Not bad for a child, Giulia thinks to herself. Not bad at all.

It's only now, reclined on one of the tavern's marginally less shabby beds, that she bears the full brunt of her wound. Adrenaline no longer courses through her veins, and the buzz of amused delight has faded, leaving her with a dull stab of pain that slices deep into her flesh. Nothing she hasn't endured before, but she has to give the Oscensi girl some credit. She has some force in that sword arm.

If only Giulia had seen fit, in the moment, to return the favour. But to retaliate so early and so simply wouldn't be half as entertaining. She has a better game to play.

With a grimace, she shifts back into the headrest, elevating her shoulders. Not a massive improvement on lying horizontal, but some aid to the exposed sensation that comes with being bound to her bed. She'd love to swing her legs out, to pace up and down the tiny box room, but she's not a fan of causing herself unnecessary agony.

She flexes her fingers, feeling the emptiness beneath them like a void. It's a long time since she's been comfortable without a sword in one hand or the other. Her eyes dart to the knife lying on the table beside her.

"Good to see you're not dead."

A smile crawls over Giulia's lips. Raising her head fully, she waits a couple of seconds for the fuzziness of the bright light to filter away, allowing Harlow's dark form to etch itself out like a sturdy shadow. He stands as stiff as ever in the doorway, arms folded. The blazing lantern above turns his eyes to green licks of flame.

After all she's seen and heard these last few days, she wouldn't be all too surprised if she were told the flame was real.

"It would take more than a little blonde girl to kill me." She sets her hands down either side of her, no longer so bothered by her own vulnerability. There's something about Harlow's presence that eases the mind.

He kicks aside the doorstop, letting the door fall closed with a soft click, before pushing off the frame and approaching her. "Great soldiers have been killed by little girls before," he muses. "All they need is the right tool and a convenient moment."

"But I'm not a great soldier, am I?" She flashes him a grin. "I'm a great general."

"Of course, General Velez." He bends in a brief bow. It's difficult to decipher whether sarcasm or belief is what eats up the words. Years fighting alongside each other, and yet she still can't tell when he's joking. If he does ever purposefully make a joke.

A couple of broad paces, and he's at her bedside. Wordlessly, he pulls back her sheets and hooks his fingers beneath her shirt.

She smirks. "Feeling a little forward, are we, Harlow?"

He casts her nothing but a withering glance as he peels the shirt up, revealing her bandages. Much of the right side of the cloth is blotched scarlet. "These need changing," he says briskly.

She waves a vague gesture towards the door. "Fetch one of your healers to do it. Not that freckled boy. He was hopeless."

Turning, he shakes his head. "No need. They're busy. I'm perfectly capable of changing bandages." He shoves back his sleeves and grabs for the flimsy gloves discarded on the table.

As he teases back the cloth with surprising gentleness, she observes him with a twitch of amusement. Any other captain she would have shooed away, not that they'd offer anyway, but Harlow is different. She's quite content to let his calloused fingers nick her skin. Besides, she's been waiting to have a proper private conversation with him.

"So," she begins, resting her head back on the wooden frame, "the boy isn't as malleable as you thought."

"He's certainly got a stubborn streak." Harlow's eyes flicker with something reminiscent of pride. "I'd expect nothing less from Mayci's son."

Giulia's smile dips into a frown. Her fingers drum over the bed, attention flitting to the knife again. "Are you really his father, then?" It comes out short, a little snappier than she'd prefer. She tries to relax into the bed. Pain is chipping away at her usual measure.

Pausing, he turns his gaze to the low ceiling, suddenly appearing a touch more youthful. "I might have been," he murmurs, "had things gone a little differently." A sigh drifts in the statement's wake as he returns to unwrapping the bandages. "His real father is long dead, regardless, and there's very few left to tell the genuine truth. I already dealt with one of them."

"The witch in the mountains?"

He nods. "An interesting visit, to say the least."

"I can imagine." But most likely not in the way Giulia pictures. He knows this other world of magic, these dealings of unnatural miracles in the shadows. She's still coming to terms with how aptly he managed to hide it all, and how suddenly he's chosen to reveal himself. The past week has been packed with so many revelations that she can hardly keep up.

He's taken the symbol to its full extent, however. Silver and vibrant lime green twine in disjointed ribbons along the silky black lining of his sleeves, curving elegantly over his collar.

"Did you know the boy's mother, then?" She doesn't know her curiosity until it slides out. Myths and magic have never been more than a passive interest, but Harlow? His mysteries are finally unraveling, and she'll grasp that thread with both hands. A worthy replacement for a blade.

Her eager grip tightens at the thoughtful spark in his eyes. "Very well." His eyes turn bitter. "Better than Rishi ever did."

She tips her head to the side. "Is that jealousy I detect?"

Lifting his head, he meets her eyes, unmoving. "No more than you, Giulia."

Letting out a quiet huff, she sits forward a fraction. He throws her a pointed glance that prevents her from moving anymore. He's reached the more bloodstained folds now, adding to the rusty red already marring the gloves' fabric.

