Page 32 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Dear Anya,
I just opened my birthday gift! How thoughtful of you to know I’d want a piece of home while I’m here. I love it. (The vial looks familiar; I must’ve been admiring it during the festival—what a lovely coincidence!).
Also, some exciting news: Phina Farkept was impressed by a Hylder tincture I brought from home and has invited me to join her research team! I wish I could tell you more, but I had to take an Oath of Allegiance, and besides, I don’t yet know all the details. Even so, I’m proud of myself for catching her attention, excited about the opportunity, and also immensely nervous for numerous reasons I won’t belabor here.
I keep asking myself, “What would Anya say?” and I come up blank. What do you say?
I miss your hugs. Give Wicker a smooch for me.
Hattie
P.S. Remember when Corvin sent records of our divorce? Do you remember if
12
Reunion
Hattie
Ipromise I’ll stay out of your way,” I said, hefting my basket of ingredients a little higher. “I brought my own supplies and everything.”
Cook Tillen—the kitchen master for Inver College—folded her arms across her ample chest. “What did you say your name was?”
“Hattie,” I replied. “I’m an apprentice of—”
“Apprentices are not permitted in the kitchens.”
Lavender pre-dawn light filtered in through the venting windows that lined the ceiling, spilling onto the bare surfaces of the butcher-block tables. At this Fates-forsaken hour, Cook Tillen and I were the only two people here.
“You won’t even know I’m—”
“No. Apprentices.”
My fingers lifted to my chest, where Anya’s birthday gift was tucked inside the front of my dress, between my breasts: a necklace with a tiny teardrop vial as the pendent. I lifted my chin a little higher. “Even on my birthday?”
It wasn’texactlya lie. My birthday had been yesterday.
I hadn’t made a fuss about the milestone, instead opting for a quiet night studying and snacking with my friends. Aside from the fact that no celebration could top a Waldron celebration—especially one organized by Anya—my logic was this: if I downplayed the significance of my age, perhaps the year would pass uneventfully.
Twenty-ninewasa momentous year, after all.
In adolescence and young adulthood, one’s Fate was considered malleable, which meant that if the Mirror of Fortune or the Mirror of Death predicted an undesirable future, the outcome could be avoided. After thirty, however, one’s Fate became “fixed.” Unchanging.
Whether a personwantedtheir future to change or remain the same, the twenty-ninth year was crucial. It was the last chance to point one’s life in a better direction—or hold on tight to a desirable Fate.
My visions in the Mirrors of Fortune and Death had been favorable, so I couldn’t wait to turn thirty and be done with the uncertainty. The fact that I was joining Phina’s research team in my final unfixed year, however, was…worrying.
It’s why I’d come to the kitchens. To take my mind off of my self-doubt, Sani’s tales of politically driven assassinations, and my fear of my own turbulent past repeating itself. And to partake in a treasured birthday tradition.
I forced a smile, hoping Cook Tillen would see my request for what it was: genuine, if a little desperate.
Cook Tillen made a show of assessing me, from my curly hair pinned into a bun, to my basket, to the hem of my simple blue dress that dusted the stone floor. “You want to bake on your birthday?” she finally asked. “Why?”
I glanced at the sacks of flour, sugar, and lemons in my basket, which was growing heavier with each second we stood here arguing in the doorway. “It reminds me of home.”
When I was a girl, the castle’s kitchen master—Cook Zina—made me lemon cookies every year. Their flavor was bright and citrusy, not too sweet. On the morning of my eighth birthday, I decided it wasn’t enough just to eat them—I wanted to learn the recipe. Zina was kind enough to teach me her secrets.
The rosemary she sprinkled into the batter for fragrant complexity.
