Page 68 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Vision of Fortune

Hattie

A lchemy had been my vision of Fortune since young adulthood.

When the Mirror of Fortune had first shown me my life’s greatest blessing, I’d felt encouraged—vindicated, even—to continue exploring my interests in herbal alchemy, no matter how improper Aunt Yvira insisted it might be.

After I arrived in Waldron—still rattled from the awfulness in Poe-on-Wend—I’d been eager to view my Fortune again.

Seeing alchemy that time had felt like an assertion of self, a reminder of who I was.

My identity had made a mess of my life, but at least my connection to herbs remained.

The Mirror’s vision had given me the ambition to continue my studies in Waldron, to perhaps one day become the town’s licensed apothecary.

And I’d been glad, for the most part, ever since.

Glad that this part of me—my passion, my Fortune—was unchanging.

I might’ve occasionally wished that my Fortune would morph into a great romance—and when Noble arrived in Waldron, I’d wondered if that might come to fruition—but ultimately, I had been grateful for the persistent presence of alchemy in my future.

The consistency of my vision of Fortune was, in and of itself, fortunate. Because as I took in the various vials, bottles, and jars before me…I kn ew exactly what to do. I’d seen it at countless Mirror Festivals; I knew the steps by heart.

Perhaps my Fortune was about love, after all; perhaps my love of alchemy could save Noble.

The samples of water were arranged exactly as in my Mirror, an arc of various shades of blue—including the vial from Anya (familiar—I realized now—not because I saw it at the festival where Anya had acquired it, but in my vision of Fortune).

Using their colors and order on the table alone, I worked from memory, moving quickly but with extreme care.

I started by arranging three pitchers in front of me in a row.

In the first, I dissolved a pinch of Gildium in a splash of the blue-green Wend water from Anya.

In the second pitcher, I mixed the Hylder paste with the same water to make a tincture.

Next, I uncorked the bottle all the way to the right—labeled Well of Fate —and tipped a single drop into the third pitcher, along with the rest of my Wend vial.

The two waters mingled, changing color, the liquid shifting into an opalescent blue; I gave it a swirl with the spoon, feeling through the crystal the way the waters didn’t just mix, but wove together. Bonded . Potent, yet balanced.

And it made sense, didn’t it?

That the arcane magic and Gildium that had cursed Noble’s blood could be neutralized by the waters of the Wend and the Well of Fate?

The clue about the Wend had been in my tinctures from Waldron, where Hylder sprouted on the river’s banks, drinking the Wend into its roots as it grew, its very cells potent with the magical water.

And as for the Well—it’d healed Anya and Idris, hadn’t it? Perhaps it could heal Noble, too?

I wondered if the Well of Fate had been used in the original experiments on Noble, to balance the arcane magic.

That would certainly explain why adding Gildium to his blood hadn’t killed him, and why he—along with Anya and Idris, who’d entered the pool with open wounds, therefore mingling the water with their blood—all possessed blank Fates.

And if water from the Well of Fate had been used in Noble’s original curse—was already in his veins—perhaps that meant the cure would bind more easily to his blood.

That had to be it.

A strangled shriek broke my mental flow.

Brendan was crawling on his hands and knees toward his tent; Noble had caught him by the leg and was dragging him backward across the blood-soaked grass, stumbling over the slumped bodies of fallen soldiers and knights.

Mariana came to Brendan’s rescue, slicing Noble’s forearm; the blow was restrained, precise.

She was holding back as I’d asked, but Noble was becoming more feral by the moment; Mariana wouldn’t be able to dissuade him like this forever.

I closed my eyes, calming my mind in spite of the surrounding carnage and chaos.

I returned to the memory of my Fortune, the three pitchers.

With the mixtures prepared, the final step was to pour the Gildium solution and the Hylder tincture into the third pitcher simultaneously, while alchemizing the mixture.

The only problem was that, in the vision, I hadn’t—to my knowledge—had a broken arm.

Then again, the vision never showed much above my wrists.

And didn’t the presence of cursed beings warp Fate?

The thought gave me a jolt of panic— what if Noble had changed my Fate?

What if this was all wrong? What if this was no longer the cure?

—there was no room for doubt. I had to press on.

Gritting my teeth, I removed my sling and cast it aside. My left arm ached fiercely, but with the willow bark tincture still in my veins—not to mention the adrenaline—the pain was secondary. It had to be.

This was the moment of truth. Of Fate .

Rousing my magic, I recalled what Phina had taught in her herbology class all those months ago: that no matter how cleanly one wove the magic, the alchemist’s emotions also had an effect on the outcome. I couldn’t pour fear into this potion—I had to imbue it with love . Pure, unflinching love.

My wrists shook as I—with as much control and care as I could muster—picked up the Gildium solution with my left hand and the Hylder tincture with my right.

Hindered by the splint, my movements were jerky; my forehead pinched as I poured the mixtures simultaneously, tangling my magic with the threads of the materials.

While I did, I pictured all the other moments of Fortune throughout my life: laughing with Noble on the riverbank, reading with him in the solarium, sneaking peaches on my balcony, finding pleasure together in his room at the Royal Inn, hearing his declaration of love.

The Gildium and Hylder hit the magical water with a swirl of blue, black, and purple, a shimmering storm cloud of liquid alchemy.

With intense focus, I used my magic to coil the threads of Gildium, Hylder, and the water together, creating a loose weave.

My breath caught when the water tightened its hold, binding the Hylder and Gildium together, like it was my partner in this—an alchemist in its own right.

And though I put none on my tongue, I could still taste the essence of it through my magical connection: botanical, sweet, with a strange mineral quality that reminded me of… life . Complex and thrilling.

The potion was done— made .

My vision of Fortune always ended here, with a glittering potion before me, swirling of its own volition, alive with power.

