“Ah! Nearly forgot, I did. Here.” The butcher rummaged in his pockets. “Sent you this.” He handed her a small folded square of parchment.

Alba opened it. Jittery inkblots—nothing like Maurus’s usually careful lettering—scurried over the page.

Alba, the note read. Let this letter find you safe. I will do all I can for the oracle.

Alba ran her finger over the beetling words, grateful to see them carrying Maurus’s kindness.

After a long while, the butcher cleared his throat. “Are you really the oracle-apprentice?” he asked hesitantly. He cast a quick glance at her. “I mean, you must be. You seem… well, you’re not very big, are you? You don’t look more than… fourteen? And your voice… you’re so much quieter than I remember. You’re not at all what I expected, sitting here in my cart.”

“You visited me in the chamber?” Alba looked more carefully at the man. Bony and pinched, he hunched over the reins he was holding; two tufts of hair—all that remained on his head—stirred in the wind. Did she recognize him?

“Oh, yes. My wife and I, before we were married, we both went to see you.”

In a flash, Alba remembered. The young man with the nearly bald head. The tufty hair above his ears. The woman whose hand he had clasped. Her hunger-soft skin. “I remember,” she said.

“Yes, we asked if we would be happy if we joined our lives.”

Alba nodded. She remembered how bright their fingertips had glowed as they held each other’s hands, how insistently the waters had hissed suffering. She glanced at the man. His face wore a strange expression. “Have you been happy?” she asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

“Oh…” The butcher gave a long sigh. He shook his head. “Our lives have had… much sorrow. So much.” He stared at the road bumping ahead of them. “Illness. Loss. My littlest one… ach.” His voice caught. “And my wife, gone now, too.”

Alba looked horror-struck at the man. He ran a bony knuckle over his eyes. She felt her own brimming over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. These words were not enough, but she repeated them anyway. “I’m sorry. Can you forgive me? I should have said… the prophecy… what the waters…”

“Forgive you?” the man exclaimed. “Oracle-Apprentice, for what should I forgive you?” Reaching across the bench, he squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t let go of a moment of my life. A moment. You encouraged us to join our lives. You told us love is the greatest treasure. She, my children—I have had nothing more precious. They are my greatest joys—even now. My life would have been more sorrowful without them.”

Alba thought back to those words she had offered in the cavern gloom when she was trying to sound impressive and oracle-like. No treasure is greater than love. These were not the finest words, but she felt relief they had had some meaning for the man. “I am glad for that,” Alba said.