Page 75 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

Dinadan led the way to the narrow metal bridge. It was guarded by a Warden at either end, and—as most of the surfaces around them—shimmered with blue wards. Mordaunt and his fellow Fyren would never have been able to pull Tristane out of this prison.

“Have you been to our prison tower before?” asked Dinadan.

“No,” said Xanthe. “Our visits to Tintagel keep us confined to your infirmary.”

“Our little Tartarus,” said Dinadan, looking at the prison tower with affection. “You may cross the bridge freely. Tenet had your seith signatures; we’ve integrated them for today’s visit.”

Aurienne and Xanthe followed Dinadan across the bridge and up a worn stone staircase into the tower. Haven followed. There were no windows, only bars across holes in the wall, which let in a fierce wind.

“Here we are,” said Dinadan.

There was no lock upon the door; rather, Dinadan pressed her tacn to it, and the wards gleaming upon it vanished.

Tristane was within. She was held against the wall by Dinadan’sarterial wards, which glimmered red, and connected the back of her neck, her arms, and her thighs to stone. Dinadan had chosen her arteries judiciously.

The Fyren leader was in much the same state she had been in when Aurienne had seen her at Swanstone: naked, bloody, dishevelled. Her injured eye had swelled shut. The remaining one, vivid green, with a pinprick of a pupil, opened to observe them with disdain, then closed again.

Aurienne suppressed a shiver. Mordaunt was a mercenary; this woman was simply a killer.

“Proceed,” said Dinadan, gesturing Aurienne inward as Haven took up a post at the door.

Aurienne caught Xanthe’s eye. Dinadan’s and Haven’s presence was a bit of a wrench in the works. It was impossible to speak with Tristane with them hanging about.

“I’ve got to use the loo,” declared Xanthe.

Dinadan glanced at her with surprise, then said, “Haven will show you the way. The facilities are on the rustic side here. I’m warning you now.”

“I’ll be all right,” said Xanthe. “Nowhere has toilet seats as cold as Swanstone.”

“I’m flattered you assume there’s a seat,” said Dinadan.

Haven duly led Xanthe away to whatever wretched hole awaited.

That left Aurienne with Dinadan herself to get rid of.

Aurienne made a show of searching her satchel. “Do you know,” she said, “I’ve forgotten my hlutoform. Have you got any here?”

“Who cares if she gets an infection?” asked Dinadan. “She’s going to die anyway.”

“It’s for my safety, not hers,” said Aurienne. “I don’t know what’s crawling on her skin. Have you got a bottle on the premises? A first aid kit somewhere?”

“Is it really necessary?”

“For my safety, I must follow our protocols.”

Dinadan pushed out a frustrated sigh.

“I can go, if you’d prefer—just tell me where,” said Aurienne. “I bet Xanthe’s got a bottle on her. I’ll find her. Where’s the loo?”

Dinadan, with distinct irritation, said, “Wait here. Keep your distance from the prisoner.”

She stomped away.

Tristane’s eye opened again. Now that they were alone, it swept from Aurienne’s face to her cloak. “You’re the Haelan who blocked my seith.”

“Yes,” said Aurienne. “I’m also the one who can unblock it. You’ll forgive me for skipping over the preliminary exchanges of threats and insults—we haven’t the time. Dinadan could return at any moment. I’m going to tell you what I want from you and what I’m offering in return, and you’re going to tell me if you accept. It’s a yes or no question.”

Tristane glanced at the cell door as though she suspected some trick. She nevertheless said, in a hoarse, accented voice, “Proceed.”