Page 106 of The Demon Tide

She remembers what Bleddyn told her about Olilly. How the two of them worked in the Verpax University kitchens together. How, on the Night of the Burning Blessing Stars, a Mage mob attacked Bleddyn and dragged Olilly into an alley and assaulted her too, slicing off her ears’ points and chopping off her hair. Mora remembers her surprise over hearing that Elloren Gardner, of all people, was involved in the rescue of this girl and was also instrumental in helping Olilly and her sister flee here. But over the past few weeks, the teen’s ten-year-old sister has settled into the Eastern Sublands with her new Smaragdalfar guardians, but Olilly has become increasingly withdrawn, to the point where Bleddyn decided to step in.

So now here Olilly is.

On Mora’lee’s doorstep.

Or rune-ship step, would be more appropriate, Mora considers with a slight smile as they stand in an intimate little knot in her restaurant’s outdoor dining area. She glances toward her ship, docked a few paces away, hovering by the cliff that edges Voloi’s entire Sixth Tier.

Mora straightens and forces a broader, welcoming smile, even as her heart breaks for this girl. Because it’s time for Olilly to have some light in her life.

“So, Bleddyn tells me you’re a great pastry chef,” Mora says with a toss of her braided green hair, her hands resting on her hips.

Olilly nods uncertainly, thin shoulders hunched.

“Would you like to learn how to make some Xishlon delicacies?” she offers.

Olilly’s gaze darts up to Mora’s. “For the festival?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mora says with a saucy smile. “Lavender buns stuffed with candied violets. Cave squid noodles stained purple. Subland morel pasties that glow plum. So many things I doubt you ever made or tasted in the Western Realm.”

A spark lights in Olilly’s eyes.

Ah, I’ve piqued her interest, Mora notes, pleased. Bleddyn was right—she’s got the heart of a true chef.

“I... I’d like to learn,” Olilly says. She glances at Bleddyn, as if for approval, and Bleddyn returns Olilly’s look with an encouraging nod.

“Well, that’s settled, then,” Mora says. “If you’d like, Olilly, I’ll hire you as my kitchen assistant right on the spot. Long hours soon, since Xishlon is almost upon us, but excellent pay this time of year, plus lodging and food. What do you say?”

“Pay?” Olilly looks at Bleddyn with confusion, and a new shard of pain cuts through Mora. She’s heard how so many Urisk are indentured in the Western Realm. Paying off impossible-to-pay-off work contracts they’ve signed to get off the Fae Islands by legal or illegal means. Never actually accruing a single cent.

“Of course, you’ll earn a wage,” Mora says, keeping her voice bright. “And you should meet our little crew.Ghor’li,” she calls through the open kitchen door, raising her voice in a friendly lilt.

A blue-hued point-eared Urisk child peeks out, her sapphire eyes widening as she takes in Olilly. The sketchbook Mora gifted to the little girl is tucked under one of Ghor’li’s skinny arms. She’s dressed in Smaragdalfar attire: an emerald tunic and pants, and Mora has done the child’s hair up much like her own—braids tied back by a sparkling green cloth, and purple subland orchids decorating the child’s cornflower blue locks.

Ghor’li rushes out and grabs hold of Mora’s tunic, partially hiding behind her as she peeks at Olilly and Bleddyn.

Affection washes over Mora. She lovingly pats the girl’s head and smiles down at her, receiving a shy returning smile. Mora’s heart twists anew as she holds Ghor’li’s easily frightened gaze, a gaze that has seen far too much. But Mora bats the pain away.

“This is Ghor’li,” Mora says to Olilly. “Ghor’li, meet Olilly. She’s going to work for me and live with us, and we’ll all be good friends.”

Olilly’s face twists in further confusion as she peers at Ghor’li then back to Mora.

Why is this child here?Olilly’s eyes seem to say.

Because she’s an orphan,Mora thinks back but doesn’t voice,fished from the Zonor River with her drowned mother just a few weeks past by Vothendrile Xanthile and Trystan Gardner, of all people. And now she refuses to speak and will only draw. Mostly pictures of her flight East with her mother. The two of them in the desert. The two of them in the Dyoi Forest.

Her mother drowning in the Zonor.

But this is not the time to answer the questions brimming in Olilly’s eyes. There’s been pain enough here to last ten lifetimes. It’s time for the Xishlon festival’s purple light.

For the Goddess Vo’s loving light.

“Who would like a big bowl of nu’dul soup?” Mora asks Olilly and Ghor’li with great enthusiasm. Because if there’s one thing Mora’lee believes in with all her heart, along with the idea that one should keep one’s door open with a welcome mat before it, it’s the power of food to bring people together and heal a piece of the world’s scars. She grins at Olilly. “I’m betting you’ve never had Smaragdalfar soup before!”

“Were you able to get papers for Ghor’li?” Mora asks Bleddyn in low tones as they hover inside the rune ship’s cramped kitchen. The room is festooned with strings of purple Xishlon runic orbs decorated with violet flowers, a big pot of broth simmering on the stove. Its side door is propped open so they can watch the girls slurping down the nu’dul soup at one of the sunlit outdoor tables.

Bleddyn cradles a cup of lavender Xishlon tea in her broad green hands, her emerald eyes glancing toward the busy main thoroughfare. “Not yet,” she whispers, “but Jules Kristian is forging them.” She fishes some folded parchment out of her pocket. “I have papers here for Olilly, though. She’s been fully approved because she came over with the Lupines.” Bleddyn shrugs, pursing her lips. “She came with the military package. Like me.”

Mora frowns as she pockets the vital documents, moral outrage simmering to the surface. “A child shouldn’t have to bring a military advantage with her to be allowed refuge.”

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