Page 47 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Disgrace of the Order of the Morta

Noble

R AAAAA !” Noble growled, a guttural sound that came from deep in his chest.

He was chained to a stone prison wall by his wrists and ankles, panting and snarling through his teeth.

With his body strung up in an X , he couldn’t move more than a few inches, but that didn’t stop him from thrashing against his constraints.

His skin was rubbed raw from the iron cuffs, black blood weeping down his forearms, pooling under his feet.

But the monstrous instinct inside him was stronger than the stinging pain of open wounds.

It wanted freedom. It wanted flesh.

Adepts of the Order of the Arcane crowded in his cell, staring at him with various shades of cold curiosity and disgust. New faces had joined them: a knight of some sort, a squire of the Lord, and a man wearing the shimmery brown and gold robes of a ledgermaster.

Noble hadn’t seen them down here before.

It was clear in all their expressions that he was not a man to them, but an experiment—an abomination.

Noble snarled, the sound rumbling through the dungeon.

It was met by similar growls and cries in the depthless black beyond the bars of his cell.

He hated the monster inside him, hated what it had done to his mind and body.

The antlers threatening to push through the skin in his temples, the claws forming at his fingertips, the way his saliva tasted like acid— venom .

When he took the Oath of the Order of the Morta, Noble had been promised inhuman strength; he’d thought that this opportunity would bring him glory.

Maybe even make his father proud.

Chained in this dungeon, Noble doubted he’d ever see his father again. It seemed that the only way he’d escape this miserable place—and the misery inside him—would be through death.

“As you can see,” the lead adept said, turning toward the ledgermaster, “it cannot be contained. I am not proud to admit this failure, but there are plenty more experiments we can—”

“We should’ve terminated this Order and all its so-called knights a long time ago, what with the havoc it has already wreaked,” the knight interrupted, resting his palm on the pommel of the sword at his hip.

It wasn’t the threat of death but the label of failure that had Noble sagging in his chains.

“This is the cost of research,” the lead adept said simply. As if toying with nature and killing innocent test subjects was just a means to the end they sought. “Do not let one malformed iteration turn us off the path to greatness.”

“ One ?” the knight exclaimed. “The Western Wood is overrun because of this program.”

“The Valiant have it well in hand,” the lead adept said dismissively, waving a tattooed hand. “ When we succeed in our venture, it will all prove worthwhile.”

“This Order and its vile experiments have existed for generations,” the knight argued. “Your promises are as empty as the adepts who came before you. ”

“Lord Haron won’t be pleased to hear this,” the squire put in. “Is there not a way to cure…” He gestured vaguely in Noble’s direction, not quite looking directly at him.

The lead adept scoffed. “We were not charged with finding cures , Squire. Cures move us backward. My duty is to move humanity forward .”

“You call this humanity?” the knight said, pointing at Noble. “This is a disgrace. This should never see the light of day.”

Noble was beginning to shake all over, not from the humiliating conversation, but from the monster’s urge inside him.

He wanted to peel off his skin just to let it out.

He tensed against his cuffs, squirming with the horrible discomfort of living in this body, aching to tear himself apart just to escape the agony.

They were right about him. He was an abomination.

“You could retire the Order,” the ledgermaster suggested. “Start fresh.”

“What of our test subjects?” one of the other researchers asked. She was short in stature, with dark curly hair. Though Noble knew none of the adepts’ names—they were careful to remain anonymous down here—he knew this one to be compassionate. “Would it not be inhumane to abandon them?”

“Their very existence is inhumane,” the knight said. “Terminating them would be a mercy. Hence the Lord’s investment in the Valiant.”

Still panting through his teeth, his nude body slicked with sweat, Noble agreed with the knight. Death would be a mercy.

“I know an Adept of the Order of Alchemy,” the researcher insisted, “whose studies in water align with the gaps in our efforts. Perhaps she could—”

The lead adept snorted. “Alchemists no know nothing of Arcane magic.”

“But maybe she could help them?” the kind researcher pressed, gesturing at Noble.

“Don’t be soft-hearted,” the lead researcher scolded.

“I’m not,” she said. “Passing the burden to an alchemist would make this program look more successful on the whole. While she addresses previous experiments, we can forge ahead.”

She was appealing to the lead adept’s practical side, his grandiose ambition, and it was working. She spared a single glance in Noble’s direction, a small smile forming.

All he could do was snarl back at her.

“What of him?” the knight asked. “Do you really think alchemical magic can undo an arcane mistake?”

“Retire his Order,” the lead adept decided. “Let the alchemist work on our past subjects. In the meantime, we’ll be free to break new ground.”

Everyone looked to the squire for confirmation. He frowned for a moment, pondering the plan, then gave a single nod. “The Lord will be pleased to see the research continue under a new Order.”

Without additional prompting, the ledgermaster hefted the book he carried, cradling it in one arm. The foiled title— Ledger of the Order of the Morta —caught the light of the lone torch as he cracked the book open. “This will take a quarter hour,” he told the group.

“Let us all retire to more a civilized setting,” the lead adept said, extending a palm toward the open door of Noble’s cell.

Footsteps echoed on stone as everyone filed out, leaving only the ledgermaster and the kind researcher behind. More howls roused in the darkness as other subjects in other cells called out to the visitors.

“Will it hurt them?” the researcher asked the ledgermaster once the rest of the group had gone.

