Page 37 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
There was a surge in the wards holding Tristane. The eyes of the Wardens glittered hard and angry.
“How was she caught?” asked Prendergast.
“Seith-sensitive warding at the waystone,” answered the Warden named Tenet. “A novel application requested by your Order. Anyone whose signature didn’t match Swanstone’s list was captured as soon as they came out of the ley line. It worked.”
Aurienne and Xanthe exchanged glances. It had been Aurienne’s idea to expand the wards beyond Swanstone’s boundaries, conveyed to Xanthe and thence to the Wardens. She hadn’t expected it to be this successful.
“Tristane’s kit isn’t indicative of a friendly visit,” said Verity. She held up a pouch clinking with glassware. “Poisons in this one.” Another sack was held up. “Grenades.” A glittering handful of metal followed. “Weapons of various descriptions. And, finally, this.”
Verity held up a long, wicked dagger. Aurienne recognised it as a Fyren blaecblade. None present would know the significance of the gold upon its hilt save Aurienne, who held back a shocked intake of breath. Fyren marked their kill count using fine gold threads wrapped around the hilt. Mordaunt’s blaecblade was impressively glittery. Tristane’s hilt was a sickening hunk of solid gold.
Verity turned to Xanthe. “You had warned our Order of a threat disclosed by an anonymous source—was this the threat?”
“I had been told that there wasathreat, not specifically which threat,” said Xanthe. “But I reckon this would be it.”
Aurienne said nothing, given that she was the anonymous source.
“A shameless contravention of the Peace Accords,” said Abercorn. “To attempt ingress at Swanstone, armed to the teeth like this—and it’s the Fyrenwarchief—”
“Shocking,” said Prendergast. “Absolutely shocking.”
“We’ll convene a meeting at the Stánrocc to decide what’s to be done with her,” said Xanthe. She turned to the Wardens whose wards held Tristane in place. “I commend you on your self-restraint. She doesn’t look too injured.”
“Tenet recognised her, which is the only reason we didn’t kill her,” said Verity. “We didn’t want to trigger an outright war by shredding the Fyren Order’s leader to bits.”
“She would’ve deserved it,” said Tenet. A twitch of her fingers yanked one of the binds inward; Tristane’s arm bent into an unnatural angle. “She almost killed Ataraxia. She’s in your trauma ward now.”
“As soon as Tristane regains consciousness, she’s going to be a threat,” said Verity. “These wards are seith-intensive; we can’t hold her indefinitely without breaks to rest.”
“Right,” said Xanthe. “But with her seith blocked, you’ll be able to treat her as a regular prisoner—and we are in the fortunate position of counting Aurienne Fairhrim among us. Aurienne, you have the floor.”
The Wardens observed Aurienne. They had, to date, known her as a Haelan among many Haelan, sweeping from one crisis to the next in high-necked Haelan whites. Now they regarded her with a new interest.
“Blocking seith?” repeated Haven. “How?”
Aurienne stepped forward. “I’m developing a technique to help control seith haemorrhages. It’s still experimental. I can insert tiny occlusions into seith channels. In this case, I’ll block every channel that goes to her tacn. She won’t be able to use it.”
“Can many Haelan do this?” asked Tenet, her brows so high they disappeared under her helmet.
Aurienne understood her concern; the very notion of losing one’s seith was terrifying to anyone who had a tacn.
“Theoretically, any Haelancould,” said Aurienne.
“She’s being modest,” said Xanthe. “The answer is no. Aurienne can because her control of seith is as perfect as humanly possible.”
Aurienne asked if anyone had hlutoform on them. Prendergast discovered a half-used vial in his housecoat.
Soaking her hands in the antiseptic froth, Aurienne continued her impromptu lecture. “It’s an effective method of interrupting seith flow using mechanical means, but it’s only temporary. Lasts about seven days. One of my forthcoming projects involves reversibly blocking seith channels with microfluidic devices, so that treatment could be administered by others. Er—may I put my hand among the wards?”
“They won’t hurt you,” said Verity. “Proceed.”
Aurienne reached into the circle. Wards pulsed and crisscrossed against her hand, adding their dreamlike illumination to a situation that was already surreal. She knelt near Tristane and pressed her tacn to the woman’s bare forearm.
She had anticipated well-developed seith channels, as she would expect to find in anyone who had trained enough to earn a tacn. What she discovered was far beyond that—an incredibly profuse, dense system, teeming with seith. The sheer quantities of it were abnormal. Compared to most people’s seith reserves, Tristane’s felt like a well—dark and deep, and with no discernible end.
Impressive. No wonder Tristane was so powerful. No wonder Mordaunt feared her.
Aurienne occluded the lumens of the delicate seith channels just below Tristane’s left wrist, blocking her use of her tacn.
