Page 71 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

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Hattie

A s dawn broke and a new day unfurled over the valley, I sat on a cot inside a freshly erected pavilion, numb with shock and exhaustion.

Noble’s unconscious body rested beside me.

During the healer’s assessment, Noble’s skin had been washed, his clothing changed.

Miraculously, his wounds had disappeared—all except the scars on his hands, a remnant of the arcane magic that’d first altered his being, perhaps too potent to be healed like a regular injury.

His face was rosy with color, no black veins in sight.

He was human .

He was alive .

But he had yet to stir.

In the hours following the arrival of Kalden Asheren’s regiment, order had been gradually restored.

Flaming tents were put out. The bodies of the dead were loaded into wagons, driven a mile downwind, and burned.

A series of new pavilions—including this one—had been set up on the edge of the valley, far from the gore of Noble’s destruction.

Four guards had been assigned to Mariana, whom General Asheren would question later.

And Brendan…he had been carted off to receive medical attention, and maybe I’d enjoyed the thought of the healer’s poor bedside manner as he assessed the captain’s injuries; I’d certainly enjoyed overhearing the irate, scolding words Kalden had given him about his stunt, with the promise of an official punishment to come .

But now…now, I wasn’t sure what would happen. All I’d been able to focus on was Noble; I hadn’t let go of his hand since a pair of royal Mighty Knights had transferred him here hours ago.

“Never could keep you two apart,” a gruff voice said.

I looked up to see an older, sterner version of Noble stepping through the flaps of the tent.

Except Kalden Asheren had brown eyes instead of green, and a thick, silver-streaked beard that reached his mid-chest. While Noble shared his father’s height, Kalden’s build was bullish, with round shoulders and a barrel chest that stretched the front of his plain black tunic; though at some point he’d removed his golden breastplate, Kalden’s formidable stature still seemed to diminish this makeshift room by half.

“Our families certainly tried,” I replied, smoothing my thumb across Noble’s temple.

Kalden moved deeper into the tent. “How is he?”

“Why do you care?”

“He’s my son.”

“Is that so?” I asked tartly.

Kalden’s voice was weary when he said, “Yes.”

In my youth, I’d been intimidated by the general; now, I couldn’t decide if I despised or pitied his narrow-mindedness. He’d been incredibly blessed to have a son like Noble, and yet he’d never seemed to recognize it, always focused on what Noble could be instead of who he was .

I bent, pressing my lips to Noble’s forehead, before making my way to standing. With my hair knotted, dress filthy with mud and gore, skin crusted with blood—mine, Noble’s, others’—I must’ve been quite the sight. “Are you here to interrogate me?”

Kalden folded his arms across his chest. “Brendan explained the events of the past twenty-four hours. Noble’s…affliction…” The general trailed off. It was perhaps the only time I’d ever seen him at a loss for words, and I felt my anger toward him slacken an inch .

“You know about his former Order, then,” I said.

Kalden spat on the trampled grass between us. “I didn’t know he belonged to that horrific excuse for an Order until today. I thought, after he failed to join the Mighty, he’d simply—”

“Left?” I supplied.

Kalden gave a single nod.

“You did not disown him?”

A vertical line formed between Kalden’s eyebrows. “I was disappointed. Angry. But I would never exile my own son.”

“ You wouldn’t? Or your wife wouldn’t allow it?”

A surprised pah slipped out of him; it was harsh, as if Kalden wasn’t accustomed to laughter. “You remember Helena well.”

“I always admired her.”

While Kalden was hard as stone, Noble’s mother was much like the wisteria that grew up the side of Castle Wynhaim: stunningly beautiful, almost whimsical, but with strong and formidable roots.

“So, when your captain sent assassins to Fenrir,” I said, back to the matter at hand, “you didn’t know he was potentially targeting your son? Or me, for that matter?”

“I did not realize that my son was part of Lord Haron’s plot to create an army of abominations, no.”

A weapon of war , Viren had said, but an army ? “It’s true,” I murmured. “Lord Haron plans to rise against Marona.”

“Lord Haron comes from a long line of insubordinate rulers. Fenrir has never had the numbers to challenge Marona, but if it had abominations the Lord could control…” Kalden trailed off, allowing me to conclude the rest.

An icy claw trailed down my spine. “But our research was meant to undo what Lord Haron’s Arcane Adepts had done,” I said weakly.

Kalden took another step closer, brown eyes narrowing. “Do you truly believe that?”

I shifted on my feet, not liking what he was implying.

