At the time I argued, and indeed was convinced, that if she still lived she was planning something and may pose some danger to Eldergrove. If I had known Orfeus better, I would have been more worried still.

- From the journal of Rivasoa

The next day, Orfeus sat up in bed and clicked her fingers in the right configuration. Sparks flew. Orfeus let out a relieved breath, long and juddering.

She washed after all. Someone had left an oatcake by her door. She ate half of it before the dryness felt suffocating.

A clanking heralded the Wolf, and beside him, the person sitting below Luga’s throne yesterday, Dormarch. Ve looked to be in early middle age, face grizzled with the marks of drinking, ver nose red with burst blood vessels. Dormarch had ver mask pushed back on ver forehead, but it looked vaguely canine like Faol’s, some manner of dog with red-tipped ears. What were they meant to be dipped in, blood? Wine?

“I’m the Boarhound,” ve declared. “I’ll keep an eye on you today.” Ve grinned. Ver teeth were jagged. Old, but certainly not blunted. “Not going to do anything, mind. I just watch.”

“Your proclivities are your own business,” Orfeus said mildly. The Boarhound barked out a laugh.

Faol looked disgusted. Her mask still covered her eyes. Orfeus sketched her a salute, and Faol turned around and clanked off down the corridor, Dormarch following a step behind. Faolan was louder than usual, a layer of metal armour over the tough fabric or plastic. It wasn’t like Orfeus was that big a threat, so…

Faol was determined for her to fail. Well. Orfeus wouldn’t be so easily quenched. She could at least put up a fight.

A few windows let natural light into the base. All she could see out of them at a glance was clear blue sky, which supported her theory about being airborne. The two hunters strode ahead of her, and they might take it badly if she rushed off to stare out the window instead of following where she was told. It made her teeth itch. No one told her what to do.

It looked like a beautiful morning.

They took another left and came into a corridor broader than the others, this one lined with windows and people. Boarhound waved ver hand and rattled introductions as they walked down the line, Faol stalking silently beside vem, too many people and animal masks flashing past much too fast. They stepped into a small black room.

“Best get ready,” Dormarch said almost kindly, and left her there. Faol peeled off inscrutably, and Orfeus was alone in the darkness, in front of a door that was almost a gate. She finger-combed the knots from her hair and adjusted the lay of her cloak.

The gate opened. Orfeus strode through it with her head high and knife in one hand, the other curling ready at her side.