“You were not performing the usual routines of sleep,” Rivasoa said. Her thick brows were hooked together. Apparently she felt personally victimised by Orfeus’s cart sleep habits. “Your eyelid movement is all wrong. Were you asleep, or did you pass out?”

“What?” Orfeus said.

“Fall unconscious,” Rivasoa said. “Suffer a fit. Slip briefly into a comatose state.”

“I know what passing out means,” Orfeus said, bristling. “I’d wager I know near as many words as you, certainly some more interesting ones.” She felt at her forehead as she spoke. She wasn’t at all sure that she’d fallen asleep, not when she slept so well the night before. Passing out seemed just as likely, and more worrying.

There were costs to overusing Blood, and she’d certainly overused it in her fight with the Wolf. But not that badly, and she’d given it plenty of time to recharge, plenty of time moving and in the sun. Something was wrong. With her Blood or with her.

“I’m fine,” Orfeus said. “I’m always fine. I know our next stop, though.” She bared her teeth in a grin. “Do you really have to escort me everywhere, or is there some kind of expiration date on this? Three weeks sitting at home watering my plants and you get to go?”

“No expiry date,” Rivasoa said, and she looked a little frantic at the idea. Ha. “Are you going to be sitting at home?”

“Certainly I don’t have room in my place for another person, unless you wanted … the bed,” she purred. Rivasoa didn’t chide her this time, but didn’t look happy, either. Orfeus stopped. Certain types of riling weren’t worth it, and weren’t to her credit. “No. We’re going to Farflung.”

“Oh,” Rivasoa said. “Oh, good.”

The joy Orfeus got from her companion’s clear dismay didn’t fuel her long. She pinched the base of her nose, hard. No headache had returned, but her head still felt drifty.

“You are not fine,” Rivasoa remarked. “But I knew you were a liar.”

“Oh, in all the Honoured Earth… People lie about being fine all the time. Everyone. Not just me.” Orfeus shook her head, immensely irritated. “Feel free to refute any claim I happen to make about being better than you, but you don’t get to say that I’m worse. So I’m a little off-colour. Forgive me for being worried when I’m being hunted down by a—by an extinct canine—”

“Wolves are in an order of their own,” Rivasoa said.

“They sure are,” Orfeus snapped. “One that wants me dead!” She’d lost control of her temper. She wriggled back into the cart seat, scowling. “Next time just let me tell soothing lies.”

“I will choose uncomfortable truths,” Rivasoa said. “Always, every time.”