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“Shit,” she breathed, then met his eyes. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Astrid glowered. “We’re not supposed to say—”

“Is it true?” the girl asked, voice strained. “Is it?”

Orpheus sneered and refused to answer, which apparently was confirmation enough.

The girl pivoted on her heel and ran.

No! “Come back here!”

Orpheus took off after her, Astrid and Roland’s voices raising in alarm as he left them behind and chased the girl along the rope fencing. She ducked under it and plunged into the crowd, Orpheus nearly tripping over a black shadow that darted between his legs and then leapt after her. He huffed out a breath and raced for the place she had disappeared into, his height giving him the advantage to see the subtle break in the bodies where one small kid was barreling her way through.

“Move,” he snarled to the people in his way, the crowd rearing back as if he was a fire and they’d just been burned. Through the fairgrounds he chased the girl, back past the banquet tables and shopping tents, towards the steep hill he’d arrived by. She broke from the crowd with a breathless huff, glancing over her shoulder to meet his eyes before the shadow that had nearly tripped him darted from the crowd to leap atop her shoulder.

The twin white almond eyes of an Umbralcat blinked at him, its fanged mouth opening with a hiss, tiny crescent moon hovering over its forehead, smoky tail snapping back and forth in a cloud of dove gray puffs.

It was the first living hell beast he’d seen in months, all those not returned to Hell dead without Netherflame. And if that didn’t confirm he wasn’t losing his mind, nothing else would.

Orpheus waded through the crowd, heart pounding as he shoved past people, crowd splitting when the few closest realized who he was.

“Master Orpheus!” A man backed away, bent at the waist.

“Master High Wizard!” another gasped, gathering her children close as if he might snatch them away.

Orpheus ignored them all, fervently hoping they didn’t see the desperation on his face, let alone the heat bleeding from his skin. When he collided with a hooded man who spat a curse at him, he caught sight of a knife tucked into his belt wicked enough to give him pause but not enough to stop him. Instead, Orpheus shoved past him and headed for the hill, breathing heavily by the time he got to the top.

He searched the forest’s edge for the girl, evidence of her escape route swallowed by the dark shadows of dense foliage. She’d be in there somewhere, but if she had magic all she had to do was use it again and he would find her. Sniff her out like a bloodhound, then drag her back to Fenrir and Red and—and—

I’ll figure that out later. Because if this child had magic than surely there was a way for him—

A trumpet blasted, three sharp cords twice in succession, a call answered when the fairgrounds below responded with a cheer.

Orpheus spun around to confront a spotlight illuminating the stage.

This is it, he thought. The time of Fenrir’s coronation.

I need to stop him, whispered through him, an instinct that compelled him back down the hill. But as he watched thousands crowd toward a stage built for one, Orpheus acknowledged he was powerless to stop anything as he was now—a broken man.

A broken mage.

And he’d given it all up for them.

It was supposed to be enough, the voice inside said. But still, they ask for more.

And all Orpheus had left to give up was…it was Fenrir.

As a plume of late morning fog rose from the eastern horizon to frame the Empire’s new blue heralds in a glimmering sparkle, Orpheus confronted the reality that he’d already given him up too, when Fenrir finally took the stage and the whole of the empire roared.

Orpheus turned and plunged into the woods.

Interlude

The Rim

Like the knights from the storybook his mum used to read to him before bed, he swings his sword through the air.

Enemies surround him, big barrel-chested warriors with axes for hands and red slits for eyes. They’ve come for his baby sister but no way will he let them reach her. He’s beaten them back before and he’ll do it again, even if last time they’d only come for his dinner which he would have shared if they’d simply asked.