Misfits of Aquila (Aquila's Originals 1)

Chapter 13: Boredom, Part 2

Nimbys

"PACKAGE FOR YOU, Student Orla," one the clerks called just as Orla was leaving the offices. "Looks like more goodies from home."

"Oooh." Henley rubbed his hands together as he followed Orla to the front desk. "What is it? Food? Sweets? Money?"

"Letters," Orla replied, taking the package from Clerk Toma with a grateful nod. She weighed the padded package in her hand and revised her assessment. "And tools." Something heavy was inside it anyway.

Henley made a dismissive sound. "Never mind that then, word is Clatchtons are getting a shipment this afternoon. Big. Expensive. Coming from Lansbrig. Fancy taking a closer look?"

Orla looked at the greed on his face and sighed, rubbing her eye. Anyone overhearing their conversation would think he meant going to the docks to watch the crates being unloaded. Vast crates, Orla had no doubt, full of some of the most delicious fruit on the Overworld, particularly mangoes and cherries, of which Clatchtons was the best distributor in Nimbys. Orla knew the shop, had drooled at the delicious scents when walking past a few times, but she'd never had enough money to go inside. Nor had Henley even suggested trying to steal from them. Until now.

One look at her friend's avid eyes and Orla knew he had no interest in watching the crates be unloaded at the docks. He wanted to visit the shop, likely after dark. And she would be the one who would steal things for him.

"No." Orla shook her head, hugging her packet of letters to her chest. The sight of her father's beautiful handwriting, all flourishes and curves even on the prosaic lines of her name and the Rider office address, was enough to make her heart ache. She missed her parents. She missed her family. She missed home. She missed the person she used to be.

Henley's sunny smiling face darkened. "Excuse me?" he asked, his voice soft and frosty, the tone he usually saved for depressing servants and other presumptuous people.

"I am having dinner with my uncle," she lied, because she had to tell him something and she didn't want to make him angry. If she said she didn't want to go to Clatchtons he would try and talk her around. If she said she didn't want to steal, he would act like she already had and denounce her to everyone present. So she lied.

Except it wasn't too much of a lie. She would have dinner with her uncle, he just didn't know it yet. Hethanon would never turn her away.

Henley drew his head back, rather like a startled goose. "Dinner?" he echoed, as if the concept had never occurred to him. "I am inviting you to Clatchtons."

Yes, and that was the problem. "I haven't spoken to him for two months," she tried to explain, hating that she was sounding as if she was pleading. She didn't want to anger him, but the more she thought about spending time with her uncle, the more she wanted to catch up with him. She so rarely saw him outside of training. Because Henley kept her constantly busy, filling up her free time with schemes and plans, very few of which Orla actually enjoyed.

"You see him every day," Henley scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Come with me instead. We'll have fun."

"No." The word escaped before she could try and think of something less final, something more diplomatic. Henley didn't like final. He didn't like being denied. He was the one to say no, no one else.

She swallowed and hugged her letters, watching the smile fade from his face, his blue eyes narrowing to cold slits.

"You're choosing him over me?" he asked, softly, far too softly.

Orla shook her head. "No," she said again. "It's not -"

"You're saying that word an awful lot today," he interrupted. "You should be careful."