Luga drew his sword, a shining length. The hilt was gold, and the steel blue blade was chased with lines of gold down the centre, old-fashioned blood grooves. “Anything you do will be what I want,” Luga said. “That’s the trick of good leadership, and I do think you could learn it.”

Orfeus stared at him. She didn’t want to step back again and give up any ground, so she just shook her head slowly. Luga laughed.

“You will,” he said.

That had the shape of a threat.

Her head was spinning and she was still out of Blood, backed into the corner, with no idea of his fighting capacity. Still, she wasn’t helpless prey anymore, and had to try.

She pulled out her baton. Before she could even switch it on, Luga had her hand in an iron grip, clenching hard enough she could hear her wrist bones creak in protest. He was fast.

With his sword hilt, he knocked the baton effortlessly out of her hand, and he kicked it away.

He released her. Orfeus took a step back, clenching her injured hand in a fist so she wouldn’t hold it to her chest and show weakness.

“The Falcon didn’t tell me she made you that,” Luga said, looking at the baton curiously. “I suppose her insubordination soon won’t be my concern.”

There had to be a way out of this. There was a way out of everything if you were sly enough. Orfeus filled her lungs to shout.

“Dormarch is loyal to the death,” Luga said patiently. “Ve was my Wolf once, and unlike ver successor, ve knows what that means.”

Orfeus shut her mouth on her call, wishing she didn’t believe him. “Faol deserves better than you,” she said bitterly. “They all do.”

Luga spread his fingers out in an elegant shrug. “By all means, prove it.”

Orfeus gritted her teeth.

Her baton was too far away: she still had her cauterknife, and her knife of naked steel that had spilled the blood of one monster today already.

So she had been blooded on the mission, just like Luga wanted. Her anger boiled into fury.

Orfeus rested her hands on the hilts, and said, “You want me to kill you, but there’s plenty of ways to hurt without killing if that’ll get me out of here.” She drew her cauterknife, and he made no move to knock it from her hand. “Mordrai is excellent at their job.” She bared her teeth.

Luga let his sword tilt down, tip pressing lightly to the ground. “You want to fight me?” he said. “Very well.” He grinned. “Single combat, like you once proposed?”

She shifted her stance, ready, watching him for his first move. “Why not.”

“Of course,” Luga said, “you would fight the Wolf in my place.”

She flinched.