"I understand we're technically here for the proceedings, but isn't that just a pretense?" Aoife hissed as they walked down the hallway in formal red attire.

Aoife wasn't sure if there should be guards along the inner castle hallways, but there certainly were not. It was silent as the grave besides the sounds of their muffled footsteps on the carpet runner, the shadows slightly illuminated by rows of lamps in sconces.

They were on the way to a formal dinner, but Aoife was losing her patience for the wining and dining involved in the colloquy. Only senior Enchanters were invited to what seemed to be the more crucial meetings or voting processes, and that left her out in the hallways waiting on Tarran to finish his business, occasionally watching the potted plants wither beside her and seeing how long it took for any other nearby apprentices to scuttle far, far away.

"A pretense for access to the castle library? In a sense, yes," he whispered back. "We're also here to observe the other Enchanters and to make sure they know you are a threat."

"Why do I matter?" she scoffed. The only thing she wanted out of this entire situation was the ability to control her powers. She was making progress, true, but until she could figure out how to bring plants she'd drained back to life... Well, her goal wasn't complete yet.

At least she could touch people. She was enthralled by the sheer action of holding Tarran's hand, so much so that she refused to let go when they were in private. She was well aware it would look strange for an Enchanter and apprentice to hold hands as they walked down hallways, but

"If you're a threat, you're safe from them, at least temporarily."

"I need you to stop talking about yourself as though you're going to die."

"We all have to die," he said simply. "Besides, we only have three more days. I'll be fine until-" Tarran suddenly paused, wincing as he put a hand to his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine. It's just the curse progressing."

"It causes you pain?"

"Occasionally. Not always. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Why... Why did she curse you like this?" Aoife asked, blinking away the stinging in her eyes. "That is, I know why, but... It's cruel."

"She wanted me to suffer a fate worse than death," Tarran said with a sigh, continuing down the hall. "I can't say I blame her. She couldn't think of anything worse than binding me to a cursed house with invisible servants, doomed to spend my life alone, trying futilely to stop a death curse from overtaking the land before eventually, inevitably succumbing to the very madness that killed her husband."

"So she's the one who put the curse on the servants of the house, too."

"Indeed," Tarran said, nodding. "They used to be staff members when the castle was in full use. Now they're trapped... like me, but even worse."

"Why trap them, too?"

"I never understood why, myself. My best guess is that they were all human, and it was her first part of satisfying her thirst for revenge against any and all humans who dared to cross her. Those humans just happened to cross her by serving on my personal staff."

Tarran winced again, reaching out for Aoife's arm to steady himself.

"We need to get you out of here," Aoife hissed.

"That might be best," he admitted. "I'll go back to my room for now."

"No, I mean we need to get you back to the estate. I don't care about the proceedings if it means you're in pain." The curse was hurting him the longer he stayed away from the estate. It was advancing faster somehow, sapping his strength and making him suffer.

Tarran opened his mouth, but closed it again when the sound of footsteps grew louder and a figure came into view from around a distant corner.

"Back to my room. We'll talk about this in private," he said in a breathy whisper.

Neither of them spoke as they turned around and marched down the hallway, retracing the way they had only just passed. Tarran set the pace and Aoife kept one eye on him, ready in case anything happened, but he managed to make it back to the door of his room.

"Don't worry," he said as soon as the door shut behind them. "I'll- ah!"

He tried to step forward, but doubled over in pain. Aoife barely managed to reach him in time to keep him from falling, wrapping both her arms around him in a tight embrace that kept them both on their feet.

"Tarran?" She couldn't keep the fear out of her voice.

"I'm fine," he snapped, waving her off, but he sagged against her like a rag doll.

"You're not fine. You've been ill for days now and hiding it very badly." Aoife took a deep breath, fighting to keep her voice calm. "We need to leave right away."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "We're too close to answers to stop now."

"Answers can wait."

"No, they can't," Tarran snapped. "You might be willing to wait for your own answers, but the death curse draws ever nearer to us every day. The crops aren't growing as well around Quilland this season. Why do you think that is?"

Aoife was silent.

"You know the curse on the land is tied to me. I can't let hundreds or thousands of innocent people suffer because I'm trying to save myself, no matter how much I don't want to die," he snapped. "It's... it's my fault this is happening."

Her heart felt like it shattered in her chest. Tarran, however much he did not want to admit it, was a good man who felt very deeply for other people.

"It isn't your fault. You know it isn't your fault. You didn't cast this curse."

"And yet if I don't stop it, the curse will run rampant upon my death!" he cried, voice echoing off the stone walls of his room. He took a deep breath, shoulders slumping slightly as he sat on the edge of the mattress. "I have a chance to fix this, Aoife. I can't let it pass by."

"Then come back later! There will be other chances."

Tarran was silent.

Aoife's blood ran cold as she processed his non-response. She knew he was getting worse. His symptoms had been showing more and more frequently. However, what she hadn't considered is that he might have very little time left at all.

"There... isn't another chance, is there?" she asked slowly.

"I'm dying. Quickly," Tarran emphasized. "I already knew I had months at most when I met you. I need to take this chance while I have it."

