“Lorcan?” Aisling called out, searching for her wayward companion who the banshee’s had left in the mist. “Lorcan, if you can hear me, shout!”

No response. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she pushed harder with her magic at the lingering fog that clung to her hands and clothes. It pulled at her, tugging her closer and closer to the edge.

“Stop it,” she muttered, batting at the strange magic with her own. “Enough. Lorcan! Damned cat, would you at least respond?”

They needed to leave. There was a long journey ahead. The map in her hand pointed to the next most powerful creature they could beg to help them. It didn’t say what the creature was, but she’d handle it once they got there. Only a few creatures scared her anymore.

A searing pain sliced along her wrist. Hissing out an angry breath, she grabbed the arm where the banshee had wrapped the rope. Was there more magic at work here? Would the duchess try to drain her life as payment for her assistance?

It wasn’t the banshee’s magic that she felt, nor was the rope disturbed. Instead, a red welt drew along her flesh.

“Bran,” she whispered. “What are you up to?”

Heat pressed flush to her side, and a masculine hand covered hers. “What’s he doing?”

“Damn it!” Aisling flinched back, tugging her hand out of Lorcan’s grip and pressing it against her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. Where were you?”

He pointed in a random direction then waved his hand. “Somewhere over there.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. When had he gotten so good at sneaking up on people? She hadn’t even heard his footsteps, let alone the snapping of a twig or a released breath. He’d been as silent as the grave.

Aisling narrowed her eyes. “What magic were you using? And why were you trying to sneak up on me?”

“I wasn’t.” Lorcan lifted his hands. The grin on his face said he was lying. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You know I hate it when you lie.”

“I’m not!”

Aisling lashed out a hand and caught him upside the head. “If I can’t lie, neither can you. Why were you sneaking up on me and using magic to hide your steps?”

Rolling his eyes, Lorcan stepped back so she couldn’t hit him again. “I didn’t know if the banshee had done something to you. There’s plenty of ways to control a faerie, and you aren’t exactly a weak faerie anymore.”

“Anymore?” she hissed. “When was I ever a weak faerie?”

“I’d say likely when you were a little girl.” Lorcan pointed at her wrist. “What’s that?”

“An arm.”

“On the arm.”

She looked down at the rope and shrugged. “A way to track a spell I suppose? The banshee duchess said we’d have to pool as many powerful creatures as possible into this spell. We’re off to another part of Underhill to convince the next ancient here to help us.”

Lorcan snagged her wrist and pulled it toward him. “I don’t know this magic.”

“That’s because it’s older than us and currently completely controlled by the duchess of the dead, so I would very much like to have more magic to compete with hers.”

“Why doesn’t it have yours?”

She blew out a breath. “We’re not at that part of the spell yet? I don’t know, Lorcan. I’m doing what other people tell me to do. I’m trusting someone else for once in my life.”

“Dangerous,” he said, releasing her arm. “And unlike you.”

“Well, sometimes people change.”

“Not people like us.”

The words stung, although once upon a time she might have agreed with him. Aisling and Lorcan weren’t like other people. At least, they hadn’t been in their old life.

Now, she’d seen what the world was capable of. She didn’t have to live in the shadows as a witch, trading for scraps of food in exchange for a simple spell. Bran had dragged her from that life, albeit kicking and screaming, and given her a throne. More than that, he’d given her a group of people who needed her.

Who loved her.

Aisling shook her head and rubbed the rope at her wrist. Before she could tell Lorcan he was wrong, that there was another way for them to live, the rope twisted sharply.

She stared in shock as two more knots wove themselves into the hemp. Furrowing her brows, she brought it closer to her face until she could see the individual strands of magic flowing through it.

Lorcan leaned closer as well. “Is that—?”

“Druid?” Aisling replied. “I think so.”

“Where did it come from?”

Her wrist still stung where a line had been drawn through her skin. Uncontrollably, a smile spread across her face, and it felt as though her soul lit up from the inside out. “Bran.”

“What’s he up to?”

“That’s what I’m wondering, but it seems like someone has fed something into the spell as well.”

She touched a finger to the thread and tried to send a pulse through it. If Bran was connected to this old magic someway, maybe she could get a message to him.

“That’s a bad idea,” Lorcan said, interrupting her thoughts with a finger to her forehead. “We already said we weren’t going to involve him. You know it’s too much of a risk.”

“You’ve always said not to trust anyone. Even you,” she murmured. “How do I know you aren’t the one working with Carman? That you haven’t been swayed by the hanging tree and are only working to bring me to my death?”

Lorcan pressed a hand to his chest, and for the first time since he’d turned back into a human, she saw sincerity in his eyes. “You were my very first friend, and the first person to ever look at me as though I was something more than a ragged boy in the dirt playing with spells that were too big for him. The earth would have to shift and the mountains flatten for me to stray from your side.”

A sharp edge of guilt tore at her heart for a brief moment before she remembered that he would be proud of her for the distrust. Lorcan had taught her from the very beginning to remember that not everyone wanted to help her. In fact, most wanted to hurt her. Questioning him was the first start to remembering all the things he’d taught her.

