Loyalties are tested in this slow burn, enemies-to-lovers romantasy following an assassin and a healer forced to work together to cure a fatal disease, all while resisting the urge to kill each other--or, worse, fall in love. When Osric Mordaunt, member of the Fyren Order of assassins, falls ill, he realizes he needs the expertise of a very specific healer. As fate would have it, that healer belongs to an enemy faction, the Haelan Order. Aurienne Fairhrim and her fellow Haelan are inundated by sick children suffering from an outbreak of a long-forgotten Pox. Unable to get the funding needed to launch an immunization program, the Haelan Order is desperate for money – so desperate that when Osric breaks into their headquarters to bribe Aurienne to heal him, she is forced to accept. As Osric and Aurienne work together to solve not only his illness but the mysterious reoccurrence of the Pox, they find themselves ardently denying their attraction which only fuels the tension between them.

Autorentext

Brigitte Knightley

Leseprobe
1

Irresistible Bastard
Meets Immovable Bitch

Osric

It wasn't until Aurienne Fairhrim that Osric learned eye contact could hit like a knife. She stood, upright and austere, in the confines of a daguerreotype, pinning him with black-bright eyes.

"Her?" asked Osric.

"Yes, sir," said Physicker Fordyce.

"Must it be her?"

"You really haven't a choice, sir."

Osric dropped the daguerreotype. It landed on his desk, from which vantage the woman's penetrating gaze found a new victim and perforated the ceiling. Also ornamenting Osric's desk unpleasantly were Aurienne Fairhrim's curriculum vitae and a list of publications verging on the infinite.

"She's one of the Haelan," said Osric. "Her Order won't work with mine. She'll refuse as a matter of principle."

"She may, sir," said Physicker Fordyce. "You asked us who could heal you-not who would."

"Don't be cheeky."

"No disrespect meant, sir," said Fordyce. "The Haelan Order's members are matchless healers, and Aurienne Fairhrim is herself unsurpassed among them. She's a phenomenon when it comes to the seith system. If she declines-"

"Of course she'll decline; she's a Haelan."

"-then Physicker Shuttleworth and I will do our utmost to slow the degeneration."

"How long have I got left?" asked Osric.

Fordyce glanced at his colleague. Osric waited for the latter to say something of use, but Physicker Shuttleworth merely looked frightened, had a panicky spasm, and choked on his own saliva.

Fordyce found his courage among his colleague's sputters. "It's difficult to predict with any sort of accuracy."

"Answer me," said Osric.

"At our best guess, three or four months before your abilities begin to dwindle significantly, sir," said Fordyce.

"Dwindle significantly," repeated Osric.

"Yes, sir," said Fordyce.

"I'm going to lose my seith."

"That is, unfortunately, one of the likely outcomes, sir."

"I can't lose my seith," said Osric. "You know what I am."

Yes, the physickers knew; it was why they were on the verge of pissing themselves. They both nevertheless confirmed it with vigorous nods towards Osric's boots.

"You're a member of the Fyren Order, sir," said Shuttleworth. "P-perhaps you could envisage an early retirement?"

A brutally stupid question to which Osric replied, "Do you know how Fyren are retired?"

"Er-no, sir."

"Death."

"Ah."

"Bit of a problem, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I must say, this outcome is a disappointment, given what I paid the two of you," said Osric.

"Your illness is-really, it's quite unfortunate-not treatable, per se," said Fordyce. "It's a degenerative condition with no known cure."

"The Haelan are the greatest healers alive," said Shuttleworth, who had recovered from his suffocation to blind Osric with this luminous insight.

"Aurienne Fairhrim really is your best option, sir," said Fordyce. "If anyone can help you, it's her."

"She's my only option, if you and your colleague are to be believed."

"Erm-yes."

Having concluded that the physickers would be of no further use, Osric dismissed them. "I'm sure I can count on your discretion with respect to my condition."

The physickers stammered out a few yeses.

"My steward will see you out," said Osric. "Give us a moment."

Fordyce and Shuttleworth bowed low before exiting Osric's study. They placed their hats upon their useless heads and scuttled out towards the reception room.

Osric called for his steward. "Mrs. Parson?"

Mrs. Parson and her white-streaked bun popped round the doorpost. "Yes, sir?"

"See to it that neither of those physickers remembers this visit."

"Of course."

Osric held the daguerreotype of Aurienne Fairhrim up for Mrs. Parson's inspection. "Here's my apparent saviour. What do you think?"

Mrs. Parson grasped about at her bosom until she found her spectacles. She perched them on her nose and peered at the image. "She looks lovely."

"She looks like a means to an end," said Osric.

Mrs. Parson tapped Fairhrim's high-necked white dress. "One of the Haelan?"

"Yes. Sanctimonious to the core, no doubt. Aurienne Fairhrim is her name."

Mrs. Parson eyed Osric over her spectacles. "If she's a Haelan, she won't help you."

"Obviously," said Osric. "However, she is, apparently, a Phenomenon. And I'm in need of a Phenomenon, Parson. How shall I convince her to assist?" He turned to a looking glass, inspected the finest cheekbones in the Tīendoms, and said, "Seduction?"

"I don't think you'd manage it," said Parson.

"You offend me, madam."

Mrs. Parson, who was annoyingly sensible, said, "She's a Haelan. She'd sooner walk into the Thames than help you. Perhaps we can equip you with a plan B. And a plan C."

"B for Blackmail, C for Coercion?"

"Amusing, sir," said Mrs. Parson, though she did not look amused.

"Very well," said Osric. "Equip me. Do a spot of investigating on Aurienne Fairhrim. Find me a bit of leverage. Bribing, extortion, threats to life and limb-you know. The usual."

"Very good, sir," said Mrs. Parson.

"That's sorted, then. After you've seen our guests out, could you fetch my daggers for tonight's sparring session? The Moulineaux pair, if you would."

"Of course, sir."

Mrs. Parson left. Osric flexed his hands. The numbness was spreading; it had started at the nape of his neck and now followed his seith system down, past his shoulders, and, in prickling tingles, into his fingers. Osric had thought little of it until he'd begun to notice corresponding fluxes in the flow of his seith, at which point he had summoned the physickers. Their diagnosis lay heavy upon him: seith degeneration. In common parlance, seith rot.

Would it be wiser to make up some excuse to avoid this evening's spar with his fellow Fyren? He never missed a spar. It might raise questions, and Osric couldn't afford to raise questions at this rather delicate juncture.

Mrs. Parson brought him his daggers. Osric strapped them on, plastered a roguish grin across his face, and went to the waystone.

He supposed it couldn't hurt to go. With the numbness spreading as it was, it literally couldn't hurt.

It took Mrs. Parson a few days to return to Osric with the results of her investigation on Aurienne Fairhrim. Osric considered himself an expert when it came to intelligence gathering, but Mrs. Parson, with her network of serving girls and charwomen, was a force in her own right.

She knocked on the door to Osric's study with a conspiratorial air. Osric waved her in.

"Findings on Aurienne Fairhrim." Mrs. Parson pulled a wodge of paper out of her apron. "My half grand-aunt's daughter's third cousin works in the Haelan kitchens."

Osric did not attempt to work out Mrs. Parson's genealogical M…