Page 38 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
Tristane’s tacn—so familiar to Aurienne, yet so strange on another’s hand—seemed to bare its teeth at her. It reminded her of what Mordaunt was: one of this group of killers; mercenary, mad, utterly devoid of conscience.
And yet it was because of Mordaunt that Tristane now lay, limp and helpless, here in the deepest dungeon of Swanstone. Whatever blood she had planned to spill remained unspilled thanks to him.
“There,” said Aurienne, withdrawing from contact with Tristane. “A complete seith conduction block, to the best of my abilities. Her seith system is impressive, but it should be unusable now. In principle, she won’t be able to activate her tacn for at least a week. There shouldn’t be any long-term damage to her seith system.”
“Not that she deserves consideration in that respect,” sniffed Abercorn.
Aurienne stepped out of the warded circle. The Haelan Order’s Heads had witnessed this procedure before, but the Wardens hadn’t—they hadn’t even known that such a thing was possible—and they eyed her with a new wariness. She had just stripped the Fyren Order’s leader of her power with the touch of her hand. They held themselves at a new distance from her as she passed.
The Wardens conferred briefly among themselves before addressing the Haelan leaders.
“This dungeon is only adequate for temporary holding,” said Verity. “While we convene the other Orders to the Stánrocc, we recommend moving Tristane to our headquarters at Tintagel Castle for holding and questioning.”
Xanthe turned to her fellow Heads. “Objections to this means of proceeding?”
“None,” said Abercorn. “Get this murderous lunatic out of here.”
“Agreed,” said Prendergast. “Good luck getting any information out of her, though. She’s a Fyren. She won’t inform on a client.”
“I can come to Tintagel to refresh the occlusions, if the Stánrocc doesn’t meet within the week, for the safety of the Wardens watching her,” said Aurienne.
Verity surprised Aurienne by giving her a deep bow. “We will arrange an escort, should that be necessary.” She turned to Prendergast. “I’ll speak to Dinadan to have more Wardens deployed here, as we discussed.”
“More Wardens?” asked Abercorn.
Prendergast nodded. “I was going to break the news to you both this morning. Breage and some nurses from Paeds are missing.”
“Missing? What do you mean, missing?”
“We can’t locate them.” Prendergast rubbed at his thin face. “Their families haven’t seen them in weeks.”
“Given this,” said Xanthe, with a disgusted jerk of the chin towards Tristane, “we must suspect foul play.”
The Heads of the Haelan Order came together into a cluster to carry on their grave talk. The Wardens discussed the logistics of Tristane’s transfer among themselves.
Aurienne rinsed her hands with the last of the hlutoform. Some instinct—some latent, never-before-triggered prey instinct—made her glance up.
Tristane was awake and looking straight at her.
One eye was green and the other was full of blood.
8
Forays into Self-Discipline and Associated Discomforts
Osric
Osric had told Fairhrim she was a safe flirt. Foolproof, he’d said. He wasn’t certain about the foolproof bit: he was too much of a fool.
Given that he was in the throes of emotional hardships, and also a man, Osric stared dramatically at himself in the mirror above a sink.
It would be wonderful if he could stop slobbering on her for five minutes. This had become embarrassing. He oughtn’t have asked to kiss her hand again. He never managed to keep his kisses performative when it came to Fairhrim. The kisses always wanted to become more. They wanted to become real. He must stop yielding to temptation.
But what was the use of having temptations if one didn’t yield to them?
Now he wasn’t sleeping properly, because he was too busy reliving kiss-kissing his way up her hand, and lying in bed with her in his arms, and the scent of her hair, all memories that made him feel delicate and floaty.
He stared at the nobly suffering man in the mirror. Eyebags. He hadeyebags. “What is wrong with me?”