And she remembered those lessons like they were yesterday. He’d drill them into her every morning when they woke up. An hour of how to take care of herself, then learning spells, then cooking, cleaning, sparring, all the things that a little boy could teach a little girl so that she didn’t die on the street when he was gone.

He always said he was going to leave her. Even after a year or two, he’d say next winter was the time when he was going to leave. That she would have to figure out a way to take care of herself because he certainly wasn’t going to do it.

He never did. Even the times when he walked out the door, muttering how women were foolish and useless in this world, he always came back with something to eat or a new spell for them to learn.

He’d never left. Not really.

Reaching out a hand, she took his and squeezed it. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t get mushy on me, witch. I don’t want to kiss your ass, so don’t kiss mine.” He smiled as he pulled away.

Together, they strode out of the white mist and into the fields beyond.

Deep channels created long grooves in the dirt, perhaps where there was once a field. The more she looked, the more details she saw of an ancient people who had made this place their home.

An orchard stood far away. The trees were overgrown, fruit weighing down branches with no leaves. It didn’t seem possible there was anything growing on them for the trees themselves looked dead. She stepped closer. Blood leaked from the apples and dripped onto the ground.

“Don’t touch those,” Lorcan scolded, pulling her away.

“I wasn’t touching them. I was just looking.”

“Looking is just as bad. We don’t know what kind of magic seeped into the ground here. This isn’t a good place.”

“No, it doesn’t feel like it.” Try as she might, Aisling couldn’t figure out where they were. Clearing her throat, she hurriedly made her way to Lorcan’s side, trying to match his long-legged stride. “What do you think this is? Or was?”

“A battlefield.”

“It looks like farmlands to me.”

He snorted. “The perfect place for a battle, no one would have the upper hand on land already made flat by farmers for hundreds of years. You can’t hear the souls still crying out in pain? All their blood and death washes down to the banshee kingdom where their clothes will be cleaned for the afterlife. It makes sense.”

In a way, but she didn’t hear or see what he did. Instead, all she heard were the wails of the banshees lifting up into the sky and tangling with the clouds.

They traveled for the better part of the night until she felt the sun rising on the horizon, tugging at her navel with magic that boiled deep in her blood. She gasped at the first ache. A spear of sunlight had touched her arm, and she looked down to see the faint outline of raised hair changing into gossamer feathers.

“Lorcan,” she said. “I don’t have much longer. We have to stop soon.”

“You can fly.”

“It doesn’t…” Her stomach rolled, gorge rising in her throat even though she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. “It doesn’t feel right this time.”

“Aisling?” He turned, then lunged forward to catch her in his arms.

She sagged toward the ground, her legs suddenly numb. This wasn’t how she was supposed to change. Shifting into her swan form wasn’t exactly painless. It had always been easier than changing back into a human. The curse wanted her to be punished. It didn’t want to kill her.

Unless it did here.

Lorcan pushed strands of hair out of her face. “Tell me what’s wrong. I need you to focus on me, Aisling. Something is happening to you, something that isn’t the curse, and I need to know what so I can help you.”

She tried to open her mouth, but she couldn’t make her lips move. Instead, she drifted into darkness as her eyes rolled back in her head.

Aisling awoke in shadows. She opened her eyes and knew this wasn’t the place where she had been before. Her body felt weightless, arms lifting from her side without her raising them. Almost as though…

When she gasped, fluid sank into her lungs. It didn’t hurt, not here, she had felt this way before.

The faintest white glow pulsed to life behind her. The silvery touch lit the back of her hands and filtered through her fingers that cast spikes of shadows through the water all around her.

She wasn’t drowning, so she wasn’t really in water. No one had teleported her away from Lorcan. Memories rushed to the front of her mind. She’d been in Underhill, in that old blood-soaked battlefield where Lorcan heard souls screaming for help and the apples bled.

Carefully, she kicked her legs and turned to look at the light that had blinked into existence. Only a few feet away from her, the original Raven Queen floated in the water. Her white hair drifted like a halo around her head, her pale gown tangled around her like the strokes of a painter’s brush.

Only this time, the woman wasn’t trapped underneath the ice below the Unseelie castle. She floated freely in the depths of darkness, blue glowing eyes open and staring at Aisling.

“What is it?” Aisling’s voice carried through the water. “What do you want from me?”

“She doesn’t want anything.” The voice was a sip of honey mead, the pour of wine in a silent room. “She’s doing a favor for an old friend.”

Aisling spun again, and there he was.

“Bran,” she whispered.

Dark, handsome, and ever so dangerous, he floated with not a stitch of clothing out of place. Every inch the Raven King. His yellow eye whirled in its socket, the other focused on her with such intensity that she felt it to her very bones.

He didn’t move. He merely opened his mouth and asked, “Where are you?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“You can.”

She shook her head, body shaking with the need to be at his side. To explain. “I really can’t, Bran. This is something I have to do alone. To keep both of us safe.”

