The god of Death felt the fear rolling off the nine souls he was to claim. They hid in the shadows, staring at him with hollow eyes and raw hearts. His job only ever got harder these days. Sometimes he felt as if the weight of all those he'd escorted to his kingdom would crush him.

"Please, sir," one of the souls said. "Give us more time."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I can give you only what Death will allow. A few more minutes for your bodies to grow cold. After that, we must go."

They huddled together, staring at the familiar sights that would soon be lost to them forever. The thatched houses that all stood empty now, the trees and grass that were dead for the winter. No one looked at the bodies just a few feet away, cooling fast.

Their terror began to stink. It was a smell he could never wash off him. Each soul added to it as they clung to every second they still had in their world.

This time he watched one of the souls, a girl with golden hair and braver eyes than the others. She sometimes glanced at him, which was more than he'd seen a long time. For some reason he felt as if he should help her in some way. Perhaps lessen the horror of her last moments, distract her from her body that had already stopped pooling blood on the road.

"Would you wish to hear a story?" he asked. He didn't expect an answer, because he knew he wouldn't get one. Perhaps he would give them a story about her. The last human to ever have power over him.

When the souls only stared at him, he decided perhaps he would. Maybe they could find hope in a story of a girl who could control Death.

"Once upon a time, I gifted a family the ability to reclaim just one person that I had claimed as my own. They were allowed to save only one within their lifetime, but I allowed that it would be a gift that passed from parent to child throughout their generations. Naturally, they saved their loved ones to live on time they would not have otherwise had. Yet, as the generations passed, their gift was exposed to the wrong people. The family was captured by a conquering king. He lived two hundred years by using their gift to protect him from each of his deaths. Through those years he learned to keep this family close by his side, leaching off the gift that I had intended for them alone."

The souls shivered, staring at the ground as a rain began to fall. Soon it would wash the blood away, and the vultures would take care of the rest.

"That is where our story begins. With the last of the death tamers. A girl, gifted with power over Death, yet chained to the side of a king who refused to fear me."

----

Eronwy peeked into the infirmary and sighed in relief when she saw that it was empty of any of the healers. She edged through the door and dashed to the corner of the room she knew so well. She knew it was silly, but each step made it harder for her to hide the smile that threatened to break across her face.

"Trystan," she whispered as she approached. A tousled mess of black hair appeared over the covers. Her heart pattered against her ribs as he rubbed his eyes and groaned.

"You can't let a man sleep?" he asked.

She smacked his legs through the blankets and bounced on the side of his bed. He made a show of grabbing his side and pulling a sad face. "Watch out! My wounds, woman! You treat soldiers with such disrespect? Tsk, tsk!"

"A gash across the surface hardly counts," Eronwy said.

"As if you'd know anything about battle wounds," Trystan retorted. She made to smack him again, but he laughed and grabbed her hand before she could make contact. She narrowed her eyes and tried to yank her arm free. He stuck his tongue out as she struggled in vain.

"Aye, let go!" she whined, making to poke him in the ribs with her other hand. He yelped and lunged out of her reach, but with her hand still in his grasp he pulled her with him until she was sprawled over his side. He laughed, his face now just a few inches from Eronwy's. Heat rose to her face.

How many times had she sneaked in here and talked to Trystan? How many times had she stared at his lips while he talked, and fought against the growing feeling of attachment. She knew she shouldn't be thinking of him as anything but a distraction.

Trystan's gaze didn't waiver, though Eronwy soon averted hers to a safe spot of his blanket. She felt his hand run up her arm.

"Eronwy," he said, his voice so near her that she could feel his breath stirring against her cheek. She was still sprawled over his chest, and suddenly she realized just how close she was to him. Gasping, she jerked upward, knocking his hands out of the way as she did.

"Um, I should be-" She looked around, hoping to find something to distracting.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her before she could dart away.

"I can't," she said. "The High King doesn't allow me to—" She stopped before she revealed the secrets of her heart.

"He doesn't allow what?" Trystan asked, pulling gently on her arm, reeling her in, until she sat on the edge of his bed. She ducked her head, shielding her face with her hair.

"I'm not allowed to care for anyone," she whispered.

He was silent for a moment. She twisted her hands in her lap, hoping that he wouldn't press the issue. She didn't want to think about the fury of the High King if he ever found out.

"But what if that person cares about you more than the High King ever could? What if he loves you more than his own life?"

Eronwy's eyes widened and she jerked her head up. Trystan's face was right there to meet her gaze.

"Love?" she asked, and Trystan smiled.

"Love most deep," he said, leaning closer.

"No one's ever said that to me before."

"I guess that's why you don't know that you need to say it back."

Eronwy bit down on her smile and glanced away. "Well, I don't think I can refuse a horribly injured soldier, can I?"

"Most definitely not."

She faced him with a grin. "All right, then, Trystan. I love you more and more and the most."

