The feeling in Áed’s chest was furious and choking him, and he could barely speak. He’d thought, so briefly, of seeking Morcant himself—he wouldn’t have done it, but now that the murderer was there before him, all of Áed’s anger roiled just shy of the surface. “Do you even remember?”
Morcant stared at him for a moment. “Remember what?”
Ronan tugged on Áed’s sleeve, but Áed ignored him. “Two days ago,” he managed, biting the end off of each word. “The fight.”
The man seemed to think for a moment, and then his mouth twitched up like his eyebrow. “I do remember you.” He nodded to his men, and it seemed to Áed that the twisted smile spreading over his face was like that of the Dullahan’s leering, disconnected head. “You were there for that amadán with the reddish hair.”
Áed’s teeth came together nearly hard enough to crack, and the world went briefly dark as fury poured its heat to the very tips of his curled-under fingers. “Do you know,” he said in a low voice. “Do you know what you did?”
Morcant blinked. “I won.”
Áed could no longer feel Ronan’s tugging fingers on his sleeve. The alley narrowed until Morcant filled his vision.
“You killed him,” Áed said, and his voice was louder and not quite his own.
Morcant didn’t react for several beats, and in that time, anger clawed itself fully through the haze in Áed’s head. He was breathing quickly, he knew that, and his wrecked hands clenched and unclenched as the silence dragged on. “I’m not surprised,” Morcant said finally. “It was a good fight.”
The match went dark.
Smoke twirled into the alley.
And Áed launched himself forward.
He felt it happen as he moved, as the alley dropped into darkness and the entire world closed in: a click, like lock tumblers dropping into place inside his heart.
And then heat.
It surged out of him, out of his chest, his bones, and his hands, red-hot and stunning and bright enough to blind as he slammed into the man who had killed his love.
Energy roared through his blood in a high, keening song. Morcant’s eyes widened as he stumbled backward with a cry, and for a moment, Áed saw himself reflected in Morcant’s irises.
Unrecognizable.
Burning.
One of Morcant’s men reached for him, but Áed struck out and connected brutally with his head. Howling and with hair aflame, the man dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, and Áed scarcely noticed as the other crony turned and fled. His wrecked hands gripped onto Morcant’s neck, clawing at his throat and searing into his flesh. Morcant was his focus. Morcant had done this, had done this, had done this, and Áed wanted to hear him scream.
The giant man was burning, but it wasn’t enough. Morcant’s eyes were still light, and he still writhed as fire consumed his clothes. Áed was barely conscious of himself snarling, and his voice erupted from his throat in a shrieking, inhuman grate: “I had to burn him, you son of a bitch!” He lunged forward, forcing Morcant onto his back against the paving-stones. “I had to burn him! Do you understand!? Do you understand why you’re going to burn?” His hands were shining, were brilliant, were warping the air around them with heat, and Morcant tried to scramble back on his elbows. Áed was on top of him before he could move—fire billowed skyward with the force of the strike as he smashed the heel of his hand into the side of Morcant’s face. The man let out a scream that made the dirty windows ring, and savage pleasure ripped through Áed’s body.
Áed struck again and again, tears evaporating before they touched his face, and kept striking as the man beneath him ceased to be a man any longer.
Sounds began to reach his ears after a time, and the demon in his chest abated enough for him to hear a broken, cracking cry. “He’s dead! He’s dead!”
Áed stopped beating and slowly rose to his feet. He turned around.
Ronan stood where Áed had left him. Tears poured down his face, dissipated in the heat, and left salt on his face. “He’s dead, Áed, he’s dead, you killed him, he’s dead.” The boy heaved, and swallowed hard. “Stop. Áed, he’s dead, stop, he’s dead…”
Áed frowned at Ronan, uncomprehending. “What?”
Ronan was as still as if he’d been paralyzed, save for the tears that kept coming. “He’s dead, Áed, you have to see that he’s dead. Please…”
Áed turned back to Morcant, who was strange in the firelight, coal-dark and caved-in.
“Áed, what are you…”
It was impossible to say if Ronan would have continued to ‘what are you doing?’ or left it simply at ‘what are you?’ because his voice trembled so much that he broke off with a gasp.
It wasn’t the darkness, nor the Inner Maze, nor Morcant that frightened him now.
It was Áed.
Áed blinked and looked down at his arms, his hands. His body seemed to shine with internal light, and great tongues of fire leapt from his fingers into the air. Spellbound, he raised his hands and watched the flames surge and rage with every beat of his heart.
“Please,” Ronan tried faintly. “Please, Áed. Stop.”
“Ronan,” Áed breathed. “What is this?”
“I—I don’t know. Please.”
Nodding slowly, Áed felt for the power rippling through him, and he found it as surely as his breath. With a moment of concentration, it faded, leaving bright spots on his vision, and he saw the flickering reflections ebb from Ronan’s eyes. All at once, he felt cold again.
Ronan fell to his knees and covered his face, and Áed looked back to Morcant.
Bile rose in his throat. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and stumbled backward one, two steps. “Oh…”
He’d killed a man.
He’d killed a man, but the man had deserved it, and that wasn’t the part that made him shake as he stared at what he’d done.
That fire, that force from within him that had poured forth so suddenly, warped his voice, and made his head spin with power, had felt so very, very natural.
“Ronan, I—” he started, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Ronan looked up fearfully, and his wet eyes glimmered in the darkness.
“I want to go home,” the boy whispered pitifully.
Very slowly so that Ronan would not run, Áed knelt in the dust. Breathing deeply to still his shaking, he carefully reached out a hand. Ronan shrank away from him and squeezed his eyes shut, but Áed touched his shoulder, and the younger boy didn’t push him away.
“What did you do, Áed? What did you do?” More tears were rising in his eyes, and Ronan quaked as he started to cry in earnest. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” Áed said honestly.
“Don’t do it again,” Ronan begged, and then his defenses fell completely. He buried his face in Áed’s chest, where he quaked with tears.
Áed held Ronan while the boy cried, but he was all too aware that he could provide no real comfort, not when it was he whom Ronan feared. What had he done? Fire had come from within him as if it had lain in wait for the moment, and he could still feel the ember of it smoldering in his core. It was familiar, and he couldn’t be sure whether or not he’d always felt it. The memory of Ninian’s pyre made him pause his murmuring to Ronan as it struck his mind. Had he done that, too?