Page 3 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Farewell for Now

Hattie

D o you have everything you need?” Anya asked, adjusting my shawl before pulling me into a tight embrace.

From over her shoulder, I saw her partner, Idris, cross his arms. “I already loaded her trunk into the wagon,” he said. “It was surprisingly heavy.”

“Can’t study herbal alchemy at the esteemed Collegium of Fenrir without my books.” As Anya and I drew apart, I gripped her hands, squeezing. The midmorning sunlight was bright, making her red hair spark with copper. “And the real question is, do you have everything you need?”

I’d helped my best friend run the Pretty Possum Inn me leaving was no reason to deviate.

I turned back to Anya. “Don’t let Martha move anything.”

She laughed. “You’ll be gone for six months, I make no promises.”

I tossed my hands in the air. “That’s it! Idris, unload my trunk.”

He came forward, folding me into a strong hug. “No turning back now, Hattie.” His short beard tickled my cheek as he added in a faint whisper, “Don’t worry, I’ll look after her while you’re gone.”

“I heard that,” Anya said.

“Of course,” Idris and I said in unison, breaking apart.

“Ready?” the lead wagoner called.

We stood on the edge of town, right where Waldron’s main cobblestone road ended. The modest caravan—three wagons in total, each with one driver and two horses—waited in the grass not far off, facing north.

“Almost!” I replied, dropping into a crouch to pet Anya’s elderly wolfhound, Wicker. His pink tongue darted out, lapping at my cheek. “I’ll miss you, too,” I told him .

When I stood again, I surveyed the street, trying to soak up every detail.

Quaint cottages were snuggled up in neat rows, edged with unruly flower boxes.

The River Wend meandered through the middle of town, swans gliding along its calm surface and ducks bobbing butts-up for pondweed.

The surrounding hills looked like a massive, rumpled quilt, patched with square crop plots and fields dotted with sheep and buttercups.

The wind smelled of loam and livestock; the sun seemed to kiss every stone sweetly.

I loved Waldron in the spring. I’d never been to the capital city of Fenrir Territory, but I knew it wouldn’t be as charming. Nothing was.

Hiking my satchel a little higher on my shoulder, I started toward the wagons, shaking hands, offering hugs, and speaking my farewells to everyone who’d come to witness my departure.

Waldron was the closest I’d ever come to feeling a true sense of belonging, but the terrible truth was: no one here knew the complete me.

The Hattie they knew was a carefully constructed portrait, where only the prettiest glimpses of a larger and more complicated painting were visible.

But that didn’t mean my love for them wasn’t real—that I wouldn’t miss them all terribly.

When I approached the last wagon in the line, Idris was there to offer me a hand, helping me up.

I took a seat on one of the numerous candle crates, setting my satchel on the floor by my feet, the vials inside it clinking.

There were a few things did not wish to travel without: my herbology books, an arrangement of tinctures and potions, plenty of dresses, and copious snacks for the road.

Gripping the railing, I gave Anya my best, most optimistic smile, hoping she couldn’t see the nervous anticipation I was feeling. “Wish me luck!”

Anya shook her head. “You don’t need it.”

“Pretty sure I do. ”

Apothecary apprenticeships were only a small fraction of the teachings that happened within the walls of Fenrir’s Collegium.

Folks from all over the Seven Territories of Marona traveled there with the hopes of one day becoming an Adept of the Order of Alchemy, the Arcane, or the Archives.

And while I’d set my sights on a more modest and applicable apothecary license—with the sole intention of being able to legally practice healing alchemy for the folks in Waldron—I’d be studying alongside students of all calibers, from all corners of the kingdom.

I needed all the luck I could get.

But Anya wasn’t having it. “I know you, Hattie. Luck or no, you’re going to take them by storm.”

I know you, Hattie .

Her words made my heart twist like a wrung-out bar rag.

While I’d never lied to Anya, but I’d never been entirely truthful, either.

I’d omitted large swaths of my past from her—not only because I hadn’t wanted to relive the events that led me to Waldron, but because my history was too dangerous to divulge, even to her.

Anya had respected my caginess—never prying—and that had only made me feel worse about my inability to be completely honest.

So, while she did know me—from my favorite tea (chamomile) to my love of reading (mostly about herbs) to my teasing (but doting) sense of humor—she didn’t know the labels of my identity.

She couldn’t . And no amount I-lie-to-keep-people-safe reasoning could assuage my guilt.

Because when it came down to it, I was deceiving my best friend. I was living a lie.

I compensated by being as truthful about everything else as I could.

Always sharing my honest opinion, always wearing my heart on my sleeve, always offering my friendliest and most social self.

But deep down, I craved real connection, and in spite of what I hid from her, Anya was as close as I’d ever get. My safest place in a dangerous world .

Thinking about all this—how much I wanted to tell her and had to hold back, how much I loved her, how much I’d miss her—made my eyes well with tears. When one tracked down my face, I caught it with my tongue, my taste magic noting the quality of the salt.

“Oh, Hattie,” Anya said, reaching over the railing of the wagon to give me one last squeeze. I tucked my face into her shoulder, feeling more tears wet the fabric of her dress. “At least they’re not carting you off in a prisoner caravan.”

