Morel Dilemma (Tales from the Dragon Diner #3)

Chapter 1

Rylana Avandar, bookkeeper and co-owner of the newly successful—and one might even say increasingly prestigious—Dragon Diner, grunted when her shoe landed in a puddle.

Mud spattered up and hit her cheek and lips.

Meanwhile, rain dripped from the branches stretching over the park path and splatted onto the short black hair plastered to her head.

A cold rivulet of water trickled down the back of her neck, and she squirmed in her tunic.

Why did her cursed hood keep falling around her shoulders?

“Remind me why… I’m exercising so faithfully… when I’ve retired… from being a mercenary,” Rylana said to her jogging companion, slowing her pace so she could catch her breath.

“You’ve recently discovered the scones at the bakery,” Sylin said.

The former elven assassin was never out of breath or noticeably bothered by rain, heat, snow or anything else.

“And you already knew about the little cookies that the coffee-shop owners serve with their drinks. If you let it, city life and working at a desk will make you soft and flabby.”

“It’s all right for bookkeepers to be a little soft.”

Rylana did, however, object to the notion of flabbiness. That sounded unappealing. The thought made her jog more quickly as they started their third—or maybe it was their thirtieth—loop around the park.

“Don’t you want to keep your feminine attributes fit and appealing for your sexy dragon?

” Sylin’s sapphire-blue eyes twinkled from within the depths of her hood.

Funny how she never had trouble keeping her clothing in its proper place.

Maybe her pointed ears helped secure hoods.

And mud would never dare spatter and mar the beauty of an elf.

“Jildarin isn’t aware of my feminine attributes.

He spent three minutes this morning carefully probing and studying stalks of rhubarb to determine if they were acceptable for a compote he plans to pair with tonight’s chicken, so he’s not unobservant.

He’s just… not interested. Which is fine.

” Rylana waved a dismissive hand. “I’m still getting over Maverick, and I’m busy with all the work that this new career entails.

Besides, since he’s a dragon, any kind of relationship would be challenging, especially since his mother and aunt want him to mate with one—or many—of his own kind.

It’s ridiculous that they think I’m a distraction from that goal and that they should kill me if at all possible. ”

Sylin eyed her sidelong, a reminder that she hadn’t asked for those details and probably didn’t care. She’d only intended to tease Rylana.

“For many reasons, it would be wise for me to keep my distance from him,” Rylana said to finish as she wiped water out of her eyes.

“Is it hard to keep your distance when your office is across from his kitchen and while sleeping in the corner of the storeroom that he claims as his lair?”

“We’ve still got the crates stacked between us. Besides, he usually sleeps as a dragon, not shape-shifted into his human form, and dragon bodies don’t put thoughts of distance-closing into my mind. Fangs, talons, and scales rarely inspire randiness in me.”

“Certainly not scales.” Sylin pointed out two cloaked figures with bows lurking at the entrance of the park.

Tranquility knots tied the weapons—and the arrows in their quivers—but that didn’t mean the archers couldn’t untie them if they were motivated.

Sylin elbowed Rylana and turned to jog down a path away from the cloaked figures.

“The poor weather isn’t keeping the elves in their enclave. ”

Yes, the local elves were determined to hunt Sylin down to make sure she wouldn’t threaten their queen, who was supposed to arrive in Tranquility any day.

Sylin reached over and tugged Rylana’s soggy hood up to better hide her face. The elves knew Rylana spent time with Sylin and had, more than once, tried to draw her aside for questioning.

“It would be wiser for us to exercise outside the city boundaries,” Sylin said.

“It would be wiser for you to do so. I promised Jildarin I wouldn’t go out there where I could be an easy target for his cranky female relatives.

” Rylana waved toward a magical pillar in the center of the park, one of many in Tranquility.

Though it stood innocuously in the rain, it could easily flare to life to defend the city against threats, including dragons flying about in their native forms.

“I’m not sure whether it’s worse to have dragons or elves after you,” Sylin said. “My people are subtler in the ways they threaten you, but their methods are unpleasant and can result in the same end.”

“Death by incineration?”

“Death by you mysteriously disappearing from the city, never to be seen again.”

“Despite their ongoing threat, you’re still here.” This time, Rylana issued the sidelong look.

