Page 146 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
“Never could keep you two apart,” a gruff voice said.
I looked up to see an older, sterner version of Noble stepping through the flaps of the tent. Except Kalden Asheren had brown eyes instead of green, and a thick, silver-streaked beard that reached his mid-chest. While Noble shared his father’s height, Kalden’s build was bullish, with round shoulders and a barrel chest that stretched the front of his plain black tunic; though at some point he’d removed his golden breastplate, Kalden’s formidable stature still seemed to diminish this makeshift room by half.
“Our families certainly tried,” I replied, smoothing my thumb across Noble’s temple.
Kalden moved deeper into the tent. “How is he?”
“Why do you care?”
“He’s my son.”
“Is that so?” I asked tartly.
Kalden’s voice was weary when he said, “Yes.”
In my youth, I’d been intimidated by the general; now, I couldn’t decide if I despised or pitied his narrow-mindedness. He’d been incredibly blessed to have a son like Noble, and yet he’d never seemed to recognize it, always focused on what Noblecould beinstead of who hewas.
I bent, pressing my lips to Noble’s forehead, before making my way to standing. With my hair knotted, dress filthy with mud and gore, skin crusted with blood—mine, Noble’s, others’—I must’ve been quite the sight. “Are you here to interrogate me?”
Kalden folded his arms across his chest. “Brendan explained the events of the past twenty-four hours. Noble’s…affliction…” The general trailed off. It was perhaps the only time I’d ever seen him at a loss for words, and I felt my anger toward him slacken an inch.
“You know about his former Order, then,” I said.
Kalden spat on the trampled grass between us. “I didn’t know he belonged to that horrific excuse for an Order until today. I thought, after he failed to join the Mighty, he’d simply—”
“Left?” I supplied.
Kalden gave a single nod.
“You did not disown him?”
A vertical line formed between Kalden’s eyebrows. “I was disappointed. Angry. But I would never exile my own son.”
“Youwouldn’t? Or your wife wouldn’t allow it?”
A surprisedpahslipped out of him; it was harsh, as if Kalden wasn’t accustomed to laughter. “You remember Helena well.”
“I always admired her.”
While Kalden was hard as stone, Noble’s mother was much like the wisteria that grew up the side of Castle Wynhaim: stunningly beautiful, almost whimsical, but with strong and formidable roots.
“So, when your captain sent assassins to Fenrir,” I said, back to the matter at hand, “you didn’t know he was potentially targeting your son? Or me, for that matter?”
“I did not realize that my son was part of Lord Haron’s plot to create an army of abominations, no.”
A weapon of war, Viren had said, but anarmy? “It’s true,” I murmured. “Lord Haron plans to rise against Marona.”
“Lord Haron comes from a long line of insubordinate rulers. Fenrir has never had the numbers to challenge Marona, but if it had abominations the Lord could control…” Kalden trailed off, allowing me to conclude the rest.
An icy claw trailed down my spine. “But our research was meant toundowhat Lord Haron’s Arcane Adepts had done,” I said weakly.
Kalden took another step closer, brown eyes narrowing. “Do you truly believe that?”
I shifted on myfeet, not liking what he was implying.
“Oh, you do,” he said. “That’s a relief.”
I lifted my chin. “Go on.”
