Page 14 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Opportunity

Hattie

P rofessor Farkept clasped her hands and rested her forearms atop her heavy wooden desk. “Do you know why you’re here, Hattie?”

Seated across from my professor, I felt crowded on all sides by the bookshelves that lined the walls of the cluttered space. Dread swirled through my stomach, acidic. “I…can’t say that I do.”

The curtains were drawn, casting the room in darkness; surrounded by formidable, oppressive furniture, Phina appeared almost as out of place as I felt.

I knew from the backs of her books that she’d grown up here in the city, often visiting Castle Might.

Her parents were Fenriran aristocrats of some kind, her brother a prominent knight.

But if I had to wager a guess as to where she felt most at home, it wouldn’t be in a room like this, but the countryside somewhere, collecting herbs in a big basket, a summer breeze ruffling the ends of her hair.

Had Phina resented growing up among nobility, as I had? Had her guardians discouraged her studies in alchemy, as mine had? I’d traveled to Waldron at first out of necessity, but there was something about the fresh country air—green, earthy, vibrant—that lent itself to alchemy.

“Please don’t dismiss me from the program,” I blurted, gripping the smooth wooden arms of my chair. “I know I shouldn’t’ve eavesdropped the other night, but studying here means everything to me.”

“Hattie,” Phina said patiently, ending on a chuckle. “You’re not being dismissed. Quite the opposite actually. ”

Still gripping the arms of my chair, I sat back just an inch, regarding her. “The opposite?”

“I’d like for you to join my team of research apprentices.”

The offer was a high honor, a rare opportunity.

I found it suspicious. “I…don’t understand.”

“The offer? Or what it entails?”

“Why offer it to me ?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Is this because I’m friends with Idris?”

“No.”

“Then why ?” I asked, incredulous.

“Why not?”

I could think of many reasons why not. I started with: “Because I can’t alchemize even a basic love potion. Don’t you want an advanced apprentice? Someone who’s more—”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

I stared at her, horrified.

Phina’s elbows were still on her desk, and when she leaned forward, the wood groaned. “What’s the difference between you and your fellow pupils?”

I huffed. “I’m older.”

“What about the way you alchemize?”

I scoffed. “I’m messier.”

“You’re scrappier ,” she amended. “Intuitive. Mindful of waste. You’re also aware of your shortcomings, whereas most of your classmates are not.”

I thought of Sani and Uriel and how hard they tried—how talented they were—and frowned.

Phina gave me a shrewd look. “Of all the students in my class today, your potion was the most polished, effective, and viable. Shaky on the details, but you’re learning.

That’s normal. You’ll improve with practice.

” Phina’s lips quirked. “Your biggest flaw is that you lack confidence. You have a keen instinct, but for some reason you don’t always listen to it. Why is that?”

I glanced away, my attention landing on the green spine of a book with a gold-foiled title: Herbs .

For the first twenty years of my life, I was taught that my instincts were not to be trusted.

That becoming an apothecary was a dream, not reality, and that dreams were for little girls, not responsible noblewomen.

And though I was free from those old expectations, the training and beliefs were still imbedded in my skin like splinters, deep, painful, and impossible to pull out.

“I don’t know,” I replied thickly, trying to force the emotion out of my throat.

“I think you do.”

My palms were clammy, slick. I slid them across the tops of my thighs, rubbing them slowly over the front of my dress. “I’m not here to become an adept,” I argued. “I’m only here for a few months, to get my apothecary license.”

“You can be an apprentice on my team and still pursue your license,” Phina assured me. “But let me ask a different question, Hattie: Do you want to participate in my research?”

The only thing publicly known about her research was that one minute, Phina Farkept was just another young professor, and the next, she was being given permanent residence at the Collegium and heading a research program funded by Lord Haron himself.

A veritable coup within academic circles.

Unknown as Phina’s research was, it was still the talk of the city.

Of course, I was curious. Of course, I wanted to participate. Not just because Phina was my herbology idol—but because her research was highly covert. Which meant it must’ve been highly important. Groundbreaking .

“It would be an honor,” I answered, sitting forward.

“I’ve read all your books. My first copy of An Herbologist’s Guide to Tinctures became so worn that the binding literally fell apart; I had to buy another.

