Page 77 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Hattie

M y sides hurt from laughing. My legs hurt from dancing. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

In all my years in Waldron, I’d never been to a Soliden Festival so joyful.

Soliden was Waldron’s annual summer solstice celebration, a mirror of Astrophel in winter.

Three days of music, amazing food, summery beverages, dancing with ribbon streamers, and socializing so much my voice went hoarse.

Not to mention the rows upon rows of market tents selling clothing, jewelry, metalwork, crafts, snacks, and—new to town this year—a stall with tinctures and potions made by a newly licensed apothecary.

Me .

It had been the perfect opportunity to share my new wares: potions for sleep, tinctures for digestion, salves for minor cuts and burns.

I’d also bottled a few town-favorite concoctails, and managed to recreate the jarred, spiced peaches that Noble had found in Fenrir.

Those—along with a new Hylderberry jam—had been my bestsellers.

Seeing my fellow neighbors enjoy my creations (and pay me for them!) had filled me with a giddy sort of contentment. A sense of true self.

Now, Anya, Idris, Noble, and I were back in the Pretty Possum Inn and Pub’s cavernous, empty bar room, collapsed in the overstuffed chairs facing the cold hearth.

It was after midnight, and all the windows were open, letting in the balmy summer breeze.

A few lanterns flickered, but otherwise, the space was dark.

Wicker snored from his pile of blankets in the corner.

The past few days had been hot, sticky, but wonderful. My head pulsed with the faintest hint of a headache from pulling three all-nighters in a row and sleeping at odd hours of the day. A sign of a successful Soliden.

“I’m beat,” Noble said, running a hand over his face. “Are all Waldron festivals like that?”

We were wedged into one overly wide chair, his arm slung around my waist.

Anya—seated on Idris’s lap in the chair across from us—chuckled. “If you aren’t nearing total exhaustion, with ringing ears and a wicked hangover, it’s not a proper Waldron festival.”

“And how many festivals are there, annually?” Noble asked wearily.

Idris grunted. “Too many.”

Anya shoved his chest, and he laughed, capturing her hand in his.

Upon our return, Anya had informed me that they were engaged to be wed—just as I’d guessed.

They were planning to hold the ceremony close to Astrophel, near Anya’s birthday.

The cloying sweetness that radiated off the happy couple would’ve bothered me, if it weren’t for the fact that I knew how they felt—and knew how hard-won their love had been.

“You lived here for a year,” I said to Noble, “you should know how many festivals we have.”

“I did my best to avoid them, if you recall.”

“Rude,” Anya quipped .

“It’s just because he was so smitten with me, he couldn’t take it,” I said, beaming.

Noble pressed a kiss to my temple. “It’s true.”

“Thank the Fates,” Anya said, “because Hattie was also smitten.”

“That wasn’t as much of a secret,” Noble said dotingly, sliding his fingers up the back of my neck, making me shiver.

“She had a bigger secret to keep,” Anya said, offering me a soft smile.

I love you , I mouthed at her.

Who, me? Idris mouthed back.

I giggled. Anya glanced between us, one eyebrow raised.

When I’d come clean to her about my past, I’d fully expected Anya to be angry, grow cold, or lose all trust in me—perhaps all three. She would’ve been justified; after all, I’d spent nine years lying to her. Betraying her.

Instead, Anya had drawn me into a fierce hug, holding me so tightly the embrace had stolen my breath.

“Aren’t you angry?” I’d asked. To which Anya had replied, “I’m only angry that I couldn’t be there for you fully.

It must’ve been so isolating to keep such a secret from everyone.

” I’d subsequently burst into tears, and we spent the whole night pouring our hearts out: me, telling her everything about my upbringing, my friendship with Noble, how much I missed Raina, and the events that led me to Waldron—and her, telling me everything she knew about the Well of Fate.

When once we’d kept secrets from each other to protect each other, we’d discovered that truth was a greater form of protection against an increasingly unstable world.

“There are four major festivals—one for each season,” Anya explained to Noble, back to the topic at hand, “plus the Mirror Festival every autumn. That doesn’t include all the weddings, birthdays, funerals, and countless other—” she broke off, her gaze swinging toward the door.

“What do you hear?” Idris asked her, his hand falling from her hip as she climbed out of his lap.

Ever attuned to his owner, Wicker lifted his head and let out a soft woof .

“Don’t worry, it’s just me,” Mariana said, sauntering in with the confidence of an old friend. And—Fates spare me—she sort of was a friend, considering the ways she’d helped all four of us.

Anya and I rose to meet her, Idris and Noble following close on our heels. An angry tension radiated off the men, but Anya and I weren’t afraid of her.

Mariana went straight for the bar, leaning over the oak counter to pour herself a pint.

“Seriously?” Anya said. “Have you no manners?”

Mariana plopped onto a stool, her back to the bar, elbows resting on the counter behind her. She took a long sip of her ale and licked the froth off her upper lip. “Sorry to interrupt your happy congregation, but I need a favor.”

“We’re retired,” Idris said.

Mariana raked her fingers through her unbound hair. Perhaps it was the moody lighting of the lanterns, but she looked tired. Darkness ringed her eyes, and a faint tension bracketed her casual smirk. Otherwise, she appeared much the same: black armor over black clothing, a sword sheathed at her hip.

She set her ale aside and hopped off her stool, coming closer. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” Mariana said, meeting Idris’s hard stare—then Noble’s—then mine. “You owe me. I’m here to collect.”

While Idris grumbled in protest, Noble and I shared a knowing look. When Mariana comes looking for you , Phina had told us two months ago, I need you to trust her .

“What do you need?” I asked .

Mariana flipped open her satchel, dug around, and procured a clear glass bottle. She set it on the bar counter with a hard clink , the blue-green water inside it sloshing.

“Wait,” Anya whispered, pointing at the bottle, “is that what I think it is?”

Mariana kept her attention on me. “I need you to make more cure.”

All eyes swung in my direction.

“You…what?” I choked.

Mariana stepped closer, until we were face to face. “You heard me.” She jerked her chin at Noble. “You cured him. I need you to cure more.”

“Why?” Idris asked.

“Because the Valiant are planning an uprising,” I realized, “and this is their advantage.”

Mariana grinned at me, a flash of wicked teeth. Her pride in my smarts was unsettling…and flattering.

“Remember when I said the war is coming?” Mariana asked, eyes flicking to Idris, before sweeping over our little group. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s time to sharpen your knives and wits.”