"Ronan!" I barked, watching the burned man notch another arrow. "Get down and keep your knife close. Morrigan, warn me if we're going to die. No incomprehensible wailing, got it?"

She nodded, crimson already flooding her eyes. Ronan had his knife drawn, the blade crossed protectively over his chest as he pulled her behind a boulder. "Careful!" he yelled. "There must be others!"

"Obviously!" I turned to the side, letting the second arrow streak past my head and plunge into the sand. It was just as precisely aimed as the first. I scanned the rocky beach. How many humans had Shayne taken with him when he fled? Three? Two? I hadn't been paying attention, too distracted by Aeden's sudden vulnerability. Hefting my staff, I half-limped, half-ran at the one that'd revealed himself. He shot another arrow, which I batted aside before leaping onto the rock beside him.

"You only stood a chance if you caught me by surprise," I growled, striking at his middle. He hefted his bow to block; it was painfully easy to smash through the taut wood. My staff struck his side. Something gave beneath it, and he crumpled. "Too bad."

"Indeed it is," a cold voice came over my shoulder.

Mist clung to Shayne's clothes as he materialised beside me, perched delicately on the rough surface of the boulder. I whipped about, clenching my free hand, and swung at his face. He caught my fist before it could make contact with his jaw, arching one brow. A shame. I would've liked to break his perfect nose.

The man's fingers tightened, shifting to cage my wrist in a painful grip. Before I could hit him again, the stone trembled beneath my feet, growing liquidy and thick. My left leg sank ankle-deep before I managed to jerk free. Damn it, damn it, damn it. How could I fight the earth?

"Cael," Shayne said, his command ringing out clearly. "I'll take care of her. Kill the other two."

I tensed, aware of Cael jolting into motion behind me. He'd said that the geas rendered him under Shayne's control; he had no choice but to follow the man's orders. I wanted nothing more than to race over and help my brother and Morrigan fight him off, but Shayne wasn't going to let me. That much was clear. I had to trust that their skills and Cael's reluctance would somehow give them time.

I leapt for Shayne, placing as little weight upon the ground as I could, and swung my staff at his head. He raised a hand to block it and moved away, a bladelike rock spearing from the boulder. It shot past my stomach—I'd only just avoided being skewered—and struck my staff instead, knocking it from my hands. I lost my balance and tumbled onto the sand, spitting curses. Shayne smoothly leapt off of the boulder, his boots sinking into the sand as he retreated towards the ocean.

Fighting wasn't something I'd been taught. Perhaps our father could've told me its secrets, if sickness hadn't taken him when Ronan, Conor, and I were mere children. It was a hard-earned knowledge, mine, brought by driving less friendly sídhe out of Tirlagh and fistfighting the boys in the village who despised my presence. They'd swiftly learned to avoid me.

Those twenty-some years of brawls told me that the man before me was terribly unsuited to close combat. He was obviously trying to keep distance between us—after all, messing with the ground wouldn't do him much good if it threw him off balance too. Naturally, I matched his movements as closely as possible, a mere pace away at all times. Catching the sleeve of his long, embroidered shirt, I yanked myself close and made a valiant attempt to knee him in the crotch.

My leg met his palm. He shoved it down—pain stabbed through the half-healed cut Niamh had given me, and I staggered. He glared down his nose. "You attack crudely, child."

"So?" He'd left an opening. I grabbed his arm, the sun's heat spilling through my palm. Skin blistered beneath my fingers, giving way like brittle paper. "No battle is beautiful."

The man wrenched himself free without a sound, though pain scrawled deep into his features. The burn was already festering on his forearm, a mess of blood and blackened skin in the rough shape of my hand. He glanced at the wound; his eyes flashed, and he leapt back. Before I could follow, more blades of stone erupted from the ground, a half-second from skewering me from fifteen angles.

