“May the goddess bless you,” the sluagh murmured.

“And you, my sister.” Aisling reached for the thin, wooden bowl the bird-like creature held out. She sipped the sweet tea. Honey, lavender, and periwinkle burst on her tongue, the flavors focusing her mind and easing the tension in her spine.

She’d gotten into the habit of performing this calming ritual with many of the sluagh each evening. They were a naturally restless bunch. The desire to grow their ranks nagged their minds, and Aisling had found distractions were the only thing that helped ease their torment.

Many of the sluagh souls used to be human. She’d discovered quite a few remembered their past lives, although most weren’t happy lives to remember. Those who were involved in the rituals had some form of magic in their previous lives. A few of them were witches, some were women who had wanted to be witches, and others were simply pleased to have a new distraction.

The sluagh in front of her was a quiet female. Her face had recently warped into the bird-like beak that marked her people. The dark bone split her face in half, skin peeling back as though she was shedding. Aisling remembered her face from only a month before, a rather haggard human face, but still clearly female and a new soul gathered by the sluagh. The only feature that looked familiar now was her eyes. The change appeared painful, and yet, the sluagh had all assured her they couldn’t feel the transformation.

The creature‘s body had darkened to a dusky gray, lifeless and dull. Flaps grew from her wrist to her waist, creating a wing-like appendage that folded in rest. Like most of the sluagh, she’d given up on wearing clothing. Her breasts hung limp, skin sagging and body lacking any sense of fat or muscle. She was bones contained by flesh that slid over them like molten lava.

Her hand was steady when she reached for the bowl. “Go with happiness, my queen.”

Aisling reached out and ran her hand over the sparse hair on the top of the sluagh’s head.

The female stretched like a cat, pressing her head into Aisling’s palm. They were rarely touched, even by each other. They found themselves disgusting, and many had expressed their concern at having Aisling touch them at all. She was too precious, their Raven Queen. She shouldn’t be touching something so tainted by dark magic.

Each time, Aisling showed them the eyes on the palms of her hands and reminded them that she, too, was born of dark magic.

She passed by the sluagh and ducked into the cave where the rest were waiting for her. The long train of her gown slithered behind her. Black lace scratched along the stones while the inner lining of silk softened the sound into a melody of movement.

Her heart gave a squeeze of happiness the moment she cast her gaze upon the ranks of the sluagh. They sat with wings folded, claws gently placed on their knees, in a large circle around a pit filled with faerie lights. It was a picture of relaxation and restraint. She couldn’t have been prouder if they had started turning back into the human souls they should have been.

Aisling walked to an open spot in the circle and settled between two of the leathery creatures. The one on her right, a youngling if the smoother skin was any indicator, shifted its pinky just enough to graze the black lace of her dress. She suppressed a smile, placed her hands palm up on her knees, and let her eyes drift shut.

Lemongrass and lavender hung heavy in the air. The subtle touch of smoke filled with magic brushed along her back. There were more in this cavern than just the sluagh, and more in the Underhill than just the creatures who were banished here.

She’d felt this magic many times before. It wasn’t a dangerous creature or even something aware of itself. Aisling had tried to speak with it, but it always remained a silent presence, something she couldn’t quite harness, and certainly not something cognizant. Instead, she‘d come to realize this magic was simply Underhill itself. The land liked to take part in the ceremonies.

The sluagh next to her rocked to the side. Others followed, gently shifting back and forth in a wave-like rhythm. A quiet hum began from deep in their bellies, over and over until their sound filled Aisling with peace.

She breathed in once, twice, three times and then let her mind clear.

“Into this smoke, I release all energies that do not serve me.”

The sluagh repeated her words, some still humming, and the words became a song.

“I release all negativity that surrounds me and all fears that limit me.”

Over and over, they repeated the words until she felt tension release. The magic of the room snapped, a nearly audible sound like a thread tearing.

The ogham marks on her arms, those that spelled Raven Consort in the ancient language, burned. She’d come to think of the familiar ache as a sign that the sluagh wouldn‘t hurt anyone or themselves. Their anger, their rage, was released.

She let out a quiet sigh. “So mote it be.”

Resounding echoes of her words filled the cavern. Most of the sluagh remained still and silent with bowed heads and calm bodies. These were the ones who would remain in the cave for a long time, sometimes never leaving unless they were called upon. Some of them had trouble controlling their desire to consume fear, others wished to devour souls so badly they remained in the cavern to prevent themselves from harming others.

