Page 145 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

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 tacn 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.”

“Itisover,” 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 worthsomething. It was to keep you safe. You broke it. It cost a lot. My fortune. My eyes. It almost cost your life and mine.”