Page 7 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Fateless

Hattie

T he knights were broad, male, and fitted in extravagant gold armor.

One had an elegant longbow strapped to his back, while the other’s head was framed by exquisite twin shortsword hilts protruding from scabbards along his shoulder blades.

While I did not recognize them personally, their finery was that of the esteemed Order of the Mighty, the most trusted and highly trained knights in the kingdom, loyal to not only the ruler of their respective territory but to the entire realm.

Had someone told the Mighty that I was here? Noble’s father was one of the most lauded Mighty Knights in the kingdom; after the attempt on my life nine years ago, he’d orchestrated my clandestine escape to Poe-on-Wend. Were these men loyal to his leadership? Had I been discovered?

When I’d applied for study at the Collegium, I’d used the same false surname I’d chosen the night I met Anya: Mund.

I told myself that as long as I stuck to my story—that I was an anonymous woman from an inconsequential small town in rural Fenrir—everything would be fine, but the truth was, it was dangerous for me to be here.

I’d known it was a risk to have my name—even a fake one—recorded for my enrollment, but—

Wait .

A third knight followed on their heels, inconspicuous by comparison—but when my attention found her, a different sort of fear gripped me.

Black armor. Doe-eyes. A white scar across her upper lip.

A menacing swagger. She was confident, lethal.

The men at her sides might’ve been gloriously intimidating, but intimidation implied a hypothetical. A peaceable solution.

There was nothing hypothetical about Mariana’s potential for violence.

Memory took me back to the Possum, her voice interrupting the stillness of midnight. Black blood on her sword. A scowl on her angular face. I’d been somewhat preoccupied with my lingering distress over seeing a Fates-cursed monster so close to the inn, but Mariana had seemed unperturbed by that.

She’d come to confront Anya and Idris about their blank visions in the Mirrors of Fate.

Ever since my friends’ trip to the Well, the Mirrors of Fortune and Death had shown them a tumultuous grayness, like an overcast sky. Blank, untold futures. Mariana had warned us about more individuals like them, but she hadn’t explained why —just that we ought not trust them.

I might have an idea , I’d told Anya and Idris once Mariana had left. What if Mariana had been talking about Noble?

I’d seen it myself, six months ago, at Waldron’s Fate Ceremony.

He’d been among the first to look into the Mirrors, early enough in the procession that no one from town was really paying attention.

Noble was a recluse, after all—curious as the gossips in town could be, he’d proven himself uninteresting, and therefore his blank Fate had gone unnoticed.

Except by me.

Could Noble have also visited the Well of Fate?

Anya and Idris had quickly dismissed that theory, as the path was treacherous, and its secrets were not widely known.

Besides, even historically, none of those who visited the Well had come away with blank Fates—at most, just altered Fates.

Anya and Idris had no guess as to why their futures had been different—except for the presence of monsters.

According to Idris, close proximity to monsters could warp one’s Fate.

Perhaps the monsters lurking around the pool had changed its effect?

We’d discussed the matter at length, deep into the night, only to come away with more questions than answers.

Ultimately, neither Anya nor Idris had much to say about the implications of Mariana’s warning.

Not because they were being secretive, but because they genuinely didn’t understand the forces of the Mirrors. No one did.

Still, I’d wondered: what if Noble could tell us what Mariana had not?

I’d tried asking him about it, once—but he’d coolly evaded me, offering nothing.

And seeing as we’d agreed to avoid one another, my determination to confront him again—to force an answer from him—eventually waned.

Mariana’s warning had been vague, and Anya and Idris had stressed that the less we pried into matters that concerned her, the better.

After all, Mariana was a knight of a secret Order.

I was not supposed to know about her charge—and technically, I didn’t—but I had an idea…

And that idea disturbed me.

But now…now that she was here in Fenrir’s Charm, heading straight toward me…something must be wrong. My heart dropped like a stone into my stomach, a sudden panic rippling through me, even as my curiosity stirred. As the trio of knights neared, my muscles tensed, bracing for the inevitable threat.

But they weren’t walking toward me , I realized.

They were walking toward—

“What’s the meaning of this?” Phina asked, folding her arms across her chest, her eyebrow arching ever higher—unperturbed.

A few nearby students shrunk away from the professor.

I should’ve done the same, but I was rooted in place, hovering on the edge of their congregation, eyeing Mariana with a mix of surprise and dubiousness.

When her gaze flicked in my direction, her eyes widened with recognition—then continued their shrewd perusal of the room.

“We have a problem,” the man with the shortswords said.

“Have you gotten lost on your way to the Ire?” Phina asked.

The man with the longbow huffed what might’ve been a laugh, but the others remained tense, watchful, unamused.

Phina’s lips quirked. “Care to elucidate? Or would you like me to start guessing?”

“Not here.” Mariana’s hand tightened around the pommel of the sword at her hip. The movement caught my attention, and I noticed a black smear across her wrist bone.

When my gaze shifted to her dark eyes again, they’d narrowed on me, and I glanced away—back to Phina, wondering what she would do.

The professor’s wry expression shifted into something sharper—then she assumed a look of bored inconvenience. “Fine, fine,” she said with a wave of her hand, then turned on a heel.

I watched as my professor followed the knights out of the warm glow of the pub’s sconces and into the moonlit night. Mere moments after the door snicked behind them, the chatter in Fenrir’s Charm—which had diminished considerably with the unwelcome newcomers—returned in full force.

“What was that about?” Uriel asked, suddenly by my side.

“No idea,” I said, even though my mind was racing at a pace that matched my galloping pulse.

“Huh. Well.” Uriel jerked her chin in the direction of the bar. “I am getting another drink—want one? Sani is cut off. She cannot hold her liquor for shit.”

“I think I’m going to retire,” I replied, glancing at the door again. “I’ll see you at the dorm in a bit?”

“Tired from all the mingling?” Uriel asked with a smirk. “If we do not return before midnight, assume Sani is emptying her stomach in the street, and I am holding her hair.”

“She’s not that drunk, is she? She seemed fine when I left the table. ”

“Snuck up on her,” Uriel said, already walking backward toward the bar. “Apparently books did not teach her how to pace herself!”

I laughed, waved, waited for Uriel to disappear into the crowd—then I darted out the door after my professor.