Page 151 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

Excavations revealed not only the Monafyll Stone but also the remains of a stone spiral curling around it. The Stone was preserved in situ, in the centre of the helix at the Fairy Glen.

In preparing for this seventh healing, Aurienne would’ve liked to have spoken with Widdershins again—but properly, this time, not aninterrogation with the looming threat of a Fyren over her shoulder. She wanted to tell Widdershins about Osric’s incredible healing and Widdershins’ own role therein. She wanted to dig deeper into the provenance of his translations. She wished to advise him of her plans to investigate the Stone’s healing pilgrimage with a far more scientifically rigorous approach, and publish something, and clear his name.

She sent missives to Widdershins’ former university, his colleagues, his limited friends and family, and received nothing but notes, exasperated or indifferent, that he was nowhere to be found. At a loss, she searched for him at his old cottage and found it abandoned. Nothing had been packed. No neighbours could point her to where he’d gone.

Widdershins had disappeared from the face of the earth.

On the night of September’sBédríp moon, Aurienne got ready to go to the Fairy Glen. She laced up her boots. Pulled on her cloak. Tucked the hagstone into its usual spot between dress and clavicle.

How strange to be preparing to heal oneself. How different. And how odd to be going out at the full moon and not have acerbic exchanges with Osric to look forward to.

As though summoned by her thought, smoky seith touched her tacn.

Osric’s deofol.

The last time they had spoken, the deofol had warned her about the Dreor, and Aurienne had promised to leave Swanstone, and broken the promise immediately, and almost caused Osric’s death.

After a moment of hesitation, she raised her tacn to let the deofol through, fully expecting—and deserving—hissed malevolence between the wolf’s sharp teeth.

Dark seith curled in wisps as the deofol took shape. For once, her teeth didn’t make an appearance—only golden eyes amid shadow.Aurienne and the deofol observed each other in silence. Aurienne found the stare-down unnerving. She would have preferred the usual insolence over this wordless assessment by a demonic seith-wolf.

“Have you come to rebuke me?” asked Aurienne. “There’s no need. I’ve already received your master’s ire.”

“I’m not here at his behest,” said the wolf.

“He doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No.”

Aurienne, nonplussed, asked, “Then what do you want?”

“What would you do if you saw him again?”

That was a matter between Aurienne and her heart. “Rather an intrusive question.”

The wolf was solemn. “Things between you two cannot end in a farewell.”

“Everything ends in a farewell,” said Aurienne, snapping her satchel shut.

“You’ve done too much for one another. Threads connect you, after such things. They cannot be severed by goodbyes. Killings and life savings tie you together. Hearts. Souls. Futures.”

“I won’t see him again. He made his wishes clear.” Aurienne turned away so that the pain in her face wouldn’t be visible.

The wolf vanished, then reappeared in her field of vision. “Would you want to see him again?”

“Why?”

“I think you should.”

“I don’t understand why you would be encouraging me to maintain the connection.”

“Because I know what you are to him.” A shadowy ear flicked backwards. “But I don’t know what he is to you.”

Again Aurienne turned away. Again the wolf materialised in front of her. “What is he to you?”

Aurienne was tempted to snarl away the question, but it wasn’t posed with impertinence. It was tinged with sincerity.

She therefore gave a sincere answer. “Raw, bleeding regret.”