Chapter 26 Choosers of the Fallen
Choosers of the Fallen
Aurienne
As August passed into September, Aurienne sought refuge in work, of which there was no shortage at Swanstone. But she could not find peace. A great sadness cumbered her, surrounded her like an unstirring mist, lingered like a ghost at the edge of her vision.
She sat at the window at the top of Swanstone’s north tower. Far below, leaves accumulated in the fortress’s moat in puddles of red. The trees grieved summer; she grieved Osric Mordaunt.
The cat was her only company tonight. Acts of Unwarranted Brutality sat on the roof outside the window, where Mordaunt had once sat.
Aurienne had thought to rip off the bandage with her abrupt departure. It had not worked. Perhaps she ought to have opened up to him more, explained more, before it was too late, before it was too painful, before he was too distant to hear her.
Was the separation hurting him as much as it was hurting her?
How had she got here, pining after a Fyren? She conducted an autopsy on her own feelings. No—that wasn’t a good metaphor, because it implied that the feelings were dead. They weren’t. They were alive. It was a vivisection.
The development had been nonlinear, jumpy. Bursts here and there, from moon to moon, from favour to favour, acts of kindness and care disguised as reciprocity, and so she had gone from hate to dislike to tolerance to affection to—to this.
Love.
(Was that what this was, sitting at a window with a bruise for a heart?)
It had been the right thing to do, to say goodbye, hadn’t it? If it was the right thing, why was she lacerated with uncertainty and regret?
“If it was the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much?”
Only the cat was there. She gave no answer but a slow blink.
“Can you hate someone for what they are, but love them for what they could be?”
The cat’s little paws crisscrossed as she approached Aurienne. She stepped onto her lap, warm and whiskery.
“I don’t know if I’ve made a mistake,” said Aurienne, gathering the cat into her arms. “I don’t know where the mistake lies—in leaving him, or not leaving him.”
Aurienne’s heart refused consolation, even when the cat, purring, kneaded at her thigh.
At her tācn came the tingle of a familiar seith, dark and smoky.
Mordaunt’s wolf deofol took form outside the window. Aurienne did her best to dash away her remaining tears, but the golden eyes had noticed.
The cat stayed in her lap and pinned the wolf with her own yellow stare.
“What has caused you grief, Haelan?” asked the wolf.
“Regrets,” said Aurienne.
“About what?”
Aurienne didn’t wish to answer the question and countered with her own: “Why are you here?”
“I’m to warn you about something.”
“What is it?”
“I can only share the information with you if you promise to leave Swanstone,” said the wolf. “You must go to your parents’ house immediately.”
“Why?”
“Promise first.”
“I promise,” said Aurienne.
“The Dreor are coming to Swanstone,” said the wolf.
“What? Here? When?”
“We don’t know. That is all the information we have. My master wished to warn you.”
“Why is he warning me?”
“Because he is desperately unwise,” said the wolf.
Aurienne scrambled off the window ledge. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Remember your promise,” said the deofol as she faded away. “Leave now.”
Aurienne didn’t. Mordaunt must have forgotten. Their promises had equal value: none.
Cíele flew from Aurienne’s palm to Xanthe with the news, only to discover that Xanthe and a delegation of Haelan, including the other Heads and élodie, were at Tintagel Castle.
They were discussing the management of the Pox and the rather tenuous political situation, which hadn’t been helped by Dinadan’s rageful visit to the queen of Dumnonia, during which she accused the queen of launching the Pox.
Saophal, Xanthe’s axolotl, pressed at Aurienne’s tācn within minutes. “The Heads will be on their way back to Swanstone shortly,” she said as she materialised. “Assemble the Directors and the Wardens on duty at Swanstone. They must be informed immediately.”
“They’re gathering in the courtyard as we speak,” said Aurienne. “Will you come with me?”
“Yes,” said Saophal. “Prendergast and Abercorn will send their deofols, too.”
In the courtyard, Swanstone’s department Directors and two Wardens, Verity and Haven, awaited Aurienne. Cath was there, looking concerned, as well as Lorelei from Paeds. Prendergast’s and Abercorn’s deofols joined them, a hartebeest and a puffin, respectively.
Saophal was a reassuring presence on Aurienne’s shoulder as she broke the news.
“Dreor are on the way? On the way? On the way to do what, exactly?” asked Cath.
“When?” asked Verity.
“Who told you?” asked Lorelei.
“How many of them?” asked Haven.
The questions were predictable. Aurienne frustrated everyone, including herself, by not having answers. “It was an anonymous tip-off. All I know is that the Dreor are on their way to Swanstone.”
“We must prepare as though their arrival is imminent,” said Verity.
“What do they want?” asked Lorelei.
“The children,” said Saophal.
Abercorn’s puffin, with an alarmed ruffle of his feathers, asked, “Has every infected child been moved out of Cygnet House?”