His face twisted in anguish. “I need you.”

The words shattered her carefully placed shield around her mind, and she floated closer. She had to. Even if she could only feel the faintest heat of his body warming the water around her, it would be close enough. “Bran, I can’t risk it. We can’t risk this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a whisper and a hymn. “I should have seen it before. I was drowning under the weight of all those expectations. You are the most important thing in my life. Let the kingdom fall to ruin, I don’t care. You come first. You will always come first.”

“It can’t be like that.” Her words choked on a gasp. “The kingdom, our people, our home has to come first.”

“You foolishly complicated woman. You cannot have both! You have to come first, my love. You will always come first.”

She didn’t know which one of them moved, but they were suddenly in each other’s arms, and heat bled out around them. Aisling hadn’t realized she’d been so cold until ice no longer existed in her veins.

His hands framed her face, and he leaned so close that their lips barely touched each other. “Your namesake is watching.”

“Then let her see how a woman should be loved.”

He devoured her lips. Pressed his own to hers until she couldn’t tell where she began and he ended, but it didn’t matter. She’d give her soul to him if he asked it.

His hands traced patterns on her shoulders and down her back. Runes of protection and love that flared to life and burned as they trickled between her shoulder blades and settled against her hips. Over and over he tasted her, branded her, reminded her why she loved him so in the first place.

She had been a cracked porcelain vase, tossed aside by the world until he picked her up and knew there was use in her yet. And he was her fallen prince, ready to launch a thousand ships should her silver tongue beg him to.

His love was a heady poison that beckoned her to do dangerous, deadly, horrible things. Things that made her dark soul want to sing.

Aisling pulled back, darted out her tongue to taste merlot darkening her flesh.

He touched a thumb to her lips, dragging it slowly away before bringing it back to his own mouth. He licked the dark droplet of wine away and then growled low and deep. “I’m coming for you.”

Aisling came to with a gasp, stretching her wings wide and letting out a cry that sounded like the hoarse cough of a wild beast. She wasn’t human?

No, of course not. The sun was high on the horizon, filtering through the dusty air. There was no place for a woman here, not yet.

“Aisling?” Lorcan asked, racing to her side where he must have laid her to sleep. “Are you finally awake?”

She nodded her long neck. Her body felt normal. She remembered the pain of the transformation, the dark dream, and her tongue still tasted wine where Bran had left his mark.

Lorcan breathed out a relieved sigh. “Thank the gods. I thought you’d died.”

In truth, so had she. Aisling wasn’t sure what that small vision had been. A dream? Some kind of connection the Raven King shared with his queen? She’d never experienced anything like it and wasn’t certain she’d like to again.

Blowing out a breath, she tucked her wings against her sides and waddled closer to Lorcan. As usual, he seemed to understand her need for connection. He ran a hand over the smooth feathers of her back and settled onto the ground next to her.

A small part of her wanted to crawl directly into his lap. She was tired. So very tired and aching, but most surprising of all…

She was sad.

Aisling burned with the need to be beside the man she loved, to live a normal life that always seemed denied to her. No matter where she was in life, witch, wastral, queen, she was still alone.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Lorcan murmured, still stroking her back in a soothing motion. “Nothing is the end, and soon you’ll be curse free.”

She wasn’t so confident. There was a lot more at play than just a curse, and she couldn’t control Carman of all people.

What did the witch queen want? Aisling tried to put herself in the woman’s shoes though she had no idea how to even begin thinking like Carman. No one knew the woman’s history, only that she’d come from warmer climates and swept through Ireland with little more than a glance. She’d destroyed everything in her path, not because they’d attacked or insulted her, because she wanted to.

Lorcan patted his hand on her head. “Come on then, just because you’re a swan doesn’t mean we cannot travel. The map the banshee gave you is a little deceiving.”

She knew he was trying to shake her out of the strange mood she was in, and Aisling was grateful for it. She shook her head firmly, forced herself to focus on the task at hand, and got back onto her feet.

The webbed toes made walking on land hard, but she’d never stopped doing something simply because it was hard. Feathers ruffled in frustration, she padded to where it seemed Lorcan had set up camp.

A small fire died in a ring of stones, wisps of smoke curling up in the air. Lorcan’s boots were piled on top of each other, ruining the leather most likely, along with some of their other belongings scattered about the ground.

They didn’t have much on this journey, she realized. Lorcan had somehow acquired a pack, likely stolen from the river, that seemed to have a few pieces of food in it.

He plopped down next to it and pulled out an apple. “Want a slice?”

Her stomach rumbled, and she honked. A knife appeared in his hands that he used to slice a small sliver off the apple, which he then tossed to her.

She’d already gulped it down and watched him eat another before it dawned on her that he was eating faerie food. She let out a panicked sound, eyes wide, trying to convey the danger he’d put himself in.

Although he was a witch, he was still human. He couldn’t eat the food without being doomed to live in the Otherworld forever.

