Page 125 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

“Is ‘love’ the right word?” asked Aurienne, frightened by the specificity.

“Yes.” Amusement pulled a corner of Mrs. Parson’s lips upwards. “He’s been quite dramatic about it. He struggled against it mightily, but hasn’t conquered it. He hasn’t told you?”

“No.”

“Stupid boy,” tutted Mrs. Parson. “Do you reciprocate the feeling?”

Aurienne’s hand went to the stone at her neck. “I can’t. I don’t—I don’t want to love. Someone was once ungentle with my heart. I defend it now.”

“The same Someone who gave you that stone you’re clutching like a talisman?”

Aurienne released her reflexive grasp. “Yes.”

“There’s a great heaviness to that stone.”

“It was a present. Hagstones keep bad dreams away.”

“You’re using it to keep all dreams away.”

The bluntness left Aurienne without a response.

Pity softened Mrs. Parson’s features. She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but turned back to the crockery. “Will you come to visit him at Rosefell sometimes?”

“I think it best not to,” said Aurienne. “For both of us.”

Mrs. Parson made no comment. She peeled a root Aurienne didn’t recognise. Its fibrous insides were dark red.

“What’s that for?”

“Broken hearts. It doesn’t mend them, but it does numb the pain a little. You’ll both need it.” Mrs. Parson added the root to the teapot. “I am grateful you saved Osric. He’s like family to Mr. Parson and me. Sometimes a brilliant child, sometimes an idiot boy. Thank you, Haelan. Erce bless your path.”

Aurienne stilled.Erce bless your pathwas a Hedgewitch blessing. Amagris used to use it.

Peeking out of Mrs. Parson’s rolled-up sleeve was faded inkwork: a delicate rose in flower, running up her forearm. As she busied herself with teacups, Aurienne stared at her damaged left hand. Mordaunt had said the injury had been caused by a meat-grinding accident. She had lost fingers. Her palm was a mess of old scar tissue.

An accident?

No. That was the aftermath of a tacn excision.

“You—you were a Hedgewitch,” said Aurienne, in a voice hushed by realisation.

Mrs. Parson’s kind eyes went from her teacups to Aurienne. Her acknowledgement was quiet: a slow blink.

“This explains so much. Your skills in the kitchen. Your garden. What happened, if I may ask? Why did you lose your tacn?”

“I loved a man,” said Mrs. Parson.

“They took away your tacn for that?”

“No. It was my choice. The Hedgewitch tacn is not like yours. It comes with gifts far beyond mastery of seith. Some of those gifts are double-edged.”

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot speak the Order’s secrets,” said Mrs. Parson.

“I understand,” said Aurienne. Amagris had been adamant on this front, too.

“But you saved Osric’s life. I will give you one piece of information. It might clear your attachment to that hagstone. Will you promise to keep it to yourself?”