Orfeus leaned back and stretched her arms out over the back of the seat, though her back cried out in pain at the motion. “Goodness. I may need to ask you to avert your eyes that I may weep.” Rivasoa might be able to record with those eyes, sound or stills or video, and that was a deeply disconcerting thought much as Orfeus normally loved to be recorded. “I appreciate that you came to get me anyway. It shows an open-mindedness I treasure in my associates.”

Rivasoa moved back a little in her seat, grimacing, her expression suggesting that she didn’t like being called an ‘associate.’ “We do not always choose our assignments,” she said. She looked out the window once more, though perhaps not for avoidance this time. “It has been a long time since I left the grove.”

Orfeus clicked her tongue. “My condolences,” she said cheerfully.

Nattering had worked. Rivasoa didn’t seem terribly reserved in the first place. She turned in her seat, fixed her gaze on Orfeus, and burst out, “Why would the Blood be graced on someone so … unworthy?”

Orfeus lifted her brows again, and grinned broad and disbelieving. “You come on very strong, Madame Rivasoa. Are you sure you’re not secretly in love with me?”

“Very sure,” Rivasoa said, with firmness. She added like a less important addendum, “And I do not have secrets.”

Orfeus wriggled back in her seat, getting comfortable like Splodge settling into a box. “Oh, everyone has secrets.”

If people disliked Orfeus for mere unchangeable traits about her, her general policy was to irritate them as frequently and cheerfully as possible, so that at least she got some entertainment out of it. Rivasoa didn’t snap at her yet, or twitch, or shout or sigh. It was almost like she wasn’t disapproving as much as honestly concerned that someone like Orfeus had Blood.

It made Orfeus feel uncomfortable, like she was paying for mistakes she hadn’t even made yet.

“Not in Eldergrove,” Rivasoa said softly. “All is illuminated there.” Those metallic eyes fixed on Orfeus.

Orfeus smiled sunnily through her pang of misgiving.

She leaned back and closed her eyes to pretend to sleep. Quartertrains were faster than thought, but this would be a long journey all the same.

Chapter Three

Eldergrove: the perfect balance of nature and technology. Of colour and light. Height and depths. Everything that is worth knowing has been preserved in Eldergrove, and the long lives of our people have made us gracious and wise, considerate to those who do not choose such blessings. We are the caretakers and custodians of the old world, but we have learned from their mistakes. The forest city will never fall. Each day we step further and further from the Brink. In the autumn the birch trees cover the streets in leaves like gold foil …

There is nowhere in the world like home. Already I miss it dearly.

- From the journal of Rivasoa