Lorcan gave her a wry grin. “It doesn’t matter anymore, little witch. You’re here, and that means my family is here. Why would I want to go anywhere else?”

The sentiment was not lost on her. Aisling’s heart melted, knowing he’d give up his freedom, that which he valued over all else, just so that he could continue this journey without leaving her side. The man was a foolish idiot to a fault, but he was loyal.

She waddled over to his side and gave him a harsh nip on the ribs. His answering shriek of pain was enough to satisfy her before she nudged the pack and gave him a look.

“Yes, the map is in there.” He reached over her head and withdrew it. “Have a look.”

Lorcan spread it out on the ground in front of them, then leaned back to finish off the apple.

It looked no different than she remembered. An endless, vast landscape of barren wasteland that continued on as far as the map could stretch. There were no markers for distance andit looked far larger than she could fathom. Even the kingdoms were marked. Some labeled banshee, others sluagh, some even dullahan, although Aisling was surprised to find out they had their own kingdom. Most of them remained within the castle.

Lorcan let out a soft snort and pointed at a corner of the map. “It looks big, but it’s really not. That marker there is a druid note saying that the size changes. When a person knows where they’re going, the land shifts to accommodate.”

She honked in confusion.

“It’s a faerie tactic to hide things they don’t want any trespassers to find,” he replied. “Someone has to know exactly where they are going in this kingdom to get anywhere. If they know, the journey is only half a day at most, even for the outskirts. If they don’t, then it will take them weeks to find the place, maybe even months. Land is easily manipulated when it comes to druid or faerie magic.”

The last bit was grumbled as if he didn’t like admitting it. He’d always wanted to be able to do more magic than the rest of the witches but was limited by his blood.

Druids and faeries were directly connected to the land. They could tap into its magic, manipulate it, change it in ways witches could never do. Witches could control bodies in ways that faeries couldn’t even imagine. Aisling had seen black magic that could sear the flesh off a person’s bones and still keep them walking. Lorcan was just as capable as a faerie.

He just never wanted to admit it.

She tapped the map hard and looked up at him. He had to know exactly how far it was to get to the area the banshee had highlighted.

He nodded to her right. “It’s just over there.”

Spreading her wings wide in shock, she hopped in that direction before pausing. Just at the horizon was a giant tangle of brambles. A massive mesh of dead vines with deadly needles rose into the air and wickedly reflected the sun. Each glint was a reminder that any who tried to step foot in that place might never come back out.

She looked over her shoulder and honked again.

“Not a place I’m going to follow you,” he replied, then turned and punched the pack to soften it. Nestling the stolen bag under his head, he leaned back and placed the sleeve of a shirt over his eyes. “You’ll have to make this journey on your own, Raven Queen. That is one place I’m not interested in going.”

She beat her wings hard, racing at him with all the fury her form could muster. Hissing and pecking every inch of him she could reach, she rolled him over.

The swearing coming from his mouth would have made her ears burn if she’d been human. “Aisling, stop it! I’m not going with you. That’s a place you can manage all on your own. Fly over the top, find an opening, and—would you stop pecking me—get the next part of the spell!”

Another frustrated breath rang from her lungs before she stopped assaulting him. She didn’t want to go in alone. That briar forest looked like it housed a beast that would eat her sooner than listen. And how was she supposed to say anything to it in this form?

Opening her wings wide, she gestured to her body.

“Yeah,” Lorcan said with a scoff, scooting back to his bag and laying back down, “it looks like you have a problem.”

The damned man was still far too cat-like for her liking. Narrowing her eyes, she hissed and backed away from him. If he was set on staying here, then she would make him wait as long as possible. See how he liked starving while she tried to fix herself.

She kicked the pack for good measure as she passed, apples rolling from the open top and spilling onto the barren ground. Lorcan let out a shout and tried to grab her wing, but she was already racing from his side and beating the air with them.

Lifting into the sky, she soared up to the clouds.

How dare he? After all he’d said about wanting to help her, that he would never be far from her side, he decided now was the time to laze about? This forest was terrifying, hidden deep in Underhill, and likely housed something far more terrifying than the banshee duchess.

Had she said anything about it? Aisling wracked her brain for any memory of something the banshee might have let slip. Was there an animal here? She only knew that it was as powerful and as ancient as the banshee herself.

There were a lot of creatures in history that were powerful. She could list a hundred just by herself, and those were the ones that humans spoke of. Let alone all the ones that faeries hadn’t mentioned to the human realm at all.

She glided over the briar forest and stared down at the tangled nest of thorns. There had to be a way into it. A few gaps showed a path that winded through the entirety and stretched farther than her eyes could see.

How could anyone manage this?

The longer she stared, the more she realized the briar forest was a maze. Winding channels connected with each other. Glimpses of beasts waiting at the end of each tunnel struck fear in her heart. If she got this wrong, she’d definitely end up in the belly of some animal that hadn’t eaten in a very long time.

She gulped, then descended closer to the labyrinth. Gaps in the tangled vines allowed her to plan out her descent into the forest, but certainly didn’t make her feel any better.

