We sat before a fire. My gifts did not include fire itself but depended upon it, so I was never without at least a couple of ways to start a flame. The fire was returning life to Maeve. Unbeknownst to her, the ash and smoke were also fuelling my cultivation, my bellows-like breathing drawing in the magic of the fire's leavings.

The dress was ruined. She’d stripped to her underclothes, and I was doing my best not to look—a challenge when her eyes bored into me, sullenly watching, waiting for my dastardly plot to reveal itself.

I was just enjoying being warm. However, I did have a question I was curious about.

“Can I just ask why you were so murder-focused?”

“Your death was already decided. You think I wore that knife for fun? I assumed you'd be running back to tell your family of the plot.”

“You could’ve at least heard me out.”

“Really, hear out a Harkley?”

“The Harkleys are utter curs, total knaves, the lot of them. Still, they can occasionally provide some knowledge that’s worthwhile knowing,” I replied. I knew it well—I had done my best to milk them for the knowledge I could fit into my noggin.

She settled back. I took a moment, dabbing something from my eye. I caught a scent in the air and laughed.

“Well, I take from your earlier statement that this wedding was nothing but a trap. Is that why you're alone? Your kin busy at slaughter?”

“That was the plan.”

“You must think positively, have hope! I'm sure you succeeded.” I dabbed at my eye again. I sniffed my finger and smelt iron—it had already begun.

“You’re crazy. You speak so harshly of your own family. I thought you lot were all about loyalty.” She moved closer to the fire, keeping the flames between us, as if worried I might jump and attack at any moment. That couldn’t ruin my mood. I had to dab my eyes again as my laughter subsided.

“I’m not a true Harkley, as they often reminded me. You called me the runt, and I cannot decide whether to take it as a compliment, as it’s a far kinder word than what I’d been used to.” I paused to throw a few more sticks on the fire. The wood was green, and the smoke plentiful. I used some glamour to bank it between us. I didn’t feel like having her see me. “Or whether to loathe it, as it still ties me to them.”

“So what are we meant to bond over, our mutual enemy? Marry, and you can whisper sweet nothings into my ear about how vile your cousins are? Tell me how you’re different! We know what you all do, how blood matters above all to your family.” I heard her bitter laugh and couldn’t miss her nod to the family secret—a family secret I was currently experiencing at full intensity.

How to play this? She certainly hated the Harkleys, which didn’t surprise me. I would argue I knew the family better than she ever could, and I wouldn’t trust a single one of them. With good reason—a Harkley acting against the family was on borrowed time, or was faking it.

I used some snow to wipe my face and clear my head. I was no exception to that rule. So I decided to go for part of the truth, at least. Get what I wanted before my time was cut short.

“My fair maiden, I was never going to marry you. Just as you were never going to marry me, I had a deception planned all along.”

“Damn right. Wait, what?”

“I’d always planned to run away.”

“But the blood curse!”

“I’m most amused. My family seem to think that’s a secret. And I’m limited to what I can say.” I could feel the itch as my will butted up against the shackles on my soul. I wouldn’t miss that sensation.

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“So I must muse most circumspectly. Fair Maeve, a question for you—if you had the option to live a day free and dance, or a lifetime in slavery and toil, which would you choose? I’ll go first.” I stood and did a twirl, a little laugh escaping my lips. Turning back, I saw Maeve’s face had changed. I could feel it through my tight control of the smoke's glamour, even if my sight was obscured. Gone was the casual disregard and hate.

Through the gathering smoke, her eyes stared at me as if I’d just disembowelled myself before her.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, my fair lady. I had fully intended to escape and spend some time out on the hills just being free.”

“Why give up? Why go now?”

“Well, a number of reasons, chief among them. I’m not giving up. You, a blade-gifted, must know that timing is everything. When I came to our suite—before I saw you strapping a questionable amount of steel to your leg—I was aiming to check on my gift to you.”

“You gave me perfume.” The voice came quietly.

“Indeed, a quite fine bottle I made. Don’t waste it—it really is quite valuable.” Alchemy was one of the arts I pursued to increase my value, aiming to ensure I had enough value to be sold off but not so much as to be held onto. I should’ve sprayed some before this run; it would’ve helped hide the coppery tang that was creeping up on me.

“It had to be potent to hide what I snuck in there. Check the vial out—you’ll find a quite clever little crystal inside. On it is, well, basically every dark little secret about the Harkleys I could fit onto it. I had intended to write a note directing you to it before I got my not-so-metaphorical cold feet.”

“You were going to hurt them. Then what, run off and die? Why not petition my family for aid? With a stack of secrets, I’m sure something could be offered.” Her voice had shifted. It had less barb and had grown a brittle edge to it.

“Be careful there, my lady—you almost sound worried for someone you call Harkley. To answer, I cannot even speak about what I need aid with. If I could, I wouldn’t be able to accept any help that might be offered. Amusing—I have to act as if it is a secret, even though you’ve all but said to my face you know about it. That, and I have no interest in being beholden to another powerful house of renown.” The curse was a bloody nightmare of a thing.

“So, what now? You go and die. It's still a loss.”

“Did you not call me thrice-dead already?”

“You should still fight!” She now sounded desperate. I had to remind myself she was, what, only eighteen? A couple of years younger than I, raised with care that had been absent for the last five years. She was genuinely worried about me, and that left me with a spark of joy.

“I have fought! And I have won. I am the blade sinking in at just the right moment. What am I to slave my life away, to try and slay this giant? To choose what parts of me I allow them to corrupt so I can gain the power to finally slay them and make me free but forever broken? No! I will make them bleed, and if I buy in my death but a drop of blood from this monolithic monster, I have succeeded.” A racking cough rolled through me. It ended wet and raw. I could taste blood.

“But that's not right!”

“I decide what victory looks like. All those fools off to break free of the whims of the fae, stealing immortality from their clutches—they think that's victory. A peasant thinks a good harvest and a happy family is victory. You do not get to decide what victory looks like for me, no more than I get to choose for you.” I was spitting with rage as I spoke, only able to tamp it down at the last moment.

“We can help you, Regus!” I winced, hopefully for the last time anyone used that name for me. She stood and genuinely sounded as if she meant it. I sighed. I'd gotten too worked up.

“That I shall take as my final win—to be offered kindness from a damsel such as you. I’m afraid that no one had any chance to aid me. It seems my entourage is slain, and as I remain, they've decided I must've betrayed them. A fitting final deception, for them to call me a traitor but not know the extent.” She went to speak, but I cut her off by parting the curtain of smoke between us.

She covered her mouth in horror, stepping back. The feeling had been growing as we spoke, searing chains of the glamour woven into me scraping the blood from my veins. If I looked half as bad as it felt, I had to be a nightmarish sight.

I had seen a death-by-blood curse before. It was the same day I’d started working on this plan. It started with tears of blood, then moved to the mouth, and soon the nose would run. It was after that point it got grisly. There was nothing like watching every drop of someone's blood forcibly expelled without a single wound to streamline the process. A gaunt reminder of the power the family had over you.

“My darling Maeve, do not worry for me. I’ve got far more out of this day than you can imagine. I ask three things of you. First, do not remember me as Regus—I am Gwendolyn of Artoss's son, no other name. Second, please do your best to take what I’ve managed to smuggle out and burn them with it. Buy me more drops of blood from that monster. Finally, I must now head off. Time to live free and die freely. I ask you to leave me to this—the process is not pleasant.”

I bowed, a mere silhouette in the smoke, and melted into the dark.