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CHAPTER LIV

LIR

Lir left a trail of ellwyn in his wake as he ran. As he shifted through the oaks, jumped over the stones, raced through creeks, and dove out of the forest.

His lungs burned, his heart whipping inside his chest with desperation. He looked over his shoulder, ensuring she wasn’t there. He was alone, cutting through the Other like spring breaks winter.

The oath he’d sworn to Aisling, scalding his skin and singeing his tunic where it throbbed.

At last, he heard the drums of the draiocht beating, the horns blowing, and the vibration of the Goblet thrumming through the earth and through his boots.

His mind flashed with the image of Aisling in a crimson veil. With her hands wrapped around his axe nailed into the earth. With her expression the moment she learned his name, and the sound of it when she’d spoken it for the first time. He saw her before the trow, the Cu Scath, the fomorians, Danu…He saw her on her stag after he believed her dead. He saw her escape Castle Oighir, stand before Racat at Lofgren’s Rise, he saw her breathe fire. He saw her in everything and couldn’t remember anything before her. He had to stop her—to save her from herself. The world would burn, and he’d let it spare her. He’d do anything for her.

Whatever you covet, will be my heart’s labor.

Lir hesitated, his boots catching on vines he hadn’t noticed in his desperation.

A faerie and her knight.

The memories swarmed his mind.

“Are you trying to corrupt me?” Aisling asked.

“No,” Lir replied. “I’m trying to show you, you already are.”

Lir closed his eyes, pushing back tears. He realized it all at once, his heart pushing at his chest to be released.

Aisling and Lir were not caera . Only Lir and Narisea were. That was why Lir was able to wed both without killing either; Aisling was something different to him entirely.

Ina had never intended for Lir to be Aisling’s lover. He was her protector. Her guide. Her strength as she spared the Sidhe from the destruction Ina foresaw. The love he felt for Aisling was not a product of magic or fate or threads of destiny.

It was his and his alone.

Lir was a wolf, cutting through the forest. He was too far. He couldn’t make it in time. He wasn’t moving quickly enough.

The woodland parted, forging a path for him. Yet, no path, nor passage, nor spell could deliver him quickly enough to the gateway. His knights on his heels. The Other’s breath rattling through the caverns of the Forge as fate unspooled.

To make his feet light and his pace quick, Lir released his fear of the end. He released his fear of loss. He released Aisling. And Lir let go.