Aisling spent the better part of the day surveying the entire landscape. Some of the long passages were safe. Glistening pools of water waited at the end, some with tables overladen with fresh faerie fruit. Others were a sheer drop hidden by magic until she got close enough to see the chasm.

Just as the sun dipped to the horizon and the moon peeked out, she found it. A small gap that must be the dead center of the labyrinth. Wasn’t that always where the treasures were hidden? The center had to be where she was supposed to go.

She carefully set herself on top of the brambles above it and pecked at the first one. It crumbled under her beak, but not nearly fast enough. This would take days in this form.

Thankfully, the curse loosened just enough that her human skin burst forth. She forced the change so hard it happened in an instant of blinding pain that caused her to cry out. A bolt of magic shot from her fingertips, sizzled through the tangled vines, and blasted them into dust.

Aisling tumbled through and landed hard on her side. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her gasping and grasping at the hard soil with clawed fingers.

There was something here, there had to be, and she couldn’t be wheezing on the ground. Coughing a few more times, she forced herself onto hands and knees, then stared around her in fear.

The center of the labyrinth was no different from the rest. Dim light glowed from deep inside the brambles with only enough to cast long, jagged shadows. Dust hung in the air, orbs of a crumbled, ancient world. Everything seemed to be in shades of gray. Charcoal brambles, ashen dirt, iron-dark corridors stretching out in a star pattern, and the faint hint of a smoke-smudged symbol in the center of the floor.

She dragged herself closer and smoothed a hand over the hidden mosaic. An eye stared back at her, the same as the tattoos on her palms. She lifted a hand and compared the two.

Hissing resounded throughout the chamber. A voice emanated from deep within the sound, barely recognizable as words, but ones she managed to pick out.

“They’re the same, aren’t they?” it asked.

A shiver skated down her spine. “They are.”

“I wonder why?” The creature inhaled, long and loud then snorted as though it was tasting the scent it had pulled through its mouth. “Witch? Queen? Strange combination for these parts.”

“I am the Raven Queen,” she said, remaining in a crouch. “I take it you are the ancient creature I’ve been sent to meet?”

“Sent?” Another sound rang out, this time a braying call of hunting dogs. “By whom?”

“The Duchess of the Dead.”

A rattling sound came from behind her. Aisling turned with an answering hiss, but saw nothing. The creature was hiding in the shadows of a corridor somewhere, she couldn’t tell which one.

The beast’s voice rose again. “Have you come to steal?”

“No.”

“To harm?”

“No.”

“Lies,” it hissed. “All come to steal or harm.”

She placed her hand down on the symbol, pressing eye to eye and feeling power surge through her body. “You scented me. You know what I speak is true. Faeries cannot lie.”

“That’s all faeries do. They tell stories, they misdirect people’s thoughts, and then they lie… lie… lie.” Its voice grew more and more ragged with every word until it descended into an unrecognizable cry, like dogs who had finally caught scent of the hunt.

“I do not.” Her voice carried throughout the corridors, echoing back upon her like a thousand women enraged that they were being questioned. “You see me, you smell me, you know I am not like the others. What more can I do to prove myself?”

And she had to prove herself. This creature was clearly the most powerful thing in the labyrinth, although she had yet to see the extent of its magic.

Her mind flashed back to the memory of Bran, of the vision he’d cast upon her. He was coming, and she didn’t have much time to figure this out on her own. She had to stop Carman from getting her claws into the Raven King. More than that, she wanted to protect the man she loved who’d done so much for her already.

When the beast did not respond, she licked her lips and shifted in a slow circle. No shadows moved with her, nor was there anything in any corridor that would suggest the creature laid in wait there. It had to be here somewhere.

“I need your help,” she said.

“So you do want something.”

“Everyone does.”

It chuckled, deep voice clamoring with the sound of countless animals. “You have no idea what I am, do you? A witch queen who cannot see, scent, or feel.”

Power crackled at her fingertips, but she stilled the reaction to silence. She wouldn’t try to threaten this beast since it didn’t seem to respond well to brute force. There was some emotion she recognized in the edge of its voice. Perhaps a vulnerability that called out to her own.

“Come forward,” she said. “I’ll speak no longer with a face I cannot see.”

“What makes you think I have a face, witch queen?” The hissed question echoed throughout the room.

“Now.” Her word vibrated with magic that seared throughout the room. The ball of magic burst forth from her lips, rocketed up into the air, and illuminated the center chamber. Light filtered out into the corridors, and for a split second, she saw a cloven hoof larger than her head.

The beast retreated farther into its corridor, hissing in anger. “Magic has no place here.”

“Are you not made of magic yourself? An animal who can speak. Cursed or naturally born?”

The hoof kicked out at her. “Questions such as these will get you killed.”

“And yet, this the question I’m asking.” She lifted her hand and whispered a word of power. Her fingertips glowed in the darkness, spreading light across the room and spearing into the shadows of the corridor where the beast lurked. “Don’t make me force you.”

