Aoife and Tarran returned to the manor the very next day.
She was thankful he'd opted to skip the last day of the proceedings, partly because they were able to slip off quietly. No one bothered them as they loaded their trunks and the carriage rattled away towards home.
At the time, Aoife wondered when she'd begun to think of the manor as home, but the truth was that it wasn't the estate. It was Tarran. Tarran was her home, and every passing second increased the risk that she could lose him.
To break the spell, someone you have harmed, someone who owes you a debt, and someone who loves you must exchange their life for yours of their own free will. Death for life. Balance restored.
Aoife had memorized the conditions for breaking the curse. In the three days since their return, she'd slowly poured over it countless times, wondering if there was any kind of loophole. the wording was simple enough that she thought there should be one, but the problem was that it wouldn't be an easy one to execute.
A list of painstakingly scrawled and then angrily scratched out ideas sat beside her, the parchment smudged from tears and writing and sheer frustration. There was only one that hadn't been crossed out, and she wasn't certain it would be possible to find anyone who filled the conditions.
Tarran wouldn't want to kill anyone. He'd been working this long to avoid having to kill anyone in an effort to break the curse, not to mention that the sacrifice had to be of their own free will. That was the trick, in the end, but Aoife thought she might have found a way around it.
With her magic, it was technically possible to trade life forces between two people. Technically. She'd never tried it, and Aoife was admittedly uncertain that it was possible without using herself as a conduit, but it was worth a shot if they could find three people to fulfill the conditions. All she had to do was coax a little of Tarran's life force into someone else and a little of theirs into Tarran, assuming they freely agreed to the process and fit the conditions...
Aoife screamed in frustration, the sound echoing around the library. Stubborn she might be, but it felt like every ounce of her willpower had gone into finding ways out of this, and it was almost enough to snap her resolve.
Tears pricking at her eyes, she rested her head on the desk in front of her and just tried to breathe. She couldn't break down. There wasn't time. Maybe... maybe if she talked to Tarran, if she brought Camilla into the equation. Then they would only need one more person. Maybe they could somehow split the three conditions between themselves.
Slow, deliberate footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the open library doors. A sharp burst of shame settled in her chest as she realized he'd undoubtedly heard her frustrated outburst, but she was too exhausted to move as the footsteps drew closer.
By the time a warm hand came to rest on her back, Aoife's mind was blank. The frustration and exhaustion and fear crept into her bones, and she couldn't find a way to shake it.
"It's time for bed, Aoife," Tarran said gently.
"I can't sleep. Too much to do."
"You know, I never thought that was the habit you'd pick up from me," he sighed. "Come on. Let's go."
With a soft huff, Aoife stood from her chair, put out the lamp, and walked after Tarran towards his room. She was tired, and he knew it. As much as she wanted to keep going, she'd wind up falling asleep at the desk at this rate... just like Tarran had so many times.
Maybe he really was rubbing off on her more than she knew. That was fine, though. It had been a long, long time since she was close enough to anyone to pick up their habits.
When they finally made it to Tarran's room, there was already a fire in the hearth. It was warmer than the library, and the pleasant heat made her want to relax. She slipped off the heavy cloak she'd been wearing in the library, toed off her shoes, and walked towards her side of the massive canopy bed.
There was a line of pillows down the middle of Tarran's bed, dividing it exactly in two. It wasn't much, but it was enough that they wouldn't roll into each other in the middle of the night. Aoife still found it difficult to sleep without being in the same room as him, waking up nearly every hour to make sure he was still breathing. Even staying in the same room, she woke up frequently. The thought of waking only to find he'd succumbed to the curse was too much for her to bear.
"Do we have to put the pillows there?" Aoife grumbled, punching one of them lightly as she yanked the blankets over her legs. She could touch people now. Not only that, it was easier every day to remain calm, to let her magic know they weren't in danger, to work in tandem with the power to live a life that was good for her.
Tarran insisted on the pillows, though. He said it was safer for her to have a barrier.
"If you touch me in your sleep, I don't know how your magic might react without your consciousness to pull back. I won't risk it."
Considering he was letting her sleep in his room, she thought it best to let him win this debate. Aoife didn't mind the barrier so long as she could wake up and hear that he was still breathing, so long as she knew that if anything terrible happened, she was right beside him.
