Orfeus merely sighed in answer. “This is for a new song,” she said, in inspiration: a solid story to help explain her odd questions. “I want to know anything they have about the Order of the Vengeful Wild, specifically how to contract them and if they keep records themselves.” She counted off on her fingers. “Anything about the figure known as the Wolf, and anything about a person called Faol.” She paused, and curled her fingers into a loose fist. “Especially that.” Her back ached, and she imagined she could still smell burning hair.

Threadgall lifted their eyebrows. “Huh,” they said. “Well, not my job to ask questions about people’s personal correspondence.” They turned a little away, beginning to type, with their eyes lifting to her occasionally in hope.

“No,” Orfeus agreed, leaning against the counter. She breezed them a smile. “I appreciate your professionalism.”

Threadgall’s typing slowed forlornly for a moment, then picked up again as they gave a philosophical shrug.

“Do you want me to just say it’s from a citizen of Tinctora?” Threadgall said, fingers hovering, and Orfeus shook her head.

“Tell them it’s from Orfeus,” she said. “They’ll know me.”

They wouldn’t, not the librarians proper, not anyone except whoever the specific individual was who occasionally grudgingly sent her old songs. But one day. One day. That was the song that went deepest through her blood, the one that thrummed the rhythm of her bones: one day, one day.

While she was at the Hub, she exchanged a handful of small capeberries from her garden for a new cloak-brush, and was on her way outside when Threadgall’s machine beeped.

She turned, and Threadgall looked at the machine and then at her. “There’s a reply,” they said, blinking rapidly. “Already.” They bent down over the machine, then stared up at Orfeus, more impressed than she’d ever been able to make them before. “They really do know who you are!”

Orfeus bounced on the balls of her feet and smiled smoothly. “Well, of course.”

“They…they say they want to speak to you,” Threadgall said, eyes growing even wider. They read, “We cordially invite Orfeus the singer to visit us and enjoy the hospitality of Eldergrove…something about earliest convenience … to further discuss her request and other matters of importance at leisure. They want you to visit!”

Orfeus adjusted the set of her cloak, unsure what to do with this stark departure from the usual way of things. “Tell them of course I’m available at their convenience,” she said. Eldergrove and its libraries were far away. She’d have a few days to figure it out.

Threadgall shook their head and clasped their hands over their mouth, then removed them to say, “They’re sending someone to escort you.” Announcing that the High Priest of the Honoured Earth was visiting in person would hardly have elicited more excitement.