Page 13 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

He faced away from me, a white shirt clinging to the hard ridges of his back.

When he glanced over his shoulder at me, green eyes appraised me, sparking with an unspoken dare.

His jaw was sharp enough to cut me open, and for him, I’d happily bleed.

Suddenly, my dress felt too tight across my chest; I had the immediate urge to tear it off and offer myself to him like an unwrapped gift.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

My eyes snapped open.

I was back in the classroom. Phina stood in front of my workbench, frowning.

“I…”

“Did you sample your potion?”

I swayed on my feet. Swallowed thickly. My cheeks were aflame, but that was nothing compared to the heat still radiating through my core.

“Hattie.” Phina’s tone was sharp.

“Just a few drops,” I answered quickly, “to assess the quality.”

Brown eyes narrowed, then dropped to my pitcher. Phina dipped her ornate quartz spoon into the liquid and gave it a swirl. When she looked at me again, a hint of amusement sparkled in her otherwise scolding expression.

“What did you find in your assessment?” she asked slowly—wryly.

I cleared my throat, unable to get Noble out of my mind. “Effective.”

A single ha escaped Phina’s lips—seeming to surprise even her. “Elaborate, please.”

With the magical effects of the potion fading, I slid my tongue into the pockets of my mouth, tasting the remnants of the ingredients with more acuity. “For a client seeking to spark lust, this would be…” My face was flaming . “I think I added too much cinnamon.”

Another laugh. “Indeed, you did. Also, too much rose water, but I suspect you already tasted that?”

“Not enough gardenia?” I guessed.

“Your ratios are certainly off, but better to lessen the complimentary ingredients than to create more volume,” Phina said. “Tell me what else you noticed. What of the magic?”

I lifted the spoon to try another taste—suss out the elements with less distraction —but Phina tutted.

“Do not use your sense of taste as a crutch, Hattie.” She lifted her chin encouragingly. “Use your mind .”

“Ugh,” I groaned, pinching my eyes shut to sense instead of taste .

I was back in the garden, but this time, I wasn’t feeling the emotions but witnessing them. It was the difference between being in a garden versus viewing a painting of it. And what I saw…

I dropped concentration before I gave myself a headache. “There’s too much longing,” I said to Phina. “A sense of distance and sorrow mixed in with the lust and affection.” My forehead scrunched. “Could that be the cinnamon?”

Phina lifted a finger and tapped the air as if I were onto something.

Returning to the head of the class, she raised her voice to address the group. “Hattie has reminded me of an important component of alchemy that I’d like everyone to hear.”

Glasses clinked, notebook papers rustled, and stools groaned as students set down their tools and gave their professor their full attention.

“Magic comes from you ,” Phina emphasized.

“Your desires, fears, intentions, unmet needs. All of these can alter the nature of the threads you weave into a material. Which means if you’ve just had your heart broken, or you’re experiencing unrequited love,” Phina’s eyes flicked—mortifyingly—right to me, “it’s possible for you to inject some of that emotional signature into what you create.

Contamination is not entirely avoidable; it’s a symptom of being your own primary source of power: a flawed human being.

It’s important for you to meter your emotions when you weave, lest you imbue your potions with your own emotional residue. ”

If my face had been aflame before, it was ashen now. Had I really imbued my own heartache into a love potion? Had Phina truly felt it?

How humiliating .

Sani raised her hand. “How does one limit one’s emotions while weaving? Are there practical tactics we can employ?”

As Phina described meditative practices and deep breathing techniques, I winced with shame. Since girlhood, I’d always felt deeply. Pining when I should’ve been coy. Flaring with anger when I should’ve been demure. Aching with longing when I should’ve moved on.

Anya pinned me as a romantic because I rooted for budding attraction, swooned at sappy stories of professed love, and encouraged my neighbors to just go for it (even when I, myself, never had any luck with grand gestures). She found my romanticism charming, but I mostly found it painful.

When Noble had arrived in Waldron, I’d tried to ignore him as he ignored me.

Then he came to the Possum with Richold, and it was impossible not to give into my emotions—to ogle and flirt and taunt him with my affection.

By the time he and Richold had paid for their drinks and left, a permanent teasing grin had affixed itself to Anya’s face.

“Fates, Hattie, I’ve never seen you like this,” she’d said, bumping me with her hip.

I’d dabbled with a few courtships during my time in Waldron, but nothing ever felt right. No one had ever compared to the boy I’d loved in my youth.

“You’re blushing so furiously you look sunburnt,” she’d added .

The delicate skin underneath my eyes had certainly stung like a burn. “Just flustered, is all,” I’d replied, forcing an eager smile. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

My best friend had shrugged. “I like my men a little more rugged.”

For the next year, I’d done my best to minimize my pining glances around Hugh, Martha, and the other gossips in town, but with Anya… Well, if I couldn’t be honest with Anya about my past, I could at least be honest with her about my emotions. I wasn’t great at pretending with those, anyhow.

But now, for the sake of my studies, I had to repress them even more ?

I didn’t see how that was possible.

Thankfully, Phina’s lecture was interrupted by the ringing of the clocktower bells, announcing the end of the day. Students began packing up their things, chatting and laughing, while a pair of mentees entered through a side door to clean the workbenches.

Tucking my notebook under my arm, I hurried toward the exit, catching up to Uriel and Sani.

I was eager to escape with them into a balmy spring afternoon of reading under the big oak in the courtyard and drinking cheap wine.

Most importantly, I wanted to get far away from the ever-growing discomfort of embarrassing myself in front of my academic idol—and my lingering unease after confronting her in the alley.

“Hattie.”

When I turned, my professor’s arms were folded across her chest. The plain burgundy tunic she wore brought out the amber flecks in her eyes, which currently felt like hot embers pressing into my skin.

“Do you have a moment?”

When just a week ago I would’ve loved to have a one-on-one chat with Professor Farkept, I now dreaded the notion. Was this it ? Was I about to be dismissed from the Collegium for what I’d done? “I, uh. Um.” I scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, that might keep me from the impending conversation.

“We’ll meet you outside,” Sani said.

My gaze swung to hers, then Uriel’s, latching onto them with wide-eyed terror in the hopes they’d get the hint and help me out of this. But I was met with two grins that— Fates , were they mistaking my panic for excitement?

Phina extended her arm, gesturing at the door directly across the hall. “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”