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CHAPTER IV

LIR

At the edge of the Isles of Rinn Dúin, the waves of the Ashild beat against the crags without reverence to their age-old songs. Only those taught to listen to the melody of the storm, the wind, the northern cliffs could hear their sad lullabies wailing for sorrow’s sake.

Lir dismounted Flaithri and left him to stand guard between two rather self-pitying pines. Down he climbed, using the basalt columns to reach the hidden grotto where the ocean’s edge frothed like a rabid animal.

Lithely, he leaped into the waters where he stood hip deep, the leather of his belt, his trousers, his boots absorbing the foam of its freshly stirred waters.

Lir closed his eyes, listening to the Ashild’s moans. He took a deep breath, concentrating on its words and the story it longed to tell. That’s how he knew he’d find her here, in this grotto. The ancient, gravelly voice of a being whose throat had been scraped with salt for millennia.

It was perhaps one or two heartbeats before their scales glittered beneath the surface. Ivory creatures that slithered like eels, their laughter echoed by the bubbles boiling like a cauldron around Lir.

Sakaala, a powerful merrow of the Ashild, emerged. Her slimy hair plastered to both her head and her bare breasts as she skulked up the jagged rocks to fully face Lir, the end of her tail twirling seductively, eager for his admiration.

He could smell her draiocht : charms of lust, of desperation, of need that sank more than its fair share of iron ships and mortal sailors. Its texture as smooth as obsidian pearls and its voice spilling from the gaping mouths of conch shells.

“ Mo Damh Bán ,” she said, ruby lips enunciating every syllable, savoring his title on her tongue. Her pod of merrow were still dancing beneath the surface of the grotto.

“ Did you receive my owl ?” Lir asked in Rún.

“ Aye ,” Sakaala replied. “ The Ashild is swarming with mortal galleons that carry some eternal flame on their masts. ”

Lir’s mind flashed with the memory of Imbolc . The mortals had come with iron, with vengeance, and something else. Something burning between their teeth and simmering in their bellies, gurgled from the throat of shadow magic. Scull draiocht ; a practice Lir had only ever witnessed once before in all his years and for good reason. In Annwyn, scull draiocht wasn’t forbidden, but it was frowned upon. Nevertheless, the parasitic nature of such spellcasting—feeding off the soul instead of breath—was enough to deter most Sidhe from ever attempting it.

Lir bit down, his chest tight.

“ Both around the coast of Fjallnorr and all the Isles of Rinn Dúin, they sail, ” Sakaala continued. “ Yet, they stay stagnant. Bobbing on the eager crests of waves that cannot break till the autumn storms arrive. Storms capable of crushing those man-made vessels into splinters . Three storm moons will pass shortly, and then the seas will be calm enough for mortal conquest .”

“ They have no intention of waiting so long ,” Lir replied, thinking out loud.

“ What are they waiting for then ?” Sakaala asked.

Lir hesitated, despite having toyed with this very question within the forest of his mind. The mortals had been silent since Aisling destroyed the majority of their fleets in Fjallnorr, most likely rebuilding their armies and licking their wounds until they were once more prepared to strike. So, Lir and the rest of the Sidhe hadn’t expected an attack so soon—a mentality that’d cost them greatly at Imbolc .

Yet, the question remained: Why had they struck so soon after such a great defeat? And why riddle the northern seas when they could just as well attack on land?

“ I don’t know ,” Lir confessed, eyeing Sakaala carefully as she slithered off her rock and swam circles around him.

“ Then this is cause for concern indeed ,” she said.

“ These mortal fleets ,” Lir continued. “ What colors did they bear ?”

Sakaala thought for a moment, conjuring more bubbles in her wake.

“ Mortal tartans, crests, and sails from each of the seven continents; the Isles of Rinn Dúin, Centar, Bethel, Lilina, Ri, Shuilan, and Rolum .”

Lir’s heart dropped. This was no longer a feud between the northern Sidhe and mortals. The whole of the Earth was now embroiled in this conflict. And he should’ve known—should’ve anticipated quick mortal retaliation after everything Aisling had taken from them. Aisling, once the princess ambassador for their kind and now the destroyer of their people.

With hindsight, it was now obvious that not only the fire hand of the North, Aisling’s father, but the whole of humankind wanted both swift vengeance and the realization of visions: Danu’s and the Lady’s claim that mankind would celebrate a final victory over the Sidhe.

Lir bared his fangs. He’d been too blissfully distracted by Aisling over the past weeks, and even now, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the attention she stole. Was this a portion of how he and Aisling’s union would inevitably destroy the world? The Sidhe king shuddered, the draiocht of the Lady’s and Danu’s prophecies spinning through the fabric of time and space to birth a life of its own. A first cry, shrieking into the caverns of the universe. Insidiously, their words, their visions, their prophecies, were already taking root. And Lir felt powerless.

“ What will you do, mo Damh Bán ?”

