Page 18 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Affliction
Noble
That was close, Noble thought bitterly as he paced the woven rug in Phina’s chambers.
His last week on the road to Fenrir City had been rough, filled with nightmares and disturbing urges that had left him so ragged that for the final two nights of his travels, he’d eschewed sleep altogether.
Upon his arrival in the capital, he’d immediately sought Phina for more tincture, but the curse had almost caught up to him. Thank the Fates he’d stumbled upon Mariana, who knew of his affliction and where Phina could be found. Thank the Fates that when Phina didn’t have any Hylder on her person, Hattie had been nearby—carryingexactlywhat he needed.
Hattie’s unexpected preparedness was perplexing—concerning—but for tonight, he was grateful. He didn’t want to consider what might’ve happened if even another ten minutes had passed without it.
Butfuck, that had been close.
At first, when his sight magic had snagged on the pretty blue of her dress shifting behind the slats of a stack of old crates, he’d thought she was a drunk Collegium student semi-passed-out in the alley. Nonthreatening. Then she’d revealed herself with that bottle of his temporary cure, and within the depths of his sleep-starved brain, a different sort of panic had clutched him. He hadn’t turned his back to her to spare her of the dangers of his secret—though that was a worthwhile reasonnot to tell her. No, he’d hidden his face because, selfishly, he didn’t want her to think differently of him. He didn’t want—
Fates, he didn’t wantanyof this.
“You recognized her,” Phina observed. “The apprentice. Hattie.”
She was leaning against the doorjamb, watching patiently as he walked off the excess adrenaline. He’d been awake for the past thirty-six hours, yet he felt hot as a spark burning through paper.
“From Waldron.” Not a lie, but not the barest truth, either.
“Small towns,” Phina muttered with a scoff, pushing off from the wall. “Drink?” Without waiting for his answer, Phina strode over to a wheeled cart that was crowded with crystal decanters.
“Any idea why she followed you?” Noble asked.
Phina lifted a shoulder. “She’s a…gregarious apprentice.”
“She’s in your class?” Suddenly he had to know: “Is she any good?”
Shehadto be.
How many afternoons of his adolescence had Noble spent trying not to stare at Hattie as she poured over encyclopedias and compendiums in her family’s private library? While she’d memorized the names and properties of healing herbs, Noble had memorized the pattern of deep brown freckles on the side of her creamy neck. He used to peek at her from behind the pages of a novel and watch helplessly as she tipped her head to one side while reading, or scrunched her pert nose while taking notes, or licked her plump bottom lip in thought.
If Hattie had retained even half as much of the books as Noble had of her mannerisms back then, she must’ve been an excellent student.
Of course, Phina was oblivious to his bias—and, if he could help it, she’d remain that way. Noble reported to Phina for his Gildium studies, he respected her deeply, owed hislifeto her—but the safe-keeping of Hattie’s secret superseded all else.
Phina hefted a decanter, removed the stopper, and sniffed. “Thankfully for you, she’s smart enough to properly balance a Hylder tincture.”
There was no context in which he could ask follow-up questions without giving away how much he cared about Hattie’s ambitions, so he continued pacing.
“How do you feel?” Phina prompted.
Howdidhe feel?
Noble rubbed the back of his neck, assessing his inner state. Waning panic. Antsy exhaustion. Blessedcalm.
In fact, he was calmer than he’d felt inmonths. Was it possible that Hattie’s tincture was more effective, somehow? No, that had to be his bias again.
“I feel like shit,” he answered honestly. “But also like myself.”
The remark made Phina snort, but it didn’t entirely ease the tension in her forehead. Something else must’ve been troubling her. But as she busied herself with selecting a decanter, it was clear to Noble that she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. At least, not yet. So, rather than prying, Noble looked around the ornate room.
Last he was in Fenrir, Noble had visited Phina’s home, a quaint but welcoming cottage on the outskirts of the city. Her Collegium chambers were neither quaint nor welcoming. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were overstuffed with dusty tomes in shades of moss green, rusty orange, and faded brown. There was an imposing writing desk, a bed in the corner that looked like an afterthought. Heavy velvet curtains framing a lone window. No wonder Phina seemed so subdued compared to the last time he saw her, with new shadows under her eyes. The stodgy accommodations were obviously stifling.
The music of liquid filling cups had Noble turning back toward his host. “Have you always had onsite chambers?”
