Page 28 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Victim

Hattie

A nd then I said, ‘Why would I take advice from someone who doesn’t understand the difference between the early Sharmidian period and the late Sharmidian period?’” Sani said, gesturing so vigorously that a droplet of juniper concoctail sloshed out of her cup.

“You. Told. Him ,” Uriel deadpanned.

We were sitting on the woven rug in the small living area of our dorm, pillows scattered about. After my modest success in the lab this afternoon, I’d wanted to celebrate with something tasty, and Sani and Uriel—though not privy to the details of my breakthrough—were more than happy to join me.

“He turned carnelian ,” Sani exclaimed, clearly proud of the effectiveness of her insult—even if Uriel and I didn’t quite follow. “Xier has been tormenting me with snide comments and corrections for months ; he deserved a retort.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he wishes to court you,” Uriel asked, “and that is why he insults you?”

“Have you considered the possibility that unkind courtship methods are repulsive?” Sani replied.

“I was not suggesting it was a mature method.”

Sani turned to me. “What do you think, Hattie?”

Their discourse reminded me of when Raina and I debated whether or not Brendan liked me.

After I was sent to Poe, I was forbidden from sending Raina letters, in case our correspondence was intercepted.

I’d cried nightly for months , wracked with the pain of missing her.

The only balm to my broken heart had been Anya’s compassionate presence, her cups of tea and quiet solidarity for the weepy young woman she’d brought into her inn.

“He sounds tiring,” I replied, taking a swig of my drink. The balance of juniper and syrup was just right —at once botanical and sweet.

“I do appreciate crushing the spirits of lesser apprentices,” Uriel said. “Especially those who deign to act superior when they are not.”

“If we weren’t friends, you’d scare me,” Sani said.

Uriel’s grin was all teeth.

I stretched my legs out, leaning against the base of the reading chair at my back. Between the alcohol, the cheeriness of my friends, and our cozy nest of pillows on the plush rug, I felt more relaxed than I had in weeks . Even the torment of Noble’s presence felt faraway.

I closed my eyes, listening to the flow of conversation, which had pivoted away from Sani’s nemesis to Sani making fun of Uriel’s rather intense crush on the professor’s assistant in her writing class.

“You’re in love with a poet!” Sani was insisting, while Uriel denied such sentimentalities with terse grunts and halfhearted deflections.

Anya liked to call me a romantic, but my romanticism came more from longing than optimism.

After my escape from Poe-on-Wend, I’d dared to hope that true love existed.

I’d entertained a few dalliances in Waldron—with long walks along the river, nights spent dancing at festivals, lazy mornings in my bed—but none had felt right.

They either didn’t get my humor, or found my reading habits tiresome, or we simply lacked connection.

And what did it matter, anyway, when I couldn’t offer them my whole self?

There were times I felt envious of Anya and Idris’s relationship.

They respected each other, doted on each other, lusted after each other, and felt safe with each other.

Even when they bickered over chores at the Possum and around town—Idris always insisting he take care of all of it , Anya always demanding she help, too—it was still clear that they were on the same side.

Joyful. Loyal. Honest. That’s what I wanted.

In adolescence, I’d experienced stolen moments with Noble that felt like that—moments that seemed headier than friendship—but he’d been consistent in his refusals. Firm. And now…now, he was downright chilly—for good reason.

Perhaps it was time I let go of my long-unrequited infatuation.

I took another sip of my concoctail, finding the taste suddenly bitter.

“Hattie?”

I blinked, coming out of my melancholic reverie. “I’m sorry?”

“Want to come with me to the dining hall?” Sani asked. “I need bread to soak up all this alcohol.”

Uriel grunted. “Yes, please go before you insult me further.”

Sani smirked as she wobbled to her feet.

“Bread sounds great.” I stood, too, high stepping over the pillows and the empty concoctail bottle toward the door. “Want anything, Uriel?” I called over my shoulder.

Reclining against the pillows, Uriel grunted. “Silence. And perhaps more cheese.”

I flashed her a grin as I closed the door.

Sani looped her arm through mine as we started down the corridor. “What about you, Hattie? Have anyone you fancy?”

I pressed my lips together, hoping she mistook my blush for the effects of the alcohol instead of the mixture of longing and embarrassment I experienced any time I thought of Noble. “No,” I squeaked. “No one.”

“Probably for the best, what with the demands of Phina’s study.” Sani waggled her eyebrows. “You’re too busy making alchemical breakthroughs, aren’t you?”

I chuckled. “Exactly. ”

We came upon the wide stone staircase that led to the ground floor, where the dining hall was located.

A gaggle of students were making their way up the stairs at the same time, a mass of unrecognizable faces.

I offered them a polite, close-lipped smile of acknowledgement as Sani and I shuffled past. But when we reached the landing halfway down, someone from the group called out.

