Page 147 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
“Phina Farkept’s research was never meant to ‘undo’ the curse, to use your phrasing,” Kalden said. “It was meant to further the failed program. Complete its mission.”
Brendan had said something similar last night, but: “Phina would’ve never agreed to—”
“She didn’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that Lord Haron would task a brilliant Collegium professor to undo his mistake, hoping she’d solve it instead?
“Would Phina Farkept have accepted the opportunity otherwise?”
“Rather convoluted of the Lord, don’t you think?”
“Politics are always convoluted.”
I shook my head, not seeing the logic in such an endlessly veiled endeavor. “But—”
“It was a success, wasn’t it?” Kalden asked. “According to my captain, Noble was a monster, andyou—an apprentice of Phina’s—cured him.”
“It was yourcaptain’sstunt that almost got your son killed,” I shot back. “And myFatethat saved him.”
His jaw clenched, temple pulsing. “I was not aware of the extent of Captain Harrow’s…” He trailed off, lips twisting like he’d tasted something sour. “Plot.”
“You were ignorant of your subordinate’s overzealous dealings?” I shot back, angered all over again by what Brendan had done. How he’d used us.
“I tasked my subordinate to protect Marona’s interests from Fenriran threats, namely, to infiltrate the Collegium and stop the curse from being solved,” Kalden said—not without a bite in his tone. “Brendan’s methods might’ve been misguided and—as evidenced by last night—impulsive, but we are on the brink of destruction. Hismotivations were pure.”
I balled my good fist. “Brendan is a boot-licking ass-kisser,” I said, “who cares more about your approval than the realm. He’s always had a vendetta against Noble, and if you can’t see that—”
“You might have royal blood, Ms. Wynhaim, but be careful how you speak to the king’s Mighty General.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You are complicit in a plot of treason.” Kalden stepped toward me, and I instinctually stepped back. “Theonlyreason you aren’t in shackles is because you uncovered the cure formy son.”
I glanced back at Noble, still unconscious on his cot. What did Kalden’s accusations and threats matter when Noble hadn’t woken up? “I’m afraid that remains to be seen,” I whispered.
“How we proceed from here has consequence,Ms. Wynhaim,” Kalden enunciated. “The real question is howyouended up at the Collegium, when you were supposed to be in Poe-on-Wend.”
I refused to cower in the face of Kalden’s judgements and accusations. “You know, General Asheren, I’m not really in the mood to get into it.”
“My apologies, Hattie, but you don’t exactly have a choice.”
“Can you at least give me the courtesy of washing up?” I asked. “I’d rather not have this conversation with your son’s blood all over my dress.”
An hour later, I was back in the pavilion, my skin scrubbed clean.
The brief respite had allowed me a chance to assess my own state of being. The pain in my broken arm was significantly diminished—a fortnight of healing in the span of a few hours—and though I’d donned a clean sling, I wasn’t sure I’d need it for long. My Oath of Allegiance tattoo was gone, too, as were the cuts under my jaw. I could only concludethis was due to the potion I’d spilled on myself in the chaos of last night, but pondering the changes was low on my current list of priorities.
A small table had been brought into Kalden’s tent while I was gone; now he sat at one end, and I sat at the other. I wore a simple white tunic and a pair of borrowed trousers from one of the female soldiers. Though I hadn’t slept, the fresh clothes helped me feel revived—as did the chunks of roast chicken on the plate in front of me.
It was poor etiquette for me to eat with my bare hand—shoving the greasy, delicious dark meat into my mouth with a ravenous haste—but we were far away from polite society, and I had been through far too much to care about propriety.
Kalden had better manners, though. He ate with a knife and fork, spearing bites that were comically small for a man of his size. He looked more likely to eat off the bone, but like me—like Noble, like everyone in the Fates-damned inner circle of Marona’s royalty—Kalden had been trained. And unlike me, he was still entrenched in the rules of court.
No amount of politeness would apparently coax either of us to touch the plate of steamed Maronan turnips in the middle of the table, though. That, Kalden and I had in common.
“We can’t avoid the conversation forever,” he said finally, setting his knife and fork aside.
“‘Forever’ is quite the stretch, considering the fact that I haven’t slept in over a day, and up until an hour ago, I was covered in blood,” I quipped—but seeing as my reappearance was a threat to the king Kalden served, I understood where the general was coming from.
