Page 11 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Noble.
Myself.
I tried to silence the constant chorus of inner naysayers with humor and warmth, but no matter how friendly or funny or lighthearted I acted on the outside, there was still a part of me that felt wretched, small, and unwelcome.
No more, I told myself, resisting the oncoming swell of self-pity. I might not’ve been able to be completely honest about my upbringing, but no one was keeping me from becoming an apothecary anymore.
A barmaid breezed past me, and I stepped out of her path—only to narrowly miss a student carrying two pints in the opposite direction. Fenrir’s Charm was filled with a cacophony of laughter and debate, with clusters of conversationalists standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the cavernous space. I paused by a wooden column, feeling my cheeks heat.
Great. I had a propensity for blushing whenever I felt anything other than calm. My pale skin and overabundance of dark freckles was a trademark of my mother’s family. She’d died in childbirth, but my aunt—who’d raised me in the absence of my father, whom I’d never met—was proof enough of the claim. Every woman in my matriarchal line appeared constantly flustered.
Not thatflusteredwas an incorrect descriptor of me in this particular instance. I’d just rather my professors notseethe extent of my nervousness painted on my cheeks.
Back at the Pretty Possum, I knew how to own a busy room—how to float confidently from table to table, take orders, make drinks, flirt for tips, and keep up with countless conversations. Having been born into a world where connections were the third-most important currency after bloodline and deep coffers, I’d been a master at navigating busy shindigs since I learned to talk.
But this was different.
The people in this room hadn’t been born into prominence like those who’d surrounded me in adolescence, nor were they friendly small-town folk enjoying a well-earned supper at the end of a long workday. Thepeople in this room were here because they were among the most intelligent in all the Seven Territories.
My rusty court etiquette and barkeep charm probably wasn’t enough to impress an adept, but I had to at leasttryto fit in. Where I lacked Uriel’s self-assuredness and Sani’s encyclopedic knowledge, I would have to make up for with earnest participation.
Mustering up a false air of easy confidence, I perused the room, half expecting to see Noble lurking at a table in a dark corner. After a year of living in the same town as him, I’d fallen into the habit of seeking him out, caught between wanting to know where he was so I could avoid him and simply…wanting to know that he was near. He might’ve been the one with sight magic, but it was my eyes that had attuned to him, growing sensitive to his movements as the months went by.
Of course, Noble wasnotin Fenrir City.
He was still in Waldron.
So why was I still looking for him in every crowded pub, down every side street, among the tents of every weekend market?
Because you’re a hopeless sap, Hattie, that’s why.
I rolled my shoulders back, forcing Noble from my mind, and refocused on tonight’s objective. When I spotted a tall, svelte blonde at the opposite end of the room, I made my way over to the circle of apprentices surrounding her.
Phina Farkept looked particularly professorial in a pair of brown trousers and a matching waistcoat. Her hair was cropped close to her head, accentuating her strong jaw, expressive mouth, and youthful skin. As a skilled herbologist, she’d looked after Anya and Idris after their harrowing journey into the Western Wood last autumn—when Anya had shared that particular detail with me, I’dsquealed.
In the alchemy world, Phina was a phenom.
Though she was not much older than I was, she had earned her Adept Oath in her early twenties and was now more accomplished than half the other professors at the Collegium—a fact I found impossibly impressive.
Phina also happened to be an expert in my favorite subject. The way she spoke of even the most common herbs was a direct reflection of my own feelings: reverence, passion, excitement. It didn’t hurt that we had taste magic in common, too, so her methods and limitations for imbuing tinctures with magic were similar to my own.
I’d also already read all her books.
“What about the intersection between metal alchemy and herbal alchemy?” a young woman with stringy shoulder-length hair asked Phina.
“What about it? They’re separate fields,” the man beside her cut in. I recognized him from my mathematics class, an opinionated metalworking apprentice with a square head, torso, and personality.
The woman met his scowl with one of her own. “I know a Mirror Knight who says—”
“Oh, here we go,” the man interrupted. “Mirrors this, Mirrors that. Don’t waste Professor Farkept’s time.”
“I believe professor Farkept can manage her own time without your input,” another young woman interjected.
The man glowered but didn’t continue.
Phina—who’d been listening with an arched brow—extended a hand in the first woman’s direction. “Please continue, Gillen.”
Gillen tucked her hair behind her ears. “I heard a theory that it was the algae in the water interacting with the Gildium that caused the Mirrors’ creation.”