Lir fixed his eyes on the merrow, coming up for breath from the depths of his thoughts.

“ Aisling will win the gods’ favor and bring an end to this within the fortnight. Long before autumn’s storms or the mortals play their next move .”

“ And then what ?” Sakaala pushed. “ Power and power and power and power. One wave rises as quickly as it breaks. No matter how often it swells and storms and the ocean churns, the waves will always break. Power is not the answer. It is fleeting .”

“ No, but it is a tool. One I’d rather have than not .”

“ At what cost ?”

“ Everything .”

“ Because you desire such ambition ?” Sakaala said. “ Or …” She paused, the corners of her lips curling knowingly. “ Because the not-so mortal queen desires it ?”

Lir flared with annoyance, doing his best to resist Sakaala’s provocations.

“ Tell me, mo Damh Bán ,” Sakaala continued. “ What is it the dark lord of the forest wants ?” The merrow flicked her tail, playfully splashing Lir. “ What is it your heart desires above all else ?”

Against his own volition, exactly what Lir coveted most was summoned to the forefront of his mind. Violet eyes and raven-black hair filling him to the bone with the flames of fathomless longing. With obsession. He, spellbound by her courage, her ambition, her will. By the savage, wild magic her smile conjured. The way her body moved when she danced after too much wine. The way she glanced at him when she believed him unaware. The personification of a prayer turned poetry, sung to those whose soul bled darkly.

Before Aisling, he’d wanted power for the sake of Annwyn; the legacy of his mother and father. A child for the sake of Annwyn. He’d wanted the extinction of the human race. He’d wanted the fire hand’s blood at the edge of his axe. The wings Danu had ripped from his back, returned. And while he still yearned for— needed ––all of those, there was something else— someone else––that’d become a priority.

A part of Lir could’ve blamed this shift on his and Aisling’s consummation. Magic two caeras shared that bound them tightly by threads of fate. But the Sidhe king was more honest with himself than that. His utmost desires had changed long before then. Perhaps when he’d first set eyes on a mortal princess beneath a crimson veil.

“ Mo Damh Bán ?” Sakaala, once more, burst the enchantment. Lir whipped his attention toward the merrow.

“ Keep an eye on any and all mortal fleets, especially those closest to any Sidhe kingdoms ,” he said, redirecting the conversation. “ If anything changes — if there is any movement at all — send a message to me .”

Lir turned, climbing back toward Flaithri and out of the grotto.

“ Very well, mo Damh Bán ,” Sakaala said, bowing her head.

“ And Sakaala ,” Lir called out before the merrow submerged again, “ there’s a new village being built off the coast of Aithirn. They’re new to the land and haven’t yet become acquainted with the legends that might’ve otherwise advised them against building a coastal community. Feel free to indulge in those waters .”

Compensation for Sakaala’s efforts that undoubtedly endangered the aquatic Sidhe.

The merrow grinned, ear to ear.

“ Seliac niv lenelle santi lelluna, te mes crai sen shetek duachte my frei lewen, ” she said.

Despite bitter winter and its formidable blade, even death’s knee will bend to the bloom .

A bidding of good luck the Forge knew Lir needed.

* * *

Lir and Galad descended the spiral staircase, greeted by a chill far more potent than even Castle Annwyn’s dungeons were accustomed to. A century-old badger guided them through the dimness, carrying a lantern of brightly glowing flower bulbs that shuddered with the cold. The hoop of keys, dangling at the badger’s belt, jingled every step further into the abyss.

“ I thought you bespelled his draiocht ,” Galad said, eyeing the frost that stuck against the stones and their coats of moss.

Lir worked his jaw. “ Aisling requested the enchantment be broken. If it were my decision, my brother would’ve suffocated under such spells the night of Imbolc .”

Galad grimaced at the ice glazing the steps thickly now.

“ It isn’t like her ,” Galad continued. “ She’s usually more… ”

“ Merciless ?” Lir asked.

“ Unforgiving .”

Galad, Lir, and the badger exchanged glances.

“ Fionn is a tool for Aisling ,” Lir explained. “ And if Aisling is anything, it’s clever. She’s well adept at compartmentalizing her feelings to find an advantage in favor of her ends. Something more of the Sidhe, including myself, would do well to mirror if we’re to rewrite prophecies .”

Galad nodded in understanding, opening his mouth to speak but thinking better of it. The winter Lir’s dungeons were now possessed with, was more than enough to herald Fionn’s growing presence. For wherever the air grew cold, Fionn would be listening.

At long last, the badger shuffled onto sheets of ice in the pure dark, nothing but his lantern to shed light on the wooden boat, frozen where the pools of a cistern once rippled. Pools bewitched by Angharad, a water nymph from Niltaor, who Bres—Lir’s father—commissioned to enchant the waters so that whosoever stood within their depths, suffered from a mind lost between clouds, a soothed spirit, and an eagerness to both stay and rest. A brew one yawn short of a sleep potion. However, such draiocht was petrified by the same winter that froze a forest solid.

