Page 24 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Hold On

Hattie

E nveloped in Noble’s smoky cedar scent—comforted but bemused by the unexpected contact—I was transported back to the very beginning.

It was snowing the day I saw him for the first time.

A flurry of small flakes was fluttering onto the grass of the inner bailey at Castle Wynhaim.

The ancient willow in the center of the courtyard swayed its frosty boughs, glittering like the arms of a crystal chandelier.

I leaned halfway out an open upstairs window of the keep, curiosity keeping my hands firmly planted on the stone sill; snowflakes blew inside on a frigid wind, dusting the shoulders of my dressing gown and the hallway carpet.

Down below, a team of chocolate- and chestnut-brown horses were trotting through the barbican gate into the barren yard, stark against the backdrop of accumulating white.

They pulled a carriage that was not as ornate as our usual guests’, but still quite fine, with curtained windows and gold-painted trim.

An army of guards and servants streamed out of the castle to greet the newcomers, their cloaks billowing behind them.

A reedy male servant stepped out of the carriage first, followed by a huge bull of a man.

He took one swiveling perusal of the yard, then turned, offering a hand to a woman, who climbed out next.

The couple wore plain gray cloaks lined with fur, their style consistent with their carriage: well-made, but understated .

Releasing his wife’s hand, the patriarch of the family began gesturing, speaking—to his servant, to the staff, to the guards.

Wynhaim Castle had been built beside a great river atop a high plateau; the back of the keep was shrugged up against the crest of a waterfall, and over the constant roar of whitewater, I heard nothing of the scene unfolding below.

Snowflakes were catching in my eyelashes, melting on my cheeks like cold kisses.

I flicked my tongue out, tasting their mineral quality, their flavor reminding me of the spray that rose off the falls.

My skin was beginning to chill, my dressing gown not enough to insulate me against the wintry air.

I lifted my arms to the windowpane, about to slide it down, when one more figure emerged from the carriage.

A boy of about eleven, same as me.

He shared the warm brown skin and stern bone structure of his father, and the black wavy hair and keen watchfulness of his mother.

While his parents continued to direct the staff, the boy surveyed the yard, eyes trailing over the marble statues, the empty fountains, and the magnificent weeping willow around which everything else in the bailey had been built.

Then his gaze found me.

He smiled, a slow reveal of teeth.

I lifted my hand to wave.

He waved back.

I opened my mouth to call down to him, to tell him to wait one moment so I could descend the stairs and introduce myself properly— a new friend! —but I was cut off by footsteps in the hallway.

“Hattie, what are you doing? You’ll catch a chill.

” Loreena, my governess, rushed over to the window and yanked it shut.

Her lips curved into a grin that defied the stern set of her jaw and her perpetually shrewd gaze.

“You’re not even dressed,” she tutted. “Come, let’s get you ready for breakfast. Perhaps some hot tea to chase away the chill? ”

Without giving me time to protest, Loreena ushered me away from the window and the boy—but by then, my curiosity had already gotten the better of me.

It was not love at first sight—just the piqued interest of a sheltered noble girl who was mostly isolated from other children (at least, other children to whom she was not related).

Love came later, like the slow growth of a tree, developing over countless meals, days spent frolicking innocently throughout the castle grounds, taking long walks along the river, and reading together in the library.

Each thoughtful conversation, playful shove, fit of laughter, casual embrace—these made up the leaves, boughs, and sweet fruit of our friendship.

By the time I realized I was in love with Noble, our roots were too strong to ignore.

We already had inside jokes. I’d already learned his greatest fear (failure) and favorite type of pastry (chocolate); he’d already learned my favorite season (spring) and my most ticklish spot (neck).

And I already knew what his skin felt like—holding my hand as he led me down the hall, the brush of his fingers against my knee to get my attention, his teasing elbow in my side.

Back then, the meaninglessness of his touch was made all the more meaningful by how easily he gave it to me.

Then I ruined it.

“Hattie, please don’t,” Noble had said when I finally mustered up the courage to admit how I felt.

We were seventeen, standing on Fate’s Landing, the bridge that overlooked the three-hundred-foot drop of Wynhaim Falls.

“You shouldn’t,” he’d said. “You can’t.”

I remember looking out across the city, laid out on the banks of the river far below.

I remember staring down at the frothing spray of the water just beyond the marble balustrade of the bridge, transfixed by the mist that obscured the bottom of the deadly cascade.

Noble’s rejection hadn’t made me want to jump, but it had made me consider pain; how physical it felt to have my heart broken.

How breaking it on the sharp rocks below probably would have hurt less than those simple words.

Please don’t. You shouldn’t. You can’t.

What I wouldn’t give to relive the years leading up to that moment, though. Not carefree, per-se, but easier, because of what remained unsaid.

Perhaps it was his gift of heightened vision, but Noble had always been incredibly observant, attentive, thoughtful.

He knew when I was happy, knew when I was sad, knew when I was faking calm.

Even after he rejected me on Fate’s Landing, I’d still felt appreciated in his presence.

Cherished. Like he saw me and respected me, even if he didn’t feel the same way. Even if it hurt sometimes.

Standing in Phina’s empty lab, folded into Noble’s unexpected embrace, I felt the unfurling of time like the ruthlessness of the falls.

From laughter to heartbreak, each moment we’d shared was like a single droplet, their sum an elemental force.

Nestled against his solid chest, I allowed remembrance to pummel me like water, cleansing me with the fluid pleasure of memory. Of buoyant surrender.