"Months..." she whispered. "That's why you've been so concerned about protecting me in the future."

"I don't want anyone coming after you when I'm gone, and if they do, I want you to be able to defend yourself."

"You're not going away any time soon."

Tarran looked at her with an expression that could only be described as pure pity. A fine sheen of sweat covered his brow, and he carefully adjusted to sit against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed.

"I'll rest a little. Then we'll get back to it."

"Fine," Aoife conceded, "But I don't think it's a good idea to stay much longer. We get the information and we get out. The end."

"Fine."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"I wish you had told me sooner."

"It wouldn't have done any good. I can't extend my own life, and I didn't want you pitying me. I'd miss that fire you have."

Aoife reached out to him carefully, taking his hand between both of hers. She was wearing her gloves, and for a moment she wished she wasn't.

"I'll look around in the library and be back later," she said quietly. "Don't... just don't give up on me."

"I won't," he promised. Tarran gave her hand a slight squeeze before he let go and turned towards the bed.

Maybe sleep would help him.

It had to, didn't it?

Fighting to keep her breathing even, Aoife headed towards the door and closed it carefully behind her. Her eyes squeezed shut, she leaned against the hallway wall and tried to center herself, tried to think about anything she could do, anything she could do to change things.

One thing that Tarran had taught her was that she had power. With or without magic, she had the power to change things. Aoife was done running and surviving. She had to do something for him. She had to save him.

Finally opening her eyes, Aoife turned to see Camilla hurrying down the hallway towards her, footsteps almost silent on the long carpet runner.

"How is he?" she asked as she neared the door, biting her lip. "I heard he wasn't at the meeting."

"Sleeping. At least, he's supposed to be sleeping," Aoife sighed. "It's... it's getting worse. I keep trying to convince him to go back to the estate, but I think he's running out of time." Her voice broke at the end despite herself, and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut against sudden tears.

"If you can save him..." Camilla trailed off, brow furrowed.

"I want to," Aoife whispered.

"I know," Camilla said softly, reaching out to touch Aoife's cheek. "I can see how much you love him."

Aoife's mouth hung open.

"That's..." but she couldn't bring herself to contradict Camilla.

"I know he's a grumpy old bat. I am, too. It's just how we're built," she said with a sigh. "I think he needs you, though."

"I... have an idea," Aoife said. "I don't know if it'll break the curse, but it might buy him some time."

"How can I help?"

"Did my grandmother ever talk to you about her magic?"

"A little here and there, but not as much as Tarran. Why?"

"We need to do some testing out in the gardens."

It was a good idea in theory.

An excellent one, even.

However, a good two hours later, that idea hadn't produced even the tiniest of results.

"Maybe I was wrong..." Aoife muttered, staring at the tenth dead plant in a row.

"No, the theory is sound," Camilla said, crossing her arms. "Water magic users can take water out of things as well as hydrate them, and anyone with a Touch of fire can put out flames as easily as kindle them."

"Maybe it's pointless," she sighed. "We've been trying for a month now and I can't figure out how to do it. I imagine I'm the worst student he's ever had."

Camilla outright laughed at that, shaking her head.

"My brother directs magic as easily as breathing. As a result, he often forgets to explain things that seem like innate truths to him. Truly, you've been saddled with a mentor who has no talent for teaching," she said with a snort, but there was a small smile on her lips.

"So that means... I'm stuck?" Aoife asked helplessly, eyebrows raised.

"It means we need to find a different way to teach you."

Camilla pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest, pacing back and forth in a manner than looked quite reminiscent of her brother. For a moment, Aoife wondered if he'd picked up the habit from her as a child.

"What does it feel like?" Camilla paused suddenly, whirling to face Aoife. "When the magic activates, what does it feel like?"

"It's like it's... getting pulled towards me. Like I can't stop it," she said with a shudder, almost unconsciously rubbing her arms. It wasn't that her magic was an unpleasant physical sensation, not entirely, but the knowledge that she took the life from things slowly warped it into something she dreaded.

"But you did stop it," Camilla pointed out. "If you're calm enough, the magic is stable."

"I don't know how to make it go the other way, though!"

"If the flow can be stopped, it makes sense it can be changed. We just need to find how you have to think about it."

"You know I'm called the Dragon Enchantress, yes?"

"Yes."

"It's because I shift into a dragon."

Aoife stared.

"I... thought that it was a metaphor when Tarran said you were a dragon."

"I assure you, it's quite literal." Something about the wicked smile on her face as she spoke was enough to make Aoife absolutely certain that yes, this woman was absolutely a dragon in many, many ways.

"When I change forms, I pull the magic from inside me and move it outside my body so it can shift my skin and bones. It comes from here." Camilla tapped her collarbones lightly. "If you close your eyes, can you feel where your magic settles?"

"Here." Aoife placed her hand on her abdomen without hesitation. She knew where the power came from and where it settled after it crept out of her to do damage.

"Good. Now... if you focus, can you make it move?"

"I... mmm..." Aoife squinted. "I've tried that. I don't... It doesn't like just moving when I want it to move."

