Page 19

“Based on what I’ve seen tonight—this was only preliminary imaging, mind—your seith system is hanging on by a thread. It’s like a disintegrating candle being held up by its wick. You’re suffering from adegenerative condition with limited treatment protocols. Normally, I would suggest seith debridement—”

“Seith what?”

“Debridement. The removal of the nonviable tissues—the seith channels and nodes that are already dead—in the hopes of stemming the progress of the disease. In a case as extensive as yours, it would disrupt your channels completely, and you’d no longer be able to use your seith at all.”

Mordaunt’s mouth was set in an unhappy line. “Not an option, then, is it?”

“It is for most,” said Aurienne. “Losing your seith should be the least of your worries. The degeneration won’t stop there. It’ll progressively affect your nervous system, then your circulatory system. Did the physickers not tell you? This disease is fatal. Are your limbs numb?”

“They didn’t—it’swhat? Yes, they are.”

“Torpraxia.” Aurienne nodded. “It’s already too late for debridement.”

Mordaunt ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Too late? I’m just going to die? What can I do?”

“Put your affairs in order,” said Aurienne.

“Your bedside manner could use some work.”

“Something about being coerced into healing a Fyren erodes my sympathy,” said Aurienne. “Also, there’s no bed. I can buy you a bit of time. I can’t say how much.”

“I don’t want bought time,” said Mordaunt. “I don’t want to slow the inevitable. I want to reverse the rot.”

“Can’t be done,” said Aurienne. “What’s dead is dead.”

“The Old Ways hypothesis.”

“Unviable.”

“Do it.”

“I practise evidence-based healing. You’re asking me to attempt something on the basis of misplaced hope.”

“And your research.”

Aurienne, with additional slowness given that Mordaunt was so thick, repeated: “It wasn’t research. It wasn’t a hypothesis. It was a young Haelan’s daydream.”

“Apply your daydream to me, then.”

“It won’t work.”

“Have you tried it?” asked Mordaunt.

“No,” said Aurienne.

“So you haven’t anyevidencethat it won’t work.”

Mordaunt sat back in satisfaction, as though he had just committed a masterful rhetorical stroke. Aurienne pressed a fingertip to the bridge of her nose.

However. The man’s fixation on this worthless course of treatment presented an opportunity. It wouldn’t work. He would die. Her Order already had his money.

Aurienne stared at the Fyren and pondered the sacrifice of her professional ethics in light of these excellent outcomes.

Mordaunt cocked his head at her. There was smugness in it. He thought he had argued her into a corner.

Perhaps the most painful part of this ordeal would be dealing with the man’s stupidity.

“Fine,” said Aurienne.