The large sigh it heaved made her wonder if someone had done this before. Was it used to such treatment? Of men or women barging into its home, forcing it to reveal the form it so clearly hated?

Pity welled in her chest, threatening to overflow from her being and spill out onto the floor in soft words of encouragement. She could not allow the beast to see her weakness. Not yet, not when there was so much she needed from it first.

A cloven hoof stepped into the light, followed by speckled legs of golden amber that ended in the hooves of a hart. Though these were strange indeed, it was the face that made Aisling wince in sympathy.

The beast’s head and neck were that of a large serpent. It flicked out a tongue, tasting the air around her. Jaw opening, it hissed a long breath that ended with the sound of thirty dogs barking in the chamber.

“You’re the questing beast,” she murmured. “I thought you were dead.”

“Lies,” it repeated, head weaving back and forth as its slitted gaze watched her movements. “Mother could not let me die.”

“What part of your story is true?” Aisling asked.

“All of it.”

She’d heard the story a few times, although it was rarely told in these parts. The beast’s mother, though never named in the story, lusted after her own brother. She made a deal with the devil to change her form, seduced her sibling, and found herself with child. Her brother discovered her deception and, in guilt, confessed to the local priest. He was then sentenced to death by his own hunting hounds. The beast was the result of such a match, cursed with a monstrous form and the voice of the pack that killed its father.

Aisling shuffled away from the creature, moving toward the center of the chamber where the eyes were etched into the floor. “Your mother?”

“Always a soft-hearted woman. A shame she was so easily taken advantage of.” It stepped silently into the chamber, following her movements. “You remind me of her.” There was no softness in the words, only an ancient rage and hatred reflected in the beast’s eyes.

“I’ve never been a mother.”

“You will someday, and your child will be a beast just like me.”

She blew out a low breath. The words were far too prophetic for her liking, but they didn’t garner the response the questing beast likely wanted. “Then I shall welcome the child with open arms. I have little issues with a child who is more animal than human.”

“Lies.”

“I cannot lie. The dearest person in my life is more bird than man. Even I am more animal now.”

The questing beast lifted its head high and flicked out its tongue once more. The slimy appendage hovered over her head for a moment. Tentacle-like, it slithered just above her head and then split down the middle. Each forked end undulated before returning to the beast’s jaws.

Aisling held her breath though the movements. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she forced her muscles to lock in place. It wouldn’t intimidate her.

Like it or not, she needed this creature’s help. Although, she had a hard time believing it had more magic in it than the Duchess of the Dead. The questing beast was a forgotten legend, more lore than reality. It had faded into nothing more than a children’s story to tell in the middle of the night. What magic could it have?

“You taste of faeries,” it said on a long sigh. “You are not a faerie.”

“I am. Although, if you had asked me that mere months ago, I would have told you a different story.”

Its eyes widened. If it had ears, those might have perked up also. “A story?”

So it wasn’t so different from the faeries it didn’t like. Aisling cocked her head to the side and gestured toward the eye on the ground. “Did you think it was luck that I matched this place? I’ll trade you my story if you tell me why my tattoos are the same as that.”

“I don’t like games,” the questing beast hissed.

“Neither do I. I do very much like a good story, and I think you might be able to tell one that would entertain me. And I’m certain my story would entertain you.”

Its head shifted side to side as the beast considered her words. Aisling hoped this was the one thing that might win it over. She wanted nothing more than to get out of this labyrinth and move on. The questing beast felt very much like a waste of time. This creature was hardly sane, let alone useful in a spell that required finesse and skill.

“Fine,” it grumbled. The great body brushed against hers as it lumbered past. The fur on its hide was soft, like that of a rabbit.

She swallowed and pivoted to watch as it curled around the eye in a great circle and then laid its snake chin on the floor.

“Tell me,” it howled. The sound lifted up to the ceiling of the chamber and swept throughout the corridors.

And so she would. Aisling meandered over to its side and settled onto the floor beside it. She had no issues sitting in the dirt, even though the ash of a long-ago fire smudged her skin. It streaked her arms in black smudges and left a bitter taste on her tongue as she spoke.

Hours passed as she relayed her entire tale. She was nothing more than a forgotten thing, cast aside as a changeling who had then become a queen. It was a compelling tale, although she still didn’t feel as though it were hers. Not entirely, not yet. She was still just Aisling, a little girl who wanted her family to love her but didn’t have the faintest idea where to find them.

When she finished, the questing beast looked at her with different eyes. The pity there mirrored what she had felt for the beast only moments before she began.

“So,” it said quietly, “your mother didn’t want you either.”

Aisling thought about it for a few moments. She’d never put it into words how her mother must have felt casting aside a child that was no longer a baby. A child who loved her mother more than the world, who had cried out for help and mercy when they had left her alone in the forest where humans could find her, or wolves. “No,” she finally admitted, “I don’t think she did.”

“Why?”

Aisling stared into the creatures eyes and saw it desperately desired a reason for its own mother leaving. And though their stories were very different, she also understood that need for understanding.

