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sister has settled into the Eastern Sublands with her new Smaragdalfar guardians, but Olilly has become increasingly withdrawn, to the point where Bleddyn decided to step in.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.