Page 53 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Arcane Inkling

Hattie

A ten-foot-tall creature —with stag horns, sharp wooden teeth, and a mane of ribbons—staggered past me on stilts. I shuffled out of the way, laughing as a splash of spiced milk sloshed out of my mug and onto the cobblestones.

Sani, Uriel, and I were strolling through Fenrir’s Night Market, a summer occurrence that drew folks from all corners of the city to Rose Street.

For the span of six blocks, vendors offered grilled meats, hand-pies, and baked goods; jewelers, leatherworkers, and potters hawked their wares from covered tents; and performers abounded: strange and colorful puppet-creatures roamed on stilts, musicians drummed and strummed, and dancers in scant costumes drew the attention of the market’s patrons.

For the past fortnight, when I wasn’t in class or Noble’s bed, I’d spent all my waking hours with him at the Ocs, reading, researching, and running experiments.

After our first night together, we’d reinstated our rules—at least, in the lab—agreeing to maintain as much chilly professionalism as possible while we worked.

In an abundance of caution, we’d also decided not to tell Phina what I’d learned about Noble, nor about the blood I’d requested from Mariana (which I was beginning to doubt would ever be delivered) .

Progress had been slow. Every time we tried binding Gildium with my Black Lace Hylder tincture, the magical herb repelled the metal with a range of results—bubbling, smoking, even explosive, depending on the alchemical knots we used.

It didn’t help that my emotions were scattered—at turns frustrated, discouraged, hopeful—no doubt tainting any alchemy I performed with overarching worry.

Attempting to solve a curse with limited understanding of the materials used to create it felt like trying to read a novel backward. The fact that Noble’s Fate depended on our research made the lack of progress all the more frustrating. Tonight was meant to be a break from all that, but…

“—no territory wants to be under Marona’s thumb,” Sani said, sliding a charred piece of chicken off a skewer with her teeth.

“I disagree.” Uriel waved her hand-pie back and forth dismissively, a few potatoes tumbling out of the pastry. “The realm has more resources when it’s united.”

My friends were in the middle of another debate about Oaths, research, and politics. Hearing them speculate about the Lord of Fenrir’s machinations—when I knew the truth —had my shoulders creeping up toward my ears.

“I should rephrase,” Sani said. “No lord wants to be under the king’s thumb. The citizens of Fenrir are all at the mercy of Lord Haron’s ego.”

“On that, we agree,” Uriel stated.

“Me, too,” I said weakly.

I knew better than anyone the lengths King Braven went to maintain unity among the territories; I wondered if he was aware of the extent of Lord Haron’s scheming.

Lord Haron’s intentions with Noble’s former Order were twisted, but unsurprising.

He had a reputation for being volatile, and Anya’s tales from meeting him only confirmed his boredom, cruelty, and selfishness.

Fenrir’s resources were plentiful—talented artisans, esteemed Collegium, fertile land—so why wouldn’t an egotistical lord wish to rule it all without King Braven’s interference?

“Even so, we are in a time of political peace,” Uriel countered. “The secrecy of current research programs hardly seems necessary when—”

“‘Political peace,’” Sani interrupted, “or a pause to gather forces?”

“You and your warmongering,” Uriel chided—but there was amusement in her tone.

Guilt and resolve warred in my chest, a clash of spears and shields that made my heart clamor.

Regardless of my Oath, knowing that what they spoke of was true —yet being unable to confirm it—still felt like a betrayal.

I took a long sip of my spiced milk—cinnamon, clove, and cardamom, exquisitely unique—hoping it might soothe the battle behind my ribs.

“Speaking of Oaths and politics,” Sani continued, “Hattie, how is Viren?”

I swallowed, cleared my throat. “I visited with her yesterday. She’s much improved.”

Uriel frowned. “What does Viren’s incident have to do with politics?”

Sani rolled her eyes, twirling her half-eaten skewer of chicken. “Do you really believe the attacker was a burglar?”

“Do not suggest a conspiracy.”

The conversation momentarily paused as all three of us sidestepped another performer stalking past us on stilts, this one dressed like a giant humanoid tree.

“ Not that I blame Viren for what happened,” Sani said once the tree had passed, “but I did hear that she was conducting research beyond her station. Oaths and hierarchies exist for that express purpose, and—”

Sani and Uriel began their debate anew; meanwhile, a sigh deflated my posture.

My whole life had been dictated by that same logic—secrecy equals safety—but to what end?

Forcibly marrying a vile man, lying to my best friend and chosen community, denying myself of love?

Was all that truly worth this so-called minimization of risk?