"Will you let me heal you a little before you sleep?" she asked softly, reaching her hand over the pillow barrier.
"... Will it help you sleep if you do?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. Tarran reached out and grabbed her hand, and Aoife let her magic work.
It didn't work without touch, they'd discovered. While she could drain the life force from nearby living things without touching them, that had only happened when she was in emotional distress. She hadn't figured out how to intentionally use her magic on anything without making contact.
As soon as their hands touched, Aoife's magic sparked to life. It was like it recognized Tarran by now, knew that it was given momentary permission to hunt and feed on the darkness inside him. Life and death. Balance. Cycles. Forces eternally chasing each other round and round until the end of all things.
"That's enough," Tarran said, pulling his hand away. Aoife pouted, but she didn't try to reach for him again. The boundaries between them were delicate, especially with Tarran's future on the line. She wanted to respect his wishes, but refused to let him die.
At least this way she knew he would survive at least until morning, and that gave her the sense of comfort she needed to relax a little. It was only a stall mechanism, but it was better than nothing.
What she didn't tell him was that her power left her a little lightheaded each time, a little more tired each time. She wasn't sure if the curse was beating her back or if her magic insisted upon unfurling with more and more intensity every time she let it run loose, but she was starting to feel the impact.
Tarran said she'd been siphoning life force off of everything and everyone she touched for years, though. Surely she had more than enough stored up to spare. Surely it was just that the magic was overwhelming, that she was coming into her power, that it took time getting used to...
Surely.
Tarran lay awake in his bed, listening to the sound of Aoife's gentle breathing.
His time was coming soon. He could feel it.
Aoife's healing was staving off the worst of the pain and keeping the curse at bay, but it wasn't enough to counteract it entirely. A cold sense of dread settled in his chest every time he looked at his blackening Mark.
It was spreading faster. As though in response to Aoife's attempts to counteract it, the curse spread back in place faster than before each time she healed him. He would never tell her, of course. Her magic gave him a little extra time and lessened the pain, and that was more than he could ever hope for.
She deserved to know before the end, though. She deserved to hear everything directly from him. He'd tell her to find Camilla when he was gone. They seemed to get along well, and his sister was a better teacher than he'd ever been.
He could leave the estate to her. That would be easy enough. She would always have a place to live that way, and never have to worry about finding a home again.
There was still the problem of the death curse, though.
Even now he could see it spreading across the farmlands in Quilland. Crops refused to grow or grew far too slowly when they did. Rains came less and less frequently. It was impossible to tell if the curse on the land would spiral beyond control or break with his death, which was why he'd tried to find a way to break it... but his time was up.
He would talk to Aoife over the next day or two. Just as soon as he figured out how.
"I might stay here and read for a while," he said softly. "Perhaps go on a walk later."
"I'll check on you later."
It was later, and Aoife arrived in Tarran's room to find him dozing off with a book in his lap, still propped against the pillows. She put down the tray of soup and bread she'd brought on the bedside table, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder to wake him.
Not for the first time, she thought that it was a shame the world had never seen his face. His silvery Mark and white eyelashes were beautiful to behold, and as his eyes fluttered open, she thought she would never find anyone else with irises that same shade of blue. Aoife reached for his hand as he sleepily turned towards her, looking from her face to the open book in his lap.
"You okay?" she asked, gently stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.
"Mmm. Just tired, but I've been tired since I was a child," he said with a weak smile, but it wasn't enough to convince Aoife. He'd been moving slower and slower since the start of the proceedings, and though her magic had helped a little, it wasn't enough to entirely reverse the damage.
"I wish I'd forced you to leave sooner," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.
"I would say you couldn't have, but you're probably the most stubborn person I've ever," he said, reaching up to stroke her cheek with a small, pained smile. "Don't worry about me. My time was already running short when we met. And I didn't expect..." he trailed off, shaking his head.
He never expected to fall in love with her. He never expected to meet someone that made him want to live more than anyone or anything ever had before.
"Can you... promise me something?" Tarran asked.
"Don't die and I'll promise you anything in the world." She was smiling, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. A tear trickled down her cheek before she could stop it, and she didn't bother to scrub it away.
"I wish I could stay with you," he said softly. "I do. I need you to promise me that you won't give up once I'm gone, though. Find... Find Camilla. She'll he— help you..."
