I was naked and covered in crimson, lying on the cold snow, blood was my world. It consumes my senses, I tasted it, smelt it, and even heard it gurgle from my ears. It was a truly terrible way to end a wedding night.

  A raven watched me, likely waiting for me to take that last step through death's door, a portal I already had my foot wedged in.

  “You carry on my carrion friend, I do suggest you avoid getting too close. There will be no free dinners for you this night.” I tried to say, but with the blood and heaving lungs, I'm not sure it had a chance to understand me.

  Shockingly the curse wasn't actually painful, immensely distressing yes as I leaked from places no man should leak from, but little actual pain. It helped that the blood loss numbed me. I mostly felt exhausted. A wave of lightheadedness swamped me. Throwing me into my Hearth.

  Standing at the core of my cultivation, in my mind I saw it like a neglected fireplace of a grand hall. In it, the flames flickered surrounded by ramparts of ash, and the flue was all but stuffed with soot leaving the fire guttering.

  In here I could feel it, my death approaching. The vital force of my blood is all but gone. I took a breath, a deep one. With it the flame that was little more than an ember was snuffed out.

  I was dead. For a moment all that I was was my soul, a space I'd glimpsed once before when I'd stumbled upon my secret heritage. There was no sensation, no void, no chill fingers of death clutching at me, I was all I knew. The churn of my hearth, and my memories all that existed in this in between place.

  It lasted a heartbeat, an impossible heartbeat of a corpse. Then all was a flame. The impurities caught alight, the ash being blown away to reveal wood turned to charcoal by the burning flame. The soot spiralling in the chimney was blasted away by the rush of wind and licking flames. For the first time in two years, I felt my soul breathe properly.

  The flames rose to a roaring crescendo, a violent power that my Hearth couldn't contain. The effect was far grander than my last death. I'd not had this many impurities when I'd discovered this trick after I'd annoyed my 'family' and been forced into an ill-fated escape attempt with fatal consequences. Both for me and my pursuer, they never did work out what happened to Cousin Francis.

  Bearing the blood of the phoenix was a blessing and a curse.

  My Hearth, unable to contain the flames expanded, I could feel the breakthrough to Bronze as it happened. The structure changed, my fire shrinking, and the colour changed, as my Hearth reached the Forge stage. The flames radiated through me, no longer would I be limited to refining what I had, now I could forge myself anew.

  With the breakthrough came the first great reveal. For most, this was a moment of revelation, a sense of what fae they were connected to. While most got a gift at the beginning of their path, it was not universal, nor useful at decoding heritage.

  There were uncounted numbers of fae, if you were lucky you might get a hint at the court your sire hailed from. Fire gifted were almost always connected to the summer court, just as ice was to winter. The reveal of the second gift was where things started to narrow down. Get ice and water, you were definitely winter court, yet be a fire cultivator and be granted metal? Then you were part of the Forge Fae of the autumn court.

  I had none of these worries. I knew my parentage. My mother was Lady Guinevere Artoss, and my father, well, I didn't know the bastard's name, but he certainly was shot through with phoenix blood, if not an actual phoenix taking human form. He certainly wasn't Regus Harkley as my birth records indicated. The Harkleys had never had a phoenix in their line in over a thousand years of recorded history.

  I had checked quite thoroughly.

  The fires from my Hearth reached into the foundations of my cultivation. Laying these Hearth stones was the first step on the cultivation journey, to build the foundations for the fire that was to grow. Reaching into the stone, which had over the years of my stagnation at Wood merged deeply with my slumbering gift.

  A phoenix was connected to many gifts; fire was most common, but life, rebirth, and justice were all options. Smoke was one of the lesser-known aspects. I'd often fantasised about what gift I might get. Getting fire would be nice, especially in this frozen forest.

  The flames reached down, and I could feel the connection. A new path to power opened before me. It felt cold and empty, and my soul twitched. Had I been mistaken? Was I some other fae thing reborn from fire and ash? Could I actually be a Harkley?

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  The revulsion was short-lived as power blew into my Hearth, feeding the flames with fresh energy. I recognised it finally. It was a power I'd known most intimately from my two sojourns beyond the realm of the living. I had the gift of death.

  A fitting gift. A curse as well. Death cultivators were not popular, often going mad in battle. A perfect one for me as well. No one would be trying to marry me off any time soon, and I'd already decided to leave behind the whole rising to the top of a mountain of bodies. I didn't know what kind of cultivator I wanted to be, but I wasn't cut out to be a knight.

  With my revelation complete, my body took the opportunity to reform. My soul sense expanded to my new Bronze-level body. As it did, I felt a certain malleability to my form, just like last time. An intrinsic sense told me I could make some changes.