When Aisling stood, a few of the younger sluagh did as well. They would wander the labyrinth of Underhill, searching for any who might have fallen into its depths.

She twitched her skirts to the side and ducked out of the cavern. The ceremony wasn’t much, but it was something she could do for her people before her own curse caught up with her.

Barefoot, she padded down the crumbling stairwell to the next that arched up and ended in midair. Aisling didn’t hesitate at the peak. Instead, she kept walking and let the magic of Underhill carry her to the underbelly of the stairwell. She descended, upside down to those who were on the other side, right-side up for herself.

The first few times she’d attempted this, her stomach had rebelled. Now, she was used to the oddities of this place. The stairwells made little sense. The place made little sense. Still, it was home, and that was good enough for her.

An ache laced up her arm. Aisling winced and touched a finger to the ogham marks. “Still burning?” she whispered. “Why’s that?”

They rarely burned for more than a few moments after their morning ritual. Lately, they’d been itching more and more. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

“Mistress!” The shout trailed through the air, zinging past her head like an arrow. “Mistress of—”

“Please don’t call me that.” Aisling turned and waited for the sluagh to catch up to her. They had taken to calling her “Mistress of Darkness,” which she thought all too ridiculous. She was mistress of nothing if they didn’t want her to be. She’d come from nothing and would return to nothing. A title such as that was a slap in the face to her history.

This sluagh was one of the eldest. There were holes in the leathery wings that drooped around its shoulders, tattered edges flapping in the gentle breeze. The lack of breasts suggested this one was male, although the drooping skin hid any physical features that might have belayed the truth.

It huffed out a breath and held out a hand once it reached her side.

“Hello, Connor isn’t it?” she asked, hoping she was correct.

“Aye, mistress. ’Tis Connor.”

Thank goodness, or she would have been embarrassed. Although Aisling had been the Raven Queen for months now, she had yet to learn how to tell the sluagh apart. The older they got, the more they looked like each other. They were all leathery puddles of flesh, bone, and hungry eyes.

She sank into a shallow curtsey and eyed the sluagh whose hands were twitching. “Can I help you?”

“No, no, of course not, mistress. I wanted to voice my concern about Samhain this year.”

“Perhaps you should speak with the Raven King, then. The Wild Hunt is not under my control.”

“My concern for you is why I have requested your time, mistress.” Uncomfortable, he listlessly moved his hands. “It’s just…many of us have heard whispers in the darkness, an old voice that has long since been thought of dead.”

Yet another dead god? Aisling wasn’t certain how many of those she could survive in a lifetime. She knew well enough to listen when someone claimed an ancient voice was speaking.

Holding back a sigh, she nodded. “Do you know who is speaking?”

“The oldest of the sluagh claim it is…” He hesitated, then swallowed hard. “Carman.”

Aisling had heard of the woman, although the old myths were vague and unlikely to be true. “The first witch?”

“Ancient mother and crone of all magic,” the sluagh agreed. “She has been speaking with the elder sluagh.”

“What has she said?”

“That the time of magic is returning, and she shall call upon us to rise.”

“Upon you?” Aisling repeated. She didn’t like that thought. No one could call upon the sluagh but the Raven King or Queen, yet this whispering voice held a sway over her people. At least, so it seemed. “Tell me about Carman again, the truth, not the human myths of who this creature was.”

The promise of a tale was a tempting treat for most of the sluagh. Their knowledge was vast, and this particular creature was one of the oldest. He straightened his spine as far as it would go and blew out a long breath.

Claws clacking, he began. “Carman was a goddess who came from Athens. Her skin was made of burnished gold, her hair the color of the blackest night. She rode a chariot with wheels aflame. Three sons arrived with her, Dub the Black, Dother the Evil, and Dian the Violent.

“She needed only her sons to lay waste to Ireland. Everywhere she touched, the land died. Fruits shriveled on the vine, crops withered and dried. Her magic was so powerful even the greatest druids couldn’t defeat her. Her actions caught the attention of four Tuatha de Danann. They rode on the winds to battle her and her sons.

“Even they were challenged by her magic. Her sons, however, they could defeat. Here is where the human myths differ. They claim Dub, Dother, and Dian were banished, and that Carman then died of a broken heart.”

