Page 7 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

The look Xanthe gave Aurienne advised her that she was thoroughly unconvinced.

“Second item,” continued Aurienne. “Bioterrorism.”

“You have my attention.”

“As you know, I sent the bottles Onion Boy discovered in Wellesley’s cellar for testing. Got the results back last night. It was as we suspected—the Pox in transport media.”

Xanthe’s jaw clenched. Her wrinkles ran deep.

“This is massive, Aurienne.”

“It is.”

“But why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Why bring back a virus that last affected the population a century ago? Why deliberately spread the Pox and produce heaps of dead or brain-dead kids? Who would be so profoundly cruel?”

“You’d better have an answer for me, after this preamble,” said Xanthe.

“I’ve got a hypothesis,” said Aurienne. “It centres on the brain-dead. The Dreor Order.”

“The Dreor Order,” repeated Xanthe slowly.

“We now know that the Pox was deliberately loosed. We know someone poured vast resources into it, and subsequently even more into blocking inoculation development across the Tiendoms. We know the Dreor Order has been in decline for decades. I only know the usual tales about them—that they’re mad, that they’re the walking dead. The last Platt’s Pox outbreak occurred a hundred years ago, in Lichfield—that’s where the Dreor HQ is. I haven’t yet been able to connect these dots with facts. I’ve just reached out to libraries to pull out all available material on the Dreor Order. I may be entirely wrong.”

Xanthe stood round-shouldered, her face drawn by heavy fatigue. “You may also be right. Aurienne, this is ugly.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to need to tell the other Heads.”

“All right, but don’t give them our informant’s name. And emphasizethat this is purely speculative. I’m doing some research on the Dreor. When I’ve got something more concrete, we can present the hypothesis to them. At this point, this is nothing more than conjecture on my part.”

Xanthe massaged her temples. “There’s a logic to it. The Dreor Order is almost extinct; they need to repopulate. Does the Pox create an ideal Dreor candidate? I wouldn’t have thought their Order had the funds, or the connections, or the brains for a plan of this magnitude.” Her shrewd eyes narrowed. “If you’re right, any surviving children are at risk. They’d be the prize.”

“We need to keep them safe,” said Aurienne. “We’ve got beds full of survivors here, but there are others all over the Tiendoms.”

“The Hedgewitch Order has just advised us that the Pox is rampaging through their newlings, too.”

“We should bring them into Swanstone. Every child we can.”

“I fear we’re heading into dark days, Aurienne.”

“Haelan Xanthe?” came a voice from outside the toilet.

Xanthe opened the door. A Haelan apprentice in a grey tunic was looking for her. “I’m sorry to disturb you. Have either of you seen Lambert?”

Lambert led Swanstone’s Charity and Donations department. Xanthe answered in the negative, as did Aurienne.

The apprentice sighed. “His wife is at reception. She says he hasn’t been home in days.”

Aurienne did not think aboutOsric Mordaunt, because she was In Control. However, she couldn’t help but note that he was being singularly uncommunicative since their rooftop tête-à-tête. She couldn’t remember her tacn going this long without being touched by his seith: he was regularly victim of some crisis or other and never hesitated to make use of their link.

His silence wouldn’t bother her normally, only they had a plan to break into the Færwundor at the next full moon, for which they had done very little actual planning. As Mordaunt’s silence continued, Aurienne sent her deofol to ask to meet. Her deofol, Cíele, was ignored by Mordaunt over the course of several days.

Today, at long last, he returned with an answer. “I finally got through to the Fyren.”

“Was something the matter with him?” asked Aurienne.