  Gone was my blonde hair, always a bit too glossy compared to the Harkleys' haystacks, though it was upheld as a sign of my heritage. I shifted it. I'd intended to go for brown but found it growing darker. My face changed and shifted, and for a moment, I nearly held onto my eyes. They were green—the last remaining mark of my mother's heritage.

  I pushed them away. They were too iconic and part of the charm and mystique I'd woven around my former self. Better to cut anything that might tie me to my old identity. I held no doubt my mother would have wanted me to take every opportunity to distance myself from the Harkleys.

  In the same sense as when I changed my hair, my appearance was not fully under my control. I aimed for blue eyes but felt something twist that command.

  Other than that, I didn't have much else to change. I did even out my legs. According to my numerous fighting instructors, I had one leg shorter than the other—a minor deformity that was harped upon constantly. A few tweaks here and there, but my time was already done, my senses returning.

  I came to in a steaming pit, my renewal having boiled away the snow and ice beneath. The ground beneath me was still warm. I lay back, enjoying the moment. The stars were out in full force. I breathed in deeply.

  I was free. The curse was beaten. I was certain that down to the last pinhead, my old blood had been burned away and with it the Harkleys grip on me was severed.

  From across the snow, the raven from earlier hopped towards me. It was missing a foot but still made good time. Its beady little eyes judged me for my unexpected vitality.

  “I did try to warn you, Beaky. I am pleased you're not burned, though.”

  I got a strange sense from the raven. It took me a second to place it until it cawed its dismay as I further proved I was not a corpse by standing up.

  The harsh croak reminded me of my earlier days before the Harkleys found me when I was living as a peasant, where death was a frequent threat. The most potent reminder of death’s presence was the corpse wagons, the croaks of the ravens announcing their passing as surely as the ringing bells. It wasn't the dark memory that sent my mind dancing. No what I was sensing was the bird's glamour of death.

  I dressed quickly, my clothes wonderfully dry. I had hung them close by. I marvelled at the litheness of my body. My new realm of cultivation meant that the glamour of my Hearth was rolling around my body freely. No longer did I have to push the power to my muscles to gain a burst of speed or press it into my eyes to gain clearer sight.

  No one sensation was new, but the collective whole was beyond my wildest expectations. I bounced and shifted, laughing at the effortless infusion of my glamour. For a second, I was worried. Would I eat through my reserves? Even with my recent cremation, there was only so much ash and smoke about me.

  Death saved me here too. The glamour of death was everywhere: a constant source of sustenance for me. I'd spent far too long absorbing the ambient glamour as I hid my gift. Now, pulling on two sources, I was spoilt for power. Death was dangerous to cultivate, but I knew enough that the lingering glamour of death from plants, insects and even smaller beings was safe to consume. Drinking deeply, I finished changing and began the next part of my escape plan.

  It took a few minutes to get ready.

  Of my clothes, I'd removed all but my trousers, belt, and shirt. My jacket—an exceptionally foppish brocade showing a pattern of peacocks on Harkley blue—I’d snagged on a log and thrown into a nearby stream. It was too easy to recognise and might confuse any search for me. I'd also hurled my blood-soaked boots away for similar reasons. With my new level of cultivation, bare feet were no worry to me.

  Before tossing the boots, I'd been sure to extract my boot knife and the trio of gold coins I carefully cobbled into each sole. The knife then peeled off the strip of silk that covered the leather of my belt. In there was a collection of coins and other odds and ends.

  The silk I added to one of my socks. The pair had become two pouches between which I split my valuables, including my flint and steel and alchemical fire starters. I moved the knife to my belt and then blasted myself with ash, aiming to destroy all scent of blood.

  The raven croaked in surprise, clicking its beak in frustration. It seemed to be holding out hope that I'd realise I was dead and become dinner.

  I took a look at the stars and got my bearings. Path picked, I began to run. The woods around the keep were relatively safe, the monsters hunted by the Knights in their frantic attempt to gather power and climb the ranks.

  I aimed to brush against the deeper untamed forest and onwards to the city of Chartex. The path wasn't as safe as heading back to the city of Frauls, which the Keep overlooked, but I was far less likely to meet the risk of being discovered this way. I did wonder how much I had to worry about such things given my new face, still better to be safe than sorry.

  It also gave me a chance to fight monsters. Something I was equally keen and worried about. Keen, as their cores could fuel my growth, and afraid, because without the impurities clogging my paths, I would not resurrect if I fell in battle.

  Like everything in my life, it was a balancing act.