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CHAPTER LIII

AISLING

Aisling and Niamh slipped out of the forest and into the meadow where the great gate stood. The gateway to the Other and the mortal plane. A behemoth dream tree split at the center where water rippled vertically. Already the dream tree was infected with the grin. Her clann was close.

“Destroy this one,” Niamh said. “And all others will collapse. Including Leshy.”

Aisling nodded her head, flying off the stag with the Goblet in hand. She stared up at the gateway, at the cool, peaceful night, and her stomach rose into her throat.

The stars gleamed down at her, smiling sweetly and curiously.

“What now?” Aisling asked, facing the end of everything. The gate was a giant, looming above her ominously. Challenging her to destroy it fully and completely.

“Take a sip,” Niamh said.

The sorceress, the faerie, the mortal princess looked up at the star-beaded sky. The last storm moon shimmered between curtains of rain, considering Aisling with intention. It’s draiocht calling to the Goblet and inviting its power.

In the roar of the storm and in the light of the moon, Aisling brought the Goblet of Lore to her lips.

Aisling drank tentatively at first and then in great gulps. It tasted of rich plum syrups and bubbling jinxes. Of sorcery and magic incarnate. Her stomach tumbled madly as every word was another step closer to either her ruination or ultimate victory. She’d known the consequences would be cosmic and her own life was at stake. But for the first time, she’d tasted the reality on the lip of the Goblet.

“A sacrifice is demanded: one made of the self,” Niamh said. “The Forge demands blood.”

Aisling’s attention followed Niamh’s line of sight, landing on a serpent coiling tightly around her ankle.

Aisling’s stomach dropped.

Lir’s ruthlessness was but one of the various characteristics Aisling admired of the Sidhe king. One she intended to master as she aged into eternity. Yet, she’d found time and time again, whenever her own ruthlessness was tested, that such a sacrifice was no sacrifice at all. Her bloodthirst wet her tongue and coaxed her arm forward till the serpent hung from her hand, biting her fingers and struggling to keep hold of Aisling. Like the sting of coin bees, its fangs sank into the scars she’d earned burning Danu’s nettle from inside Lir.

The Other leaned closer. So she lit it aflame and watched as it hissed and squealed, shriveling until it, at last, released Aisling and was swallowed whole by flame.

Niamh grinned ear to ear, her fangs sparkling. “By the Forge, I pray thee laurel the worthy in garlands of glory and damn the unworthy.”

The Other heaved with great satisfaction, tasting her blood.

Aisling , it spoke.

The Goblet was hers.