Aisling: A Spell Unbinding, page 15
The Ellén Trechend struck first, its serpent’s head snapping for the Fae King.
Lir stepped to the side easily, assessing the creature as though he bore all the time in the world.
The wolf, salivating onto the pitch in great globs, snarled, its muzzle wrinkling, peeling back to reveal a collection of blade-sharp teeth. So, the hawk head screeched before pecking at Lir with its beak.
This time Lir rolled to the side, gathering to his feet once more.
“Why hasn’t he struck yet?” Aisling asked, to no one in particular. Voicing her anxiety aloud.
“He’s a hunter,” Dagfin replied first.
Aisling glared up at the Roktan Prince. His jawline was sharp, clenching his teeth as he assessed the duel for himself. “He bides his time, is patient, studying his opponent before pouncing.”
Indeed, Lir paced before the creature, watching how it moved, when it was most provoked, and when he neared, which areas of its body it instinctively protected.
And although this reassured Aisling, she still cursed the small eternity before Lir at last swiped at the serpent’s eyes when it lunged for him.
The movement was so quick, Aisling almost missed it. Evidence of the onslaught provided in the form of carnage sprayed into the surrounding audience, steaming in the wintry air.
The serpent reeled, baring its fangs but the second attack was met similarly, forcing the hawk at the right to drive for Lir even as the serpent still recovered.
Lir struck for the hawk as well, but this time, the beast expected it, jutting its beak out first so its more vulnerable flesh was out of reach.
Lir dove out of the way, rolling onto his feet, and striking the center wolf that bit for his head.
The wolf howled as Lir’s ax plunged into its skull.
Dagfin cursed beneath his breath.
“What is it?” Aisling asked.
“The bones of Forged-brewed creatures are said to be near impenetrable. It doesn’t surprise me his axes broke bone but releasing the blades might be a more difficult battle.”
And just as Dagfin said, Lir struggled to release his ax from the wolf.
The Ellén Trechend roared, lifting onto its hind legs as Lir pulled for his ax. Yet it didn’t come free, taking the Fae King with it. He flung through the air, hand gripping the ax.
Aisling stood from her chair, reaching for the banister. Sweat beading her brow.
Fionn clapped. “This is more entertaining than I initially presumed.”
Aisling shot him a scowl over her shoulder, but Fionn’s smile only brightened.
The crowd boomed. Lir, at last, finding his footing atop the wolf’s head even as the hound threw its head from side to side, desperate to toss Lir off. An opportunity arising when the wolf slumped against the ground. Yet Lir stood astride, at last releasing his ax from the beast's skull.
“Why didn’t he leap off?!” Aisling asked.
“He will,” Dagfin joined her at the railing. “But like I said, he’s biding his time. Every attack from either the hawk or serpent has been reckless, their eagerness to strike making them sloppy. He’s using that against them.”
This time, Lir didn’t plunge his ax into the wolf’s skull again. He waited, watching as the hawk and the serpent lunged for him atop the wolf. Beak and fangs first, they struck the wolf head instead, blood spewing and a pained whimper erupting, loud enough to rupture Aisling’s ear drums. Lir leaped off the monster in the same breath, several stories above the ground. Too high for a normal Sidhe, impossible for a mortal.
Aisling wrenched her eyes shut on instinct, her heart in her throat. Peeking only at the sound of mass cheers and Gilrel’s hollering from the side. Lir landed like a feline, absorbing the impact with more rolls than usual before springing to his feet, both blades in hand, now soaked with blood.
The wolf’s head was felled by its other two heads. Both the snake and hawk turned to Lir, furious, but the weight of the wolf dragging against the snow made them slow and sluggish. Unable to reach Lir as he raced to the other end of the arena where Aisling and Fionn sat. The beast followed him, nipping at his heels and roaring with increased need.
Lir slid before the box and leaped onto the railing. Fionn’s guards immediately started forward, weapons poised to strike.
“There’s still a test to be won, Lir,” Fionn scolded from his chair, eyes shooting to the monster approaching. “The beast won’t hurt a soul outside the arena but it definitely won’t hesitate to kill you even if your back is turned.”