The sluagh leaned closer as if someone might overhear his story. “It’s not true, mistress. They couldn’t banish the three boys any more than they could banish their mother. Carman had tied herself to this land by sapping all the power from Underhill itself. Instead, they imprisoned her here with the Underfolk.”

That was a bit more problematic. She had always thought there was more to this place than just a home for the forgotten creatures. Aisling had never thought it was also a prison.

Carman, the Carman, was hidden somewhere deep within this place? Aisling hadn’t even seen the extent of the kingdom. The sluagh insisted there was far too much to see, and those who wanted her attentions would come to the crumbling keep. If there was a goddess imprisoned on the outskirts, shouldn’t they check and make sure the bars remained sturdy?

The sluagh leaned back and shook his head. “I thought you ought to know, mistress. We will remain as we always have, ensuring you and the king are safe. There are some…” He licked his lips. “I would suggest keeping an eye on all the sluagh, for the time being.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she replied. “I‘ll pass this information along to the king. There’s much for us to discuss.”

If they even had the time. Her mind troubled, she watched the sluagh turn and pick his way across the stairways again.

The last time Bran and her had an evening together was during a storm. If the moon was visible, then he was a raven. If the sun was out, she was a swan. It didn’t matter where or when; their curses always pulled them apart.

She picked up her skirts and raced down the stairs, making her way toward the deep lake in the center of Underhill. He waited for her there, as he did every night, and she didn’t want to waste the precious moments they had.

Her feet pounded across broken stone and slippery moss. Should she tell him everything? Would the sluagh admit such thoughts to him or only to her?

The horizon seemed to part in front of her, revealing the pond where she spent her days. It was large enough for her, but not so large she could call it a lake. The waters were deep, so deep no one could see the bottom. At least, not without a spell to breathe underwater.

Above all else, she viewed it as yet another means to an end. Both Bran and she had informants spread across both the Unseelie lands and the human worlds, each trying to discover another clue that might help them. They desperately needed to break their curses, if only to rule their people better.

She stopped at the water’s edge, her toes touching the cool water. The hemline of her gown grew sodden and heavy, there were plenty of others for her to ruin. Now, she just had to wait for that time between time, when the sun and the moon disappeared from the sky and allowed dusk and dawn to be born. The moment when she could finally see him.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to a broad chest that felt like home.

“Raven queen,” the deep, buttery voice growled in her ear. “You shouldn’t be out of the castle without a guard.”

“I already have a guard with me.”

Bran chuckled. Rustling feathers tickled her ears, and the last bit of his magic faded away until his arms wrapped around her without the barrier of silken stems. “I don’t count as a guard, Aisling.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.” She paused as he pressed warm lips to her neck. “I can take care of myself.”

He grunted, then turned her around. He slid his hands up her arms, drawing them around his neck so he might pull her closer. A long sigh escaped his lips, dancing across her own. “I’ve missed you, witch.”

An aching pang echoed through her chest. Gods, she had missed him as well. This curse was worse than all the others they‘d suffered together. They were so close, and yet always so far away.

Aisling tucked her face into the hollow of his throat, breathing in the musky scent of man, wine, and wilderness. The moonlight would touch her skin soon, and then she would be ripped from his arms. For a few seconds, she could stand here with him at her side, pretending she was happy.

“Where’d you go, witch?” he murmured, stroking his fingers through her hair. “I‘ve but a few moments with you each day. I won’t waste them, even with your thoughts.”

He cupped the back of her head, cradling her as if she were a fragile creature. And in this moment, she felt as though she were. The constant battles exhausted Aisling. The fighting to remain normal, the desperate desire to be close to him, yet not able to see him for more than a few minutes a day.

Bran pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that sucked the air from her lungs. She clung to the lapels of his black jacket, holding on for dear life.

He delved into her mouth, licking and biting at her lips until she sighed against him. All her frustrations and fear melted away into the heat of his body, the warmth of his adoration, and the gentle manipulations of his fingers as he dug them into the small of her back.

The hairs on her arms raised, and a tingle of magic spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She pulled back, eyes still squeezed shut, and shook her head. “Less time than usual, it seems.”

“We’ll break your curse,” he replied, stroking a hand over her head, tangling his fingers in the ends. “Give me time. There are hundreds of faeries who could help us. I just have to find the right one to bribe.”

“You shouldn’t have to bribe anyone.” Faeries were notoriously difficult to deal with, and he would need to give them a reason to help. She only hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

“Our world works differently.” Bran stepped back, his fingers sliding down her arms and lingering at her palm until he let them fall away. “I wish it didn’t.”

