The corner of Primrose’s mouth twitched up. She stayed there, one hand on the chair like she wanted to hold onto it. “I suppose daisies are always in season,” she said.

She remembered the daisies. Orfeus’s heart gave a wild leap in her chest, though she stayed cool-calm-smiling. She refrained from lifting a finger to touch her earring. “Yes,” she said. “Daisies. Flax and foxglove. Anything you like.” She stood up and swept a complicated bow, tucking her cape behind her back. “I won’t be a moment.”

Primrose still hesitated, one hand on her chair.

“Less than the time it’ll take for a second glass,” Orfeus said, and that decided her. Primrose nodded, a little grudging but with that reluctant smile as well. She’d made her smile. Orfeus waved joyously for more juice as she exited. She smiled warmly at their server, a nice-seeming young person, and at the chef, and more generally at everyone in the dining house and indeed all the world, even the pianist.

She stepped out into the evening air. Flowers were easy to find, lining the path in neat boxes, useful cultivars along with wildflowers to encourage pollinators. Orfeus loved this town, overflowing with greenery, abundant with hues.

She wandered down the path, brushing her fingers against stems. Though most of the flowers were closed at the approach of night, the buds were still pretty. No daisies, but Orfeus smiled as she came across a patch of willowherb, sprays of small purple flowers among the dark-leaved stems. Not a perfect match for Prim’s lipstick, but close.

Orfeus picked a careful handful, a few from each plant. She straightened, flowers gathered in her hand, and the sky fell upon her head.

A heavy weight slammed into her back, shoving her into the ground. Orfeus inhaled dirt and twisted reflexively, kicking out and away. The heavy form pushing her down moved back, up and off her.

In the moment’s respite Orfeus pulled herself back with her hands, scooting on the ground like a worm. She stared up at her attacker: a looming shadow, an inescapable monument. They weren’t tall but seemed tall from down here, and slab-solid with muscle. Some kind of helmet or mask on their head gleamed silver in the moonlight.

“You jumped me,” Orfeus said a little numbly. She tasted blood in her mouth as well as dirt. “Why?”

They had leaped down from the roof, she judged, yet stood unfazed and unflinching. They said, “I am a hunter of the Order of the Wild, and you are my prey.”

Their voice was medium-low, low for a woman or average for a man, hard to tell. No time to ask pronouns in the middle of a fight.

If they were who they said they were, it would be no fight at all.

“What?” Orfeus said. “No!”