What the Mirror didn’t show was Brendan on the ground, clutching his bloody pant leg, sobbing. Nor the blue glow of Mariana’s blade, cutting through shadow and darkness and the tight skin of Noble’s shoulder. It didn’t show what I was supposed to do next.

But I knew.

I just didn’t know how .

Mariana’s sing-songy voice cut through the clatter. “How’s it coming, Hattie?”

Noble scrambled toward her on all fours, snapping his teeth and snarling. His body was twisted and broken, streaked with so much black and red I could barely make out the smooth brown skin underneath the smears of blood. The wounds.

Soldiers and knights still hovered on the sidelines, but with so many of their comrades fallen, they made no moves to assist Mariana. Their faces were pale with shock, the whites of their eyes showing; the clearing reeked of vomit and urine and death.

Noble lunged at Mariana, and she sidestepped him at the last moment, slicing his thigh.

“Anytime, Hattie!” Mariana called, dodging another attack.

“I need to get close to him,” I said.

Mariana ducked and rolled out the way of Noble’s onslaught, his claws just barely missing her face. “Good luck with that,” she said, her words ending in a grunt as she swung her sword in an arc of blue flame.

I hugged the pitcher of potion against my body with my bad arm and came out from behind my table, scurrying along the perimeter of the clearing. “Can you lure him closer?” I shouted.

“Little busy!” Mariana leaped to the side, barely evading a wild swipe of claws.

With this latest move, Noble was now between us: me on one side of the clearing, Mariana on the other, Noble in the center. His back was to me, unaware of my presence as he crept toward the Valiant Knight.

Numerous tents were fully engulfed, now, spilling golden firelight onto the scene.

Mariana had a scratch on her cheek and welts on her arms where Noble’s blood had splattered and burned her.

Her breastplate was dented. Her hair was mussed.

She looked tired, but she also looked fierce.

The living embodiment of her Order’s name.

Seeing her like this—it made me feel all the more feeble and unprepared.

“ Fates, help me ,” I whispered as I approached Noble from behind .

The earth was slick with blood, the ground spongey beneath my feet. I tried not to think of it—tried not to wretch—as I carefully picked my way closer, weaving around the abandoned weapons and dismembered bodies.

As I walked, the potion sloshed in its pitcher, humming with each jostle, its power palpable.

I could taste it in the air, its strange potency and potential.

Memories of experiments gone wrong filled my mind’s eye: smoking, separating, bubbling, boiling.

There was a very real chance that this so-called “cure” could kill Noble—if he wasn’t lost to his curse already.

Mariana and Noble were in a quiet sort of standoff: stances wide, arms outstretched, taking each other in, daring the other to make the first move.

With Noble distracted, this might be my only chance.

I was within six feet of him now, my limbs shaking, but my courage holding firm. I could do this, I could—

Mariana’s attention flicked to me, her eyes widening. “Hattie, what are you—?”

I shook my head, hoping she understood that I needed her to hold her ground. But the exchange distracted me, and my foot caught on something—the arm of a fallen soldier—and I stumbled.

The ground was too slick for me to regain my footing. I skidded and toppled forward, barely catching my fall with my good arm. The potion sloshed, spilling on my dress and stinging the cuts on my neck as I went down. I landed on my knees in the blood-soaked grass, the pitcher toppling.

“No,” I whispered, scrambling to set the glass upright. Only a dribble remained in the bottom. “No, no, no.”

At the sound of my peril, Noble turned, red eyes zeroing in on me .

“Hey! Hey!” Mariana called, trying to capture his attention, but his focus was singular, now.

Noble crept toward me, lips curled in a snarl. There were far too many teeth crowding his gums, needle-like and razor-sharp.

My blood went cold. I struggled to stand, but the ground was too slippery.

Noble inched closer, dark drool sliding out of the side of his mouth. He barely looked like himself anymore; the monster had taken over, corrupting his features into something vicious and terrible.

“Noble,” I said, scooting backward on my bum. “Noble, it’s me, Hattie.”

His glowing red eyes narrowed, tongue darting out to lick the points of his teeth.

I kicked my feet, but I didn’t have any traction on the blood-slicked ground. My dress was soaked with mud and gore and the spilled hope of his possible cure.

“Noble,” I pleaded. Hot tears streamed down my face. “Noble, please.”

He took another step. Another. Ferocious. Predatory.

Then he was hovering over me on all fours, looming so close that our faces were only inches apart. Still hugging the pitcher with the remaining drops of potion to my side, I leaned back on my elbows, cowering in the face of death. My cursed lover.

A droplet of drool landed on my sternum, stinging like hot oil. I winced, but kept my eyes trained on his, searching for even a flicker of green among the glowing red.

“Noble, it’s me . It’s Hattie. It’s your Peach.”

At the sound of my nickname, his eyes widened slightly, a flash of recognition.

“It’s Peach,” I repeated, fumbling with my right hand to reach my pocket.

Noble had numerous cuts along his chest, his arms, all of them half-coagulated and contaminated with dirt and sweat .

“Remember what you told me about the nightmares?” I continued, closing my fingers around the small shaving blade I’d stolen from Brendan’s tent. “Remember when you said you always woke up before anything bad happened?”

He growled, rattling the metal collar clamped around his throat.

“Can you hear me, Noble?” I whispered. “Can you wake up for me?”

For a moment, I thought he might.

For a moment, I thought the humanity inside him would prevail.

Then the monster sprung for my face with snapping teeth.

He missed me by a hair’s breadth as he was yanked back by Mariana, who held the chain attached to his collar.

I did not hesitate. Flicking my wrist in a move Oderin had taught me, I sliced into Noble’s forearm with the shaving knife, opening a clean wound.

Then I poured the last remaining drops of the potion into his blood.