“You’re failing,” Orfeus said before she could help herself.

Margaux’s fist clenched on the control of her hoverchair. After a moment, she relaxed it. The others were less restrained: Othmar growled. Orfeus thought she heard an intake of breath from behind her as well, but maybe it was her imagination. Fun as it was to taunt Rivasoa, she was still better at guarding her reactions than these fine folk.

Orfeus took a step back, holding her hands up peaceably. “I just thought you could help me,” she said. “Whatever you think is special about me, it’s just not. I have the Blood, and that’s all. I use it to perform. That’s all I want to do, and I’ve done nothing wrong.” Nothing they knew about, she dearly hoped. “I’m not a test subject! I came here for help, and you want to use me?”

“The things you say are impossible,” Margaux said. “You can’t just have magic in your veins when no one else in your family or their family or their family has had it running back generations. It’s impossible.”

Someone cleared their throat and stepped forward from amongst the others of the council. “Not completely impossible,” they said. Margaux shot them a glare, and they shrugged apologetically. “I’m the Blood expert here. I’m not saying it’s likely. It’s one chance in a thousand thousand thousand. But it is just about possible.”

Margaux glared at them for a moment, then said grudgingly, “Orfeus, this is Significance O’Hallow, a prominent mage. You’re very fortunate if you have xem on your side.”

“I’m only on the side of learning,” O’Hallow protested.

Xe had smooth black hair and bright blue eyes, and a dusting of freckles. A twist to xyr accent was familiar, and then there was the name. Orfeus said, on impulse, “Long life and fair health to you.” She said it in the best Éirish Gaelic she could remember, like her mother Maylis once taught her, the words dusty and unfamiliar like a chest full of belongings she’d left in an attic room.

Significance O’Hallow stared at her. Then slowly xe said, “May you have many good things,” in the same language. Xe bared smooth white teeth in a grin. Everyone Orfeus had seen in this city had perfect white teeth and smooth clear skin. “Tide and treasures! It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone speak that tongue aloud.”

“Nearly ten years for me,” Orfeus said. Nine years since her mother Maylis died, eight years since Basma, a rip in her chest that no Blood could heal.

“Close on forty years for me,” O’Hallow said, with the warmth of reminiscence. Orfeus blinked. Xe looked younger than her. Another reminder that these weren’t people in the same way she was.