Page 158 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

They arrived at the entrance of Swanstone’s largest courtyard, where the goddess Fria’s stone arms arced skywards, flanked by two massive Aer in flight. At the sight of hundreds of Haelan milling about in their white robes, Osric balked. He fought an impulse to dive into the nearest shadow.

“Hel. Look at them all. What am I doing here?”

“You’re a distinguished guest,” said Aurienne.

“I’m a Fyren.”

“And your actions saved more lives than I have in my entire career. Including my own. Come.”

Aurienne introduced him to a number of absolute boffins: Prendergast and Abercorn, the two other Heads of the Haelan Order; a dozen Haelan who directed a dozen departments; her colleagues from the Centre for Seith Research, who had heard of him and his miraculous recovery from seith rot, and actively refrained from undressing him and examining him where he stood.

With varying levels of warmth, he exchanged greetings with others he knew. Dinadan, the leader of the Wardens, told him that he was a hero, and promptly broke his fingers with her handshake. Xanthe called him a priceless imbecile and gave him an enormous hug.

He was formally introduced to Quincey, Aurienne’s assistant, whom he remembered as an owlish man, who remained owlish, and called him Mr. Fyren, sir.

“You saved us,” said Quincey, placing a glass of wine in Osric’s broken hand.

“No hard feelings about the knocking out, eh?” asked Osric.

“What knocking out?”

“Never mind.”

A crowd of Ingenauts showed up, including Perfect Aedan. Osric avoided the lot of them.

He tasted the wine. It was not excellent. It was not even good. It wasfiercely average. It would have to do, because a voice called, “Mr. Hungwell!” and it was too similar to Aurienne’s to be ignored. He downed the wine.

Aurienne’s parents, Radia and Rosbert, had just arrived. Radia, in a fuchsia dress, exchanged waves with her fellow Ingenauts and made a beeline for Osric. Rosbert, Aurienne’s mild-mannered, professorial father, followed, flower on lapel and cane in hand.

“You put the Radia in radiant,” said Osric as he bowed.

Rosbert said, “Oh—that’s very good,” as Radia received the compliment with an inclination of the head.

After a bit of small talk, Osric determined that Aurienne’s parents had not been updated on his status, nor his real name, and that they firmly believed him to be here in his capacity as a scalpel merchant.

Osric looked for a cue from Aurienne, but she was presently being manhandled by Dinadan and did not offer advice.

“What a state the place is in,” said Radia, looking about Swanstone’s courtyard, which was still partially in rubble from the fight. “My Order will be lending the Haelan a few of our master builders to help with the reconstruction.”

Rosbert examined a piece of rock. “Such a pity. There were rich lichen assemblages on the stonework, unique to this area.”

“Apparently some of the Fyren Order came to help during the fight,” said Radia. “Quite heroic. There are a few good eggs among them.”

Radia, her eyes on Osric’s gloves, expressed concern that his eczema hadn’t cleared up. Rosbert helped him develop an understanding of lichen population dynamics in littoral zones. Osric stood there like the Good Egg that he was.

Radia hooked her forefinger to Osric’s arm and drew him in close. “Are you and my daughter still together?”

“Yes,” said Osric.

“I knew it,” said Rosbert. “I knew you were different.”

A stage had been placed at the foot of Fria’s statue. There was movement on it now; important people were stepping onto it. Osric, apparently an important person, heard his name called.

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you, because you’re about to find out,” said Osric.

Radia and Rosbert leaned in. “What is it?”

“I love your daughter. She loves me, apparently. Hard to believe. I’m still unconvinced that that part isn’t a dream.”