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“You’re mad,” said Fairhrim. “You killed one of your own Order.”

“Fairhrim?”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes violence really is the answer.”

Fairhrim didn’t disagree with him. Perhaps she was being nice because he was still convalescing. She did have a weakness for invalids.

“Though, to be technical about it, he landed the finishing blow himself,” added Osric.

“Will you explain what happened, from the beginning?” asked Fairhrim.

She sat straight backed and attentive as Osric explained, starting with the gargling of the baubles, and ending with Brythe’s spiteful suicide.

Fairhrim stared at him for a long time, expressionless save for a new, peculiar gravity in her eyes.

“I will never reject your deofol again,” said Fairhrim. “And I’m sorry I did.”

Osric felt that he had won something—but what it was, he wasn’t sure.

Fairhrim looked at her hands, rather than at Osric, and said, “You almost died.”

“Am I detecting concern?” asked Osric, delighted.

“You’re in my care. And you put yourself at great risk.”

“I hadn’t a choice. There was a chance that he might kill you—and if you die, I die. Couldn’t let that happen.”

“I understand.”

“I’ve still got a use for you.”

“Of course.”

“It was pure self-interest.”

Fairhrim appeared to consider smiling. “There is no occasion in which I would imagine you acting out of anything other than pure self-interest.”

Satisfied that they had mutually established that they didn’t care about each other beyond professional necessity (her) and personal agenda (him), Osric said, “Can’t believe you were faffing off at the opera. Had no idea you weren’t at Swanstone. Could’ve spared myself the disembowelment.”

“There’s one less Fyren in the world,” said Fairhrim, looking pleased at the prospect.

“He was instructed to wring necks at Swanstone until he found an answer, only I don’t know what the question was.”

Fairhrim shifted on the bed. Osric felt her weight against his shin. Her seriousness returned. “Our Orders have their differences, but we never directly attack one another. We simply don’t. You know the Peace Accords. It would destabilise things.”

“I know.”

“Do you think this has to do with the other infiltration attempt?”

“If it does, it means Wellesley was just a pawn. Whoever it is has moved on to another level if they’re hiring Fyren. They must be bloodyflush. I don’t see how else they would’ve convinced Tristane to take it on.”

“Tristane?” asked Fairhrim.

“My warchief,” said Osric. “Also the most lethal Fyren in existence. Might be Hel herself, walking among us.”

“How long have we got before Brythe’s death is discovered?”