“Will be nothing the moment we break the curse.”
“And if we cannot break it?”
A sickle-sharp smile curls across his lips. It’s bitter. Almost sinister. It’s something I haven’t seen from him since I first arrived in Midscape.
“If you hate being bloodsworn to me so much then you’d better fight with all your might to break it.” He eases away.
“It’s not that I hate—I—I—” I just wanted a choice.
“You don’t need to placate me.” His shoulder brushes mine as he walks past. I’m left standing in his wake. Stunned. Dazed.
By the time I’m able to form words again, he’s long gone.
* * *
Snowfall is heavy in Tempost, stacking high on the eaves and street sides. Hundreds of people stamp it down, push it out of the way, as they bustle about. I make my way through in awe.
Hot candy bubbles in a cauldron. The night is streaked orange by sparkling sticks, carried by eager children. A woman leans over a street stall, attempting to pass out pendants with constellations into them.
“With the stars at your neck, fate is yours!” she calls.
I pause.
“You aren’t honestly thinking of buying one, are you?” A man is at my side with a similar shade of brown hair as mine and familiar green eyes. “It’s not real, you know.”
“I know what I came here for.” I pat the pouch at my hip. A few coins jingle within.
Came here for…
There’s a man before me now. Different than the one at my side earlier. A man with all too familiar gold eyes and long, white hair pulled underneath his hood.
A man still unknown yet.
A man who smiles with the weight of destiny.
“Give me your hand,” he says, “I have time for one more.”
I kneel before him, holding out my palm. The vampir cups it with both his hands pulling it toward him. He leans down, slowly parting his lips. Fangs sink into the meat at the base of my thumb. Just enough to break the skin. When the tip of his tongue runs over my flesh, I shiver.
His eyes dart up to mine. I inhale sharply.
“You…” he whispers, “are our destiny.”
* * *
It’s beendays and we’ve hardly spoken a word to each other since our—I don’t even know what to call it. Argument? Disagreement? Intense conversation? Debate?
I drop my hammer with a heavy clang that’s in perfect harmony to the frustration simmering within me. He hasn’t even drunk from me during this time. I can see the hollows of his cheeks growing deeper. Shadows cling to them. I shake my head. I still can’t believe that I want him to drink from me. But he needs his strength.
How did I get here?
The question lingers in the back of my mind. Persistent. Clear. But the answers are hazier than the dreams that try to flee from me with each dawn.
Of course I know how I got here, in that I know the events that led me to this particular place and time. I remember every step that was taken. Every decision that was made. But there’s a disconnect in my mind somewhere between those choices and where I’ve ended up. How…how a forge maiden could end up in the vampir castle. How could I end up working by moonlight and sleeping by sunlight?
The only time I can escape the questions is when I’m in the smithy. Here things are still consistent. I know how metal reacts to heat. I know the sound of the hammer. My hands move on their own without the necessity of thought. I can shut off my restless mind and simply focus on creating whatever it is I please. And I’m mostly left alone… Mostly.
I turn from my work at the sound of footsteps.