It wasn’t like him to hold me like this. Had he spotted the sorrow I’d tried to hide on my face? Had he sensed my desperate need for comfort? Secrets were lonely things—but they could also bind people together. Was that what this was? An acknowledgement of our terrible shared predicament?

The moment we let go, our agreement would start, and there would be no more speaking, touching, or reminiscing.

The thought had me fisting the fabric of his shirt, pressing the soft curves of my body against the hard planes of his, seeking more .

In answer, one of his arms tightened around my waist. His other hand slid up my spine to cup the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair, holding my face against his sternum.

Seconds passed, my limbs going boneless in his brutally strong embrace. Never in my life had I been held so reverently, protectively; it made me wonder how I’d ever stood up on my own. As I rocked with the tidal rhythm of his breaths, I wanted to weep from sheer relief.

But the hug couldn’t last forever.

And it was just a hug, after all.

Soaked with longing and self-consciousness, I stirred against him. His arm slackened, and his hand slid from my nape, and we broke apart. I felt like I’d been tumbled by river rapids, battered against stone, half-drowned and disoriented.

Rule number four: no nostalgia. Rule number five: no touching.

This was why.

Stepping back, I regarded Noble in the dim light of the library, searching for a clue as to why he’d initiated the contact.

His face was mottled with a deep blush, cheekbones tinged purple; his mouth—which usually defaulted in a confident slant—was parted, breathless; but his eyes were hard. Unyielding.

What the expression meant, I couldn’t say. He always knew how to obscure his true feelings, and this was the perfect example.

Noble wiped a hand over his jaw and cleared his throat. “We should go.”

“I’ll ring for someone to escort me.”

“I can do it,” he said.

Me, blindfolded? Him, guiding me down unknown halls? “I’d rather you not.”

A nod. “Right.”

I brushed past him out of the alcove and yanked the cord by the entrance door.

We waited in silence, him leaning against the wall and me standing with my arms folded, facing the moonlit lab.

A cool breeze slithered through the gaps in the windows; as it ruffled the stems of the herbs, it took on a fragrant perfume.

I filled my lungs with the herbaceous air, tasting its sweetness, trying to find my emotional footing .

When steps echoed in the hall, I turned back to Noble. He was watching me, green eyes keen and catlike in the dim foyer.

“I’ll…see you around?” I said.

He dipped his chin. “Hopefully not much, right?”

“Rule two. Right.”

He pushed off the wall. “I am happy for you, you know.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you’ll make the most of it.”

I thought of those long afternoons in the library when we were young, eating snacks and reading in mostly companionable silence. “I will,” I said, “so long as you don’t distract me by pelting me with chunks of bread.”

His eyes crinkled. “That was one time, fourteen years ago.”

“I’m adding it to the rules,” I said. “No throwing food.”

“Not sure I can agree to that.”

We both smiled; then our smiles faded. I fished the blindfold out of my pocket and ran the fabric through my fingers, just to have something to do with my hands.

“ Fifteen years ago,” Noble mused, correcting his estimate. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

I glanced up. “You remembered.”

“You’re hard to forget.”

Willa’s voice echoed in the hall outside, greeting the guard.

I lifted the silk scarf toward my eyes. “Well, I’m pretty sure we already broke rule number four, but happy birthday to you, too.”

“Big year,” he remarked.

Noble’s birthday was in a few days. Twenty-nine. Just like me.

I paused. Lowered the scarf. Met his gaze. Without considering my words, I asked, “Do you think your Fate will become fixed when you turn thirty, even though it’s blank? ”

Noble’s eyes widened. I’d caught him off guard with my question—I think I’d caught myself off guard, too. Back in Waldron, I never did get the chance to confront him about his blank visions in the Mirrors of Fate.

Don’t trust anyone who doesn’t show a future , Mariana had warned us.

No matter the awkwardness between Noble and myself, I would never not trust him. But seeing him here…why was he here? How had he met Phina? Why had she involved him in the study?

Idris and Anya had created their blank futures by entering the Well of Fate—an extremely dangerous journey that had almost gotten them killed by monsters.

I couldn’t imagine Noble—or anyone—braving such foes unless forced.

Idris had all but dismissed the theory that Noble could’ve gone to the Well.

Which meant that blank Fates had other causes, too.

Did his Fate have relevance to this study? I would’ve thought it unrelated if it weren’t for seeing Mariana in that alley.

Noble took a step toward me. “Hattie, have you told anyone about—”

The door to the lab opened, and Willa stepped through, a broad and easy smile on her friendly face. “You rang?”

With Willa’s entrance, our thread of conversation was severed. Considering our new rules, I wasn’t sure we’d get another chance to discuss the mystery. And based on the way he was still staring at me, he didn’t want me knowing any more than I already did.

Which, of course, just made me want to pry more .

“Did you have a fruitful first day?” Willa asked me, either oblivious or impervious to the awkwardness between Noble and myself.

I hiked my satchel higher onto my shoulder and—sparing Noble one final glance—placed the blindfold over my eyes. “I did,” I replied, offering my elbow to my escort.

“Those lemon cookies were excellent, by the way,” Willa informed me. “Did you add a hint of rosemary?”

“Someone must have taste magic.”

“Close,” Willa said. “Scent magic.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” I said, ignoring the watery ache that spread through my chest as the knight led me out of the lab, leaving Noble behind.