Page 171 of Cathmoir's Sons

A dozen hands rise. A dozen spells flare. Aehelwen leaps in front of his king.

The flaming arrow burns through spell after spell as it arcs toward its target. The spells aimed at Emnyre blow him off his feet with a crash of armor.

The arrow hits the shield of Air that Caileán and Luca have thrown in front of the Holly King and his knight. It quivers, stuck in the shield, burning. The tip pierces the shield in a burst of flame.

I stretch out my hand. Yes, I am Cait. I will always choose my teeth and claws over my magic. But I am a Fire mage. Fire is mine to control.

Instead of fighting Fire with Fire as others have tried, I call my Element to me.

The arrow bucks, resisting. The shaft wriggles through the shield. Only the fletching sticks in the shield.

Caileán squeezes my hand and feeds power into me.

Fire unravels from around the arrow in long streamers, arcs across the distance, and circles my hand. It bites into me, thismagic that’s not my own. Emnyre’s Fire is angry, bitter, spiteful. It shreds my fingers. Blood drips onto the grass.

I am Cait. I do not flinch. I do not falter.

The last tongues of Fire unwind from the arrow and slash my arm open to the elbow. Rhodes’ hand lands on my shoulder. His healing energy washes through me. It should feel like poison or drowning, to be invaded by an element anathema to my own. But Rhodes’ energy is familiar. His touch is pure comfort. It spreads a soft balm over the wounds.

I flick my fingers at the arrow and it crisps. Ashes flutter to the ground as Caileán releases the shield.

“Mother?” Caileán asks.

The Mother, who made no effort to catch this arrow, turns to my queen.

“Child?” The Mother asks.

“I beg your leave to take my vengeance.”

The Mother’s shoulders rise under her robes then fall slowly. “Yes, young crow. I give you leave.”

I expect Caileán to command the Cait to attack. Instead, she caws harshly. Her sisters join her. Hundreds of metallic cries answer.

The moonlight dims and dapples. The air fills with the flap of hundreds of wings.

The Oak King, his druadh, and his Darkswerds disappear under a swirling wave of blackness.

Caileán leans into me. Rhodes presses against her back and wraps his arm around me. Luca’s a warm tingle in my mind that spreads down my arm as Rhodes continues to heal me.

A sharp elbow finds my ribs. I yelp.

“That’s for your lass there,” Princess Teddy grumbles. I hadn’t even noticed her foursome edge around the high fae, so focused on stopping Emnyre’s arrow. “Just go to war without us, why don’t you?”

Caileán chuckles. “You elbowed your way in anyway.”

“Ha ha,” Teddy retorts.

“QueenTeddy,” Caileán says, with as much of a courtesy as our hold on her allows.

“Feck off,QueenCaileán.”

Caileán giggles. I know it’s more a release of tension than true humor, but I feel a tickle in my own chest. I reach out and slide my arm around Teddy’s shoulders. She leans into my side.

“The Mother, huh? I don’t remember that from the meetin’. Did I miss a memo?”

“You snooze, you lose.” I shrug.

“It’s after three in the morning,” Teddy grumps. “Once you have kids, you’ll realize how totally unreasonable doing anything at three in the morning is.”

---