“We finished the last transfers a few days ago,” said Lorelei. “All of them are in the fortress.”
“Good,” said Verity. “Anyone still there—apprentices, staff—should be brought within Swanstone’s walls. With our wards, the fortress is impenetrable.”
Prendergast’s hartebeest lowered his horns towards Verity in a bow. “Thank Frīa we’ve got the Wardens here.”
Cath nodded. “If any of you are injured, you’ll be set to rights immediately.”
“We’re negotiating additional Wardens with Dinadan,” said Saophal. “We’ll send word to the Leyfarers and Ingenauts. And we’ll try the Hedgewitches.”
“My master will advise the King of the Danelaw that another Order is committing an act of aggression on his territory,” said Prendergast’s hartebeest. “He may send aid.”
“Swanstone-on-Sea should be evacuated,” said Verity.
“Agreed,” said Saophal.
“Right,” said Aurienne. “We’ve got a plan. Let’s execute it.”
Things did not go entirely according to plan. About an hour after the meeting, Cath ran into Aurienne in the courtyard and asked, “Has Xanthe returned yet? I haven’t seen Prendergast. Where are our Heads?”
At that moment, a blue-white ibex glimmered into existence between Verity and Haven.
“Whose deofol is that?” asked Cath.
“I think it’s Dinadan’s,” said Aurienne, given that several other Wardens had dropped what they were doing and gathered around it.
She and Cath joined the circle, hoping to hear a curt confirmation from Dinadan that the Heads of the Haelan Order and more Wardens were on the way from Tintagel Castle.
Instead, the ibex flattened his ears and told the Wardens, “The situation has deteriorated. The Dumnonian queen is advancing on Tintagel Castle with her army. The Warden Order has been accused of treason. We are to be eradicated where we stand.”
It was rare for Wardens to show much emotion, but all of them took a step back in shock. “What?”
“What about Xanthe and the other Heads?” asked Aurienne.
“Stuck at Tintagel Castle, along with all of us,” said the ibex. “The waystone has been smashed.”
Saophal, Xanthe’s deofol, materialised at Aurienne’s shoulder with a muffled swear. “Hel. The Dumnonian army is literally at Tintagel’s doorstep. None of the Heads can leave.”
“We just heard,” said Cath.
“How many Dumnonian troops are advancing on Tintagel?” asked the Warden called Ataraxia.
“Several thousand,” said Dinadan’s ibex.
“This timing is strategic,” said Aurienne. “The Dumnonian queen pinned the Wardens down to make sure Swanstone didn’t have a full complement of them against the Dreor.”
“Right,” said Verity. “There are only a handful of us here, and no more coming.” She turned to the ibex. “What is Dinadan’s command?”
“Stay here,” said the ibex.
“She doesn’t want us to go back?” asked the Warden called Solace. “We could do damage to the Dumnonians, arriving behind them by surprise.”
Dinadan’s ibex shook his massive horns. “Protect Swanstone. There were six Haelan on rotation at Tintagel Castle, presently stuck there, along with the Haelan delegation. A fair exchange of strength. Our Orders must help each other.”
A sigh of relief burst from Haven’s helmet. “At least our spear-sisters will have healing available. The three Heads among them.”
“No sign of the Dreor yet?” asked Dinadan’s ibex.
“None,” said Verity.
“Right. Keep in contact. Skewer a Dreor for me if you get the chance.”
The ibex vanished.
“How many Wardens are here now?” asked Cath.
“Eight,” said Verity. “Myself, Haven, Tenet, Ataraxia, Solace, Echo, and our two newest, Hraith and Beorgan.”
“Eight of us against an unknown number of Dreor,” said Ataraxia.
“And us missing our Heads,” said Cath.
Aurienne felt sick to her stomach. “Dumnonia played her cards brilliantly.”
“We’ll fight well,” said Haven. “Besides, with this many Haelan at our side, it’d be quite impossible to die, wouldn’t it?”
Cath put a hand on Haven’s vambrace. “As long as my seith lasts, you are immortal.”
Other Haelan had gathered around the ibex and listened in on the discussion.
The lack of additional Wardens was a shock to all.
The mood in the courtyard plummeted from determination to fear.
Aurienne found Corinne and Nym holding each other in a terrified knot.
She squeezed their hands and offered words of reassurance.
They were, along with her, the only ones who could carry out seith transfers at Swanstone.
If things turned violent, their assistance and sangfroid would be critical.
She assigned them and herself to Wardens to replenish their seith if it got low.
Cath gave instructions to her team from Trauma, who would be the most adept at healing battle wounds.
Aurienne, with Saophal on her shoulder, stepped in front of the statue of Frīa. An expectant stillness fell upon the crowd in Swanstone’s courtyard.