As if I'd let that happen. I called upon the harshest flames I could, feeding them further with my rage. Usually, I set a limit to the sheer heat they exuded—I didn't even need half of the sun's power to kill. Now the air wavered from the force of the white fire that circled me, blurring my vision. I pushed forward, dimly aware that the edges of the stone blades were sloughing off. They sloshed to the earth as molten liquid, burning a dark, ominous red.

Shayne retreated across the shore, finding his footing with perfect grace. Yet there was a certain agitation to his movements, increasingly obvious. He shielded his face with one hand, his lips parting. Whatever he said was drowned in the crackle of flame. I shook fire from my hands, letting it fall to the ground in a shower of sparks. They spat as they landed upon the wet rocks underfoot, evaporating what little water remained. Shayne had led me a good few paces into the ocean, I realised, but the water boiled into obscurity as it drew close to me. I stood in a ring of relatively dry sand and stone. A small wave swept across it as I let my power fade somewhat, spitting and steaming as it closed around my boots. The edges of my sleeves were smouldering. I hastily swatted them, shaking out the fire.

The man drew his shoulders back, a scowl now set across his lips. He'd managed to somehow avoid getting wet, standing upon a boulder a safe distance above the waves. He was truly looking down on me now, but there was something in his eyes. Something like fear.

Perhaps he'd thought the ocean would be enough to stop me. But it hadn't, and now he was removed from the earth and stone he held control over. He looked intimidating on that rock, sure, but also terribly, terribly alone and exposed. It was as Morrigan had said: he really was stupid.

As if on cue, the woman's voice splintered through the sound of the waves and the blood roaring in my ears. "Maeve, come!"

I whipped around and ran towards her without question—I wasn't the one who could see death coming. She wasn't far, gracefully dodging the blows of another soldier whose arrival I hadn't noticed. The ground trembled, and a quick glance over my shoulder revealed a storm of sand and small stones rising in the place I'd been standing. One rock shot past my face; it left a stinging line of pain across my cheek. Sliding to a stop, I raised my hands and crafted a wall of more fire between myself and the rocks. They were small, even easier to melt, and didn't rise up again.

Mist shifted behind me. I sensed Shayne's power, abruptly close and bitter. I spun, summoning more flames. He was too close and must have realised it; he jerked back, but I managed to grab the man and jerk close. My fingers, alight with a sharp, amber glow, found that delicate place where his neck and shoulder met. It was all too easy to burn through his skin and muscle, like I was moulding butter and not flesh. He cried out aloud this time, recoiling as I tried to get a better grip, digging my nails in.

"Get back!" Morrigan shrieked someplace behind me. I jolted and shoved myself away from the man in a decidedly undignified manner, tripping and falling into a puddle of seawater. Another blade of rock shot past my throat, piercing the air where my heart would've been.

Shayne stumbled, falling to one knee. I'd left a deeper mark this time—a good chunk of his shoulder was burned through, dangerously close to his neck. He covered the wound with one hand before I could get a better look, breathing sharply. There was a slight rattle to the sound. That subtle anxiety rippled across his expression again, visible only in the crease of his brows, the way his lips pinched together. Perhaps it was only pain. He made a jerky motion with his other hand, and mist pulled from the earth around him.

A curse rose on my tongue. Another second, and I would've already killed the man. I limped closer, condensing more of the sun's flame into my palms. The mist closed over his body before I could end him; the touch of his power faded, though the sensation of intruding upon his land lingered. He was gone.

"Damn it! How many times will he run away?" I snarled, kicking the sand. Pain shot through my leg as a harsh reminder that it still wasn't healed. "The least he could do is accept his loss and let me kill him."

This wasn't the time for frustration, though. I peeled my focus to the others, then did a double take. Morrigan glided across the shore, locked in a deadly dance with the human man. Her movements were perfect and precise as she dodged the strokes of his sword, her skirts flowing about her. Yet she wasn't entirely avoiding them. Mist clung to her figure—her body flickered in and out of sight periodically. She was like a ghost, manipulating the threads of time and space in this realm. All the while, bloody tears fell down her cheeks.

