Page 37 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Black Lace

Noble

W ith a frustrated growl, Noble set down his hammer and tongs.

When he’d last looked up from his task, the sun had still been climbing, weak beams of light streaming through gaps in the clouds to the east; now, the sun sat low in the west, casting long shadows across his worktable.

The forge was well-made, his materials pure, his tools finely crafted—yet in spite of the resources and endless days, Noble still wasn’t making any progress.

Weaving magic around Gildium involved precise tempering, attentiveness, and sheer force of will—exhausting not just for the body, but the mind.

And when the stakes were this high—when failure meant he’d eventually die , along with countless innocent victims caught in the crosshairs of the curse’s spread—it was hard not to become frustrated by his ongoing failure.

Noble cleaned his filthy hands with a damp rag and stormed out of the workshop, needing fresh air away from the hot coals and molten metal—away from his dark thoughts. Perhaps a lap around the circumference of the dome would clear his head enough for him to push through another hour or two of work.

Ever since Viren’s incident over two weeks ago, Phina’s researchers had been coming and going in pairs, with no one lingering after dark. As he meandered through the empty gardens, Noble imagined them off supping or studying in the safety of a pub or dorm. Laughing. Relaxing. Unburdened. Free .

Noble was grateful to be a part of Phina’s research, but he still felt bound .

By his affliction, by his past, by the expectations that had ruled his entire life.

If Noble could figure out the key to alchemizing Gildium and Hylder, perhaps true freedom would be within reach.

Perhaps he could prove to himself that he wasn’t destined to fail at everything he set his mind to.

A breeze wafted over Noble’s face, cooling the sweat on his brow and ruffling his hair.

He extended a hand over a raised bed, running his fingers lightly over the fuzzy leaves of a lemon balm plant.

Out here in the gardens, the lab was an explosion of green in all shades: vibrant lime, pale sage, deep emerald, chartreuse.

The verdancy strained his eyes, the colors almost oversaturated in the harsh late-afternoon light.

When he inhaled indulgently, he smelled mint, roses, apple blossoms.

The herbaceous scent reminded him of Hattie. Was there anything that didn’t ?

She hadn’t spoken to Noble in sixteen days—not since their conversation in the aftermath of Viren’s attack. In that time, he’d mentally scolded himself a million different ways. For what he’d admitted , but also for his selfishness.

Emotional whiplash , she’d called it. This isn’t fair .

In adolescence, he’d thought of their friendship as a waltz of flirtation and gentle rejection.

Of closeness and distance. But maybe it was really a wound, healing halfway, only to be reopened.

Maybe her flirtatiousness hadn’t been a sign of openness, but a form of armor to protect the truth underneath.

It’d been cruel of him to throw her feelings in her face in Waldron. Cruel of him to hold her in his arms—for nostalgia’s sake, or comfort—and know her heart would ache when he let go. Cruel of him to tell her he cared when he knew the truth would only complicate matters.

But he’d been so frightened and furious when he saw the blood on her thin little chemise that the words had poured out of him, unbidden.

Words he’d wanted to say the first time she’d had a run-in with an assassin; words he’d wanted to say when her aunt and uncle sent her away.

Words he’d held back for the sake of decorum.

For the sake of them both. A burden he’d been willing to bear—until that morning, apparently.

Now that he’d admitted he wasn’t as cold-hearted as he’d led her to believe since they were seventeen…

well, he wasn’t sure what to do. He felt as if he’d stepped up to the edge of a cliff.

As long as he didn’t take that final step, everything would be fine—yet still, he teetered every time he saw her.

Leave her alone , he’d reminded himself day after day in Phina’s lab. Do nothing .

She deserved a man who didn’t lie to her.

He couldn’t, in good conscience, pursue a closer relationship with her while bearing the massive secret of his affliction.

And he couldn’t tell her about his altered state when his retired Oath prevented him from talking about it.