Would I ever truly be allowed to embrace all facets of myself in the light of day, without fear?

Eventually, Sani and Uriel’s conversation pivoted to lighter topics—but as we wandered through the tents, shopping and chatting, the shadow it cast on my heart remained. Because while I wanted to live free of secrecy someday, I was right to be afraid.

We all were.

“Oooh!” Sani squealed, breaking through my miserable thoughts. “Look how pretty!”

She led us over to a weaver’s stall, where colorful silk scarves were draped over lines strung up between the tent poles, billowing in the warm nighttime breeze. While Sani fawned over a particularly vibrant pattern, I held her half-eaten skewer and stood with Uriel by the mouth of the tent.

“Still pining after the poet in your writing class?” I asked, nudging Uriel with my elbow.

“As much as I find her…pleasant…” Uriel scrunched her nose, the metal hoop in her left nostril twinkling. “My heart belongs to my studies at this time.”

I thought of the past two weeks studying alongside Noble. “Romance and dedication to our disciplines can coexist.”

“ Can it , now?” Sani teased, tucking her new purchase into her satchel and taking her skewer back from me. “Could that be the reason you’ve been sleeping elsewhere for the past two weeks?”

I pinched my lips together with my teeth, hoping the colored lanterns of the market obscured my blush. “I’ve been studying late.”

“Studying what , exactly?” Sani prodded.

Noble’s wicked mouth. Noble’s toned stomach. The taste of his sweat as I—

Now I was definitely blushing.

Sani giggled and clapped her hands .

“I believe we were talking about Uriel’s studies,” I squeaked, shouldering my way into the center of Rose Street again to keep pace with the steady flow of the crowd. “Have you decided on a mentor?”

Uriel’s face brightened. “I delivered a formal request for Professor Gour, the instructor of my Arcane Materials class, this morning.”

“What’s their area of expertise?” Sani asked.

“He studies water,” Uriel said.

A flash of yellow flame gusted toward us as a fire dancer blew a mouthful of alcohol across a lit torch. I stopped short, watching the flames arc over the performer’s head in a rainbow of fire.

But it wasn’t the display that caught my attention—it was Uriel’s statement.

Phina studied water, too. I thought back to my first day in her lab, all those jars of blue and green liquids on the shelf in the mezzanine…

I gripped Uriel’s wrist, skirting the outside of a gathering circle of onlookers.

Sani trailed after us as I dragged Uriel away from the cheers, gasps, and rhythmic drumming of the fire dancer’s performance.

Up ahead, along the market’s fringes, there was a gap in the endless stalls where a cross-street bisected Rose.

I paused there and whirled on Uriel. “What about water, specifically?”

Uriel rubbed her wrist where I’d gripped it. “Why are you…intense?”

I opened my mouth, faltered.

Sani narrowed her eyes at me. “I don’t think Hattie can say why.”

“Water?” I prompted.

Uriel folded her arms. “Have you not taken any Arcane classes?”

“I’m studying to be an apothecary,” I said impatiently. “You know I haven’t.”

Uriel lifted her gaze to the stars above. “Alchemists,” she muttered. When she looked at me again, her expression was patient—if a little patronizing. “Alchemists work with the magical threads in materials, either weaving their magic around or into said material—yes? ”

“ Yes ,” I said impatiently.

“Arcane magic comes solely from within and requires a neutral material that magic is woven onto , like a scribe writing on paper.” Uriel mimed holding a quill, scribbling words into the air. “There are three neutral materials onto which we traditionally weave: stone, wood, or skin.”

Sani visibly shuddered. “ Skin ?”

“Like our Oaths?” I asked, lifting my wrist to show off my Allegiance tattoo.

“Oath tattoos—including the finger tattoos on adepts—are an example of arcane magic written onto paper, with a secondary manifestation on the skin,” Uriel said.

“Weaving arcane magic directly onto skin is a darker practice. Bloody. Involves carving arcane symbols into the skin with a knife. It is potent and not easy to undo. Rare and highly regulated.”

My stomach twisted. I thought of all the tiny marks on Noble’s hands—similar to the tattoos of adepts, but scars instead of ink —and wondered if they were not the marks of metalwork, but magic .

“Wood—including paper—is the most agreeable material,” Uriel continued, “which is why we have the Oath Ledgers.”

Feeling disturbed, I finished the rest of my spiced milk, clutching the small wooden mug as I wrapped my free arm around my torso in a makeshift hug. “What does any of that have to do with water?”

“Water is a common ingredient in balancing arcane magic.”

I stiffened. “Truly?”

Uriel spread her palms as if to say, Why would I lie?