to its side to avoid the edge of the city.

The mist twitched, too distracted by Aisling’s perfume to notice her iron fists clumsily collecting the chains once more.

“Aisling,” Starn called.

Aisling leaped to her feet, swinging the chains attached to her iron fists. The chains launched forward, their iron cutting through the mist that’d cornered her. The Unseelie screeched, bleeding black before it evaporated entirely.

Aisling enjoyed a single breath of victory before Starn appeared between the sheets of white.

“I loved Aisling,” Starn said, expression void of emotion as the fog brushed his cheeks. “And you destroyed her.” Starn held Aisling’s eyes. “Nevertheless, justice prevails. I’ll savor your death the way you savored my sister’s.”

Starn’s phantom blade winked at Aisling beside him. The crown prince nodded his head once and the blade shot toward Aisling.

Aisling staggered back, raising her iron fists to block the strike.

Yet, the blow never came.

Aisling opened her eyes the same moment two blades crashed against one another. They rang out, piercing her ears and sparking.

Starn’s phantom blade whacked into the side of the hull, followed by another: an axe, warped by the woodland.

Aisling lowered her arms, both she and Starn’s attention shooting toward a figure between the mist.

Taller than any man Aisling had ever laid eyes on, he was breathtaking. Battle-dark hair falling into eyes possessed by forest dreams and nightmares alike. His pointed ears and tattooed throat were bejeweled by wild gemstones and freshly cut gold chains. His cologne was heathen’s magic: unadulterated and ladled from the heart of the Forge itself. His every breath, haunted by the collective susurration of the oaks, the yews, and the alders.

Lir.

His name scraped and clawed through the walls in Aisling’s mind, pounding at the gates to be let in. Anduril stayed quiet this time, chained by the iron that suffocated all magic.

The Sidhe king’s axe hit the hull but immediately spun back, flying toward its keeper. Lir caught the spinning blade deftly, never taking his eyes off Aisling.

“I believe you have something that’s mine,” Lir said, eyes flicking to Starn.

The depth of his voice flooded through Aisling, river-black and laced with the foam of its rush. It carried the familiar Sidhe accent, aged like wine for over a millennium.

The Unseelie still hovered at the periphery of the ship, but Aisling could now smell their fear—teeth chattering, mouths gaping, they shuddered from the Sidhe king.

To Aisling’s surprise, Starn smiled.

“You’re as punctual as ever, fae,” Starn sneered.

And as if prompted, the ship slowed, and Aisling heard a familiar “stomp and drag” in the silence that followed such violence. The rest of the mortal ships were silent and dark, rocking along the current aimlessly as ghostly galleons.

Nemed limped toward them through the fog on his iron prosthetic. His violet eyes glittered knowingly, soaking in the sight of the legendary dark lord standing on his very ship in the Silver Sea.

“How I’ve longed for this moment,” Nemed said, nodding his head toward Lir in greeting.

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Lir said, the tilt of his head arrogance personified.

There was something so familiar about the way he moved, spoke, looked at her. She was pulled to him by an invisible current, threatening to drown her at the edge of the rift should she resist. Yet, her mind cloaked any memory they shared.

Nemed scoffed.

“On how many battlefields have we met, mo Damh Bán ?” Nemed asked, stepping closer. He said his Sidhe title mockingly.

Lir rolled his neck.

“I haven’t been counting,” the Sidhe king said.

“We could end this now,” Nemed continued. “Let us, high king to high king, end this now. The Aisling you wedded is no longer. She’s been replaced by something insatiable and uncontrollable. Any hopes you or the Aos Sí have of mastering her abilities is both fruitless and futile. There was a reason Aisling was never given a blade, a key to Tilren’s gates, or a crown gods forbid. She is reckless, wild, and the creature that devoured her is worse. She will ruin the Aos Sí and the mortals alike. Surrender, mo Damh Bán . Surrender and return to your caves to lick your wounds.”

Lir grinned, ear to ear. His fangs sparkled despite the gray-clad skies.