Absolutely brilliant, the way you break things down so succinctly.

Same with your compendiums. I know Gamin’s Compendia are considered the definitive source, but yours are far more intuitive.

I even read your pamphlet theorizing the fertile properties of Fenriran water—which was fascinating, by the way, although I’ll admit I didn’t fully understand the alchemical principles you cited.

I only wish you’d started publishing a decade earlier, but”—I snorted at the foolishness of my own comment—“you were a teenager then, same as me.”

“It was just a question, Hattie, I wasn’t vying for flattery.”

“Not flattery,” I said with a quick shake of my head. “I’m being genuine.”

A smile crinkled her eyes—then she sat back, her expression turning thoughtful. Serious. “You were not incorrect the other night.” Her careful phrasing was no doubt due to her Oath, which probably prevented her from speaking freely about her research in mixed company. “Does that scare you?”

Monsters . Her research was about monsters.

I should’ve been scared— terrified . But instead, my curiosity was stirring, a hound locking onto a scent—insatiable. “No,” I answered. “It doesn’t.”

Phina stroked her jaw with a tattooed finger. “It should.”

“Are you inviting me into your program because I know too much?”

“I’m inviting you into the program,” she said, “because your Hylder tincture was stronger than mine.”

I laughed. “That’s impossible.”

“I am not a paragon, Hattie. Yours was better.”

I shook my head, dumbstruck. I was a decent amateur alchemist by Waldron’s standards, but compared to an adept of the Order of Alchemy? “How is that possible?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, “that’s why I want you in my lab.”

I thought of the hooded figure in the alley, coughing and convulsing. My heart twisted. “Your friend. Are they improved?”

“Yes, and grateful for your help.”

I was glad to hear it. But— “There wasn’t anything special about my tincture,” I insisted.

“I’m telling you there is.”

I slumped back in my chair, shaking my head in disbelief.

Phina clasped her hands and squared her shoulders, back to her professorial posture. “What is your goal here, Hattie?”

“To receive my apothecary license,” I replied.

“Why?”

I glanced away again, back to the green book titled Herbs .

My interest in herbal alchemy came from a fascination with the healers who frequented my childhood home.

My cousin Raina had been a sickly girl, and apothecaries had come from all over the Seven Territories to solve the mystery of her illness.

Not only were they enigmatic—shuffling in through the servant’s door with their moss-green robes, tattooed hands, and cases filled with countless clinking bottles—they’d saved Raina’s life.

To me, Raina’s healers were as miraculous as the Fates themselves. To heal someone I loved with herbs— that was awe-inspiring. I wanted to know all their secrets.

As Raina’s illness diminished, the two of us emulated her healers by playing “apothecary” in the kitchens and greenhouses, mixing cooking herbs with dirt, water, sometimes even wine if we could get our hands on it (Raina’s father put an end to that when we got into a particularly valuable vintage gifted to him by the Lord of Lothgaim).

The “potions” of our childhood did not hold any real power, but we felt powerful making them—and therein lay my growing passion.

As Raina’s interests pivoted toward music and the horse stables, my obsession with herbs only increased as I spent more days in the gardens and our home library, learning all I could about medicine, plants, and magic.

Around that same time, my uncle promoted a lesser-born knight to lead his personal guard, whose son—when he wasn’t training to become a knight, himself—also enjoyed reading.

Those peaceful afternoons with Noble in the library—along with heart-thumping rides with Raina—remained among my most cherished memories from growing up.

And no matter where my life took me, I could always find safety within the laws and properties of plants and magic. Herbs didn’t care who I was, where I came from, or my status; as an aspiring apothecary, my identity was measured only by my skill.

I’d always wanted to be an apothecary, but my enrollment at the Collegium wasn’t just about taking my license back to Waldron—it was about the personal liberation of finally living the life I chose.

“I feel most like myself when I’m alchemizing,” I amended. “I want to use that passion to help people. Heal people.”

The left corner of her mouth lifted. “Your talent with Hylder could help a lot of people.”

A buoy of hope bobbed at the top of my chest—even as a sense of foreboding slithered in my gut. “Are a lot of people at risk?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge more until you join my team.” Her smile broadened with a blend of encouragement and challenge. “So, what do you say?”