Reaching out a slow hand, she gently laid her fingers on top of its front hoof. The questing beast stared at the touch in shocked, tongue flicking out to taste the air, as if she might be trying to hurt it or poison it with little more than a touch.

Aisling waited until it looked up at her again, eyes wide, before she quietly said, “I don’t think there needs to be a reason. It wasn’t a flaw in us that made them leave. It was a flaw in them, and that takes a very long time to understand.”

A wound in her heart she hadn’t realized was still open finally closed. Words stitched it shut until there was little more than a bitter ache left. Something like abandonment would never completely heal, she didn’t know the magic words for that, but this felt considerably better than it had before.

The questing beast set its head back on the floor and hissed out a long, low breath. “The eyes hide me,” it quietly said. “They keep most people away, although there is always some soldier who finds their way to the labyrinth in hopes they might appease the great sorcerers by killing me.”

“Why does anyone want to kill you?” she asked. “Why can’t they just leave you alone?”

“Because once upon a time, a man said they should. He said the world would be worse with me in it, and that man was the father of my mother. Hiding me, killing me, would wipe away his greatest shame of a daughter who didn’t listen, a son who had turned to sin, and a grandchild who was nothing more than an abomination.”

She realized the beast wasn’t as simple as she thought. The questing beast was just a person, like her, albeit one who wore a different form.

Suddenly, the spell didn’t matter that much anymore. She had been selfishly guided into this mess because she didn’t want to turn into a swan. Because she wanted a few more moments with the man she loved, but there was so much more in this world that she should have been focusing on.

The questing beast was just one of many who had been cast aside and thrown deep into Underhill so that no one would remember they were alive. She could find them. Bring them back to the castle. Bring them home.

She squeezed its fetlock, then scooted back so she could stand. “The Raven King’s castle is no longer a place where we murder, harm, or force anyone to do anything they don’t want to. Even the sluagh are finding peace there now. You are welcome within my halls, and I hope you realize we will protect you.”

“No one can protect me from my grandfather,” it said with a scoff. “He is a sorcerer, ancient and powerful.”

A protective urge rose deep in her chest. It bubbled to the surface like lava from a volcano and spilled into her throat. “You’ve seen what I can do,” she said, voice deep like thunder. “No one takes what is mine. I am the Witch Queen of Underhill, and they will fall beneath my wrath if they raise a finger toward you.”

The questing beast looked up at her with its heart in its eyes, and she saw the world hidden in their depths.

“You wish to find Carman,” it said. The words reverberated in the chamber until it felt almost as if the world held its breath in the silence that followed. “The first witch queen, and the woman who gave you all your powers in the first place.”

“She has no connection to me,” Aisling corrected. “I’ve never seen her, but she’s awakened and is speaking with my people, harming my people, and I won’t stand for it. I want to end this now, regardless of what happens to me. I won’t let her touch the sluagh again.”

The questing beast stood as well, heaving to its feet, suddenly slow and clumsy. “You do share a connection with her. Haven’t you figured it out yet? Carman was the first Raven Queen. It’s why she could never be killed in the first place. Underhill is her home because she is Underhill.”

The foundation of the world Aisling stood on shifted to the side. She stumbled, catching herself at the last moment but, of course, this all made so much more sense.

Carman was Underhill—she was the first, she would be the last. That was why she could speak with the sluagh so easily. It was why she could fight against Aisling and Bran without even lifting a finger.

It was why she had never died.

“The first Raven Queen,” Aisling repeated. “She’s the woman in the lake beneath the Unseelie Castle?”

The questing beast shrugged. “Perhaps that’s where they keep her these days. The body doesn’t really matter. It’s where her power and soul lie that you want to watch out for. Bodies are easily moved and tampered with. The soul, the magic, the essence that makes us who we are… Now that’s something that does not stay attached to the physical form.”

“Necromancers disagree with you.”

It scoffed, barking out thirty voices before calming itself. “Necromancers are parlor tricks compared to what I know. Come here, witch queen. Now that you have proven yourself worthy, I would like to offer my help.”

She didn’t know what the creature could do. She needed to speak with Lorcan. Perhaps he would have an idea of how to move forward. The Raven Queen? She had to kill the first Raven Queen? What would that even do to this land, these people?

Aisling rocked forward, caught in the stare of the questing beast. It lifted a hoof and beckoned her forward, eyes swirling with hundreds of colors she hadn’t noticed before. Step by step, she drew closer to its grasp before it reached out and dragged her forward with a long leg.

“The Duchess gave you this?” it asked.

“She did. She said it was the beginning of a spell which might save us all.”

“Hmmm.” The questing beast looked it over then ran the tip of its tail down the two new knots that had appeared after she saw Bran. “These two will help you even more than the banshee. Do you know who they are?”

“I don’t know where they came from, though I suspect they were the Raven King’s doing.”

