Orfeus inclined her head to that person in particular. “Thank you for accommodating my request,” she said. “So. You wanted to talk about my music? What is it that caught your interest? Is it the threads of narrative?” She allowed herself a smile. “I thought that might—”

“We don’t care about your narrative,” said the stern person, looking exasperated. “We care about your magic.”

“Ah,” Orfeus said.

“We might have got off on the wrong foot.” The speaker pressed their hands together and dipped their head in a shallow bow. A very shallow bow. “I am Margaux, and use she and her pronouns. I have the honour of being elected by the people of Eldergrove to do my best, in my small way, to represent our interests.”

Maybe she was elected, but Margaux spoke like a queen.

“An honour to meet you, Margaux of Eldergrove,” Orfeus said. “And the rest of you?”

A person behind Margaux, with the typical Elder look – tall, healthy, too serious for their own good – bristled at that, flicking long, fair hair restlessly behind their shoulder. The stockier person next to them, dark-skinned with hair netted up behind their head, put out a calming hand and the fair-haired one breathed in deep through their nose, and out through their mouth, and said nothing.

Orfeus sighed and let her hands rest on her belt. The pose made her look nervous, but it was better than having nothing to do with her hands. “At least tell me what it is you want. You all have Blood yourselves, you can’t want to steal mine.” She spoke it brazenly, but curled her fingers tight together at the horror of the thought. The Elders were famously possessive of Blood, never allowing its secrets to leave Eldergrove.

Margaux glanced at the others. “You should not have the Blood,” she said. “It defies explanation. We know of you through your research requests, but in addition there were reports of you and your little performances. We watched recordings and saw you do, indeed, have Blood. Here at the grove, you must understand, we pride ourselves on understanding things. We were happy merely to observe you, but now you have contacted us, which shows initiative.”

Orfeus smirked. “Of course.” She could be relied upon for that.

“Initiative is not ideal,” Margaux continued. Orfeus’s smirk faded. “You could do anything and be anything, out there in the world, without Elder values. You might give entirely the wrong impression of Blooded.”

So that was what it was. “Your little community aren’t the only people with Blood, even if you’re the largest group,” Orfeus said impatiently. “No one would look at me and think I’m one of you. I have far too much …” Style, for one. “Of my mother in me,” Orfeus finished. “A small-town girl, by my upbringing. I’m sure no one would tar you with the association.”