"None of that matters," Harlow adds, severing the thread before she can ask anything more. "It won't be long until Noli realises he's better off with me."

She thinks of him glaring up at her from the ground, scared and exhausted and weak but firm nonetheless. He says he'd rather die. Though Giulia can't bring herself to entirely believe him, she can't doubt the determination that sharpened his strange little eyes. "It wouldn't hurt to give him a nudge or two."

"My team will continue the chase once all injuries have been dealt with. I'm confident we'll catch up."

And she'd be a fool to disbelieve that, but such a concept is beginning to sound rather flat. "Just another game of chase. No, we can do more than that." She flicks her gaze to his. "Capture the girl, too."

He stills. "The Diraldi girl?"

"Is that who she is?" It would explain her irritating persistence, her competence. At least the Oscensi king's advisor somewhat deserves his position, unlike the king himself. "Even better. Capture them both, and make him kill her. That should break him in nicely." The same move as using the deserter, but more carefully planned, and far more enjoyable to administer.

The last trails of bloodied cloth peel away. She bites her teeth together as the air meets the wound, hissing between them at its soft sting. It steals so much of her focus that she almost forgets that Harlow might have a reply to give.

"Interesting." He drops the bandages to the floor, fingers trailing up the side of the table in thought. "It would teach him the fragility of those without power, too."

"Fragility," she echoes with a slight laugh. "Those without power are so quick to outlive their usefulness. It's why those such as you and I live on so long."

His hand reaches the top of the table, looping slow curves until his knuckles knock the knife's hilt. Mirth of his own tugs at his lips. "Those with power are victims to their own safety. They sometimes forget that they are not entirely invincible."

Her laughter emerges as a snort. "I do love it when our talks get deep, Harlow, but can you focus on the task at hand?" A frown creeps forth as she sweeps the table. "Did you not bring clean bandages?"

"I suppose not," he mutters distractedly.

"It isn't like you to be so disorganised." Amusement tangles with a faint concern, growing into unease that unfurls gradually at the back of her mind. "You'll have to trek back across the hall."

"No need." His hand closes over the hilt. Perhaps he has a similar nervous tick to her.

She might have taunted him, might have asked him to hand over the knife so she could toy with it, but any notion of a response dries from her throat the moment he lifts it. One smooth, sweeping motion. Panic sprawls too late.

Such a small blade, but its point leaves a searing path as it drives into her wound.

A breathless gasp shoves its way into her lungs. He doesn't release his grip. The knife holds steady, black-wrapped hilt creasing under his fingers.

"I'm sorry about this, Giulia." His face is a blank mask, unchanged, boring into her in steely cold. "But I did warn you."

She needs to say something. To snap back. To scream for help. To plead with him, even, tell him what a mistake he's making, beg him not to do this. She can't die. Not yet, not now. Not so soon.

Even in her own head, she sounds pathetic. It's probably a mercy her voice has fled her.

"Don't worry." The push he gives the blade is gentle, but it roars like a wild beast, gnawing its way through her flesh. Blood rings its top. "I'll inform the queen that you died bravely at the Anathe's hand. Or maybe I'll tell her the Kynig boy burned you alive." He laughs, a joke only for his own understanding. He laughs so rarely. It's a coarse sound, rough and deep, and it scrapes her heart raw.

Say something. Yet her words still freeze. There's so much she wants to say to him.

Out of everyone, it would be him, wouldn't it? It was always going to be Harlow. The man who rose to captaincy too quickly, who stayed there too long, who never seemed to be in any sort of trouble, who so recently revealed his magical powers. It was only a matter of time. Funny how hindsight works.

Pain wracks her insides. Her scream bunches in her throat, blocked from emerging, slowly choking her.

"Of course, you choose me as the next general?" His eyes are dancing with green fire again. He might even be on the verge of smiling. "I always was your favourite, wasn't I?"

She doesn't realise he's reaching out until he's caressing her cheek, running his fingers through her hair. Shivers spread at every brush of his skin on hers. He's so cold. Not dissimilar to the Anathe.

"I hope you never thought I loved you," he whispers. "That would be a shame. You should know that I'll only ever love one woman. And, unfortunately, you failed to bring me her son."

His hand retracts. His other twists, blade cutting deeper.

"I suppose we all have to outlive our usefulness one day."

He yanks out the knife. Giulia can no longer breathe. Darkness seeps into the edges of her vision, tainted in the ugly red of her own blood.

She really is dying. She suddenly has the compulsive urge to laugh aloud.

But her voice is still lost. Perhaps that's magic, too. She can only watch soundlessly as she bleeds, staining the covers, her life draining away before her eyes.

The last thing she sees is Harlow set down the knife. He begins tugging off the gloves in a casual movement, appearing almost bored, tidying up after a job well done.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I debated over and over whether to include a final alt PoV chapter, and what its content would be, but in the end this feels like the best fit. We close off what I started by having a Giulia chapter right near the start, as well as getting some extra Harlow insight. I think it works, anyway. But here it be.

And... that's it. The final AToD chapter. Cue crisis time. I better just scoot over to a new chapter to dump the entirety of my thoughts on this--

- Pup