A thought struck her at that moment. Even though she couldn't bring plants back to life and couldn't heal others, her magic had never failed to respond when her own body needed healing. Maybe all that she needed was to coax it out a little.

Aoife fished in her pocket for the small dagger she kept on her person, carefully sliding it out of its sheath. Drawing it across the back of her hand, the blade made a cut just deep enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"Normally this would be gone in a couple of hours, but..." She hummed softly in the back of her throat, trying to feel for the magic starting to do its work.

Her eyes fluttered close as she tried to focus on the sensation of something moving in her own body, of the heat of the magic that usually brought on nausea and shakes. It normally terrified her, but today she took deep breaths, forcing her muscles to relax. She could feel it shimmering inside, like smoke or water or oil moving in her body, gliding through muscle and bone and sinew.

"It's like... something sliding around in my veins. It's definitely moving towards the wound," Aoife said, tilting her head to the side. "I wonder if I can push it there faster."

She tried to push the invisible, warm force along through her veins, but it almost resisted her urges to pick up the pace. Instead of moving faster, it kept working at the same speed.

Aoife let out a frustrated sigh as she opened her eyes. Of course, she'd be the one to have magic with an attitude of its own...

Something clicked inside her mind as that thought occurred, the echo of a far-off conversation with Tarran replaying in her thoughts.

"Is magic sentient?"

"I don't know."

All this time she'd been treating the power as just a power, but... that power was life itself. What if she treated it like a being? What if she thought of it as something to work with, to flow with, to learn from, instead of a hindrance to her every waking desire?

Aoife closed her eyes again, swallowing hard as she concentrated on the cut she'd made.

Please, she thought. Please, just go where you're needed. You're wanted there. You can help things there.

A hot, tingling sensation raced up her arm until it swirled and centered on the cut on her hand. It stung a little, but not too much, the heat centering over the wound as it began to knit closed before her eyes. Only seconds later, her skin was entirely healed. There wasn't even a scar.

Camilla sucked in a breath, eyes wide as she leaned in close to examine Aoife's hand. Her mouth hung open as she slowly reached to trace her fingers over the skin, as if checking the thoroughness of the healing.

Meanwhile, the warm force that had centered on her hand slowly slipped back towards her abdomen and settled there. It was no longer painfully warm, just pleasantly so, and after a moment it faded entirely, settling into her body just like a part of her heartbeat and blood flow.

"You can't force it," Aoife said, nodding slowly. "That's it."

"I'm sorry?" Camilla blinked.

"Tarran said once that he wasn't sure if magic is sentiment, but what if we assume it is? Maybe I just have to figure out how to dance with it instead of trying to..." Aoife trailed off, jumping up from her spot on the bench as she took off down the garden path, looking for a plant that would be a suitable test subject.

Her mind wandered back to dance lessons with Tarran. It wasn't just about leading and following, she'd learned. It wasn't about letting someone else take total control. Dancing meant working together when you both knew the steps, meant trusting that your partner knew what they were doing, and she had never even once trusted her magic.

All her life, that magic was an enemy. What if, instead of trying to control it and force it to go where she wanted it to go, she tried to flow with it? Stopping in front of one of the red rose bushes, Aoife sank to her knees. How ironic that it looked very similar to those bushes she'd killed in the castle gardens not too long ago, and now...

She carefully cupped a rosebud in her hand. The little bud was still tightly closed, just a hint of bright red visible past the protective green leaves.

"Life wants to flow where it wants to flow. It's not about controlling the magic, it's about drawing the life force towards what already needs it. I'm just the strongest magnet," she said slowly, trying to focus on directing that warmth in her core out into her hand. "Everything goes towards me because I attract it the most, but if I can focus enough to move that energy somewhere else... it will follow."

She felt her heartbeat in her fingertips, tried to focus on that rush of warmth, on what the rose needed. It was small and still growing. It needed to bloom. She needed to help it bloom.

It was a little like trying to bait an invisible finishing line, like dangling a carrot in front of a pack animal to coax it to move, but she could slowly, slowly feel the life force in her body reach out towards that flower.

A wash of golden sparks poured from Aoife's fingertips, floating from her palm to land on the little rosebud. It seemed to drink in the sparks, soaking them into itself, and as it did, the flower opened.

It was a slow, gentle motion that took perhaps a minute, but the rose bloomed in front of her. The bud swelled to full size, perked open, and released a waterfall of brilliant scarlet petals. When the flower had fully opened, the sparks seemed to stop of their own accord. It was like the magic knew that the job was finished, and it slowly slinked back down Aoife's arm in a warm little glow that settled back in its place beneath her ribs.

This time, though, the sensation didn't feel unpleasant. This time, it was tinged with joy and victory.

"You did it," Camilla gasped, reaching out to touch the flower.

"I think it's going to take a lot more practice, though," Aoife whispered as she slowly got to her feet.

"Do you think..." the older woman trailed off as though she was afraid to ask the question at the forefront of both their minds.

"Let me practice on a few flowers first," she said, biting her lip. "Then I'm going to go find out."