“Never mind,” Orfeus said, “I have.”

Rivasoa looked past Orfeus’s shoulder at Margaux and the others, and said calmly, “I am ready to serve. I will keep records of anything of note. I’m sure this trip will be of interest.”

Orfeus took a step closer. “Rivasoa, let me speak frankly for a moment,” she said. “I know you said you don’t choose your assignments, but honestly. Are they making you do this?” She lowered her voice. “Is it blackmail?”

“It is not blackmail,” Rivasoa said in speaking tones. Orfeus sighed, and lifted her eyes to the heavens and shrugged: out of her hands. Rivasoa said, louder, “It is not. Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

Orfeus winked. “Like the view, hey?”

Rivasoa drew herself up taller, if that was possible. Tall and stately and her collarbones could probably cut glass. “My wife wouldn’t love such talk.”

Orfeus shifted her guitar strap and smiled disingenuously. “She’s invited too.”

“Well, good luck, singer,” Margaux spoke hastily from behind her. “Archivist. Safe travels.”

Orfeus turned to give a sarcastically elaborate salute, but the council of Blooded were already departing from the platform in an orderly line of robed figures. No doubt they had better things to do, like watching paint dry, or lounging on some couches.

“Someone has to keep an eye on you,” Rivasoa repeated. Her dark eyes with those metallic threads fixed on Orfeus in deep suspicion. As though she would record all of this rather more literally than in her stylus-book. As if she was just waiting for Orfeus to trip over the wrong thing and spill all her secrets.

There was no train at this time of day, but there was at least a cart headed to the next town to wait for it. They boarded the cart, and it smoothed off, solar-charged cell humming with energy. Rivasoa folded her broad hands across her lap and sat quietly.

Orfeus sat in front of her, feeling Rivasoa’s eyes digging into her. As if sensing danger, her neck prickled and itched.

Chapter Four

Farflung, with its golden fields.

That’s what they call it. Not true fields, but solar panels, miles of them, drinking in enough power for the city and enough surplus to trade, all over the country and across the seas, trade for all the food and grains required for living that the people of Farflung may work their wonders in their high towers, close to the sun.

I am meant to observe the world as I see it, and without bias. But Farflung has always made me think of the old story of Icarus.

- From the journal of Rivasoa

Orfeus opened her eyes to find Rivasoa staring at her, threads of gold in her brown eyes.

Orfeus shifted back, automatically defensive, hunching her shoulders. Foolish. She shouldn’t act like she had something to hide. “What?” she said.