When Phina forbid it, too. When Hattie was who she was, and Noble was who he was, and both their identities—the monster blood in his veins and the scandalous mix of royal blood in hers—were at risk.

There were simply too many reasons why giving into their urges was a bad idea.

Unfortunately, her forbidden-ness just made him want her even more.

Thankfully, they hadn’t encountered each other much since his admission.

And with the Collegium abuzz with gossip, new procedures, and extra guards and knights of various Orders loitering about, all of Phina’s apprentices had been in a state of edgy, determined focus.

There hadn’t been many opportunities to acknowledge Hattie, let alone speak privately.

Noble sighed. His muscles were beginning to slacken, his strides longer and looser. He’d reached the outer edge of the dome, where large shrubs and fruit trees spread their arms welcomingly toward the waning sun. The windows were cracked, magnifying the warmth even as a cool breeze slipped inside.

Noble turned down a flagstone path to his left, wandering aimlessly—only to come to a particularly striking shrub.

Its lacy leaves were the color of currants: a black that blushed dark purple.

It stood well over Noble’s head and bore tiny, pink-tinged buds in clusters the size of his palm.

The Hattie of his youth had once shown him a diagram in one of her books of the various types of grouped flowers.

These, Noble knew, were arranged in an umbel—a round cluster that resembled an upside-down bowl.

They were edible, as were the shrub’s dark berries, which would form in autumn.

Black Lace Hylder.

It was aptly named, its leaves delicate and dark. Noble ran his fingers over the fringe of one of its stems, and a thrill raced up his arm, skin tingling with a feverish heat—as if the plant sensed his disease and wanted to burn it out of him.

This was the varietal that Hattie had used in the tincture that had proven so effective against his affliction.

Something about the magical structure of its cells being more open than common Hylder, with more threads for magical binding.

It’s unique, like Gildium , Phina had explained to him shortly after Hattie’s breakthrough. A match made by the Fates themselves.

To investigate its properties further, Phina had instructed Hattie to make large batches of the tincture over the past couple weeks, but, puzzlingly, the tinctures she’d mixed in the lab hadn’t felt quite as effective as the one she’d brought from Waldron.

He knew he ought to mention that to Hattie—combine their alchemical efforts—but for obvious reasons, he’d been putting that off.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Noble turned and— yes , he thought indulgently. Beautiful .

Hattie stood on the path about six feet away.

She wore a plain dress of rich yellow ochre, the cinched waist accentuating the modest flare of her hips.

The thin straps were made of silk ribbons, barely clinging to her shoulders.

She watched him with crystalline blue eyes, her pert nose scrunching.

Her dark freckles were proof that even the sun wished to shower her in kisses, to mark her with adoration.

As always, the soft pile of curls atop her head begged to be unbound.

But what truly caught Noble’s attention was Hattie’s warmth.

Her smarts. Her vibrancy, even in the midst of hardship and uncertainty.

The fact that she could still stand before him with a smile on her flower-petal lips, after he’d befriended her and broken her heart, abandoned her and then haunted her steps, confessed his care for her only to ignore her for weeks on end—it was a testament to her shine.

Noble was both awed by Hattie’s resilience and ashamed of his role in necessitating it.

Beautiful, isn’t it? she’d asked.

Yes , he wanted to say. You’re the most beautiful thing in the kingdom, inside and out. I’m pretty sure the Fates created you out of pure sunshine.

Noble allowed himself one more moment to appreciate her unexpected presence before he cleared his throat and turned toward the Hylder again. “Phina said you’ve been working with it quite diligently.”

Hattie stalked closer, until they stood side by side, facing the mass of black lacy leaves and pink flowers.

“Diligent is one word for it,” Hattie said with a self-deprecating but ebullient laugh. “Fumbling around in frustration is more like it.”

Noble glanced sidelong at her profile. “Anything I can help with?”

“I’ve seen your notes— no thank you .”

He snorted.

“They are impressive though,” she went on, surprising him. “Messy, but insightful.”