“For a millennium I have cut through mortal legions, wept over my slain kin, and shielded Annwyn from your fires. My wings have been ripped from my back, my skin burned; iron swords have been pulled from my chest. And by far, the worst of my suffering has been dealt not by the hands of humankind, but by your daughter.” Lir’s eyes flashed to Aisling. “And I’ll happily forsake those millennia,” Lir said, “for her.”

Aisling’s eyes burned. Her tear ducts smoked. She wasn’t certain why or for what reason but her draiocht flailed inside, roaring and scratching to be released in the presence of this Sidhe king. She felt it powerfully, wildly, insatiably. His words tangling roots around her heart until she couldn’t stand its feral beating.

Nemed and Starn exchanged a knowing glance, lips curling.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t surrender,” Nemed confessed. “But as a gentleman, I had to, at the very least, offer you an alternative to suffering.”

Lir licked his fangs.

“Is this our cue to fight to the death?” the Sidhe king asked, spinning the haft of his right axe in his hand.

“Not quite,” Nemed said. “You’re going to lead us to the gateway between our realm and yours and then you’re going to help us carve the curse breaker from your bride’s heart.”

Aisling was almost knocked off balance.

Bride.

Bride.

Bride.

Anduril was quiet, his voice smothered by the iron and unable to contradict the feelings spiraling inside her chest.

Lir’s eyes flicked to her. They shone inhumanly, spilling over the brim with shadowed draiocht . But for a breath, something heart-wrenchingly vulnerable swept his expression, rendering Aisling weak at the knees.

Why couldn’t she understand? Why couldn’t she remember? Only a few days ago, everything had been clear. Now the past, the present, and the future were muddled. Faces and voices fighting for attention in her mind, all claiming to speak the truth.

“So, the Lady has filled your minds with fantasies,” Lir said, his voice betraying nothing.

“You cannot lie, fae, and so do not attempt to. I know the truth of the gateway and it will burn before my eyes,” Nemed said.

Iarbonel, Fergus, and Annind opened the door that led below deck. Slowly, they emerged, searching the fog for the Unseelie that shuddered there. Briefly, Aisling locked eyes with Iarbonel. He dropped his gaze almost immediately––he, Fergus, and Annind, swallowing at the sight of the Sidhe king aboard their ship. They each carried a weapon, perhaps prepared or afraid of what they’d find above deck after the Unseelie onslaught.

“We’ll see,” Lir said.

Nemed nodded his head, and all four brothers swarmed the Sidhe king. Starn’s phantom blade swung for him, gliding through the air masterfully.

Aisling smoked madly, further veiling everyone’s sight as they sprang. Yet, Lir slipped between Aisling’s brothers and their blows with ease, throwing his axes at Aisling instead.

The axes cut through the air like a sparrow.

They struck Aisling’s iron fists with alarming accuracy, splintering the metal like nothing had before. They shattered and clattered against the ship’s deck.

Aisling’s draiocht burned, wasting not a moment to rise up her throat and into the world. Aisling exploded into flames, the iron fists blasting off her hands.

Lir dove for her, recklessly taking hold of her flaming body, able to withstand her draiocht in a way he couldn’t before their consummation.

Consummation . The image of his mouth on her neck, her palms on his muscled abdomen, his need entering her slowly and fully, lit her thoughts on fire.

Aisling’s mind was ripping in two, memories bubbling to the surface before popping and disappearing. Anduril woke then, the chains removed, desperately making up for lost time. The belt shone brightly, burning her flesh and begging for attention.

Nevertheless, Lir held her tighter as he flung them both off the ship.

They flew over the edge and into the waters. Immediately, the Silver Sea extinguished her draiocht . Lir pulled her through the mist, hands around her waist as he swam, diving deep below the surface of the water, gritting his teeth for Anduril’s ringing.

Aisling looked back only once as they escaped. And only once did she see her brother’s, Iarbonel’s face, staring after her through the sight in his crossbow.

He had a clear shot. Aisling was still close enough to be stopped, and Lir’s hands were wrapped around her and not his axes.

Aisling held her breath, waiting for the iron bolt.

Iarbonel lowered the crossbow, removing his finger from the trigger.

“ Fight us to the death ,” Aisling repeated in her mind as he disappeared between the fog. And she would.