Lir reached for a nearby flower. He blew against its petals once, twice, thrice.

The flower’s petals floated away, multiplying into billions of new buds, brightening the room till the impression of daylight was given and all could be seen.

Colossal pillars, carved in the image of bucking stags carried the barreled, mosaic ceilings on their antlers. They protected the willows that grew upside down, branches plunging into the waters of the cistern and forming various cages with their limbs. Here, in Castle Annwyn’s dungeons, prisoners would rot waist-deep in both the pitch dark and Angharad’s enchanted waters.

Yet, the behemoth willow—that caged the son of Winter at the far end of the cistern—was frozen solid. Now, it resembled an ice giant’s hand, punching down to protect Lir’s elder brother from the summer green of his forest kingdom. Fionn and Frigg were shielded between the giant’s fingers.

Lir buried his irritation and Fionn’s silvery eyes twinkled with interest, his chin lifting the moment Lir and Galad’s boots set foot on the ice, forgoing the boat they would’ve once sailed to access each cell, and approaching on foot. The badger was shortly behind.

“ I expected to see you sooner, brother ,” Fionn said, listlessly reclining on jagged ice as though it were cushions and pelts. He didn’t move, didn’t so much as stand, the image of a king interrupted whilst relaxing in his throne room. Yet, the hollows of his eyes betrayed him—the hungry curve of his lips when he flashed his fangs.

“ How long has it been ?” Lir asked, feigning sincerity. The other prisoners they passed, nothing more than piles of bones, half-submerged beneath frozen waters.

“ Three days give or take ,” Frigg snapped.

“ When Aisling convinced you to let me aid you both and the Sidhe at large, I didn’t realize that meant my accommodations would remain those that once imprisoned me ,” Fionn said.

“ And after three days in these dungeons, I anticipated more enthusiasm at our arrival .” Lir stopped a few paces from Fionn’s cell. Galad and the badger following suit.

“ Let’s see .” Fionn, at last, straightened, studying Lir and Galad more closely.

“ Your hands are empty. So are your pockets stuffed with fog pastries, yule gelatin, or twelfthtide rolls ?” Frigg asked.

“ If not ,” Fionn added, “ then our indifference at your arrival is better exchanged with the disappointment you aren’t your caera .”

Lir grinned, flashing his fangs like a wolf before it bites. That familiar, warm shadow spreading beneath his skin with violence.

The Sidhe king crouched beside the cage. Now, he met Fionn’s stare where the son of Winter sat, lazily unsheathing one of his axes and lodging its blade into the ice beside him in the same movement. The cistern juddered with his strength. “ So, tell me what you have planned .”

“ I’ve said it before, yet I’ll say it again: my plan is the same as yours ,” Fionn replied, dusting the chips of ice from Lir’s axe off his shoulder.

“ A death wish then ,” Galad said.

“ To prevent Danu’s and the Lady’s visions from manifesting ,” Fionn corrected, holding Lir’s glare. “ If you’re thinking what I’m thinking …” He smirked. “ I was the Sidhe’s and all of the Other’s best chance at ensuring the mortals’ defeat once and for all. That their prophecies never came to fruition. Yet, as the Forge would have it, now we’re left with you and must make do with the spells dealt, lest all our skulls rest on iron pikes a decade from now .”

Lir studied his brother, listening for signs of deceit. Of word play, of charms, or vulnerabilities. The light of his eyes was so like their mother’s—Ina’s—it was terrible. Painful to behold and more torturous to recognize.

“ I cannot rewrite a loss ,” Fionn continued, “ but I can still endeavor to never repeat one. As of right now, you and Aisling bear sovereignty over the twelve Sidhe kingdoms and the Unseelie as both wielders of Racat and rulers of Annwyn. Despite our differences, I’d say—given the current climate—you’re better positioned to prevent that which is the death of the Sidhe, of Oighir, and of myself. So call it self-preservation, call me your fair-weather friend, but, by the Forge, let us put the past behind us .”

Lir straightened. Unfurling from his crouch, he lifted his axe from the ice and rested it on his shoulder.

The badger, Galad, and Fionn all hung on Lir’s every breath. Aisling had chosen to accept Fionn’s aid to defeat a common enemy, but nothing was etched in stone nor any bargains sealed.

“ I’d rather not ,” Lir said flippantly. “ But I’ll honor Aisling’s choice regardless .”

The Sidhe king turned and started back across the cistern. Fionn’s expression flashed with panic, before swiftly collecting itself.

“ You’re expected in the great hall by dusk ,” Lir called back, Galad and the badger on his heels. And as the dark lord crossed the threshold to ascend the stairwell—Fionn and Frigg staring up at him—the flowers dimmed and the dungeons plunged into oblivion once more.