The aes sídhe—my kind—weren't as prevalent as we once were. Our numbers had dwindled, and from what I'd heard most preferred to dwell in the otherworld, Natír: our supposed ancestral home, although I hadn't bothered to visit. Nor did I know how to.

Despite that, I'd seen other sídhe before. One in particular would sneak into Tirlagh during festivals, get drunk, and play practical jokes on whichever poor souls didn't have the sense to avoid him. I'd been called to chase him off once or twice. I could vividly remember watching his squat frame, filled out with food and ale, stumbling vaguely northwards. Fool. That had only been last season.

So it wasn't the fact that the woman standing before me was a sídhe that bothered me. It was the look on her face, the strange aura of her power. There was something... unruly about it. Unnatural, even. I narrowed my eyes, keeping track of the water sliding across her arms. "Answer me. Who are you, and what are you doing in Tirlagh?"

The woman lifted her chin, a haughty look sharpening her fine features. It made her appear regal, distant, and extremely punchable. Her fingers traced the air at her side; fine, glittering beads of water floated behind each sharpened nail. "I am Niamh."

That wasn't a helpful answer. I opened my mouth to tell her as much, but before I could, cold agony tore through my thigh. I staggered; something wrenched my leg, and the pain tripled. Jerking my gaze down, I realised that a trail of ice had crawled from the woman's feet to my own. A large shard of it had shot upwards, impaling my leg.

I hissed a curse and looked back up at Niamh. She was already moving, another blade of ice forming beneath her slim fingers. I twisted, but not fast enough. Her makeshift dagger swept across my chest, easily cutting through the thick wool of my shawl to my skin. A burning line followed its path. For frozen water, that thing was sharp.

The miss gave me a few precious moments to react. I wrenched at my connection to the midmorning sun; flames roared to life around my hands in a surge of heat and light. The ice piercing my leg began to melt, but it was too slow—something was reinforcing it. Niamh's power, probably.

I clenched my teeth and gathered my strength to tear myself off of the thing. Pain seared through my leg as the ice cut through a good third of my thigh. Now freed, I gracefully fell onto my ass and scrambled backwards. Distant, tinny shouts rang in my ears. The townspeople. Right. Hopefully, they had the sense to run.

Niamh flinched backwards at the heat of my fire. I swung my arm in a clumsy arc, flinging a wave of flame at her chest. She shifted to glide out of its path, all smooth precision and focus. She made it look easy. Fluid.

Then she was above me, her skirt fluttering as she gave my leg a sharp kick. All semblance of breath left me; the pain was so sharp, so sudden, it clouded my vision. Niamh's figure shifted, and I glimpsed something flash in her hands. The dagger. She was going to plunge it through my heart.

Adrenaline was an amazing thing—it surged through me, clearing my eyes. I grasped her wrists, forcing her to halt with the blade mere breaths from my chest. Heat pulsed through my veins, burning the very air around me. I felt her skin blister beneath my fingers, but something resisted. A thin layer of water and ice had spread over her forearms, a delicate sheet that refused to break. Her frozen blade didn't melt, either. A strange pressure mounted in my chest as our powers collided; I was trapped between her and the ground, straining to keep her from piercing my heart. I bared my teeth, pushing as much of my energy as I could into my arms.

Annoyingly enough, I could have defeated her. I should have. She was extremely strong, yes—physically and otherwise—but I was stronger. I could feel it. But not right then. I'd wasted a great deal of energy on Orin, and even more had rushed from my body alongside the blood puddling beneath my leg. Each breath came sticky, far too quick and far too shallow. I was tired, and I was bleeding out. My arms began to shake.

Then, inexplicably, I heard hoofbeats. Rapid ones, thumping against the packed earthen road. Niamh lifted her head, pale eyes widening with something like recognition, but there was too little time to react. One moment, she was there; the next, something large and black flew past my head and flung her off of me. One hoof struck the ground just beside my ear. Another nearly hit my chest. I shrieked, but their owner had already leapt over me. Niamh crashed into the ground a few paces away, and the horse—for that's what it was—skidded to a halt between her and myself.

I struggled to lift my head, glaring at the thing. A horse. What the hell was a horse doing here?

It was a lean creature, all hard muscle rippling beneath a sleek black coat. Tossing its head, it gave me a swift once-over with blazing golden eyes. I was close enough to see that specks of green flickered within their depths.

The horse—or stallion, I realised after glancing downwards—blinked at me. I blinked back. He neighed, his tail swishing to and fro.

