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CHAPTER LI

AISLING

When the Other snored beneath the highest stars, Aisling woke beside Lir. Her heart fluttered, her stomach knotted, and her mind spun, her body resisting the urge to wake him and let him enter her once more. But there was no time.

Lir held her tightly in his sleep, so Aisling slipped from his arms carefully not to wake him. She tiptoed out of the fae king’s rooms and wandered Castle Yillen’s halls.

That evening, a gown lay waiting for Aisling atop her pelts. Bane-black, the dress was breathtaking, whispering like a chorus of shadows to be worn. Aisling held up the gown, ellwyn petals slipping off its folds the moment the sorceress raised it.

“ Mo Damh Bán had it made for you before Imbolc ,” Gilrel said.

A murder of silver-eyed ravens took flight in Aisling’s stomach, admiring the gown more closely. Ribbons of black hugged the bodice of the dress, cut flatteringly beneath the breasts. Sigh-soft pleats of sheer chiffon wrapped around its center till they reached the deep, drop waist “v” at the hips; the same delicate material of her sleeves, beginning below the shoulder. Both sleeves hugged the arms, flaring at the elbows and sweeping the floors, the grass, the lakes. A gown of this beauty should taste them all at least once. And from the hipline, the skirts spilled like ink to the floor.

“No armor?” Aisling asked.

Gilrel shook her head. “No, mo Lúra . Only Sarwen. To wield the Goblet, you’ll only need what’s inside.” Gilrel placed a paw to her heart. “Let me help you dress.”

Aisling slipped into the gown, aided by the pine marten’s diligent fingers. Her handmaid laced up the back, strapped Sarwen to her gown, and dabbed her lips with crushed cherries.

Aisling took one last glance at herself before exiting her chambers. Her violet eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks hollow—a wolf’s bite in her expression.

And so, the moment Gilrel slipped out the door, Aisling secretly did as well.

Barefoot, Aisling relished the cool stone beneath her feet.

Aisling hugged the Goblet of Lore between her arms, careful not to spill a drop as she traveled.

She held her breath as she snuck past the guards, as she tiptoed past the toads sleeping in the library, and skulked past winged Sidhe yet to find their chambers for the evening.

The faerie moved quietly and nimbly, eager to make it before the sun peaked its head above the horizon and war began.

Aisling popped open another door, sliding into the corridor and closing it softly behind her once more.

“Aisling,” a voice chimed.

Aisling almost leaped out of her skin, tightening her grip on the Goblet as she turned to face whomsoever had caught her slipping through Castle Yillen’s halls.

Niamh stood at the end of the corridor, watching her closely. Her expression was somber and her eyes swollen from hours of tears wept.

“Where are you going?”

Aisling hesitated, her knuckles growing white on the stem of the Goblet.

“You cannot stop me,” Aisling replied, steeling herself. No longer did she wear Anduril, but her magic was powerful enough. That, combined with the Goblet…she could defeat Niamh if necessary.

“I don’t intend to,” Niamh said, taking a cautious step forward. As if afraid to startle a doe.

“Our interaction earlier suggests differently,” Aisling said.

Niamh flinched as though she’d been physically struck, her face falling with sadness. Her shoulder sloped and her arms hung loosely at her sides. She was seemingly ashamed of her behavior, standing before Aisling like a broken bird.

“I am—was desperate. Desperate not to be alone,” Niamh confessed. “For there is no more desperate a creature than those on the verge of losing all they value most.”

“We have a chance of winning this war,” Aisling assured the Seelie queen. “To flee, to turn around now would be to forfeit our only chance of survival.”

Niamh nodded her head slowly, still staring at the cobbles beneath her feet.

“I agree,” she said, her voice surprisingly sincere.

Aisling shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to say.

“I’ve come to aid you,” Niamh continued.

“Aid me?”

“The mortals are coming, and the gates must be destroyed,” Niamh said.

“And yet, the other sovereigns still believe in protecting the gateways,” Aisling countered.

“Aye, they do,” Niamh surrendered. “But I do not.”

“Because you’re afraid, Niamh. Afraid of being trapped, here, alone, forever.”

“Perhaps,” Niamh said. “But I also acknowledge sacrifices must be made.”

Aisling studied the Seelie queen closely, ignoring the steady rain beating against the windowpanes of the corridor.

“Is that not what you’re traveling toward now?” Niamh asked.

Aisling’s eyes flicked to the Goblet before returning her attention to Niamh.

Cautiously, Aisling nodded her head in reply. She’d taken the Goblet, intending to destroy every gateway before her father could do so. Before Nemed could destroy the Other altogether and carve the curse breaker from her chest. If her father was to win, he’d win blood and dust and ruins. And so, Aisling would destroy every gate if it meant protecting those she loved. If it meant guarding the Sidhe and the Forge from the death-bidden touch of mortal man.

“It is,” Aisling conceded.

“Let me help you,” Niamh said. “Let me help you destroy the gates.”

“Is it possible?” Aisling asked.

“I’m not certain,” Niamh replied honestly. “But it’s worth a try.”