But if Faol was offering, Orfeus would take what she could get. Right? That was what she did. Orfeus straightened her chin, tried not to think about the implications and reached out. The metal was cold, despite lying close to Faol’s skin and neck and his dark tangle of hair. Faol’s clawed hand with the gauntlet lying hooked into her skin, but it was a hand held out and open, ready with a gift.

Orfeus should not be relying so much on someone she didn’t trust.

There were a lot of things she shouldn’t be doing. She fixed the communicator into her ear.

Faolan stooped again and patted Splodge, who tolerated this for a moment and then walked off to claw at a chair. Faol gave the grimace that might have been meant as a grin and looked up at Orfeus. “If someone tries to get in contact with you, it’ll sting. That’s how you know it’s working.”

“You made it hurt to communicate with each other?” Orfeus said automatically. “Tide and Sky, if that doesn’t just about sum up everything that’s wrong with you people.”

Faolan looked down again, still with a trace of smile on his face. “Us people.”

Orfeus patted Splodge, and turned without more farewell than that. Faolan had already extended his good wishes, in the form of the earring that felt like it burned coldly through her ear. Someone so uncommunicative could hardly take it personally if Orfeus didn’t trouble herself to dispense words on their parting.

She clattered Splodge’s things on the ground outside Faol’s room, because it was funny. The next day, before she left to ask a few more favours from people who loathed her, Orfeus stopped by the Order’s armoury and chose a sharp new knife of gleaming steel. If it came to a fight this time, she wanted her enemies to bleed.

Chapter Fourteen

Sycamore Coast is a seaside town, lacking the wide port of Saltcote and other more well-known coastal settlements. Relatively respected for its traditional shellfish soup and crusty breads, it is seldom thought of by anyone of importance.

It is the best town I have been to. The ocean shines a brighter blue than elsewhere, the wind sings better songs. I write this only here in my personal records, for to be honest I don’t want to report it to the others and have this place filed away with all the rest. I live in books and information, like any Elder. It is nice to have something that is still fresh, and living, and in the sun.

- From the journal of Rivasoa

All things considered, Sycamore Coast was an odd choice. The quartertrain stopped only moderately near here, about nine hours’ walk on a good day. Rivasoa was a perfectly accomplished walker, but it was still a strange choice for someone who stood out to Orfeus as a starkly efficient person.