Page 157 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

“AndI’minvited, as a guest of honour.”

“Yes.”

“Have they forgotten I’m a Fyren?”

“Tristane has been invited, too,” said Cíele. As a final shock to Osric’s system, the deofol added, “She said she’d come.”

“Has the Haelan Order collectively descended into lunacy?”

“Into a state of truce, rather.”

“Shocking.”

“Will you come?”

“No.”

“Aurienne said to imagine her on her knees, begging.”

Osric did so. He was minimally moved. Aurienne was not pliable enough to get on her knees and beg, physically or morally.

“When is it?”

“Monday. Noon. Broad daylight.”

“No,” said Osric.

“We’ll see you there,” said Cíele.

The deofol butted its forehead to his before disappearing.

Osric went to the ceremony.Obviously.

Monday afternoon found him at Swanstone’s portcullis, where Aurienne awaited.

“You’re late,” she said, but it was with unusual leniency.

She was wearing some sort of ceremonial Haelan robes today, more elaborate than her usual habit. Long feathers, white on white, were embroidered into the material, and made her look like an angel, freshly descended from some heaven or other.

She slipped a gentle hand into the crook of his elbow as she walked him in.

“Are you sure this is wise?” asked Osric.

“No. But hearts aren’t brains.”

It felt strange to be entering the Haelan headquarters by the main gate, rather than by a dodgy route over roofs.

“You know, my plan was always to come here and steal my money back from you,” said Osric.

“What changed?” asked Aurienne.

“Me.”

Aurienne squeezed his arm.

They walked on in silence until Osric added, “Also, with the new wards, I simply couldn’t get in.”

This earned him a black look.