The words had barely left her lips before he captured her in a kiss. She froze, all her senses drinking in a moment she'd only imagined in forbidden dreams. She leaned into his kiss, her hands resting on his knees.

When he finally pulled away she was breathless and kept her eyes squeezed shut. He laughed. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm pretending that I won't wake up and realize this is a dream," she said.

"If this is a dream, then we're sharing it."

She cracked an eye open to see him still sitting in front of her. He hadn't disappeared like he did in her dreams. He was truly there, and she had truly given him her heart.

"Do you think this will work?" she asked, as unease began to knot in her stomach.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"It's not my fate to love anyone."

He hooked her hair behind her ears. "If you weren't fated to love me, then we never would have met."

"But what if-"

"Our hearts are together now. Of course it's our fate to be together. We're not going to ever be parted."

She smiled back at him, finally feeling her future open up and hope fill her chest at the promise of a real life.

----

A week passed in which Eronwy had arms to run to when her days were long and rough. It felt more like a fairy tale than real life, but she didn't care. She met Trystan each night in front of the infirmary, and they spent hours together.

But this night... dark clouds gathered over the fairy tale.

"What were you doing out here at this hour, Eronwy?" the High King asked. "Shouldn't you be waiting for my orders in your bedroom?"

Eronwy froze at the top of the hallway. "I was just... coming to the infirmary for a salve."

"That's strange, because I've been watching you. It's almost as if you're waiting for someone."

Eronwy's blood ran cold. "What have you done with him?" she asked.

The High King smiled. "Well, Eronwy, what do you think I'd do with someone that you insist on becoming attached to?"

She rushed forward, her nerves shredding as she thought of all the ways the High King had punished people who had double crossed him in the past. She knew her punishment would be light, but Trystan had no gift that the King wanted to keep. He could do anything to Trystan, and she would be powerless. "Where is he? What have you done?"

The High King put his hand out, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her close to him. She wanted to squirm away, but she knew if she did it would only make matters worse.

"He's a soldier, isn't he? I heard rumors that he was showing you around the castle. Obviously, that wound of his wasn't as bad as he was saying it was," the High King said, sighing. "Our great kingdom needs all the soldiers it can get, and if he's healthy enough to go wooing then he is healthy enough fulfill his duties."

"You sent him to the battlefields?" she asked, her chest hollow.

"Mm, yes, the front lines. He's a good fighter. I wanted him to do his best."

"He's wounded."

"The healers agreed with me that he can return to fighting."

She knew the healers hadn't said any such thing. But even if they had, it would be because the King told them to. Trystan's wound would have kept him out of the battle had he been any other man then the one who loved her.

"He'll die," she said.

The High King shrugged. "Well, I guess this is a lesson you had to learn, then. When I say that you are not to love anyone, I mean it."

----

In the dead of the night, she packed her things. The High King would come looking for her soon, but she wouldn't be in her room. She would be riding to the battlefields, intent on finding Trystan. It was the second time she'd disobeyed her king's orders. The first was to love, and the second was to find her love.

She stole a horse and rode into the night. This was the start of a life always on the run, but it would be worth it. If she could find Trystan then she'd gladly become a renegade who would always have to run.

----

The sun couldn't penetrate the deep gray clouds, leaving the remains of the abandoned battlefield in deep shadows. Vultures already waited in the trees for their chance at the bodies left behind.

Wind whistled in Eronwy's ear, a wailing that matched the one keening in her heart. She knew the nurse walking ahead pitied her-- but also that the woman had no time for guiding a girl through the dead bodies when there were others that might be saved. But Eronwy knew that the one she sought could be saved as well. It would just take her gift.

The nurse stopped over a cluster of bodies, all tangled up in a knot. They'd died in battle, frozen with hatred and fear plastered across their faces.

"We can't do anything for his injuries, so we left him. Don't be long," the nurse said, before turning to head back.

Eronwy knelt, her hands shaking as she pushed a body over to reveal Trystan's face. His skin was as white as the flashes of bones that showed through the gashes across his forehead. His eyes were closed, but from the gentlest of flutters she could tell she wasn't too late.

"Trystan," she breathed, excitement flaring as she realized she could save him. "It's me!" He didn't respond, but his eyelids fluttered again.

She dragged him backward and away from the carnage. He was heavy and she slipped and slid in the mud as she pulled him to a drier spot. His armor pressed heavy on him, but she knew that at this point it was the only thing keeping him alive. It slowed the bleeding, though she could already see how much of it had spilled out around him. This was a wound inflicted by the god of Death, something meant to claim a soul. But her family had been given one chance to be a ruler of Death. One chance to make the cold god bend to her will.

Grunting, she lifted Trystan's head out of the mud. She ran one hand down the pocked surface of his armor to the piercing in his side. His blood was already cold, sticky; the kind of blood you found in the butcher's shop long after the animal had been killed. She tried not to think about it. Tried to imagine his smile when she brought him back, how he'd pretend to knock her chin and scold her for doing something as dangerous as running away from the King.

