The Irresistible Urge to Fall For Your Enemy

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 Möbius strip. He fanned the papers out on his desk. “And? What have we discovered? Has Fairhrim got any family we can use? Any debts we can acquire? Kidnap? The situation is growing desperate.”

“There is some family,” said Mrs. Parson. “Father from the Danelaw, mother from Tamazgha. Both presently in London. No debts to speak of; she’s rather well-off. Kidnap would, of course, always be an option.”

“A classic,” said Osric.

“May I tell you what I think?” asked Mrs. Parson.

“Say on.”

“Given the nature of the task, you might prefer her to be cooperative,” said Mrs. Parson. “I’ve discovered that the Haelan Order is in pursuit of funding. They’re seeking a substantial amount for one of their research endeavours. You’ve heard of the Platt’s Pox outbreak?”

“Vaguely,” said Osric. “I don’t keep up with street urchins and their diseases.”

“This particular disease may offer scope for you to strong-arm a Haelan into healing you,” said Mrs. Parson.

“Bless the pestilent children, then,” said Osric. “What’s the required amount?”

“Twenty million thrymsas.”

“Bugger me sideways.”

“As I said, sir-substantial. The Haelan are in discussion with funding councils and the kings and queens of all of the Tīendoms in pursuit of the capital, but they’ve met little success. It seems everyone shares your apathy towards the street urchins, the poor things. But if you were to offer the amount, perhaps Haelan Fairhrim could be persuaded to set aside her natural antagonism to one of your Order.”

“Bribery it is,” said Osric. “Good shout.”

Mrs. Parson looked doubtful. “Do your coffers hold twenty million?”

“I didn’t say we were actually paying her.”

“Ah.”

“Proceed with the offer. Let me know how you get on.”

Instead of trotting off to accomplish her task, however, Mrs. Parson remained in front of Osric’s desk. “If I may make another suggestion, sir?”

“What is it?”

“Aurienne Fairhrim is well protected.” Mrs. Parson shuffled through the documents until she came to a series of floor plans. “She lives in the Haelan fortress at Swanstone. She has rooms in the compound itself. To further complicate matters, Swanstone is patrolled by Wardens.”

“Wardens? I hate Wardens. Colossal bell-ends, every one. Why have they got Wardens at Swanstone?”

“I’m told the Haelan and Warden Orders have some sort of agreement,” said Mrs. Parson. “Healing for protection, and vice versa.”

“How many Wardens have they got at Swanstone?” asked Osric.

“Three or four at any given time.”

“That’s a bloody inconvenience.” Osric observed the map of Swanstone’s grounds. “I see now that approaching Fairhrim with this bribe might require someone with a particular skill set.”

Mrs. Parson nodded. “A bit of skulduggery wouldn’t go amiss.”

“One of my specialties, as it happens.”

“Quite.”

“Right,” said Osric. “Where’s my cloak? I’m off to bribe. And if Fairhrim refuses, I shall proceed with kidnap.”

“A classic, sir.”

“What’s the nearest waystone to this Haelan fortress?”

“Closest pub is the Publish or Perish.”

“Excellent.”

Cloaked up, gloves on, and hair attractively tousled, Osric set off to the waystone.

At Swanstone, duggery was skulled.

The Haelan Order was headquartered on an island at the frigid arse-end of the Danelaw. The white fortress of Swanstone, with its snow-tipped battlements, seemed to scowl defiance at Osric as he approached. Mrs. Parson was correct: Aurienne Fairhrim was well protected. She and her Order were literally ensconced in ivory towers.

Osric waited until dusk began to lengthen shadows before making his approach. The fortress itself worried him less than the Wardens. Infiltration was one thing; infiltration with Wardens present was another. Their Order specialised in defence and the violent dismemberment of intruders. They were an exceptional foe for a naughty Fyren here to bribe a Haelan.

However: Osric was exceptional, too.

He took the shadow-way up the ramparts and tucked himself between the wings of an enormous stone swan to observe. He spotted the hulking figures of Wardens-two of them below, two upon the ramparts with him-gleaming in armour. There were also a dozen Swanstone guards on patrol. One of the Wardens on the ramparts had her lightshield on, bright between the chinks in her armour. A shadow-walker like Osric wouldn’t be able to get within stabbing distance of her.

But today-rare thing-Osric had no intentions of stabbing anyone. He was here to play nice.

Excerpted from The Irresistible Urge to Fall for Your Enemy by Brigitte Knightley Copyright © 2025 by Brigitte Knightley. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.