Page 17 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Risk

Hattie

Y ou’re kidding,” Sani shrieked, clapping her hands. “You’re kidding !”

A trio of students walking along the edge of the lawn glanced curiously in our direction.

Uriel, Sani, and I were seated on a wool blanket beneath the oak tree in the center of the interior courtyard at Inver College, where we lived and studied.

The Collegium was essentially its own city within Fenrir’s capital, comprised of fifteen college buildings—which housed classrooms, offices, dormitories, and enclosed outdoor spaces like this one—as well as seven libraries, and three highly secure research centers.

All the structures were stunningly built and fastidiously maintained, with grounds that rivaled even the most splendid royal gardens.

Snacking on bread, cheese, and olives under the oak tree at Inver was my favorite non-alchemy-related pastime at the Collegium—but it didn’t quell today’s uneasiness after my meeting with Phina.

I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I know I should be happy, but—”

“You are not,” Uriel cut in. “Why?”

Sani reclined on one elbow to reach a piece of cheese. “Is it your new Oath?”

Oaths of Allegiance were a common practice at the Collegium—especially when it came to covert research.

Because no magic was strong enough to tie someone’s tongue completely, apprentices took Oaths of Allegiance as a way of officially binding them to the studies they served, discouraging disloyalty, and diminishing the spread of sensitive information.

Unlike the powerful Oaths of adepts and knights—which were taken before rulers and recorded in magical Oath Ledgers by arcane magicians called ledgermasters—Oaths of Allegiance were minor.

The moment I’d said yes to Phina’s offer, she’d had me recite my Oath right there in her office and had recorded it in her Research Ledger herself.

Aside from the faint tattoo that’d formed around my right wrist, I felt wholly the same— unchanged .

Even so, I had to be cautious about what I told my friends about the program; I didn’t want to inadvertently break my Oath and end up with my name recorded in Phina’s ledger as a dissenter. I chose my words carefully as I elaborated. “Remember our night of non-mingling at the Charm?”

Sani chewed her cheese, looking queasy. “Of the little I remember,” she said, “I wish I didn’t.” She wrinkled her nose as if she could still smell the vomit with her scent magic.

Uriel cringed. “You and me both.”

Sani threw an olive at Uriel’s face, which she caught in her mouth with impressive coordination.

“Well, after those knights came to talk to Professor Farkept…” I trailed off, wincing. “I followed them.”

“You what ?” Sani asked at the same time Uriel wondered, “Were you caught?”

I shoved a piece of bread in my mouth, chewed, swallowed. It seemed dangerous to divulge that I recognized Mariana, so I left that out. “I was curious, I guess? And I wasn’t caught, I made myself known.”

“ Why ?” my friends enunciated in unison.

“They were talking to someone who seemed…afflicted. Maybe a sickness, or…I don’t know.

” I shuddered, thinking about the implications of that night.

Was the hooded figure a knight in Mariana’s Order who’d been bitten?

“They needed a medicinal tincture that I happened to have on my person, so I offered it to them.”

“What kind of tincture?” Sani asked.

I glanced down at the Oath tattoo that ringed my wrist. “I shouldn’t say.

But part of the reason I was invited into the program was because of what I learned that night.

” I still wasn’t convinced that my Hylder tincture had been more effective than Phina’s (and effective at what , exactly?).

“I guess I feel like I didn’t truly earn my place. ”

Uriel brushed the breadcrumbs off her trousers. “Professor Farkept would not invite a liability into her lab.” She tucked her legs and leaned forward. “Even if you overheard something, she must see some potential in you.”

I nodded reluctantly, eyes floating up to the splay of leaves above our heads and the periwinkle sky beyond the canopy. Phina had said the same thing, but the problem was, I still didn’t fully believe my professor’s praise.

“She’s right,” Sani said. “It’s a prestigious and highly secretive program. She wouldn’t invite you into it without serious consideration.”

“And part of what she considered was the intelligence I overhead.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t complain. It just feels suspicious, is all.”

Sani hummed thoughtfully, pursing her lips.

“What?” I prompted.

Sani pushed off her elbow and swiveled, so that she sat on her knees.

“I don’t want this to make you more anxious than you already are, but—” Her voice was a whisper when she continued.

“My history class has been studying the transparency of knowledge and the weaponization of magic during the kingdom’s early inception.