"Trystan," she whispered, ducking her head so that her lips brushed his forehead and her breath warmed his skin.

She called up to mind those words her mother had taught her. The most important words she'd ever learn, and the ones which would earn her happiness.

"Death's cold hands have claimed this soul," her voice shook. Trystan stirred in her lap, his forehead furrowing. She had no idea if this was his final breath being drawn from his body, or if it was the words weaving new life into the broken bones and shredded muscles.

She leaned forward, hoping her heartbeat would teach his, her breathing would guide his, her life would save his. "But I call out to Life on his behalf."

She could feel the gift of life building in her body, rushing toward her hands, rushing for contact with Trystan. She felt as if the hidden sun was inside of her, wanting to break free of the heavy clouds. Eronwy's throat tightened as neared the end of her words. She only had to speak them, and Trystan could be hers again.

"So I use the gift of snatching back, given to me by the ruler of Death himself. I say fie to the waters of death, and command them to recede. I call to the god of Life to not yet abandon this soul. For on the saying of this man's name, he shall return to the land that is not through with him yet. I call his name..."

The taste of his name was on her tongue. A name as familiar as her own, as beautiful as bird song and rainfall. She smiled as the first letters spilled from her mouth.

"Trys-"

A fist slammed into her face, sending her sprawling into the mud. Trystan dropped from her arms as ringing filled her ears and black spots danced in front of her eyes. She tasted blood on her tongue as she realized she looked at a familiar set of golden armor. The King. She struggled to get back to her feet, but he struck her hard enough to knocked her onto her back.

It was then that she realized what he was doing. Her head whipped around to see Trystan. Blood speckled his skin, his mouth open to reveal pink foam no breath. He was too close to the edge. She had to save him now.

She scrambled forward and grabbed Trystan's hand. "I say his name: Tr-"

This blow was not with a hand or foot, but with a war hammer. It sent blinding pain through her arm, so that her words turned to a scream of pain mingled with the crunching of her bone. She knew only her pain. She vomited into the mud and clutched her broken arm.

It took a moment for her body to process the pain. It still wrenched through her body like hellfire, but she had to think about Trystan and the King.

Clutching her broken arm, she sought out the King. He was somehow untouched by the filth of the battlefield, and he stared at her with eyes that matched the heavy sky. His sword rested in his hand, unsheathed.

"Your gift belongs to me," he said, his voice scraping at her bones. She shook her head, and before she could help it she was whimpering.

"No. Please don't hurt him. I'll do anything you want me to," she blubbered, her eyes whipping from the King's face to Trystan's.

"But the only thing I want you to do is not use your gift on this soldier. So, what different does it make if he dies now or in a few minutes when his wounds claim him?" the king asked. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders. His sword raised, ready to strike.

The blade swung downward with a sickening thunk into Trystan's neck. Eronwy screamed, screamed so much that her throat shredded. She couldn't see anything but blood as the King yanked his sword free.

"Now, let's go," he said.

She tried to get free of the hand that grabbed her shoulder. Her body ached to be near Trystan, to try and save him even though she knew he was too far gone even for her gift. But she needed to try. She needed to... she needed to...

The King wrenched her backward by her wounded shoulder to stop her squirming.

"We were in love," Eronwy sobbed. "We're supposed to be together. That was our fate."

"No, your fate was to love him," the King said. "You were to love him, but that never meant that you could have him."

"What am I supposed to do?" Eronwy whispered, suddenly unable to see any part of the future. It was as if she'd ceased to exist.

"You are going to ache for him every day of your life, and you are going to die every time you think of him," the King said, his eyes glowing fierce. "But we live on, even if our hearts do not. Your gift is not for others, it is for me. So you will continue to live by my side. You will marry who I say, and you will continue your family line. And only after I've used your gift, may you decide again what you want to do."

Her spirit was already gone, sucked away to the realm of the dead along with Trystan. She just stared at her master, useless except for the gift that she couldn't use unless he told her she could. She was completely his. The few moments she'd thought differently had been only ruination and destruction.

----

"She couldn't save him?" the girl's spirit asked, and hidden within her questions was another question. Can I be saved?

The god of Death offered her his hand. "She could not. However, I am not so cruel that she feared me when I came for her." Hidden in his answer was another. You do not need to be saved from me.

"She died as well?" the girl asked.

"The gift was used one last time for the king. But I decided I was tired of him after that. I claimed the girl before she could give birth to another in her line. This is his last life."

She looked out at the destruction that plagued the village, which would soon be put to an end when Nature decided one final death would visit the King on his throne.

"Fie on the High King's spirit when it does reach you," she said. With a sigh, she took the hand he had offered her. "We are ready now."

"I am glad," the god of Death said. She was not afraid of him, but not for the arrogant reason that had made the High King rash. Instead, she saw him as what he was. The lullaby at the end of the day, beckoning her to a sleep after the horrors of the war.