The Orphan of Saint Olette

Twenty-eight

Aoife had remained silent on her encounter with the Oracles, simply telling Shay and Rin which way they had to go—and waiting for the two men to figure out which way was northeast—and trying to get them as far from Ankora as possible. It was almost dark by the time they stopped, and their journey into the desert had left firewood sparse. The trio managed to pull together, though, but once again Shay and Rin had to be separated. As Aoife had discovered, during her time in the Order's home, their brief period of amicability had come to its end. Neither was quite sure what had sparked the argument this time, but needless to say their constant warring was beginning to grate on everyone's nerves.

The orphan knew she should tell Rin of the Order's interest in him, but she didn't dare sully his mood further that night. They had all been through enough that day, and her bad news—was it bad? She wasn't entirely sure—could wait until morning. Much as she wished she could ignore it, she had more pressing matters to attend to with Shay who, as per usual, lay half asleep in their shared tent, feet angled towards the fire. He'd told her before that, the way he saw it, he had hair to keep his head warm, clothes and blankets to keep his body warm, but nothing for his feet. As good a job as shoes did, they weren't comfortable to sleep in, so the fire would have to do instead. When faced with the choice of lying beside him, or lining herself up with his feet, it came as no surprise that she slept with her feet to the fire too.

"Shay, can I ask you something?" she asked, resting on one elbow, head propped up on her wrist.

"Mm," was all he gave in response, but the orphan took it as a sign she should continue. She was used to Shay being a man of few words by then, and it didn't take much practice to understand him.

"What's the one thing in life you want to do before you die?"

She knew the topic was a morbid one but it was something that had been plaguing her mind for a while. Once upon a time, she had thought reading from the oldest book in the Great Library was her purpose in life, but now she wasn't so sure. It wasn't the words of the Oracle that had changed her mind, nor those of the matron demons in Ankora, but she wondered all the same. Call them the daydreams of a silly girl, but she couldn't help but wonder if she had some greater purpose in life beyond a golden city and a rich man.

"I don't know, Aoife," Shay said tiredly, eyes still firmly shut. "Marry a nice girl, make a shit ton of money and move to the Kaíri Islands."

It took a lot for the Olmaean not to laugh at his poor joke. Marriage was far from the top of his interests, and as for money it wasn't great amounts that intrigued him, just enough to live comfortably. As for the Kaíri Islands? He could but dream, though given his experience in the East so far, he wasn't so sure he'd take to them. If he could ever go back, he knew he'd most likely live out the rest of his days in Olmaea, in the slums, and frankly as long as he had enough to feed and clothe himself, he would be content.

"You, married? I'd like to meet the woman that can tame you," Aoife said with a smile, though it faded sooner than she would have hoped at the idea of Shay with another woman. "Be serious, though. What could you die happy having done?"

"I said I don't know, Aoifs. Talk like that's for people that live long, happy lives. People like me don't get that."

"People like you?" Aoife asked, not sure what he meant.

"Folks from the slums."

Aoife didn't comment on it, for fear of never finding anything else out, but that single comment was the most Shay had ever revealed about himself. So he was from the slums. That explained his attitude and poor manners. The idea of there being slums in Olmaea was a strange one to the orphan. There was nothing of the sort in Eturia, as far as she was aware, and she simply couldn't fathom living conditions in a city being worse off than Karasti or something of equal measure.