“Hattie?”

I halted, turned. A dark-haired apprentice had paused on the upper steps, while the rest of her group continued to the floor above.

“Viren, hello,” I said. “Do you live in Inver, too?”

“Room 205,” she said. “You?”

“201,” I replied. “I’m surprised we haven’t crossed paths here before.”

She shrugged. “I stay at my partner’s place most nights. But it’s nice to know I have another friend in the building.”

Friend . After she’d helped me with Noble’s atrocious notes, we’d developed a rapport, but the word still caught me off guard—in a pleasant way. “Me, too.”

Sani cleared her throat.

“Oh—this is my roommate, Sani,” I said. “Sani, this is Viren, she’s an apprentice from— agh. ” An awful taste filled my mouth, cutting me off. The flavor was both sour and rancid, and I stuck my tongue out with a groan, trying not to gag.

Viren descended onto the landing. “Are you all right, Hattie?” she asked, raising a dark brow as she touched my wrist.

Tapped it twice.

I looked down—at my Oath tattoo.

That’s what that was? The taste of Oath magic?

All Oaths were woven from extremely powerful arcane magic and were known to sting, ring in one’s ears, or emit a bad taste when an Oath-taker veered too far from their tenets.

I had yet to encounter the limits of my Oath of Allegiance, but given the context, the warning must’ve been to not divulge too much about how we knew each other.

But did it have to taste so terrible? Saliva pooled in my mouth. I swallowed, shivered, swallowed again. Bleh.

“I think the alcohol is giving her acid hiccups,” Sani said to Viren. “We’re on a trek for some bread.”

“Good idea.” Viren’s gaze cut to mine and held for one beat, two, before she regarded Sani again. “Nice to meet you, Sani. Hattie, I’ll see you around.”

We split up, Viren heading upstairs and Sani and I continuing down.

When we reached the ground floor and were far out of hearing range from Viren—whom I was pretty certain possessed sound magic—I piped up. “Viren is—”

“On the research team,” Sani finished. “I figured.”

“I was going to say ‘nice.’” I lowered my voice, choosing my words carefully so that I didn’t upset my Oath again. “How did you know?”

“Only an Oath would make you choke on your own words like that.”

“I’ve never had that happen before.”

“She must be a specialist.”

I cast a sidelong glance at Sani, surprised by the accuracy of her observation.

“Secret research programs don’t divulge their specialists,” Sani explained. “It’s too revealing.”

“What if folks already knew about her specialty before she took her Oath?” I asked.

“Specialties evolve; her current work can’t be proven.” A shrug. “It’s not a perfect system,” Sani added. “And I’m not sure of the exact rules of your Oath, but your inability to talk about Viren’s role means that something about it is…sensitive.”

I study blood , she’d told me.

According to my Oath, that mattered .

“You’re astute, you know that?” I said, poking Sani with my elbow.

She gave me a coy shrug and looped our arms again. “I’m an apprentice of the Archives, remember? We love context.”

Silvery moonlight slanted through the high windows that lined one side of the ground floor walkway.

Students loitered in the hall, some sitting on the windowsills, others leaning lackadaisically against the wall, chatting and flirting.

It was well after suppertime, but it seemed half the student body at the Collegium was nocturnal.

“Your hiccups excuse…” I said slowly, thinking aloud. “You did that on purpose. Why did you not want Viren to know you caught on to my Oath’s interference? Why feign ignorance?”

Sani’s voice barely rose above the echo of our footsteps on the marble tile. “At the Collegium, knowing more than you ought can be dangerous.”

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

I didn’t like the similarity in their sentiments.

“Are you still worried about me being murdered?” I teased. “You know, not all research programs hold political significance.”

“The secret ones do, though.”

Something about her tone made me stiffen. Fear spread in my belly like an ink-drop in water, a black wisp of dread. With my arm still looped through hers, I pulled her off to the side, stopping in the relative shelter of a recessed doorway.

“What do you know, Sani?” I whispered.

She lifted her chin, a world of mystery in her dark eyes. “People forget that history isn’t simply the documentation of the past—it’s a study of behavior. The observations I make? They’re shaded by the context of what I’ve learned.”

Sani paused, waiting for a gaggle of oblivious half-drunk students to walk past. Once they’d disappeared down the hallway, she continued.

“There’s a reason history repeats itself: it’s because people don’t learn from their mistakes—not even when mistakes are spelled out by the Mirrors of Fate.

The future isn’t a placid lake, untouched by what surrounds it—it’s a river that flows from the past, with a strong and erosive current.

Knowledge, politics, Fate—they all have momentum. Inertia.”

“But do you know—”

“I don’t know anything,” Sani interrupted. “But I see patterns, Hattie. And the patterns I’m seeing lately… Time and time again, they’ve proven to be deadly.”