“So do I.”

Magic slithered up her legs in the cold caress she hated so much. It was a familiar feeling by now, months of this change didn’t stop her disgusted reaction. Her teeth clenched, her thighs trembled, and she fought against it with all she had. Yet, she still walked backward until the water touched her knees.

Fighting did little good these days. The magic had sunk deep into her skin until it was a part of her even when she wasn’t at the lake.

Aisling felt her muscles shift, her bones break, her hair shrink until every inch of her being shattered and reformed. All at once, she was something new. Something exhausted and tired and ever so dangerously weak.

She lifted her head, long neck stretching up, and met Bran’s sad gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on black feathers, before he cleared his throat. “Soon, Aisling. I’ll fix this.”

He cast her one last look before turning to make his way to the castle. The sluagh could not be without a leader for too long since they dissolved into madness without something to focus on. They would cut free from their ties, become loosed upon the human realm, and feast upon souls as their whims desired. The world would not survive it.

Aisling paddled away from the shore, making her way to the other side. Bran might rely on faerie magic to save them, but she wasn’t the type to wait. Faeries could take hundreds of years to make their decisions. She didn’t have that much patience.

When she knew he had crested the stairs and was too far away to see her, Aisling paddled faster to the opposite shore where a small black smudge waited for her.

Ever faithful, her familiar waited to prove himself yet again. Lorcan. The strange witch who had saved her life countless times and turned himself into a cat while doing so. His paws stamped the ground, alternating each side, while he glowered at her as though she had done something wrong.

She probably had. He didn’t like to wait. Aisling had told him countless times she had little control over the change, but he didn’t want to hear it. It was always, change faster, some of us don‘t have the luxury of time.

As soon as she was close, he opened his mouth in a hiss. “What took you so long this time?”

“Lorcan, please don’t start.”

“I could see you on the other side, you know. I understand you miss him, you can’t just…canoodle while I’m right here.”

Aisling lifted her head and honked, her new body’s version of a laugh. “Canoodle?”

“Well, maybe not quite so bad. Understand the importance we meet as soon as possible, especially on days when I’m returning from the human realm! I might have information that can help you break this new curse.”

“And do you?” She swam in tight circles in front of him.

Lorcan lifted a paw and licked it. His eyes narrowed, tracking her every movement, before he begrudgingly admitted, “No.”

“Then why should I rush to see you?”

“Don’t give me sass, young lady.”

At the very least, she knew her relationship with Lorcan wouldn’t change no matter what form she was in.

Aisling gave another coughing chuckle and spread her wings in a stretch. “Have you made any progress at all, or were you sleeping in the sun?”

“There were a few helpful toads, but I figured you wouldn’t want to get any more warts, witch.”

“So no?”

Lorcan sighed and laid down on the small stone ledge. The white star on his chest blazed for a moment before he lowered his chin to the stone. “It’s as if no one has ever heard of the Raven Queen. The king, yes. There are hundreds of legends about him, his wrongdoings, everything in between. A queen? No, she never existed.”

“It has to all tie back to her, to the one in the lake underneath the Unseelie castle,” Aisling murmured. “I can feel it started with her.”

“It’ll be difficult to talk with a dead woman,” Lorcan grumbled. He rolled onto his back, letting the sunlight play across his belly. “So you might want to think of another way to fix this.”

“Wasn’t that why I sent you to the human realm?”

“I thought it was to indulge myself on fat mice and pretend starling wings were ravens cracking between my teeth.”

She splashed water up onto his ledge with her wing. The cat let out a low hiss and rolled a few times until he was far enough away from the offending liquid.

Glaring at her, he stamped a paw on the ground. “There’s no reason for that.”

“Entertainment.”

She floated away from him, letting eddies of the lake pull her away.

Lorcan could understand animals, being one himself, and she found the change had allowed her to do the same. Humans? They still couldn‘t understand a word she said. It was frustrating. She could hear what they were saying, and yet, no one understood her hoarse honks.

Speaking with animals had been fun for a few moments, now, she wanted nothing more than to speak with faeries and humans again. She sighed. Her wings drooped and her neck slowly curved down.

“Things aren’t going well then, I assume?” Lorcan asked.

“Nothing has changed, if that’s what you mean.” Nothing would ever change. She couldn’t touch him more than a few minutes a day. They couldn’t rule together the way they were meant to, and it didn‘t seem to bother him.

