Chapter 14 Tintagel Castle #3
“Deal,” said Tristane. “I’d offer a handshake, only—”
“I don’t shake hands with your sort.”
“You’re bitchy. I like you.”
“Talk,” said Aurienne. “Quickly.”
“Three sovereigns are behind the Pox,” said Tristane.
“The Kentish queen, the Dumnonian queen, and the Mercian king. Their objective was to raise a Dreor army—apparently, children who survive the Pox have a better chance of successfully taking the Dreor tācn. If the tācn fails to take, they make excellent wightlings. Whoever funded your Order’s Pox inoculation project threw a wrench in the works.
I was hired to uncover who it was—and, while I was in Swanstone, destroy what I could of the laboratories where the vaccine is being developed. ”
Aurienne had been prepared to take any answer from Tristane with a dose of cynicism—but her explanation fell tidily in line with what she already knew.
“What of Lambert?”
“The money man? Dead. I killed him. Useless creature. He knew nothing of where the funds came from.”
“What of the nurses?”
“Nurses?”
“There are four Swanstone nurses missing. All from Paediatrics.”
“No idea.”
Aurienne glanced at the cell door. It sounded like Dinadan had just made the final landing.
“I’m going to heal your eye,” said Aurienne, pressing her tācn to the side of Tristane’s head.
“Why?”
“Because if it’s not healed now, you’ll lose it. And once you’ve lost it, the only one who could help regenerate it is Xanthe, who certainly won’t do it. Don’t kill any Wardens when you make your escape. They would love any excuse to crush your Order to bits.”
Tristane blinked her now-healed, blood-crusted eye, closed it, and let her head hang. Aurienne backed away from her and stood near the door.
Dinadan returned with hlutoform. Xanthe and Haven followed close behind.
Aurienne accepted the hlutoform flask with expressions of gratitude.
She spread it on her hands, approached Tristane, and pressed her tācn to her forearm, just as she had done in Ward 13.
Dinadan and Haven looked on, having no idea that Aurienne was loosening the occlusions, rather than adding to them.
Aurienne was once again astonished by the vigour of Tristane’s seith system.
“I reiterate that this treatment is experimental,” said Aurienne as she went. “Please continue to take all precautions with the prisoner.”
“It’s a powerful ability, to leave someone devoid of seith,” said Dinadan, eyeing Aurienne with interest. “Have you thought of other uses for it?”
“We are preserving its use for medical applications only—except in this particular circumstance,” said Xanthe.
“Right,” said Dinadan—and it was clear that she thought it a bit of a waste.
Aurienne’s conversation with Felicette felt exceptionally timely.
When she finished with Tristane, Aurienne and Xanthe returned to Swanstone under Haven’s escort, at which point they got rid of their Warden nanny and power-walked to Xanthe’s office for a debrief.
“You managed it?” asked Xanthe breathlessly when they had shut the door behind them.
“I think so,” said Aurienne.
“And? Who is the sly bastard behind all of this? Who is Wellesley’s puppet master?”
“Three puppet masters: Kent, Mercia, and Dumnonia—according to Tristane.”
“What? The royals?”
“Yes.”
“But Wellesley was one of the Wessexian queen’s men. He was the one with the Pox bottles in his cellars.”
“I know,” said Aurienne. “I don’t understand that bit.
But Kent, Mercia, and Dumnonia make sense in terms of the numbers.
Those three have had the worst Pox outbreaks of all the Tīendoms. And they contributed the least to any research funding.
Tristane said the Pox was deliberately unleashed to create a Dreor army—which ties in rather neatly with the current catastrophe. ”
“And the Faerwundor.”
“Tristane also admitted to killing Lambert. She was asked to discover who had made the anonymous donation to élodie’s lab, given that the Pox immunisation obliterated their plans.”
“Lambert—dead?” Xanthe pressed knuckles to her forehead. They sank deep amid her wrinkles. “Frīa, guide him. I’ll see to it that his family is provided for. Had she anything on the nurses?”
“No,” said Aurienne. “She hadn’t a clue. I think I believe her.”
“How did you drag this out of her? Forceps?”
“It’s better that you don’t know,” said Aurienne.
“I thought Tristane would tell you it was the Dreor Order themselves behind it,” said Xanthe. “That would’ve made sense. Not monarchs.”
“If it had been the Dreor Order, we’d have the Stánrocc to turn to. And a very obvious motive in support of our accusation. We can’t exactly march up to accuse the Kentish queen, with nothing but my word that Tristane, of all people, says it was her.”
“You’re right,” said Xanthe. “The Haelan Order accusing three sovereigns of being behind a plague of this scale, on the basis of the utterance—that no one else heard—of the leader of the Fyren Order? We can’t move on this.”
“What do we do?” asked Aurienne.
“They’re beginning to make mistakes. They were forced to destroy the Faerwundor to hide their tracks.
That was a panic reaction. Tristane was caught.
That’s probably sent them into even more panic.
There will be more mistakes.” Xanthe set her mouth into a hard line.
“We need evidence. And to get that, we need patience.”
Here Xanthe interrupted herself. She lifted her tācn and let a deofol through. It was a hare deofol; Aurienne didn’t recognise it.
“We’ve found one,” said the hare. “I’ll bring her to you. Her name is Aster. Be gentle: she has lost much.”
“Thank you,” said Xanthe, and the hare vanished.
“Who was that?” asked Aurienne.
“The Head of the Hedgewitches.” Xanthe looked grave. “They’ve found a Druid survivor.”