"Shut up," I growled, digging an elbow into the dirt beneath me. It was a struggle to shove myself upright; blistering agony shot up my leg at the slightest movement, darkening the edges of my vision. That couldn't have been good.

Niamh was getting up as well, and, unfortunately, she seemed far more lively. Rage contorted her pretty face as she fixed her attention upon the stallion. Beads of water rose from the ground, gathering around her arms until they formed thin streams. Her icy dagger, which she'd dropped at some point after being tossed to the ground, reformed in her hand.

I examined her expression, and a bitter grin tugged at my lips. Her wavy hair had been mussed, and her dark dress was splattered with mud. It was a crack in her perfect appearance, a spot of ugliness that revealed the glint of insanity in her eyes. I didn't know how the horse factored into that, of course, but he had drawn the brunt of her murderous focus. I appreciated that. My leg did, too.

Niamh cursed and lunged at the animal, water and ice whipping through the air around her. I didn't pay much attention to what happened next—I was busy dragging myself far, far away from that stallion and his hooves. I could accept dying at the hand of a mysterious assassin, but getting trampled by a rogue horse? No. There was my pride to think about.

"Maeve?"

Ronan's hushed voice sent a jolt through me. I jerked my gaze up, taking in the now-empty street. My brother was crouched under the eaves of the closest house, only a few paces away. He snuck to my side and kneeled down, casting a worried glance at the fight. His eyes trailed to my leg a moment afterwards, and his lips flattened into a thin line. "Maeve..."

"Wasn't my fault," I grunted. "She stabbed me first. With ice."

"I'm more worried about how much you're bleeding."

"I've got plenty of blood left." I waved him away, grimacing as my leg shifted. "I'm fine. Go hide someplace until I settle this."

"Maeve, you're hurt. Badly."

"Yes, Ronan, I noticed. Now stop fussing. Besides, I have a suicidal horse to help me out."

His brows furrowed down. "What horse?"

I frowned and twisted my head, looking back at the fight. Ronan was right: there was no horse. Instead, Niamh was now fighting a shaggy black wolf. He danced around her with impossible speed, teeth and claws flashing, gold eyes bright and focused. Water filled the space between them, splitting and reforming at an equally dizzying rate. Beads of it hovered in the air as well, as if a rainstorm had been frozen in time.

"Ugh. This is making my head hurt." I shoved Ronan aside and got onto my knees, gritting my teeth around the pain that stabbed through my leg. I wasn't going to let one wound stop me, no matter how much blood there was. I was a sídhe, and this was my village. It would take more than a bit of ice to take me down.

"Maeve," my brother called, concern clear in his voice, "I don't think—"

"Keep flapping your mouth, and I'll toss you into the ocean." I stood up as I spoke, pulling a steady stream of energy from the sun into myself. The power it lent me wasn't going to heal my leg any time soon, but it was more than enough to burn away the pain—for the moment, anyway. I stepped forwards, ignoring Ronan's protests from behind me. He was sensible enough to not follow.

My timing was perfect: as I watched, a wave of water finally caught up to the wolf, slamming him into the ground. He thrashed and got to his feet, but he'd been caught. Another wall of water crashed into him and he fell. I saw his jaw part amidst the water, but it swallowed whatever sound the overgrown dog made.

"Oi!" I shouted, limping forward. I waited until Niamh's pale gaze swung to me and spread my hands, tugging at the sun until a storm of gold-red flames surrounded me. It was borrowed energy—I wouldn't have long. A headache began to pound behind my eyes. "Try to take me by surprise this time, bitch."

Niamh's lips curled back, exposing twin rows of perfectly white teeth. She glanced at the wolf, which was still drowning in a rather comical manner, and then lunged at me.

I snapped my fingers, sending my fire spiralling outwards in a blaze of heat. She dodged, but I didn't mind—I was aiming for the wolf behind her. As utterly absurd as the situation felt, I needed his help. As the flames collided with the water encasing him, I once again felt a strange pressure. With one last wrench at the sun's energy, I pushed past it and let the fire evaporate everything. There was a great hiss; Niamh stumbled, surprise flickering across her face.

An awful dizziness followed the rush of stolen power. I gritted my teeth and leapt at Niamh, clumsily crashing into her. We fell to the ground together; she screamed and writhed, and pain cut across my side. I tilted my head to see her makeshift blade pressed against my middle. I snarled and socked her across the jaw, rolling away as I did.