“Lir, what are you doing?!” Aisling shouted, staggering back a few paces.
Lir ignored Fionn, crouching on the railing and finding Aisling’s eyes.
“I need a kiss for good luck.”
Aisling shook her head, baffled, the monster picking up speed and defeating the distance between it and Lir.
“Don’t be a fool, brother,” Fionn chimed.
“Are you mad?!” Aisling asked, heart in her throat.
“So claim the legends,” he said, as calm as if he were anywhere else but the arena.
“You don’t have time for this!”
“So kiss me quick.” Lir grinned, pushing his hair away from his forehead and out of glittering eyes. His dimples framing the wicked edge of his smile.
Aisling glanced at the beast a few breaths behind Lir. The two heads preparing their maws to bite down and tear apart the Sidhe King. So, Aisling lunged forward and rose on her tip toes, finding Lir’s mouth and pressing it to her own. Behind her, Aisling could feel both Fionn and Dagfin bristling, the world shaking violently either by the creature a few paces from crushing Lir to death or their kiss, she was uncertain. Only that he tasted of woodland secrets, of ragged breaths between lovers, and ink-black nights. Her body thrumming with heat and need despite the tightening of the collar at her throat. Immediately, Lir noticed the strain at her neck and released a quiet, instinctual groan against her lips, seemingly forcing himself to pull away a beat before death, turning and throwing his blades in one clean sweep.
The edge of his axes punctured both the serpent and hawk, blinding the serpent entirely while leaving only one eye seeing in the hawk. So, Lir leaped down from the railing and sliced at the serpent’s throat while it writhed, leaning close enough to the ground. The hawk, however, still stood rather strong, biting at Lir without pause.
He struck the beast in the skull but this time, Lir didn’t let the monster reel. Made vulnerable, he held the behemoth down with all the strength of a Sidhe King as it made sense of the pain, the chaos, Lir roaring as he did so, moving his left blade swiftly so as not to lose his hold. The second ax sliced into the hawk’s second eye, blinding the final beast before Lir wrenched both blades from its body and hammered them down into the hawk’s skull.
There was quiet.
A silence so thick, every snowflake falling from the gray-clad skies descended more slowly, rummaging through the muck of anticipation.
Aisling’s pulse pounded in her ears. Rushed at her throat. Her body cold and rigid, bracing the banister for dear life. Until at last the light faded from the hawk’s eyes.
Lir had won.
Fionn stood slowly from his throne, arranging his robes as Lir approached their box. The spectators still shouting, shaking the entire arena with their excitement. The body of the Ellén Trechend now blanketed in a layer of snow.
And despite the first test being over, Aisling’s hands couldn’t release the railing. The intangible cord between she and Lir growing taut the nearer he drew. Her stomach flipping and her lips burning where the memory of his mouth against her own, lingered. He was arrogance personified, blood-splattered and sweat glistened, flipping his blades back into the sheathes at his back.
“Well done, brother,” Fionn clapped. “You had us at the edge of our seats.”
“I had to ensure Aisling was paying attention.” Lir’s grin widened, roguish and punctuated by knee-weakening fangs.
Dagfin shifted beside Aisling, but Fionn found the Fae King’s comments less than amusing.
“Let’s see how well she pays attention when you meet your end. There are still two tests left.”
“And the clue for the next?”
Fionn smiled.
“Nimhe.”
Chapter XX
AISLING
It snowed inside Fionn’s bedroom. This, despite the glass dome overhead, allowing the stars to spill into his ice-polished chambers. A room of pale hagwood carved with snowflakes, bears, and interlacing thorns. Floors draped in fluffy furs and his four-poster bed, blanketed in velvets, silks, and the hide of some Unseelie Aisling preferred to be ignorant of.
“His Lordship will be here shortly,” Greum said, disappearing back through the mirror from which they’d entered.
Aisling walked further into the room.
