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Obviously, she said, “Indigestion.”

She was grateful for the ending of the speeches and the concurrent ending of the censure.

Next came the Marking: the Haelan-apparent knelt before the statue of Fria and her benevolent open arms. They held out their right hands. Prendergast pressed a brand, sizzling with seith, in the shape of the Haelan tacn, to their open palms.

Aurienne, watching the anxious faces of the silver-robed figures, remembered her own time in that position. In spite of Xanthe’s assurances to the contrary, she had feared what every apprentice fears—that her years of apprenticeship wouldn’t have sufficiently developed her seith system and that the tacn wouldn’t take. But it had taken, of course—she had worked too hard, and practised too much, for it not to—and so, too, did the tacn of the four young Haelan kneeling in the courtyard today.

The assembled crowd applauded. The new Haelan held their raw tacn to their hearts, and were robed, for the first time, in the Order’s whites. Now their seith would be open to the world, far beyond the small, quotidian uses of civilians. Now they were members of an Order.They took their oaths forHarm to noneand swore to be worthy of the privilege of bearing the title of Haelan. Shining silver epaulettes were placed upon their shoulders.

Someone tugged at Aurienne’s skirts.

“Beg your pardon,” said the apprentice who had done the tugging, bowing low. “You’re wanted urgently in Ward Fourteen. Seith transfer. It’s Haelan Xanthe.”

“Not again,” said Aurienne. She waved a rueful goodbye to Cath and Élodie, and followed the apprentice into the fortress.

Haelan sometimes drained their seith empty in succour of particularly challenging patients. Xanthe was notorious for it. Aurienne found her collapsed upon a bed among the sick children in Ward 14, surrounded by a handful of concerned Haelan from Paeds. She lay unconscious and drenched in sweat. She had triggered her Cost—gastroparesis—before fainting; there was a kidney dish on her lap containing the sloshy remains of her lunch.

Lorelei looked up as Aurienne approached. “One of the new arrivals took a turn for the worse this afternoon. He was hanging on by a thread. Xanthe refused to lose him. He’s all right. She isn’t.”

Aurienne was one of the few in her Order who had mastered seith transfers; the procedure required unusual control of seith even among the Haelan. She pressed her tacn to Xanthe’s clammy chest and, with great gentleness, infused her own seith into Xanthe’s reserves—enough to bring her back to consciousness and bypass another round of her Cost.

Xanthe came to with a muttered “ ’M fine.”

“You mustn’t take your system to the brink like this,” said Aurienne. “It’s hard on you.”

“Yes, well, a child will see another day, so it was worth the push.” Xanthe sat up with Aurienne’s help. She looked sadly at the remains of her lunch in the kidney dish. “Pity about the cheesecake. It was excellent.”

“We’ll get you another piece,” said Lorelei. She called to an apprentice. “You—off to the kitchens. Get her the whole bloody cake.”

“More of us need to add seith transfers to our competencies,” said one of the other Haelan from Paeds.

“Corinne and Nym have been making progress,” said Aurienne. “I think Corinne’s got it. Nym’s technical competence is excellent; it’s her confidence that’s low. They both earned their tacn today.”

“Oh, bravo,” said Lorelei.

“Yes—improvements will follow thick and fast now.”

“Have they moved on to cadavers?” asked Xanthe.

“No. Still in the lab. But they will soon.”

Colour returned to Xanthe’s lips as Aurienne’s seith replenished her reserves. Aurienne pulled her tacn away. “Feeling better?”

“Much. Back to your duties, all of you,” said Xanthe to the Haelan assembled around her bed. “Those children need you more than I do.”

Lorelei and the Haelan from Paeds dispersed. Aurienne took advantage of her tête-à-tête with Xanthe to discuss the Fyren’s investigation of Wellesley. She explained Mordaunt’s current, unpromising position.

“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” said Xanthe, in an exhausted whisper. “The break-in we want the Fyren to do, he can’t do, and the break-in we don’t want him to do, he can do.”

“Correct,” said Aurienne. “He can’t sneak into Wellesley Keep because of these anti-Fyren measures. But heishappy to break into the Færwundor for his next healing, which I strenuously object to.”

“Fantastic,” croaked Xanthe.

“But please, Haelan Xanthe, let’s talk later. You’ve got to rest.”

“Pish tosh—let’s talk now. I’m not actively vomiting.”

“I do hope that next time you’ll—”