"Tarran, please! You can't leave me. You—" she cut off with a gasping, broken sob. "You have to know how much I love you."
"I love you, too, Aoife," he murmured. "I love you very, very much. I wouldn't leave you if I could stop this."
Tears in her eyes, Aoife crawled into the bed beside him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Though she managed to hold back the sound of her cries, her tears wet the shoulder of Tarran's shirt and she knew he could feel her shaking as she tried and failed to steady her breathing. It was too much. It was far, far too much to take watching him die and knowing there was very little that she could do about it.
"Can I stay for a while?" she asked softly.
"Please." He hugged her close, hand rubbing circles across her back, and she thought it strange that the dying man was the one comforting her.
Tarran only became weaker over the next two days, spending most of his time in bed. Worst of all, he'd started talking about plans after his death. Aoife always did her best to change the subject, but he'd finally cornered her today and managed to give her a letter.
She hadn't opened it and she wasn't planning to. He could tell her anything he wanted to say once he was better, and she refused to believe otherwise. Besides, there was still one thing left to try.
It was time to do what Tarran did not want her to do.
Aoife spent her time in the library that afternoon with a stack of papers and a pen, writing pages and crumpling them over and over. Her penmanship was not the best, and her grasp of written words was limited, but in case this went very badly, she was determined to leave him something. After starting and stopping and throwing away several versions, she finally settled on two simple sentences.
If this goes wrong, know I love you. I wanted to try.
In the end, if things did go wrong, she wanted him to know that it wasn't his fault. He was worth it to try. Aoife didn't think she could bring herself to go on living if the curse took his life and she still hadn't done everything she possibly could to save him. It would eat away at her heart and her soul for the rest of her existence, and judging by what they'd learned of her magic, that existence was apt to be a very, very long time.
She had to try.
That night, she refused to fall asleep, lying with her eyes wide open and locked on the flickering embers in the fireplace as she waited to hear the steady sound of Tarran's breathing. He would never let her do this while he was conscious, so she'd simply have to try in the middle of the night and hope he didn't wake during the process.
Around two in the morning, when the moon was high in the sky and visible outside his bedroom window, Aoife was positive he was well and truly asleep. She carefully, slowly crept out of the bed, trying to shift the mattress as little as possible when she moved.
Pulling the note from her pocket as quietly as possible, she placed it on his bedside table. With luck, he would find it. With more luck, she could get rid of it herself before he ever saw anything at all.
Aoife took a few slow, steadying breaths. Somewhere in the center of her body, her magic flared to life with a gentle rush of heat. It was like it knew what they were about to do, like it was ready for a fight and entirely unafraid.
A whirl of thoughts and memories flashed through her mind.
Tarran dancing around a ballroom, lost in the joy of movement.
Tarran rolling his eyes at her from across the library.
Tarran's cool skin against hers.
Her head felt dizzy, her body shaking in a way that had nothing to do with her magic, not this time. She could not lose someone else she loved. It would break her.
Tarran deserved better than this as his ending.
"Please let him stay," she begged, her voice so soft that it was almost inaudible. "Please."
Aoife stood beside him, carefully placing her hand over his and praying it wouldn't wake him, but he seemed soundly asleep. She resisted the urge to watch him sleep peacefully for a moment and instead closed her eyes, searching for that well of power somewhere inside her and willing it to connect with the man she loved.
Reaching out for that oily slickness battling for Tarran's life, Aoife focused all her willpower on her magic. There might still be a chance. It might not be too late, not if she could do this, not if she could try hard enough.
This time, when she found that black tar underneath the surface of his magic, she let her power loose.
It was like a crashing wave overtaking a beach, but a thousand times larger, a thousand times stronger. The magic surged through her body with a raging heat like she'd never felt before, running after the oily black curse inside Tarran like attack dogs running after their prey. Her vision swam and clouded, her head spun, and her heart raced, but still Aoife refused to let go. Her magic knew what to do. It knew what she wanted— what they both wanted. All she had to do was hang on long enough to let it do its work.
The spinning turned to weightlessness and the burning turned to pain, but Aoife held on, refusing to stop as she let her magic chase the darkness out of his veins. She would not let him go, not like this.
She loved him far too much for that.
And just as Aoife thought she would surely lose consciousness, something moved under her fingertips.
It felt like a heartbeat...
It felt like a breath of air...
Aoife's world went black.