Aisling was alone with her thoughts after the hours of chaos that ensued Lir’s first victory. Her own heart still twisted and sore from the exertion of spectating his win. And if this was merely Fionn’s first test, Aisling dreaded knowing both the second and the third.
A familiar ripple sounded behind Aisling. She turned, expecting to find Fionn but meeting the eyes of a particularly small dwarven hare, carrying a tray of bulb-shaped bottles. Aisling did a double take considering them more closely even as the hare’s paws trembled.
The creature stuttered, at last, managing to speak.
“Apologies, mo Lúra, I thought His Lordship was here, but I see I’m mistaken so I’ll just—”
“No!” Aisling said, biting her tongue lest she sound overeager. Those bottles were significant, Aisling knew. “Were you delivering something for His Lordship?” Aisling gestured to the tray.
The hare nodded her head, eyes narrowing in the same breath.
“You’re more than welcome to leave it here until he arrives.”
“I really shouldn’t leave this unattended without His Lordship’s approval.”
“Greum informed me Fionn would be here any moment,” Aisling reassured her. Still, the hare seemed unconvinced.
“I’ll return later.” The hare spun on her heel, facing the mirror once more.
“Very well, I’ll do my best to convince Fionn you bore good intentions.”
The hare paused.
“He despises when those around him aren’t punctual, but his temper is no match for me,” Aisling continued, arching her brows to feign sincerity.
The creature’s whiskers fluttered, attention darting between the tray and the Not-So-Mortal Queen.
“I suppose it's the lesser of two evils.”
Aisling internally rejoiced, doing her best to mask her interest.
The hare set the tray down beside Fionn’s bed before hopping off, offering one last glance before she disappeared through the mirror.
Immediately, Aisling wandered toward the tray. Atop it were seven bottles. One forest emerald, one bone-white and frothing, one rare violet, one blue and foaming, one lusty crimson with the consistency of cream, one clear and still, and one pink as peonies. Each swirling as though recently ladled from a bubbling cauldron.
Beneath each one, words were written on parchment in Rún.
Aisling cursed herself for not understanding, swearing she’d commit to learning the divine language at a later time.
A ripple sounded behind her.
Aisling swiftly sat on Fionn’s bed, heart racing as the Son of Winter materialized from the other side of the mirror.
“You’re here early.”
“You summoned me.”
Fionn shrugged, approaching. “I didn’t imagine you’d come so willingly.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Aisling said, smoothing her words into mulled wine.
“You’re my—” he hesitated for the first time, tripping on his own thoughts.
“Prisoner?”
He frowned, the jeweled collar around Aisling’s throat, sparkling as though in triumph.
“I don’t want you to be. I want you to choose to be here of your own free will.”
“Yet this collar speaks otherwise, as well as my inability to wield my draiocht.”
Fionn stood before where she sat on the bed, impossibly tall and dressed in the same silver as his hair.
“The collar is a product of the deal struck between Lir and me. As for your draiocht, I haven’t shackled it. Merely dulled it.”
Aisling blinked before checking the abyss within where her draiocht lived in the shadows. Still, it was frozen, locked inside its cavern and waiting to break loose. Chilled to the bone.
“It’s been frozen, unable to either be woken or be wielded,” Aisling insisted, hand at her heart as though pawing for a sign of the draiocht’s life.
“The moment I sensed you stepping onto Fjallnorrian land, I coaxed it asleep for the time being.”
“You were responsible for the Fear Gorta?” Aisling asked, a shudder creeping up her spine. Remembering the way the Fear Gorta had dulled her magic.
“It would’ve attacked regardless, but I used its hunger to my advantage.”
Aisling swallowed her anger, realizing an outburst against a captor who wanted her compliance was both unwise and uncunning. She’d find a way out of his spells and collar alike, in due time.
“How is it you can steal my draiocht so?” Aisling asked, clearing her throat.
“As much as I’d love to boast such power as to limit your own, mo Lúra, I cannot steal your draiocht. Not without aid from a greater magic source of which, currently, I have none. I merely put it to sleep for the time being. For obvious reasons.”
“A magic source like Racat?”