No battle is beautiful, I'd said. This woman would be the death of me.

It would've been easy to stop the soldier harassing her. I could summon enough flame to kill him before he could scream; I almost did, but her sightless eyes met mine and she shook her head. I remembered the human she'd cried over before, a young thing caught in some pointless feud larger than himself.

Fine. Deal with him your way, I thought, lowering my hand. But if she was wounded again, I had no more room for mercy.

Ronan, meanwhile, faced Cael. He held out his knife as the smaller man circled him warily. Silvery energy surrounded my brother, steady and soft. Morrigan's ward. He still seemed himself, unaffected by whatever Cael might've tried to take hold of his mind.

"Cael," I called, stumbling over to join Ronan. "Get away from my brother."

"I cannot, I—" He abruptly stilled, turning his head as if his name had been called. Perhaps it had. With a surge of mist, he was gone.

Ronan paused, slowly lowering the knife and tucking it away in his pack. "It seems he can."

"Are you hurt at all?" I scrutinised his face.

"No, I only..." His eyes wandered past me, and he stiffened. "Morrigan needs help."

He rushed towards the woman; I only watched, not so sure she did. Though she couldn't touch the soldier, she was holding well against him. There was no urgency to her movements, and her bloody tears had ceased: she probably could dodge his blows until the human collapsed from exhaustion. I limped towards them all as my brother tackled the man, slamming him into the ground and holding him down. Morrigan went still, the ropes of mist fading from sight around her.

"Keep him there," she said quietly, kneeling beside Ronan. She pressed a finger against the man's forehead, exactly the same way she'd taken Cael's curse from my brother. "This will take only a moment."

The human writhed. Several deep wounds marred his flesh—claw marks. His right arm barely seemed functional, and the blood streaking the armour on his chest spoke of worse injuries. Any normal man would've given up long ago, unable to cope with the pain, but this one didn't seem affected. He merely fought Ronan, eyes void of any true intelligence.

Silvery light gathered around Morrigan's fingers. It was only then the soldier fell still, his eyes fluttering shut. His breathing slowed, and I felt the faint air of Cael's power. It snapped, fading moments later.

"Oh, no," Morrigan whispered. "He has also been placed under a geas."

Ronan exhaled, releasing the man to sit on his heels. "Can you truly do nothing to break them?"

"Not unless you wish for death." She touched the side of the man's face before withdrawing. With a wave of her fingers, mist collected about the man. "I don't know the particulars of the vow made. The best I can do is send him back to the mortal realm. He's injured, but there may be hope of recovery if he's discovered."

I sunk into a crouch on the ground beside them, if only to keep weight off my leg for a moment. Silence fell between us as the man's body grew indistinct and was swept away through Natír, guided by Morrigan's careful hand.

"One human saved," she whispered. Her head fell forward, her red curls tumbling across her face. "That is the most I'm capable of."

I sighed, then clambered to my feet and held out a hand. "I'm sure that one man would be glad of it. Now let's go. Aeden's still here somewhere."

Morrigan swiped at her eyes, leaving her cheeks wet, and accepted it. I hauled her up—she was lighter than I'd expected; I almost yanked her into my chest—and wrapped an arm about her waist. I hauled her forward, ignoring the ache settled deep in my leg.

"Thank you," she whispered.

My eyes fell upon the place the human had been lying. "You did well."

"I saw the wound you gave to Shayne."

I blinked, caught me off guard. "And?"

"It was nearly mortal. He still has Cael, but I'm not sure he'll be able to chase Aeden or get between you and the Ándúr Nimh again. He's been beaten." She let out a long, soft breath. "I thought I would let you know, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Let's hope he knows it," I murmured, thinking of the erratic madness that moved the man.

Silence. Ronan drew to my right side, offering his forearm. I grabbed it silently. Though he was the one taking my weight, it felt rather like I was supporting him, too. His breathing came heavy, and worry weighed in his eyes.