At our last farewell, Anya had been in shackles, heading off to trial for a Fates-predicted crime she hadn’t yet committed. Though she had eventually been absolved, her journey to the capital had been far more fraught than mine would be.

Hopefully .

I snorted and wiped my eyes. “I always love being reminded of watching my best friend being taken away like a criminal. That’s comforting, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Anya said, bouncing her eyebrows. “Your time in Fenrir will fly by. Just enjoy it.”

I gave her my best bubbly smile. “I will.” Then I met Idris’s eyes again, inclining my head.

“I know that look,” he said, scratching his beard. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Two nights ago, I’d caught a glimpse of a terribly diseased bobcat from my bedroom window, skirting the edge of the Western Wood. Its body had been deformed—stretched larger—with gnarled antlers pushing through its skull, spider-like legs protruding from its sides, and glowing red eyes.

A monster.

I’d never seen anything like it; I’d never heard of anything like it. It’d shaken me to the core, leaving me panicked and sweating.

Minutes after the horrifying sight, a visitor had arrived on the porch of the Pretty Possum with black blood dripping from her sword.

Her arrival was eerily similar to how Anya and I had met Idris: a late-night intrusion, black saliva slicking his hand.

He’d needed an apothecary, and I was the only person in town with any knowledge of purifying herbs.

Our recent visitor, however, hadn’t needed tinctures or salves—she’d come to deliver a warning.

After she left, Idris had confirmed that monsters were infringing on the towns of rural Fenrir with more frequency.

He’d made me promise not to tell anyone about what I’d seen (I’d felt vindicated to learn I wasn’t the only person with secrets).

But still, the monster’s presence was troubling, and while I would be useless against such a creature, that didn’t stop me from worrying about Anya—and all of Waldron—in the meantime.

I was glad Idris was around to look after everyone.

Anya only rolled her eyes, not one to be cowed—even by the implication of monsters. After all, she’d faced a few herself. “I’m plenty self-sufficient without you two.”

“Yes, but—” I began.

“You don’t have to be,” Idris finished for me.

Anya gestured between us. “Had I known you two would form an alliance to smother me…”

“You love it,” I said.

Idris chuckled and wrapped an arm around Anya’s shoulders, tucking her close. To me, he said, “You be safe, too.”

I gave him a nod. I’d packed a vial of Hylder tincture and one pot of salve—the same recipes I’d given Idris to stave off the infection of his nasty wound—just in case.

Anya snaked her arm around Idris’s waist, leaning into his embrace.

“This is supposed to be a happy sendoff,” she told us, throwing a meaningful glance over her shoulder at the townsfolk forming a half-moon behind her.

Raising her voice so the others could hear, she added, “We’re so excited for you. ”

A chorus of “ Hear! Hear! ” filled the air, with folks calling out their hopes that the Fates would favor my travels, keep the roads safe and the weather mild.

Wicker plopped down at Anya’s feet, his feathery tail swishing jubilantly. She patted his head, beaming up at me. “By the way, I slipped a birthday gift into your trunk; don’t open it until the day!”

“You didn’t have to—”

“You’re not the only caretaker in this relationship,” Anya teased.

My twenty-ninth birthday was four weeks from now. It saddened me that I wouldn’t get to celebrate the milestone in the usual, over-the-top Waldron fashion, but it was just like Anya to do something special for me, anyhow.

Tears welled again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, friend!”

A sharp whistle pierced the air. One of the horses let out a startled whinny.

Then we were moving, the axles of my wagon creaking as the horses picked up speed. I sat a little taller on my crate, waving at the friends and neighbors I was (temporarily) leaving behind.

“Farewell!” I yelled.

“For now!” the crowd answered—a customary goodbye in Waldron.

The horses’ hooves and wagon wheels kicked up a cloud of dust, obscuring my vision of the congregation. Then it cleared, and—

I saw him.

Noble, apart from the rest, leaning against the trunk of the oak tree that bordered the edge of downtown.

His arms were crossed, his cheeks shaded with day-old stubble.

The black waves of his hair were pushed away from his forehead, showing off his strong jawline and long neck.

As always, his expression was painfully unreadable, but when his green eyes collided with mine, our gazes held for a fleeting, desperate moment .

A memory took shape, painful and panicked. Suddenly we were nine years younger: him, hiding behind the willow tree in the courtyard of my childhood home, and me, peering helplessly out the window of a midnight carriage as I was whisked away, never to return.

Except, this time, I would return. I was older now, wiser, and I wouldn’t let what I’d built in Waldron slip so easily through my fingers.

The wagon lurched, breaking our tense stares. I gripped the railing, holding on as I lifted my gaze to Noble again—but he was no longer there.

“Safe travels!” Anya called.

Wicker howled, setting off other dogs in town, which in turn set off all the citizens again, hooting and cheering and wishing me well.

I waved enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear, even as my heart twisted.

I was traveling to the capital to realize my lifelong dream of becoming an apothecary—an herbal alchemist—but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t miss Waldron sorely while I was gone.

Then again, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Noble around every corner. Avoiding the object of my unrequited love was certainly an upside to this adventure.