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Mordaunt showed the man his right palm, devoid, of course, of any tacn.

“Excellent,” said Pipplewaithe. Then, with rather more trepidation, because Bright Path walkers had their tacn on the right side but Dusken ones had theirs on the left, he waited for Mordaunt to show his left hand.

Mordaunt removed his left gauntlet and presented the man his hand. Pipplewaithe waved for a light, inspected Mordaunt’s palm from several angles, and rubbed his fingers across it.

“All clear,” said Pipplewaithe. “Thank you, sir. Let us proceed within.”

Mordaunt pulled his gauntlet back on. It glided over an immaculate hydgraft, courtesy of Xanthe.

They proceeded through two floodlit courtyards, populated with, it seemed, most of Wellesley Keep’s five hundred men.

Pipplewaithe quivered in restrained excitement in Aurienne’s direction. Aurienne gave him a smile. He bowed at her again—the feather swept towards her in adoration—and said, “It’s a privilege to be able to serve one of the Haelan, however briefly. I’ve only the highest respect for your Order. Indeed, I am beholden to it, heart and soul.”

A snort escaped Mordaunt. Pipplewaithe’s feather rose in febrile offence. Mordaunt turned the snort into a faux sneeze.

“Sorry. Allergies,” sniffed Mordaunt.

The feather calmed itself. “Ah, indeed? As I was saying, Haelan—beholden. My husband was selected for one of your trials many years ago. Liposarcoma. Extremely poor prognosis. Well, I saypoor—I mean we were expecting death. But your Order saved him.”

“Oh, I am so pleased to hear that,” said Aurienne. “Was it under Haelan Linden?”

“The very same. Brilliant healer. Is she still around?”

“Retired a few years ago.”

“Well deserved. Right—follow me just through here and we’ll have you settling in nicely.”

“Settling in?” repeated Aurienne. “Aren’t we going to see the patient?”

The feather faltered. “Ah yes, young Gwendolen. Erm—given the lateness of the hour, Lord Wellesley proposed that I show you to your rooms. You can take refreshment, rest, and meet him tomorrow morning so he can discuss his daughter’s case with you.”

“Shouldn’t I see her right away?” asked Aurienne. “Is she so much better?”

“Oh yes, she’s much better,” said Pipplewaithe. The feather grew evasive. “In no immediate danger whatsoever, to my inexpert eye. One might almost ask why we have disturbed your Order for such a—but, of course, parental worry—nothing like it. Still, to have brought in a Haelan—rather extraordinary—but he does dote on her so.”

With these conclusive remarks, Pipplewaithe led Aurienne and Mordaunt into the Keep. The enormity of the task before them began to dawn on Aurienne: what exactly were they looking for, and how were they going to look?

Mordaunt seemed unfazed. In the shadow of his helmet, his eyes jumped from door to door, remembering or counting or doing infiltratey things, while Aurienne kept up the chitchat. The interior of the Keep was, at least, not floodlit.

They went up another flight of stairs. The furnishings grew more luxurious.

“Here we are,” said Pipplewaithe, ushering them towards silver-studded double doors. “I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction. The chambermaids are at your command”—two chambermaids flanking the door curtseyed—“and I’ll fetch you tomorrow morning, when Lord Wellesley is ready. He’s in the midst of some rather difficult discussions with his commanders. You know how it is.”

Aurienne did not know how it was. Pipplewaithe bowed; the feather made its obeisance; both left.

The chambermaids set upon Aurienne in a cloying flurry—could they assist with her hair? With her dress? With unpacking her things?—until she shooed them away, claiming fatigue. They brought in a tray laden with food and stoked the fire high, lest she catch a chill from the damp.

Mordaunt was of much less interest to them. On their way out, they pointed out a bed for him, which consisted of a straw mattress in the antechamber.

“That thing’s meant to be a bed?” asked Mordaunt, in the accents of someone with too much privilege and a corresponding absence of grey matter.

The chambermaids were shocked that a guard would query their hospitality. Aurienne elbowed Mordaunt, but hurt herself more than him, due to the armour.

“Er—thank you,” grunted Mordaunt. “This will do nicely.”

The chambermaids were appeased. They shut the door behind them.

Aurienne stepped into the bedchamber. Mordaunt clanged in too, tearing off his helmet.