Page 81 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
With my eyes still trained on Noble, I felteverything.
“Yes,” I said.
Oderin glanced over his shoulder at Noble, and I saw the flash of appreciation in his eyes, too. At least I wasn’t the only one embarrassingly bewitched by Noble’s physique.
“If you’re concerned that I’d tell my sister about an affair between her apprentices,” Oderin whispered, “I assure you, I wouldn’t.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
The Major chuckled, then stepped out of the circle, allowing Noble and I to begin again. This time, Oderin had us swap blocks and blows back and forth. I kept my elbow more aligned, and Ididfeel more powerful. A delicious soreness began to radiate out through my shoulder blade and arm, the exertion taking over. I became faster and more focused, eliciting more calls of encouragement from Oderin on the sidelines.
“You look good with a blade,” Noble panted, swinging his dull sword with a flourish.
“Show-off,” I replied.
“I’m serious,” he said, speaking between strikes. “Your brow furrows, and your lips press into a pout, and you’re flushed”—his voice went hoarse on that last word, as if it took his breath away—“and yet your eyes glitter like you enjoy taking your frustration out in this way.”
“Stop”—I swung at him—“talking.”
“Why? Is it making you angry?” he taunted, but I realized something: I wasn’t the only one distracted by how my opponent looked.
As he spoke, he wasn’t looking at my face or even my weapon—he was looking at my sternum, where I felt a prickle of heat underneath my skin. That must’ve been the flush he was going on about. I shuffled closer, enduring the clamor of his sword against mine, hefting my blade a little higher, biding my time.
“It’s not just the exertion,” he went on. “You get flushed when you’re angry, too. And the other night, I noticed youalsoget flushed when you’re—”
With a groan, I thrusted my sword out. As I’d hoped, I caught him by surprise, nicking him on the forearm.
“Well done, Hattie!” Oderin called, clapping his hands.
I beamed, pride swelling in my chest. Noble had been distracted—halfhearted, even—but I’d still managed to land a blow on an incredibly well-practiced fighter. And knowing that I hadn’t truly hurthim—it was barely a scratch—I felt only accomplishment as I lowered my weapon.
“You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” I taunted.
The adrenaline of our sparring session was beginning to fade, my muscles turning to jelly. I let the tip of my sword fall to the ground with atap, waiting for Noble’s sassy rebuke, his witty retort—Fates, even a withering glance—but he was too busy staring at his arm. Blood was beading where I’d slashed his skin, except—
I blinked. Took one step closer. Narrowed my eyes to focus.
—his blood wasn’t red.
It wasblack.
Oderin was approaching us from the sidelines, still clapping amusedly. The sound had Noble clamping a palm over the small cut. Green eyes found mine, and in them was a fathomless shame I’d only seen one other time: on the night he’d stood in the courtyard of Castle Wynhaim, beneath the weeping willow, and had watched the nondescript carriage take me away.
That was the same night I’d learned it was his fault the rumors about my father had spread, escalating into an attempt on my life. His fault I had to go into hiding. I’d never found it in myself to be angry with him, though; even then, I knew Noble would never willfully hurt me.
Noble dropped his blade and stormed off, his injured arm still clutched in his opposite hand.
“How badly did you wound him?” Oderin asked, sidling up beside me while we watched Noble go. “Didn’t look that deep from outside the ring.”
“I think it was worse than it looked,” I mumbled. “I should apologize.”
I spared Oderin only a glance before I dropped my own weapon on the ground and hurried after Noble.
The sunlight was bright, washing out the pale dirt of the training yard. Maybe that’s why his blood had looked so dark, I told myself. Maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. I was determined not to panic, not yet, but I broke into a run as I passed through a narrow alley between barracks and out into a part of Castle Might I’d never been before: the bailey.
There was a huge statue in its center—a seven-foot-high knight on bended knee, holding the hilt of a massive sword that was speared into the ground. Noble was up ahead, still holding his arm,fleeing.
“Noble!” I called after him. “Noble, wait!”