A low growl cut through the air seconds before the wolf ran right past my face, all wet fur and gleaming claws. For the second time, one paw nearly struck my head. I growled a curse and got up; he was atop Niamh, jaws closed tight around one wrist. She writhed, water beginning to whip through the air, but it seemed his weight was holding her back for the moment.

A moment was all I needed. Digging my fingers into the hard dirt, I dragged myself forward, gathering my fire into one arm, and slammed my hand into the woman's throat. Niamh choked, ice crawling across her skin, but my borrowed power was hot enough to overcome it. She held out for a few strained seconds before I overwhelmed her. Flesh and bone melted beneath my palm; I tried not to think too much about the warmth of blood evaporating against my skin, or the strangled sounds that came from Niamh, or the stench of burned meat.

When I removed my hand, she was very much dead. I shook blood from my fingers, allowing flames to burst across my skin and burn off the most disgusting bits of her throat. I averted my eyes from the mess I'd made of her slim neck, grimacing.

Cold brushed against my senses. It wasn't the usual, brisk cool of the spring wind—this was a far more innate chill. I felt it in my bones, a shivering, frigid darkness. I lifted my head; for a moment, I glimpsed a shadow hovering over Niamh's face, obscuring her eyes and bleeding into her already-black hair. Then I blinked, and it was gone.

The wolf stretched on the ground beside her body, seemingly unbothered. His gold-green eyes focused upon my leg, and then my face. An unspoken question hung in his gaze.

"Aye," I grumbled, sliding further onto the ground. I shook my head: there were more important things to focus on. My thigh was a wreck: the ice had cut a jagged gash through a good half of it. Blood poured from the wound, coating my hands as I pressed them against it. "I might pass out at this rate." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Ronan! You can come out now, you little—"

"I'm right here, Maeve."

I let out an unflattering squawk at the sound of his voice directly over my shoulder. He entered my line of sight, shucking off his coat. Before I could protest, he pressed the wool against my leg. A spike of pain shot through it in retaliation; I tilted my head back, stifling a groan.

"Help me wrap this." My brother's voice was tight. His brown-blue eyes were hard with a restrained sort of determination, but I could see the worry behind them. It edged every one of his movements.

I reached up and flicked his forehead. "Ronan. I'm not as fragile as you humans are. Stop worrying."

"You can still bleed out."

That was true. I huffed and reached forward, helping him bind his coat around my leg. It wasn't easy, but Ronan somehow managed to cinch the fabric taut with a few expert, painful yanks. He guided my hands to the wound and pressed them down. A dark, warm stain was already spreading across the reddish wool—it felt warm and wet beneath my fingers. "Keep pressure. I'll carry you home."

Revulsion spiked through my chest and exhaustion dragged at my arms, but I kept my hands firmly in place. I'd drained my energy—merely thinking about drawing up my fire made my headache worsen. Arguing with Ronan when he acted this way was even more tiring, but I despised being carried. "I can walk," I muttered, my vision blurring for a moment.

The only answer he gave was a sort of sigh. I shot him a glare, but he refused to meet my eyes. The world tilted as his arms hooked underneath my legs, and then my upper back. I hissed when he lifted me—partly because of the pain that ripped through my thigh, but mostly because of how easily he was carrying me. Humans like him were so ridiculously tall: I felt like a wee child he'd decided to pick up.

"Maeve," he said, starting to walk down the street. It was more or less empty, and the packed dirt was littered with gouges from the horse-wolf-thing, scorch marks from my flames, and pools of water from Niamh. I glimpsed a woman peering around the corner of a house, her eyes wide and terrified. She disappeared from view as soon she noticed I was watching.

What a mess. I sighed. "What is it?"

"Should I be worried about that wolf? He's following us."

Tilting my head back, I found the overgrown dog trotting behind Ronan. His gold gaze was fixed upon me; his mouth hung open, revealing a lolling tongue and very sharp, very white teeth. Blood matted his fur and muzzle.

I closed my eyes. "Ignore him."

"Didn't you say something about a horse?" Ronan asked calmly.

"Aye."

"Do I want to know?" His voice was still scarily smooth.

"Not really."

"All right, then." He went on walking eastwards, where, beyond the hills, our farm—and Conor, if he wasn't busy neglecting the cattle—waited. The wolf bounded ahead of us, spinning through the long grass with far too much enthusiasm.

My leg throbbed, no doubt still bleeding. I glared at the sky, far too cheery and blue in comparison to the pain that rocked through me with every step Ronan took. The sun gazed back down, its vast power infuriatingly out of reach. I gritted my teeth, too weary to cuss at it but tempted nonetheless. Altruism be damned. I was never healing sick children again.