Page 31 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

“I could rattle off the long list of things you’ve done for me and my Order, but we’re meant to be sleeping,” said Aurienne. “You overused your seith terribly today. I know—you didn’t have a choice. But be careful in the future. The risk of a seith embolus recurring is high, even with the progress we’re making. Your system is fragile.”

Mordaunt wasn’t listening. “Perhaps I was wrong,” he mused. “Perhaps you bring out the best in me. Perhaps I bring out the best in you.”

“What?”

“Look at what you’re doing with my seith rot. You took something that’s been in plain sight for hundreds of years—stories that no one took seriously—and bent your considerable brain to them. But you neededmeto coerce you into the pursuit.”

There was an irritating amount of truth in this. Aurienne, therefore, did not respond.

“I’ve annoyed you because I’m right,” said Mordaunt. “And yes, I’m going to be smug about it. Cast your bayonet gaze elsewhere.”

Aurienne did so. It landed on the opening of his shirt, where a few hairs emerged from the V at his chest. The material clung to his pectorals, suggesting an outline of well-developed muscles that might be traced with a fingertip. Aurienne had no need of such suggestions. She shifted her attention to the wall.

“You’re doing it,” continued Mordaunt. “I told you that you weredoing it, at the clinic. I ought to kiss your hand again. But I won’t do it without your leave, this time.”

And with that, Mordaunt casually, gracefully, reached his hand towards Aurienne’s.

What was this? Some mockery? Some power play? Aurienne’s stare was met by the taunt of Mordaunt’s raised eyebrow: he didn’t think she’d grant him leave. Her gaze went to his outstretched palm. Such a well-shaped hand—what a pity about the stain of the tacn marring it. Marring the entire man.

Aurienne didn’t move. Mordaunt withdrew his hand, amused, as though he’d just been proven right.

The impudence provoked Aurienne into bravado. Mordaunt’s amusement turned to surprise as Aurienne slipped her hand into his. His palm was rough, like hers. Both were marked by the calluses of their professions. She gave him her left hand. He could read into it, if he would, that she did not wish to befoul her tacn by pressing it to his.

Aurienne expected a showy, gallant kiss upon the back of her hand—and that was what she got, to begin. When she didn’t immediately pull away, however, Mordaunt pressed his lips softly to her knuckles, among the blisters and cracks caused by her Cost. He moved down the backs of her fingers and up her wrist. Her heart stirred in warm surprise. Again and again his lips found her skin, hardly breaking contact before moving to the next spot. Kisses upon kisses heaped on each other, and the world was singing again. Were these even kisses? Aurienne didn’t know what to call them. Kisses? Prayers?

Mordaunt was rapt. His eyes were half-closed. He drenched her in gentleness. He turned her hand over and pressed his mouth to the centre of her palm, where her tacn would be if she walked the Dusken Path.

She had expected a kiss. She hadn’t expected to be venerated.

Mordaunt’s lips crept past her inner wrist. His eyes traced a trajectory upwards, to her shoulder, her neck, her mouth. As though every bitof her was a line towards this final goal. As though veneration and want were the same thing.

Aurienne felt the return of her blush. She regretted her bravado. She had imperilled her own peace.

She withdrew her hand. Mordaunt released her gradually; their fingers parted in a long caress.

“You mustn’t grant such permissions lightly.” Mordaunt stared in the direction of Aurienne’s neck. “It gives me hopes of a different kind.”

“That was quite a kiss,” said Aurienne.

“Your hands are healing me. I will kiss them as much as I’m permitted.” Mordaunt slid out of his reverie. His eyes hardened into the usual look, bright and mocking. “Another crime of passion. But I know you’ll forgive me.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a safe flirt.”

“Am I?”

“Foolproof.”

Aurienne withheld a rueful laugh. “You’ve no idea how foolproof.”

“Tell me the tale,” said Mordaunt.

“No. The telling must involve wine and tears, and I don’t wish to cry.”

“Very well,” said Mordaunt. “We should sleep—if you can manage to sleep next to me.”

“There probably aren’t many safer places for me to be,” said Aurienne.