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“I hate this one the least, but I’ve officially reached that point in the process where everything sounds like shit.” Red passed Fenrir the singular piece of paper that didn’t look like a bloodied battleground.

“I thought you were buried up to your nose with your special project.” Fenrir turned the paper over, brows drawing together. “When did you have time to do all this?”

Red shrugged, arms crossed over her chest. “My special project is currently hung up in engineering. Mercer and his blacksmith guild wanted three weeks off for this damn celebration and not much is happening until they recover from their collective hangover, so let’s just say I needed a distraction.”

Wood groaned against wood when Fenrir pulled a chair away from the table and lowered himself to sit. From some hidden pocket behind his cuirass, he drew his black-rimmed glasses, the shake in his hands nearly masked—Orpheus saw it anyway.

Quiet descended, filling the tent with a heaviness Orpheus thought he’d escaped when he’d left the Rawkner household behind that morning. He shifted his weight, looking between Fenrir’s face and his hands and trying to swallow away the uneasiness in his gut.

“Sparks, a word outside?”

Orpheus jerked around to face Red and found the expression on her face strangely set. He didn’t say a word when he followed her through the drawn-back canvas door, sparing a glance for Fenrir and chewing his lip when it wasn’t returned.

“What is it?” Orpheus snapped when his boots hit the grassy earth.

“I need a favor. You’re not gonna like it.”

“I’m not babysitting anymore children if that’s what you’re going to ask.”

Red blinked. “What?”

“…Never mind.”

Red didn’t look away. She stared at him, mouth a pursed twist that made Orpheus shift his weight.

Finally, she sighed. “I want you on stage with him today. Right at his side.”

Orpheus recoiled. “Me? Why?”

“As a statement. Old regime meets the new, ya know?”

That buzzing filled Orpheus’ head, sudden and claustrophobic.

“Old regime?” he repeated none-too-kindly. “I’m the one that fouled up Lore’s master plan if you don’t remember!”

“Optics work off long-term memory. A few weeks of clandestine rebellion doesn’t overwrite a decade of faithful loyalty. And you’re a symbol. If someone as close to Lore as you can stand side-by-side with the new faction in power, that means there’s a place for all of Lore’s other faithful who weren’t so thrilled to see her dethroned.”

“Lore’s sycophants, that’s who you’re worried about? The frilly peacocks from the palace, that’s who you’re concerned will stage an uprising?”

Red opened her mouth, then closed it, eyes slippery in the early morning light.

Orpheus swallowed. “Red?”

“You’re a symbol, Orpheus. Magic or…not.”

A symbol? A symbol for what?

Power. Authority. Fear.

For the first time in months, Orpheus felt his blood run cold. “No.”

“Sparks, please.”

“I won’t do it.”

“He needs—”

“Don’t tell me what Fenrir needs!” Orpheus hissed, soft enough for Fenrir not to hear but acidic enough Red flinched. “And don’t try to use him to get me to do what you want!”