Fionn smiled bitterly.
“Aye, like Racat.”
“Yet whatever spell you’ve cast to daze my draiocht, the Lady has used as well.”
Fionn met Aisling’s eyes, silver orbs twinkling with interest. Aisling damned the words, for clearly Fionn hadn’t known this.
“The Lady wields many spells. Far more powerful than my own. She’s been watching you far longer than you’ve known her name. Every step toward Fjallnorr is a step closer to the Lady. Her urgency to prevent you from reaching Lofgren’s rise, increasing by the hour.”
Aisling bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t realized the full extent of the Lady’s ambitions. The Lady hadn’t lied; she’d stop at nothing to tear Aisling and Lir apart. Yet Aisling needed Lir to escape Oighir.
“So why is it that my magic cannot awaken if you boast no such power? Surely your sleeping spell could be shattered with enough inspiration.”
Fionn sat beside her, closer to the tray of potions than Aisling. Still, Aisling was merely an arm’s length away from grabbing the potion parchment and pocketing it.
“Oighir and the north of Fjallnorr are potent with ice magic. It’s possible, your draiocht is still young, not yet challenged with such witchery and so frozen until truly needed. The more powerful you become at my side, the easier it’ll be to summon your power even despite the cold and sleep alike.”
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” Aisling said. She heightened her voice, doing her best to sound melancholy despite the running of her heart. If Fionn would just lean a few inches closer, she could grab the parchment atop the tray of potions without him knowing.
“I’d hoped the silence of my draiocht was a result of a greater power and not the weakness of my own.”
“Not weakness. Youth. With time, I can teach you how to surpass such limitations. With time, you’ll grow alongside me.”
Aisling cleared her throat.
“Lir taught me how to summon my draiocht to begin with.”
Fionn reacted viscerally to the sound of Lir’s name. Nostrils flaring.
“Then your teachings have been insufficient.”
The memory of Sakaala flashed across Aisling’s memory. The merrow’s lawless, lusty magic, a potent influence, in what Aisling found, was powerful magic indeed.
“I’m open to your influence,” she said, leaning a hair closer. Lengthening the curve of her neck and holding Fionn’s gaze the way Sakaala had done with Lir.
Fionn, still rigid from overhearing his brother’s name, appraised Aisling anew. His eyes darting across her expression.
“Then truly bind with me. Here and now,” he said, his voice deepening as his shoulders relaxed and he mirrored her posture. Those words rang in the air between them. A true binding. If it wasn’t a union, Aisling wasn’t certain what it was nor what it meant. How two souls could weave their fate threads into the Lady’s tapestry of their own will.
“How is that done exactly?” Aisling asked.
“It’s better demonstrated than explained.” Fionn cupped her jaw, leaning closer. “And I can demonstrate now.”
“I said ‘open’ to your influence not ‘committed.’ You’ll have to convince me to engage in any demonstrations,” Aisling said. “At least until the tests are done with.” Aisling blinked away the rage inspired by the memory of Fionn’s deception: how he and the Lady had ensnared her and almost severed the bond between she and Lir without her consent. Nevertheless, rage, anger, vengeful thoughts would only get her so far. Fionn responded to Aisling most when she was coy and eager to participate in his games.
“Is that not what I’ve done these past several days?”
“If you believe that effort enough, then you’ve lost the battle before it’s begun.”
Aisling placed her hand beside where Fionn sat, forcing herself to lean closer. Nevertheless, she still wasn’t quite near enough to snag the parchment.
“What will it take to convince you then?” He moved further into her, the tip of his nose near brushing hers as he tilted his head down. His chest rising and falling in great breaths.
“It wouldn’t be a true victory if I merely gave you the answers, Your Lordship.”
“Call me Fionn.”
“Very well, Fionn, you’ve a great task ahead of you.” Aisling inched closer, her lips almost brushing against his. Enveloped in his perfume of northern spices, of wintertide mornings, and frozen lakes.
He closed his eyes, tracing her arm with his fingertips, her shoulder, finding her neck, and pulling in for the kiss.
