How does a man lose to someone who never said anything false?
Quietly, it turned out, and from the back of the line.
The group had spread out along the river road. Orion's voice carried down it in pieces. The ford was still only a sound ahead. Lucavion walked last, the clay cup swinging from two fingers. Far in front, Isolde's pale braid moved beside Elowyn. They walked close enough to talk. It looked like chance.
He had spent the first mile on the wrong question. Had Isolde arranged the bench? He had stared at Orion's ledger as if it owed him an answer. It gave him one, in the order the names were read. Isolde Valoria. Elowyn Caerlin. Two lines of ink, one under the other, written at Clubs Day. Orion had said it himself: signing order, the one rule nobody could argue with before breakfast. Nobody had arranged the bench.