“He’s still trying, you know.”

“So he says,” she murmured.

“Not says. I’ve seen the effort he’s putting into this. He hasn’t forgotten, and he will not let you rot as a swan forever, Aisling.”

She wasn’t sure how much she agreed. Bran, while understandably distracted, seemed more interested in shirking his responsibilities than helping her. It was in his nature to detest everything that had to do with being a king. He’d never wanted the role, and having it thrust upon him only made things worse.

Aisling shook her head. “I can’t leave them like he does. I understand the faerie courts require his presence and he needs to be in the mortal realm to search for a counter curse, but the sluagh need someone. If we were both gone, they would completely unravel. Even now, they hold their minds together by a thread that I have to repair every morning.”

“And you have to be that person?”

Someone had to step up and be the adult. Aisling was the worst person to do it, though. She knew how to take care of children, not fully grown faerie creatures.

As people aged, they expected others to help them. They thought a kind gesture was owed to them, no matter where they were or what stage of life they were in. Children always viewed kindness for what it was.

The sluagh were much like the children she so adored back in the human realm. They thanked her, they bowed when she walked into the room, they even whispered that she was a famed Tuatha de Danann who had cast her gaze upon them as a blessing. They desired things that adults desired: luxury, respect, honor.

And they didn’t seem to understand she was just as cursed as them.

“Ah,” Lorcan said with a quiet purr. “You’re worried he isn’t interested in you anymore.”

Normally, she would deny the emotional attachment to another person. Bran had wiggled his way under her shield, and now she didn’t know how to get him out.

Aisling’s feathers ruffled. “He’s still interested, but…I don’t know. I can’t describe how it feels to watch the person you”—she paused—“adore, be human while you aren’t.”

“You don’t have to describe that feeling to me. I’ve lived it for many years.”

She glanced at her oldest friend. “You don’t mean—”

“You?” Lorcan laughed, his voice booming across the lake. “Never. Of course there was someone before you, foolish thing. And she was as lovely as the day is long.”

“Lovely? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call anything lovely.”

“Well, she was.” His eyes glazed over, as if he was staring into the past. “Her hair was copper as a fire and her eyes were green as grass. She was the only woman to catch my fancy.”

Aisling floated closer. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I turned to witchcraft and had to leave the village where I grew up. She stayed behind since her father was a traditional man. Never saw her again.”

It was a story she’d heard from countless witches. The humans saw them as dangerous creatures who could hurt them. In reality, most witches lived very lonely lives. They desired the darkness only to ensure their solitude wasn’t disturbed.

Silence stretched between them. Aisling didn’t know what to say and assumed there weren’t words he cared to hear. Instead, she let him have a moment of quiet before she brought up yet another concern.

“The sluagh hear a voice whispering to them,” she said. “They claim it‘s Carman.”

“The first witch?”

“One and the same.”

Lorcan sat up. He gazed at her severely before yowling. “Carman is dangerous news, little witch. If it’s the truth…”

“I want no one getting nervous yet. It has to be the truth before we involve anyone else.” She stared up at the castle, wondering just how many of the sluagh had heard this witch’s voice already. “I need to find out how many of them have heard her.”

“If any of them have, it’s bad news. That witch nearly destroyed everything before your ancestors stopped her.”

“I’m not related to any of the ones who stopped her.”

And she wasn’t certain that Badb had agreed with her siblings when they tried to prevent Carman and her sons razing Ireland to the ground. The war that would come afterward likely would have fed Badb’s blood thirst. Even her sisters, the Morrigan and Macha, would have become involved at that point.

The Tuatha de Danann who stopped Carman also saved their people from a civil war, one that might begin again, even without Carman stepping a foot back in the human realm.

“Is she here?” Lorcan asked.

“According to the sluagh, this is her prison.”

“That’s more dangerous than we were expecting Underhill to be.” He stood, then stretched out his front paws. “I’ll trust you to figure that one out. The rest, you leave up to me.”

She lowered her beak and stared at him over her black bill. “Which means you’ll be sleeping in the sun for the next few days, is that right?”

“Well, there’s rarely sun here, and even then it’s very weak. So I have to spend more time to get the same amount of exposure.”

She splashed him again with a honking laugh and floated into the center of the lake. There was much for her to think about, and plans to be made.

Aisling hoped she could find proof of Carman’s existence before the witch caused any more trouble.