“Oh, you do,” he said. “That’s a relief.”

I lifted my chin. “Go on.”

“Phina Farkept’s research was never meant to ‘ undo ’ the curse, to use your phrasing,” Kalden said. “It was meant to further the failed program. Complete its mission.”

Brendan had said something similar last night, but: “Phina would’ve never agreed to—”

“She didn’t know.”

“You expect me to believe that Lord Haron would task a brilliant Collegium professor to undo his mistake, hoping she’d solve it instead?

“Would Phina Farkept have accepted the opportunity otherwise?”

“Rather convoluted of the Lord, don’t you think?”

“Politics are always convoluted.”

I shook my head, not seeing the logic in such an endlessly veiled endeavor. “But—”

“It was a success, wasn’t it?” Kalden asked. “According to my captain, Noble was a monster, and you —an apprentice of Phina’s—cured him.”

“It was your captain’s stunt that almost got your son killed,” I shot back. “And my Fate that saved him.”

His jaw clenched, temple pulsing. “I was not aware of the extent of Captain Harrow’s…” He trailed off, lips twisting like he’d tasted something sour. “Plot.”

“You were ignorant of your subordinate’s overzealous dealings?” I shot back, angered all over again by what Brendan had done. How he’d used us.

“I tasked my subordinate to protect Marona’s interests from Fenriran threats, namely, to infiltrate the Collegium and stop the curse from being solved,” Kalden said—not without a bite in his tone.

“Brendan’s methods might’ve been misguided and—as evidenced by last night—impulsive, but we are on the brink of destruction. His motivations were pure.”

I balled my good fist. “Brendan is a boot-licking ass-kisser,” I said, “who cares more about your approval than the realm. He’s always had a vendetta against Noble, and if you can’t see that—”

“You might have royal blood, Ms. Wynhaim, but be careful how you speak to the king’s Mighty General.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You are complicit in a plot of treason.” Kalden stepped toward me, and I instinctually stepped back. “The only reason you aren’t in shackles is because you uncovered the cure for my son .”

I glanced back at Noble, still unconscious on his cot. What did Kalden’s accusations and threats matter when Noble hadn’t woken up? “I’m afraid that remains to be seen,” I whispered.

“How we proceed from here has consequence, Ms. Wynhaim ,” Kalden enunciated. “The real question is how you ended up at the Collegium, when you were supposed to be in Poe-on-Wend.”

I refused to cower in the face of Kalden’s judgements and accusations. “You know, General Asheren, I’m not really in the mood to get into it.”

“My apologies, Hattie, but you don’t exactly have a choice.”

“Can you at least give me the courtesy of washing up?” I asked. “I’d rather not have this conversation with your son’s blood all over my dress.”

An hour later, I was back in the pavilion, my skin scrubbed clean.

The brief respite had allowed me a chance to assess my own state of being.

The pain in my broken arm was significantly diminished—a fortnight of healing in the span of a few hours—and though I’d donned a clean sling, I wasn’t sure I’d need it for long.

My Oath of Allegiance tattoo was gone, too, as were the cuts under my jaw.

I could only conclude this was due to the potion I’d spilled on myself in the chaos of last night, but pondering the changes was low on my current list of priorities.

A small table had been brought into Kalden’s tent while I was gone; now he sat at one end, and I sat at the other.

I wore a simple white tunic and a pair of borrowed trousers from one of the female soldiers.

Though I hadn’t slept, the fresh clothes helped me feel revived—as did the chunks of roast chicken on the plate in front of me.

It was poor etiquette for me to eat with my bare hand—shoving the greasy, delicious dark meat into my mouth with a ravenous haste—but we were far away from polite society, and I had been through far too much to care about propriety.

Kalden had better manners, though. He ate with a knife and fork, spearing bites that were comically small for a man of his size.

He looked more likely to eat off the bone, but like me—like Noble, like everyone in the Fates-damned inner circle of Marona’s royalty—Kalden had been trained.

And unlike me, he was still entrenched in the rules of court.

No amount of politeness would apparently coax either of us to touch the plate of steamed Maronan turnips in the middle of the table, though. That, Kalden and I had in common.

“We can’t avoid the conversation forever,” he said finally, setting his knife and fork aside.

“‘Forever’ is quite the stretch, considering the fact that I haven’t slept in over a day, and up until an hour ago, I was covered in blood,” I quipped—but seeing as my reappearance was a threat to the king Kalden served, I understood where the general was coming from.

I didn’t agree, but I understood.