Page 117 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Alchemist.
I began to tremble. “What do you want to know?”
The blade cut a superficial but punishing line of pain along the underside of my chin, a dribble of hot blood sliding down my chest. “You know what.”
“I don’t.” I’d never heard my own voice sound so reedy and terrified. Tears slid down my cheeks, my mind going blank with fear that was at once fresh and familiar. “I don’t know what you want.”
The blade pressed harder, blood beading. “Guess.”
With the way she’d snuck up on me, she could’ve killed me outright—which meant she must’ve thought I was valuable enough to interrogate before murdering.
“The c—,” I tried. “The c—” I shivered, gagging on the vile taste that flooded my mouth when I attempted to saycurse. I tried another angle. “Gildium,” I blurted through another horrible tang of Oath magic. “Hylder.”
“You’re fucking useless.”
I swallowed hard. I was getting close to breaking my Oath, but even if I did, what useful information did I truly have? All my experiments had failed, there was plenty I was not privy to, and if these assassins werehere, they probably already knew about Lord Haron’s plot.
I needed to get ahold of myself. To try another angle. Tothink.
Licking my lips, I stretched my magic past the rancidness of my Oath, tasting tears and burlap. The bag didn’t carry the memory of potatoes, as Mariana’s had—it tasted like turnips.Maronanturnips. I would know that flavor anywhere, because my aunt used to refuse to let me leave the dining hall until I finished eating mine; I’d slip them to the dogs under the table when she wasn’t looking.
The blade bit deeper, blood trickling from my chin now. It would take barely a slight re-angling of its edge to drag across my jugular, to bleed me out in this random alley.
Memories of my last days in Marona rumbled through my body like thunder. A blade on my neck. A body holding me firm. Powerless. Fearful.Vulnerable. It was a twist of Fate that defied the peaceful end that the Mirror of Death had shown me, and I had been terrified knowing my future was not yet fixed.
Now, for the second time in my life, I felt the fragility of my existence hanging on by the temporary mercy of someone who obviously wanted me dead.
Except…
Well, except this time, my attacker’s ire wasn’t about who Iwas, but who Iwasn’t.
Fucking useless.
Pain lanced across jawbone, poked against my pulse-point. I moaned, tasting the damned turnips again, like a cruel joke from the past.
Useless.
What if Iwasn’tuseless, though? What if who Iwas…was useful?
“Marona,” I panted. “You’re from Marona.”
Her grip stilled but didn’t soften. It was a clue; it was enough.
“How did—?”
“I hate turnips,” I said, teeth chattering with adrenaline. “Marona might be famous for them, but I think they taste like ass.”
A mirthless chuckle. “A distraction. Nice try.”
The knife pressed harder; each beat of my heart throbbed against the metal point.
Footsteps were approaching, the strides jaunty. “Thought you’d be done by now, Corla,” a gruff male voice called.
“She not done yet?” another asked.
“Last chance to plead your case, Alchemist,” Corla purred in my ear. “Give me one good reason to keep you alive.”
Don’t fear your power, Hattie, Oderin had told me. He’d been talking about sword fighting, but the advice was sound.