The questing beast looked up and nodded. “There are more forces at work here than either you or I could ever understand. The first knot, the start of the spell, comes from the dead.” It traced over the first, then moved onto the others. “The second and third come from what once was.”

“The past?” she asked.

“All that once was, all the stories and the legends wrapped up into two knots that control time itself.”

Aisling stared down at the magical threads and wondered again what Bran was up to. Who had he spoken to that was so powerful they controlled the past? She wanted to try to connect with him again, to pry the information out of him, but knew he wouldn’t be interested in telling her. Not without bargaining something, and that something would be her whereabouts.

She cleared her throat then forced the thoughts out of her mind. “The Duchess of the Dead seemed to think you were the next piece that could help me.”

“I am.” It continued to stare down at the hemp rope looped over her arm.

“Will you?” AIsling asked, daring to reach out a hand and touch it underneath the questing beast’s chin. Cool scales scraped over her palm as she tilted its head up. “Will you help me?”

“What will you do with this newfound power? Once you defeat Carman, you will never be the same again.”

She’d had a feeling that was the way this would end. Aisling shrugged. “Life has never been kind to me. I had considered this quest would change me, but I won’t let it force me to become someone other than who I already am. I refuse to let power or magic make me lose my way. The path I have chosen for myself is the only path I will ever accept.”

An answering fire burned deep in the questing beast’s eyes. “Then I will help you.”

“What part of the spell are you?” she asked.

“I am what is,” it replied. “I am the pain, the disgust, and the shame that runs through the hearts of so many. I am the present and all the struggle that comes with existing in the now.”

Gods, it didn’t deserve that fate. It had been born a monster, but that didn’t make its heart impure. She set her jaw and shook her head firmly. “No longer. I will not stand by and let you linger here in the shadows while the world continues on. You will never become the past, and you will not remain stuck in this present, because time changes, the world changes.”

“Not as quickly as you think, witch queen.”

She reached out and stroked a hand over the broad plane of its cheek. “Magic comes in many forms, and if you believe, sometimes it can be forgiveness.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? My part in this spell brings more power than you may know how to handle.”

“I am certain,” she said with a nod. “I refuse to give up on you, my people, or the kingdom I have come to love so thoroughly.”

The questing beast leaned down, opened its mouth over her arm and whispered, “By knot of four, this power I store. By knot of five, the spell’s alive.”

Blinding magic, so strong it lit the entire chamber to pure white, blasted through Aisling. She couldn’t feel her body because it didn’t exist anymore. All that remained of herself was the memories of raven feathers stroking her cheek and the whisper of a man who loved her saying, “Aisling, Aisling come back!”

All the magic the questing beast had given her snapped back into the form of a woman who wasn’t her anymore. The form of a woman who was suddenly more witch than fae.

Heaving out a cough that rocked her forward, she finally relaxed and let her body sink back onto the floor of the chamber. Aisling slumped there for a few moments, catching her breath and her bearings. The questing beast laid down nearby.

The heat from its body sank into her skin. The sound of its heartbeat grounded her when all her thoughts wanted to fracture and spiral out into the ether. Even the quiet rhythm of its breath helped measure her own.

Finally, she coughed out a croaking sound that wasn’t her voice, yet was. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, witch queen. I wish there was more I could do for you than just the gift of strength. Should you reach the Witch Queen, you may draw upon my power as well as your own.”

“What did the banshee gift me?”

“All the knowledge of the dead, should you need it.”

“And the Raven King’s friend?”

“Ancient wisdom from the druids.” The questing beast snorted. “And likely a weapon that might kill Carman, potentially the rest of us as well.”

“A weapon?” Her brows furrowed. “Do I not want to kill her?”

“You should try not to. Underhill lives in her veins so, without Carman, there is no kingdom at all.”

What would happen to the faeries who lived here? Aisling didn’t have to ask. She could already see the answer written in the dust around them. They would die along with the kingdom, which had already been rotting from the inside out. Carman had made herself the lifeblood of Underhill and thus the creatures as well.

She couldn’t let them die. There had to be another way.

Slowly, achingly, she forced herself back onto her feet. The curse of the Raven Queen pressed down on her shoulders, and she realized an entire night had passed. The sun rose on the horizon, and her time here with the questing beast was nearly finished.

“How do I find Carman?” she croaked, arms stretching out and fingers spreading as feathers unfurled down her wrists. “Where I do I find the Witch Queen?”

“The banshee gave you a map, didn’t she?”

Aisling nodded before the curse swallowed her body. Somehow, the sun had risen on the horizon far sooner than she expected. She lay at the questing beast’s feet, long neck outstretched. Breathing hard, she looked up and hoped she somehow conveyed she wished it would continue to speak.

Gently, the beast slid a hoof underneath her prone form and helped her onto her feet. “There’s a burned corner of the map. That is where Carman and her sons reside.”

Aisling opened her wings and flew away from the labyrinth out the same hole where she’d fallen. A sick feeling made her shiver, but she also felt a tingle of anticipation.

Aisling hoped the Witch Queen was prepared to meet another of her own making.