In a life defined by his shortcomings, he rarely felt proud , but…the compliment made him proud. “Thank you. ”

Hattie swiveled, facing him squarely. “What are you doing here, Noble?”

He mirrored her position, facing her head-on. “Went for a walk to clear my head.”

“I meant at the Collegium.”

“I’m helping Phina.”

“But how did you—”

He tapped his collarbone, where the faded tattoo of his former Order ringed the base of his neck. “We met through this,” he said, tasting the vague warning of his retired Oath on the back of his tongue.

Hattie lifted her chin, appraising him. “When we were kids, I wouldn’t have expected you to one day become a metal alchemist. When did that happen?”

“It was a long nine years,” Noble said, and he wasn’t planning on saying more, until he met her eyes and saw the pleading there. The desire for truth. “After you…left,” he continued delicately, “I spent a lot of time in the library.”

Her upper lip curled slightly, a flash of joy, followed by a stab of sorrow. He’d missed her. Of course, he had. It made him sad to think she’d ever doubted that fact.

The library had been their happy place. Snacking on bread and cheese, lounging on velvet-upholstered chaises, cracking jokes in between long stretches of amiable quiet.

It was where he told her his deepest fears; where he’d discovered how ticklish the tender spots just above her collarbones could be.

They had teased each other about their taste in books, Hattie deeming him fanciful for reading adventure novels while he claimed she was too clever for her own good after reading so much science.

But tucked within their silly jokes was something more profound: an unconditional fondness. He’d cherished their friendship, while also yearning for more, and duty had kept him caught in between, with no choice but to relish only the now , and not the fantasy of what could be.

After Hattie disappeared, the library had felt so empty—but it had also been his last connection to her.

A reminder of how lucky he’d been just to read side by side with someone so incandescently funny, intelligent, and kind.

And as long as he didn’t look up from his book, he could pretend she was there in the chair opposite his.

Noble shrugged lightly, hoping the casual gesture would ease some of the pain of recollection between them. “One day, I picked up one of your alchemy books, just out of curiosity.”

That familiar vertical line formed on her brow. “You mean to tell me that I spent my entire adolescence trying to get you to read about alchemy—only for you to read it the moment I was gone?”

“You know I love to exasperate you.”

“It’s a true talent of yours.”

He took a single step closer, unable to resist. “My point is, when I started reading about alchemy, I found that it was actually… interesting .”

Hattie laughed. “No shit,” she said, shoving his arm.

And for a brief moment, they were sixteen again, a playful ease between them.

Then the unexpected contact morphed into painful awareness , time stopping for an entirely different reason.

Her fingers lingered on his bicep; his muscle tensed reflexively under her touch.

Sometimes, Noble hated having sight magic; it meant that he could see everything .

The thudding in the pulse-point of her throat, the slow drag of her eyes over where her fingers grazed his shirtsleeve, the flush creeping up the side of her neck.

Her hand fell. “How is your research going?”

“Frustrating.” Noble glanced in the direction of his workshop, finding his vision obscured by foliage. This far into the jungle of Phina’s lab, he felt like they were in another world entirely. “I thought I was the only one here.”

“I was engrossed in reading, as usual.” Her voice was breathy.

“That happens,” Noble said.

Hattie shrugged as if it couldn’t be helped. The movement caused one of her ribbon-sleeves to sag off her left shoulder, drawing his attention to—

Noble reached out, gripping Hattie’s upper arm, stilling her.

An angry purple bruise streaked across the cap of her shoulder.

This was not the pale discoloration of an accidental fall or collision—this was the mark of a strike.

Whomever had landed this blow had been wielding a blunt, uniformly shaped object. Hard wood or metal.

The thought of someone striking Hattie had rage searing through Noble’s chest like molten metal. Whatever careful amiability they’d been cultivating out here in the gardens burned away to ash, replaced by a sudden, overprotective, white-hot fury.

He clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Who?” he ground out.