Chapter 18 I Can Fix Him and Other Lies She Told Herself #2
“Why did you invite your horde of miscreants tonight, of all nights?”
Mordaunt dragged a hand over his face. “Trust you to insert yourself into the middle of any given calamity.”
“I’ve been trying to get to the door since I got here.”
“Have you? I’ve seen continents drift faster.”
“Your colleagues keep intercepting me. If you’d told me you were celebrating Tristane’s escape, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Really? You expected me to tell you? Last time I mentioned Tristane, I ended up in a wardrobe.”
“Well, you ended up in one anyway.”
“You might’ve mentioned that you were going to help Tristane escape. Are you mad? You p-put yourself in danger.” Mordaunt’s drinks were catching up to him; he was beginning to slur his words. “You have no idea what she’s capable of. The thought of you alone in a cell with her—”
“You’re the one who told me only Tristane could tell me what I wanted to know,” said Aurienne.
“I didn’t expect you to go larking off for a tête-à-tête with her. What you wanted to know wasn’t worth risking your life.” Mordaunt, focusing on Aurienne’s face with difficulty, asked, “What did Tristane tell you?”
“That this is a much larger problem than anticipated. Three of the Tīendoms are involved. Dumnonia, Kent, and Mercia.”
“Woden’s balls.”
“We found nothing at the asylum to connect them to the Pox.”
Mordaunt pressed his fingers into his hair with an uncharacteristic lack of concern for what it did to his coiffure.
“This makes no sense. Wellesley worked for Wessex. He had the Pox in his cellar.” He grew drunker as they talked.
Sullen among the shadows, he added, with bizarre irrelevance, “S-stop flirting with Lirain.”
“I wasn’t flirting with her.”
“You were. I saw you. She will sleep with you and only leave you alive if you performed adequately.”
“In what world would I not perform adequately?” asked Aurienne, offended.
Mordaunt eyed the cow. “Who is this?”
“How many drinks have you had?” asked Aurienne.
“Three, so s-spare me the lecture. Why did you come?”
“To thank you for tipping me off about the asylum. I brought a present and everything.”
“The best gift you could give me would be to stop throwing yourself into danger. Go home, and don’t come back to Rosefell without my explicit inv-invitation.”
Something was the matter with Mordaunt. The slurred speech. The agitation. The confusion. Something beyond drunkenness.
An incapacitating agent?
Mordaunt told the cow it was beautiful.
Aurienne kicked open the wardrobe and dragged him to a nearby room, which looked like it might be his study.
“The waystone,” said Mordaunt. “Go home.”
“I don’t think so,” said Aurienne. “Where’s Mrs. Parson? Something’s wrong with you. Summon your deofol.”
Mordaunt raised his hand and summoned his deofol with difficulty.
Following which he vomited liberally upon the carpet.
“What’s the matter with him?” asked the wolf as Mordaunt redecorated.
“Drugged, I think,” said Aurienne. “Get Mrs. Parson, quickly.”
The wolf with worry in her golden eyes, vanished.
At the far end of the study, a silver trolley stood, glimmering with crystal bottles. Aurienne strode towards it to see if anything there would be of use to Mordaunt.
There was a shiver in the air, as when a cloud passes the sun. Aurienne looked up. She and Mordaunt were no longer alone. Lady Windermere stood in the doorway of the study.
“Lady Windermere. What a p-pleasure,” said Mordaunt, in the smooth way he did when trying to buy himself time. It wasn’t working well; he was slumped against the desk and his jaw was hardly working.
In Lady Windermere’s hand gleamed a blaecblade.
Aurienne recognised the blade as that of Brythe, the Fyren killed by Mordaunt in her defence.
Mordaunt attempted to focus his eyes. “Were you going through my personal collections? Bit rude, if I’m honest.”
Lady Windermere casually unfurled her whip. “I’ve had a suspicion for a long time that you were responsible for killing Brythe. I’d like to know why you did it.”
The whip snaked out and bound Mordaunt’s wrists together. With a tug, Lady Windermere brought Mordaunt to his knees before her. “I shall begin by removing your eyes.”
Aurienne gasped, which brought her presence to Lady Windermere’s attention.
“The Haelan.” Still holding Brythe’s blaecblade, Lady Windermere took an unhurried step towards Aurienne. Her tācn gleamed red. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t want a witness.”
Unfortunately for Lady Windermere, Aurienne had seen Mordaunt in action too often to not know what was coming. There was a shadow directly behind her.
Fyren were predictable that way.
Aurienne spun around with her tācn illuminated and pressed it to Lady Windermere’s cheek just as the Fyren materialised there.
Aurienne had intended only to incapacitate, not kill—until she felt the prick of the blaecblade between her ribs.
Her seith flew into Lady Windermere’s cranial seith channels and blew them open.
Mrs. Parson burst into the room along with Mordaunt’s deofol. They arrived just in time to witness Lady Windermere’s brain take the path of least resistance and ooze out of her tear ducts.