Chapter 27 Hel Is Empty and All the Devils Are Here #2
“You were all magnificent,” said Xanthe.
“Those eight Wardens were heroes,” said Aurienne. “Some fell, Xanthe…”
“I know,” said Xanthe. “We’re going to commemorate them permanently, here at Swanstone.”
“What about the two Fyren?” asked élodie. She turned to Aurienne. “Tit Wank Man is a Fyren. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” said Aurienne.
Xanthe grimaced. “We are indeed aware.”
Cath stared at the ceiling and repeated in disbelief, “Tit Wank Man is a Fyren. We thought he was just an informant. And Aurienne’s socially inept lover.”
Xanthe turned to Aurienne with her brows raised. “As for lover—that, I cannot speak to.”
Aurienne groaned. “Don’t look at me.”
Xanthe looked at her harder.
Aurienne pulled her blanket over her head and wished she had died on the battlefield.
“Setting aside that development,” came Xanthe’s voice, “what was meant to be a quiet deal between myself, Aurienne, and the Fyren has now, unfortunately, become public knowledge. I’ve come clean about it with Prendergast and Abercorn.
They didn’t jump down my throat demanding resignation, possibly because we all want to resign, and we are all fighting about who carries the greatest shame. ”
“What deal with the Fyren?” asked Cath.
“A simple deal, which grew terribly out of proportion, but, frankly, saved us in the end,” said Xanthe.
“As you know, when the Pox epidemic began, we had no money to develop a vaccine, save whatever we were scraping together through internal funding. Then we received the gift. Twenty million thrymsas.”
“Don’t tell me—it was dirty money?” asked élodie. “I used dirty money to develop that vaccine?”
“As filthy as it gets. It was a Fyren’s.”
“Why on earth would a Fyren do such a thing?”
“He was dying,” said Xanthe. “Seith rot. He came to Aurienne to attempt to bribe her to heal him. She—to her credit—refused.”
Aurienne’s shame receded enough to peek outside the blanket again.
“I, however, accepted,” continued Xanthe.
“I didn’t discuss it with the other Heads.
Swanstone was overrun by sick children; we were tripping over them in the corridors, and still more were coming by waystone every hour.
I ordered Aurienne to heal the Fyren in exchange for the funds.
He insisted upon secrecy, as did I. Aurienne is probably in a better place to relay what happened after that. ”
Cath and élodie turned expectantly to Aurienne.
Aurienne relayed. She told them about the things he had done for her and her Order. The life savings, the killings, how he became an informant and an ally over months.
“And it’s thanks to him that you’re both alive right now,” said Xanthe to Aurienne and Cath.
“Gods,” said Cath. “A perfect angel. His tācn notwithstanding.”
“I’ve learned a bit about—about preconceptions and boundaries.” Aurienne bit her lip. “What makes black, and what makes white. Things aren’t as clear-cut as I’ve always thought they were.”
“Eh,” said Cath. “The Dreor can still go to Hel.”
“And what about his seith rot?” asked élodie, her brows drawn together in worry. “That’s fatal.”
“I’ve managed to heal him,” said Aurienne.
“How?” said Cath and élodie together.
“I don’t know,” said Aurienne. “I frankly have not had five minutes to examine the results.”
“You probably won’t have five minutes for months,” said Xanthe. “We’re in for a ride.”
“War?” asked élodie.
Xanthe nodded. “I don’t know what shape it will take.
We’ve thoroughly pissed off three sovereigns.
They’ve thoroughly pissed us off. The Bright Path walkers have sided with us, with diverse impacts on their Tīendoms—Birtwhistle has pulled her Ingenauts out entirely from all three; Shearwater hasn’t decided yet.
We’ve got to decide what we’re doing with our Haelan stationed there.
Their citizens are going to be unhappy. Unrest will follow.
The Wardens are officially at war with Dumnonia.
We are in for some ugliness.” Xanthe looked old.
“Peace is over. The Bright Path walkers don’t even want to go to the Stánrocc to discuss with the others. ”
“Peace is such a precious thing,” said élodie. “You don’t appreciate it until it’s been lost.”
That afternoon, Aurienne convinced Xanthe to allow her to see Osric.
Ward 5 (Regeneration) was full to bursting with Wardens and Haelan who had been injured during the fight.
Aurienne stopped by to see Verity, Haven, and the other Wardens recuperating.
Only Verity was awake. Though they held each other’s hands and exchanged words of comfort, they regarded each other with eyes shocked and remote, conscious of how close they had come to death, scarcely believing the other was alive.
Aurienne’s thanks were a whispered stutter—the Wardens were glorious warriors, paladins, heroes, to whom her thanks were not enough, to whom her gratitude could never be repaid.
Verity squeezed her hand hard. “It was an honour, Haelan.”
Some drug kicked into her system, and she fell into a gentle sleep.
Osric was in a bed by a window. A prime location—the Haelan were treating him well. Only Aurienne knew that he didn’t enjoy sunlight and would have preferred the dingiest corner to this sun-flooded spot.
There was a bustle of Haelan around his bed, including Xanthe.
Aurienne hung back, listening to bits of the conversation.
They spoke to Osric with a wary, awkward politeness.
The Haelan had seen what he had done—but they also knew what he was.
He had saved them. But he was a Fyren. The cognitive dissonance left them befuddled, perplexed, unsure how to handle him.
Aurienne knew something about that.
At length, the Haelan moved off, save for Xanthe. She gestured Aurienne over. “Onion Boy is conscious and mostly coherent.”
Osric had been cleaned up. He lay on his back in a light grey Swanstone-issue gown. His skin was pale. His eyes were covered by white bandages.
With difficulty, Aurienne refrained from rushing to his side and bursting into tears.
Xanthe folded his left hand closed. “Mad to see this tācn within these walls. Gives me the willies.” She tapped Osric’s shoulder. “You’ve got a visitor. I’ll leave you. I remind you again not to touch those bandages. Your eyes are still healing.”
Now that Aurienne was alone with Mordaunt, she didn’t know what to say. Thank you for saving all of our lives. I’m sorry that I pushed you away. My heart is a morgue. If I could ever love again, it would be you. We are destined to misery.
All was inadequate and wrong.
The sun was too bright. Aurienne closed the curtains, even if there was no point: with those bandages over his eyes, Osric couldn’t see. Still, it felt wrong to let him bathe in the glow that he hated.
She reached for his hand.
He didn’t react.
“It’s me,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
“Words will never be enough, but—”
“Don’t bother with them,” said Osric.
He was angry with her.
“You promised to leave,” he ground out in a hoarse voice. “You promised to go to your parents’ place. And then you didn’t. I checked.”
“I couldn’t leave.”
There was a strained silence.
“Did you also get a visit from Tristane?” asked Aurienne.
“If I did, I was unconscious.”
“She came to me. She wanted to know what spell I’d cast on you—apparently, that’s the only reason you’d do something like this. I told her we were lovers. I didn’t know what else to say, to explain. I didn’t want to incriminate you. It seemed the safest thing. I told her it was over.”
“It is over,” said Osric.
These words hurt Aurienne deeply—bone-deep, heart-deep. She continued with an effort: “Tristane doesn’t know about your seith rot or—or anything else.”
Aurienne brushed Osric’s hair back from his temples. He pulled away from her touch.
“You’re furious with me,” said Aurienne.
“You promised to leave,” said Osric.
“You know what our promises are worth.”
“This one should’ve been worth something. It was to keep you safe. You broke it. It cost a lot. My fortune. My eyes. It almost cost your life and mine.”