Page 136 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
“You’re in shock.” Brendan was standing close, now. He reached up to caress my injured elbow, thumb stroking the bare skin there, and I cringed—but not out of pain. “Why don’t you rest?” he murmured.
“Why kill the alchemists, though?” I asked. “Why not question them?”
“Your research isn’t valuable, it’s corrupt. Besides,” he added dismissively, “we already know plenty.”
I stepped back, and Brendan released my arm. “Are you going to killme, then?” My tone betrayed my genuine concern.
Brendan frowned down at me, his expression deceivingly doting. He was shorter than Noble, but he was still taller than I was, with a menacing bulk that he knew how to use.
“There has been a new development,” Brendan said after a pause. “One I hope you can help me with.” He lifted a palm, gesturing toward the front of the tent.
My feet moved of their own volition, carrying me forward with hesitant curiosity. Instinctively, I lifted my satchel off the chair and slung it over my good shoulder. When we reached the entryway, Brendan swept one of the tent flaps to the side, allowing me to pass through.
Outside, the air was cool. The night lingered, its darkness freckled with firelight and the pale, ghostlike figures of the surrounding tents. A crowd of knights and soldiers stood in a half circle, ringing the clearing just outside Brendan’s pavilion. In the middle of the open space, five guards held onto chains that led to a single prisoner.
My footsteps faltered. Brendan caught me, his fingers digging into the narrowest part of my waist. Everywhere his body touched mine, I recoiled—but I couldn’t stand on my own. Not at the sight of Noble in the center of the crowd.
He’d been stripped down to his trousers, his feet bare. He wore shackles around his ankles and wrists, an iron collar around his throat. A chain extended from each metal cuff to one of the guards. His head hung, black wavy hair obscuring his face in a posture of defeat.
A small sound escaped me—a strangled gasp. Noble looked up, seeingallin a matter of moments:
The dried blood on my sternum.
The sling around my broken arm.
Brendan’s fingers clutching my hip.
The filth on my dress.
Then my eyes.
He held me with his gaze for three seconds, four, and that stare was filled withnovelsworth of apologies and explanations and love and pain and promises—so many words that an entire library wouldn’t be able to contain all he said to me with that look. Volumes of longing and tenderness and regret.
But it was the warning in his expression that worried me. And the way he was panting, his bare chest shining with sweat, rising and falling with rage…
He’d come for me.With Mariana, I was sure of it. And—Fates—what of the Morta? How had Noble contained himself? How had he not turned?
How had Brendan found him?
There was a black streak of blood on Noble’s swollen lip. Evidence of an altercation. Which meant Brendanknewwhat Noble was—he had to.
I looked up at Brendan, still pressed against me, too close for comfort.
I was afraid. Petrified.
But I was also uncontrollably, incandescently furious. How dare he chain up Noble like a war prize? How dare he think I’d want to help him when the love of my life was in shackles?
“Help with what?” I asked, my words guttural and slow—barely contained.
Before Brendan could answer, chaos erupted.
47
Humanity
Noble
If there were ever a sight to make Noble want to forsake the Fates and tear the world apart, it was this.