The three of us stumbled our way to the hill Cael had pointed out, clinging to each other like a bunch of drunkards. Waves continued to gnaw at the beach behind us, sending up glittering sprays of salt water. The crash of the ocean followed us, even as the sand beneath my boots gave way to grass and flowers.

It took some searching, mostly on Morrigan's part. Tracking the intricacies of other powers was yet beyond me—besides the lingering taint of the Ándúr Nimh and some traces of Shayne and Niamh, I couldn't sense much at all. The hill was a small thing, with a few flat, stone faces. Vines trailed down the sides.

"Here." Morrigan pulled away, her slim fingers trailing along a stone wall. The surface wavered under her touch, revealing a wooden door set into the side of the hill. She reached for the handle, then flinched. Her lips pressed together into a thin line.

"What's wrong?" Ronan asked, his hand jerking at his side as if to catch her.

"Nothing, just..." She took a deep breath. "It will not be easy to cross this threshold. Prepare yourselves."

"I can do—"

"But you won't," I murmured, tightening my grip on Ronan's elbow.

"Mae is—I mean, Maeve is correct. It would be especially dangerous for you. I can take the brunt of it." With that, Morrigan pulled the door open. Energy rippled to life around her, sharp and dark and ancient. She faced it head on, her hair fluttering about her shoulders.

Instinct urged me backwards. Trespassing. You're trespassing. I shoved it to the back of my mind. Whatever wards had been set about the house dissipated as the seconds trailed past; Morrigan merely stood and waited. "Our abilities will be muted," she said, finally twisting the handle. "Be careful."

Having offered that comforting warning, she walked through the door. Ronan and I followed together behind, my brother once again drawing his knife. The iron actually cut back some of the pressure of another's territory, making it more bearable. I took a deep breath, looking about.

We were in a home of sorts, with smooth stone walls and an arching ceiling. It was a neat space, rather cosy despite the lack of windows. The furnishings were rich, and the decorative ceramics and plants sprinkled about lended the space some much-needed colour. I spotted a vase of flowers in the corner: they were in full bloom, perfectly maintained. If not for the vines creeping across some of the walls and the touch of power lingering on every surface, I would've thought we'd walked into the house of a noble. Mam, Conor, and I couldn't have kept our home this neat if we wanted to.

"Is he rich?" I looked about. "Where would he keep his money? We could use it."

"We're not here to rob him, Maeve," Ronan chided.

"But we could be." Though we couldn't, really. Shayne wasn't dead, so this was still his land—these were still his things. Morrigan and I wouldn't be able to take anything without good reason, and it would be dangerous to ask Ronan to. A sigh brushed past my lips.

Morrigan led us deeper inside as we spoke, clutching her wounded arm absently. Her red eyes scanned the place carefully, and she walked as if one wrong step would mean death. She jolted and sped up, turning around a bend in the main room to enter a long hallway. Several doors lined it—we followed her to one near the end. Worry lined her face, and she flinched away from the wooden surface.

In the centre of the door, an iron charm hung from a nail. I hesitated beside Morrigan, disgust flickering through me. The engravings along the metal were nothing new to me, but its presence in the home of another sídhe was baffling. It made sense, though. With how fluidly and easily he could shift, Aeden would be nearly impossible to keep contained.

Contained. The word felt so barbaric.

"Aeden?" I called. I'd have knocked or moved closer, but the iron's crackling barrier stayed my hand. I could only draw a pace to the door before it stopped me in my tracks.

There was no response, though I thought I heard a muffled thump. I exchanged a look with Morrigan, who shook her head. The nervous look in her eyes was swelling into something like fear. I didn't understand why, but it was the opposite of comforting.

"I'll get it," Ronan said, his voice tight. He yanked the ward off of the nail, his fingers clenched tight around it, and threw the piece of iron into the corner. I winced as it clattered across the stone floor. The ring of iron was far louder than Morrigan's coat of jewellery could ever hope to be.

Another thump. My brother's fingers had hardly touched the handle before the door flew open, nearly cracking him across the jaw, and Aeden burst free.