Page 132 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Noble’s rucksack and saddle were heaped at the base of a neighboring tree, his horse tied to its trunk. He had one Hylder tincture remaining, which he’d foolishly left out of reach, opting to have Mariana tie him up instead. He hadn’t anticipatedthis, however. With Brendan taunting him and Hattie in danger, Noble found it hard not towelcomethe power, the wrath, the wickedness. A hiss emanated from his chest as his temples began to throb.
The soldiers flanking Brendan shifted uneasily. “Captain?” one of them prompted.
Brendan glared at Noble a moment longer, then—with a huff—hasted to Noble’s pack, procured the vial, and returned, holding the tincture in front of Noble’s face.
“What happens if youdon’ttake this?” he asked.
“You die,” Noble snarled, straining against his binds.
“I don’t believe you,” Brendan said.
An involuntary growl burst out of Noble, vicious and low. “You should.”
“I want to see what happens.”
“Have you ever seen a M—” Noble’s Oath cut him off.
“Captain?” one of the soldiers repeated, their voice going high.
Noble thrashed, the ropes around his wrists biting into his skin. He barely felt the pain as he opened his mouth, snapping his teeth. His templesthrobbedas the grotesque horns of his curse pushed against his skin, stretching it. Red tinged his vision around the edges. He hissed again, and the sound—it wasn’thuman.
His resolve was slipping. The monster was winning. A raw, corrupted sense of power was beginning to course through him like lightning, and Noble couldn’t bring himself to care when he felt like this, the power and glory the adepts had promised him, so strong and fierce and furious and—
A rough hand gripped his face, forcing his mouth open. He bit the air, trying to sink his teeth into the nearest flesh. A cold, cloying liquid was poured into his mouth, his jaw held shut with too many hands to fight against, forcing him to swallow, and then…then the monster was dissipating, his normal vision returning, the pain his head and hands easing.
Then he was just Noble again.
Disgraced son. Failed knight. Traitor.
With the monster again submerged in the lake of Hylder, Noble hung his head. His skin was clammy, muscles weak. The anger remained, but it was smothered by a sense of defeat. He knew the feeling well.
Brendan gripped Noble’s jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. “You’re a Knight of the Order of the Morta.”
He curled his upper lip. “Now who’s surprised?”
Brendan raised a hand as if he’d strike Noble again—then thought better of it.
Noble loosed a harsh, singular laugh.
“Bold of you to laugh in a moment like this.” Brendan stood tall, unsheathed his sword, and rested it against the hollow of Noble’s neck.
Noble lifted his chin. “We both know you won’t do it.”
A flicker of doubt flashed in Brendan’s eyes, confirming Noble’s statement, even as he said, “Oh? And why not?”
Brendan—a hearing magician—tended to forget how easily Noble saw through him.
“You could’ve killed me a minute ago, but you fed me the tincture instead.” Noble did not mention the fact that the tincture had been hislast. He prayed to the Fates he wouldn’t need more Hylder in the coming hours. “Which means,” Noble continued, slipping into a familiar feigned confidence, “I’m an asset to your cause.”
Brendan stared at him, mouth twisted into an angry little pout. Because Noble was right. If his father had sent Brendan to Fenrir for information about the curse, they couldn’t afford to kill Noble—at least, not yet.
The moment stretched, and Noble couldseeBrendan fighting the truth, an inner war evidenced by the tension in his forehead, the narrowing of his beady eyes. Brendan couldn’t get around this—and hedespisedNoble for it.
Good.
Brendan lowered his sword and gestured to his soldiers. “Unbind him from the tree, but keep his hands tied. He’s coming with us.”
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