Page 109 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
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Arcane Inkling
Hattie
Aten-foot-tallcreature—with stag horns, sharp wooden teeth, and a mane of ribbons—staggered past me on stilts. I shuffled out of the way, laughing as a splash of spiced milk sloshed out of my mug and onto the cobblestones.
Sani, Uriel, and I were strolling through Fenrir’s Night Market, a summer occurrence that drew folks from all corners of the city to Rose Street. For the span of six blocks, vendors offered grilled meats, hand-pies, and baked goods; jewelers, leatherworkers, and potters hawked their wares from covered tents; and performers abounded: strange and colorful puppet-creatures roamed on stilts, musicians drummed and strummed, and dancers in scant costumes drew the attention of the market’s patrons.
For the past fortnight, when I wasn’t in class or Noble’s bed, I’d spent all my waking hours with him at the Ocs, reading, researching, and running experiments. After our first night together, we’d reinstated our rules—at least, in the lab—agreeing to maintain as much chilly professionalism as possible while we worked. In an abundance of caution, we’d also decided not to tell Phina what I’d learned about Noble, nor about the blood I’d requested from Mariana (which I was beginning to doubt would ever be delivered).
Progress had been slow. Every time we tried binding Gildium with my Black Lace Hylder tincture, the magical herb repelled the metal with a range of results—bubbling, smoking, even explosive, depending on the alchemical knots we used. It didn’t help that my emotions were scattered—at turns frustrated, discouraged, hopeful—no doubt tainting any alchemy I performed with overarching worry.
Attempting to solve a curse with limited understanding of the materials used to create it felt like trying to read a novel backward. The fact that Noble’s Fate depended on our research made the lack of progress all the more frustrating. Tonight wasmeantto be a break from all that, but…
“—no territorywantsto be under Marona’s thumb,” Sani said, sliding a charred piece of chicken off a skewer with her teeth.
“I disagree.” Uriel waved her hand-pie back and forth dismissively, a few potatoes tumbling out of the pastry. “The realm has more resources when it’s united.”
My friends were in the middle of another debate about Oaths, research, and politics. Hearing them speculate about the Lord of Fenrir’s machinations—when I knew thetruth—had my shoulders creeping up toward my ears.
“I should rephrase,” Sani said. “Nolordwants to be under theking’sthumb. The citizens of Fenrir are all at the mercy of Lord Haron’s ego.”
“On that, we agree,” Uriel stated.
“Me, too,” I said weakly.
I knew better than anyone the lengths King Braven went to maintain unity among the territories; I wondered if he was aware of the extent of Lord Haron’s scheming. Lord Haron’s intentions with Noble’s former Order were twisted, but unsurprising. He had a reputation for being volatile, and Anya’s tales from meeting him only confirmed his boredom, cruelty, and selfishness. Fenrir’s resources were plentiful—talentedartisans, esteemed Collegium, fertile land—so whywouldn’tan egotistical lord wish to rule it all without King Braven’s interference?
“Even so, we are in a time of political peace,” Uriel countered. “The secrecy of current research programs hardly seems necessary when—”
“‘Political peace,’” Sani interrupted, “or a pause to gather forces?”
“You and your warmongering,” Uriel chided—but there was amusement in her tone.
Guilt and resolve warred in my chest, a clash of spears and shields that made my heart clamor. Regardless of my Oath, knowing that what they spoke of wastrue—yet being unable to confirm it—still felt like a betrayal. I took a long sip of my spiced milk—cinnamon, clove, and cardamom, exquisitely unique—hoping it might soothe the battle behind my ribs.
“Speaking of Oaths and politics,” Sani continued, “Hattie, how is Viren?”
I swallowed, cleared my throat. “I visited with her yesterday. She’s much improved.”
Uriel frowned. “What does Viren’s incident have to do with politics?”
Sani rolled her eyes, twirling her half-eaten skewer of chicken. “Do you really believe the attacker was a burglar?”
“Do not suggest a conspiracy.”
The conversation momentarily paused as all three of us sidestepped another performer stalking past us on stilts, this one dressed like a giant humanoid tree.
“Notthat I blame Viren for what happened,” Sani said once the tree had passed, “but I did hear that she was conducting research beyond her station. Oaths and hierarchies exist for that express purpose, and—”
Sani and Uriel began their debate anew; meanwhile, a sigh deflated my posture.
My whole life had been dictated by that same logic—secrecy equals safety—but to what end? Forcibly marrying a vile man, lying to my best friend and chosen community, denying myself of love? Was all that trulyworth this so-called minimization of risk? Would I ever truly be allowed to embrace all facets of myself in the light of day, without fear?
Eventually, Sani and Uriel’s conversation pivoted to lighter topics—but as we wandered through the tents, shopping and chatting, the shadow it cast on my heart remained. Because while I wanted to livefreeof secrecy someday, I was right to be afraid.
We all were.