“It shouldn’t,” the ledgermaster replied, dragging a fingernail down the page of the magical book to which Noble’s Oath was bound.

When the ledgermaster spoke next, it was in the language of the arcane, a rhythmic chant that would unravel the magic that had woven the Order of the Morta together and tie off the threads that could not be severed completely.

Noble’s head began to pound with the rhythm of those words, an odd tearing sensation pulling through his chest like an overextended muscle. It did hurt. It felt like the very fabric of his soul was being shredded apart. The monster inside him began to thrash.

“ RAAAAA !” he screamed again, shaking in his constraints.

Other test subjects in the dungeon answered his call, pounding on their bars and shrieking.

Their agonized cries were proof that the unbinding of the Order of the Morta pained them, too.

As magic seared through Noble’s veins, he wondered if his cursed brethren in the Western Wood felt this; he wondered what it would do to them.

As the ledgermaster worked, the remaining researcher watched on in silence, her brown eyes trained on Noble, wobbling with tears. Her pity made him feel small. It made him think about all the ways he’d let his loved ones down.

The ledgermaster’s chant became faster, more forceful. Noble’s heart slammed against his chest like a prisoner trying to break through a locked door. Thump, thump, thump . Noble screamed again as pain lanced through his temples.

Thump, thump, thump .

Thump, thump, thump .

Noble woke with a snarl.

His room at the Royal Inn of Fenrir was dark.

The moon was high, shining blueish light through his window.

Midnight. His naked body was slicked with sweat, heart frantic, breaths coming quick.

It’d been a long time since his nightmares coalesced into true memory—in fact, he hadn’t dreamt of the research dungeon since before he’d traveled to Waldron .

Forcing a long sigh through his lungs, Noble rubbed his forehead. In his sleep, he’d kicked off the blankets. The heat of his panic was beginning to cool. His heart rate was dropping back to normal. He was alright.

So why did he still hear thumping?

Thump, thump, thump .

Thump, thump, thump .

Noble sat up, frowning. The thumping wasn’t his head or heart, it was coming from a fist on wood.

Someone was knocking on his door.

Over the past few months, Noble had encountered plenty of drunk travelers in the halls of the Royal Inn of Fenrir. Yelling, banging, cries of pleasure. It was hard enough getting a good night’s rest in his own mind, let alone the annoyances of other guests.

This thumping was making his head ache anew. Irritation rose. Noble flung himself out of bed and stomped to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, he yanked the door open, ready to confront the person inconsiderately waking him in the middle of the night.

His anger dissolved at the sight of her.

Hattie, on his threshold, all flushed cheeks and messy hair.

She paused with her fist in the air, eyes widening. Her attention dropped to his groin, then darted quickly back up to his face, her flush deepening from mauve to crimson. She cleared her throat, her forehead creasing as if it took great effort not to look down again.

Caught up in his irritation—with his mind still hazy from troubled sleep—Noble had forgotten to cover himself before answering the door.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move, not when Hattie’s flush was now creeping down her neck to color her chest. She stared up at him with those oceanic eyes, and Noble felt as if he were caught in a net as she slid her tongue along her bottom lip, then bit down with visible restraint.

She knew he was a monster, and still, she was here. Blushing .

His head couldn’t make sense of it, but his heart and groin didn’t care. Desire hit him with a force.

He smirked like he wasn’t clay in her hands, hers to shape. “May I help you?”

His voice seemed to break the spell between them.

Hattie held out a hand, blocking her view of his cock. Her gaze flew to crown molding. “ Why are you naked?” Her voice was shrill, agonized.

Noble chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“ Noble ,” Hattie said to the ceiling.

“I sleep naked,” he answered. “I was asleep . What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” He considered his own question, and concern swept through him. He gripped the doorjamb, knuckles paling. “What’s wrong?”

Hattie’s arm was still extended, shielding her from his body, her head turned away as if his nakedness would bring her peril. Which, come to think of it, if they gave in to their urges, it probably would. “I came to talk ,” she enunciated.

Of course, she had .

After the incident in the training yard earlier today, he’d skipped the lab and instead taken a walk to clear his head.

Avoiding Hattie wasn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but the shock and hurt on her face had pained him—cut him to the bone.

He’d wanted to give himself time to come up with a plan for how to circumvent the verbal limits of his Oath enough to at least offer her a scrap of honesty.

A satisfactory answer. The problem was, there was nothing honest or satisfactory about the secrets of the Orders. And there was nothing he could do .

A part of him still wondered if the greatest mercy he could offer Hattie would be to disappear from her life.

At least if he was far away, he couldn’t disappoint her any more than he already had.

More than anything, Noble wanted to minimize Hattie’s hurt.

He couldn’t stand to see any more pain on her pretty face .

But she didn’t look pained now. Her bun was coming undone, curls frizzing; her dress was filthy, palms scraped; she was still blushing furiously—but she looked determined . Fierce.

What had she done? Where had she been tonight? Why wasn’t she afraid of him?

Noble opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing Hattie entry into his room. She brushed by without looking at him, her attention flicking over the four-poster bed and the tangle of blankets on the floor.

“I take it you weren’t sleeping peacefully,” she said. “Maybe it’s a good thing I woke you.”

Noble closed the door with a soft click and turned the lock. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice rough with concern.

Hattie turned. “Pants first, then we talk.”