Back before Fenrir was absorbed as a territory under Marona’s rule, many of the local artisans and adepts here chose to obfuscate their research to prevent it from being developed by neighboring territories first.” Sani’s eyes widened meaningfully .

“We are not following,” Uriel said flatly.

Sani let out an impatient groan. “Basically, alchemical and arcane research became highly valuable—a way for territories to seize a militaristic advantage. If a territory had alchemical or arcane power that Marona didn’t possess, they could use that magic against their would-be conqueror.”

“Why would this history lesson concern me?” I asked.

Sani fixed me with an almost manic stare, a mauve flush tinging her deep brown cheeks. Foreboding context aside, I loved it when she got intense about history. It’s how I felt about herbs.

“Imagine you’re a wartime adept working on a secret research project that could alter the course of the conflict. What would you fear most?” Sani asked.

“My notes getting stolen by the enemy?” I guessed.

“Assassination,” Uriel replied.

A familiar pang of fear dropped into my stomach like a stone in a well, echoing through me.

Sani pointed at Uriel, pleased. “When it comes to high-level research, it’s not just the notes that are valuable—it’s the adept who’s skilled enough to actually perform the magic.

The Seven Territories have a long history of secret research projects and targeted assassinations of prominent adepts. Kidnappings, too.”

Knowing too much almost got me killed, Hattie, Anya had said.

I couldn’t help but feel windswept by Sani’s words.

I let out a nervous puff of breath, my appetite gone. “You’re telling me that joining Phina’s program could put me at risk of being kidnapped or murdered ?”

All this talk of politics was…too close . Suddenly, I wasn’t just worried about the program itself, but how my involvement could call attention to my identity .

“ Pah ,” Uriel grunted dismissively. “You have been reading too much, Sani. While the dramas of history are exciting, the past is not destined to repeat. We are not in a war; therefore, the adepts of today are not harboring war secrets. There has not been any meaningful conflict among the territories for hundreds of years.”

She was right. King Braven had made sure of it—with Oaths and unifying arranged marriages and constant diplomatic tending.

Sani frowned. “But why else would Phina’s research be kept secret?”

“Trade advantage? Public safety? Integrity of study?”

I would’ve believed Uriel’s less-frightening suggestions if it weren’t for what I’d witnessed in the alley. The involvement of knights that evening did seem rather… political .

Uriel swung her attention back to me. “Do not let Sani’s warmongering sour your triumph.”

“Hattie,” Sani said apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to discourage you. I’m happy for you!”

I grabbed an olive and a piece of cheese, weighing them as if my hands were scales. “Political conspiracy or boring research project?” I ate both bites and forced a smile. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

Uriel kicked her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “If you are murdered, I promise to avenge you.”

“Then I pity my murderer.” The comment earned me a wide and wicked grin from Uriel, but Sani was still watching me with a hint of concern.

I poked her thigh, and she snapped out of whatever was troubling her and returned my smile. The conversation meandered to other topics from there, Sani’s expression easing as we joked and laughed. But a sense of foreboding was forming behind my ribs, hard and jagged as crystal.

The last time I’d felt like this—had entertained concerns of political scheming and a threat on my life—I had become a target.

In response, my uncle hurriedly married me off; the best way to protect me from the scandal of my parentage—long-buried, freshly uncovered—was to strip me of any connection to my family.

In addition to Oath Ledgers, there were Census Ledgers, too: records of births, marriages, and deaths for every territory. Sending me all the way to Fenrir to take the name of a no-name mayor in a no-name town had effectively erased my true identity.

But it had also taken away my personhood. My sense of self.

I had not even been permitted to write to Raina, Noble, or my guardians. And while I’d grown up at court knowing that I’d eventually have to marry a random nobleman, having it rushed—having it be to someone unvetted and vile and violent—was terrifying.

Painful.

Lonely.

Mustering the courage to escape to Waldron and knock on Anya’s door was the greatest thing I’d ever done for myself, and up until this moment, I’d thought that realizing my alchemy dreams at the Collegium was the second greatest. But now, Sani’s warning and the resurgence of that familiar sense of foreboding was hard to ignore.

Because the last time I’d felt like this, I’d been right to be afraid.

Fates , what had I gotten myself into?