The words stung, but she shrugged. “Who says what’s right?” Orfeus said. She loved stories, but Rivasoa was not the one who got to dictate what the true tale was. This was the story as she’d learned it at her mother’s knee.

Rivasoa shook her head. The slight traces of smile on her lips were amused, comfortably superior. “Do you even know your namesake’s story?”

“Orpheus?” Orfeus said. She scooped up some rice deftly with a bean. “He was a singer who went into the underworld.”

“And?” Rivasoa said.

She shrugged. “Presumably, he came back up.”

That night she sat on the edge of her cot beside the row of other cots, though at least hers was under a window. She didn’t feel like playing to earn a nicer room today. She didn’t want a big profile, for once.

Wayhouses were comfortable, safe, home. Sanctuary after a long tiring day on the road.

Orfeus sat up, Galahad sitting in its case beside her, and watched out the window. Every shadow, every shift of the moon seemed to show lupine figures lurking outside.

They arrived at Tinctora a little after nightfall. Walking home felt like walking into a bear trap, and even passing through the fringes of forest that ringed the township of Tinctora, Orfeus kept glancing over her shoulder. Surely it had been enough time for the Order to have picked up her tracks. No one seemed to be following …

Orfeus realised her mistake as soon as she stepped into the centre of town and smelled the thick, roiling scent of some type of gas. If the Elders knew her well enough to know her Farflung contacts and family history, the Order was at least smart enough to figure out what she valued most.

She’d counted on them coming after her, not her home. Threadgall was in danger now, and Linden – and, gods, Primrose.

“Orfeus,” Rivasoa said. “Is something wrong?”

There, across the street. A hulking shadow with the pricked ears of a wolf. “Get to safety,” Orfeus said urgently, turning to Rivasoa. Rivasoa was tall, maybe strong, certainly strong in the Blood. Orfeus didn’t trust her an inch, but she was at least pretending to be an ally, and Orfeus would use what she had. She corrected her previous statement to: “Get people to safety.” She mistrusted that whiff of gas on the air, which didn’t seem the Wolf’s style.

Rivasoa’s brows arched, but after a moment she nodded a fraction.

It was enough. Orfeus turned and stepped in front of her to draw the Wolf’s attention, but their attention was fixed on her anyway. They strode forward to her across the square like iron drawn to a magnet.

But not like they were in any hurry. Alright. Orfeus knew how to deal with arrogant people.