Not long ago, Sylin had admitted that she’d packed up and departed Tranquility, intending to travel into the mountains where she wouldn’t encounter anyone who knew about her and her past career, but she’d gotten used to having people around and had found the road unpleasantly lonely.

That confession had represented a rare moment of vulnerability from the hardened assassin, and Rylana didn’t know if Sylin would bring it up again.

“I like a challenge,” was all Sylin said and picked up her pace as the path ascended steeply toward Pious Peak in the center of the park.

Her legs growing heavy, Rylana considered waiting at the bottom. But, from the elevated point, they would be able to see all the park entrances to discover if elves waited at any others. She made herself keep up with her comrade.

“Regardless,” Sylin continued, as if she’d expected all along that Rylana would follow her, “I refuse to let snobby elves scare me away from the life I want to live.”

“One that involves visiting the coffee shop on Acorn Street multiple times a day?”

“I heard from the owners that they’re expecting a shipment of rare and exotic beans. They were coy and wouldn’t tell me specifics.”

“So, you’ll have to stay in town to find out what coffee they’ve ordered to delight your palate?”

“Precisely.”

“If you really want to flaunt your existence to the local elves, you could come to the aerial ball with us tomorrow night,” Rylana said.

“I believe all members of the Windsong Traveling Troupe have pointed ears, so I’m sure elven guards will be around to ensure nothing troublesome happens at the opening show. ”

“You didn’t reserve a ticket for me.”

“Because it would be suicidal for you to go. Though I did get the feeling that the ballerina, Layothlee, was looking for you and specifically wants you to attend.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“According to Jildarin’s brother, Zilek, she’s a relative of the queen. He may not be the most reliable resource though. Anyway, Layothlee seemed friendly and wasn’t overly snooty when I spoke with her.”

“I believe it’s possible for people with important relatives to refrain from snoot. You were raised in a pompous castle by a shipping magnate, and you’re unpretentious.”

Rylana wiped more mud from her cheek. “I’m delighted that you think so. The family castle isn’t as pompous now that we know there’s a troll temple under the library.”

“Does that negatively affect property values?”

“Unless you want to sell to a troll clan.”

They’d reached the top of the peak and had it to themselves, no walkers sitting on the wet wooden benches that looked over the city and Luminous Lake.

“Our discussion reminds me that I need to visit Tranklin’s Fine Gowns and Tailoring to buy a dress for the event tomorrow. Or at least something less…” Rylana waved at her damp trousers, shoes, and tunic. They were nearly as sodden as the cloak that was supposed to be keeping her dry. “Soldierly.”

She resisted calling her wardrobe mannish, the term that Vernest Vormalt had used for both her clothes and her short hair.

When she’d heard the peacekeepers had caught up to him and were detaining him indefinitely for having unleashed the troll gods’ curse on the city, the news hadn’t distressed her overmuch.

“Dresses aren’t practical for sneaking into secure compounds or engaging in battle,” Sylin said.

“Neither of which I plan to do at the elven ballet. I’m expecting nothing but elegance, sophistication, and an utter lack of conflict.”

“It sounds boring.”

“Perfect for an evening off after a busy day at the diner. And a busy week. Our increased popularity, thanks to Jildarin winning the Golden Whisk, has kept the place bustling. Oh, you might want to stay away today. The elven plant master is coming to show us design options and start preparations on the new rooftop seating area.”

“Your life has changed a lot since our mercenary days,” Sylin said, her gaze toward the low gray clouds hanging over the lake.

A thick mist prevented Rylana from seeing to the estates on the far side, and the fishing boats and merchant ships coming and going were barely visible. Even so, Sylin looked intently toward the water, as if she could detect something out there.

“I did come to Tranquility hoping for a more sedate and restful life. I would like to think that my new work—bringing culinary satisfaction to diners while providing a convivial atmosphere—makes up for some of the carnage I helped bring about during the war.” Rylana made a gesture to mimic loosing an arrow from her bow.

“Creating a pleasurable dining experience improves people’s lives rather than destroying them. ”

“Uh-huh. Are you and your dragon still arguing about whether the pergola should be made from lumber or living trees?”

“We’re going to let the plant master decide.” Rylana wiped more water from her face. At least the rain was letting up. “I will admit this isn’t exactly what I thought I’d be doing when I returned to Tranquility. I’ve been enjoying the work and the many challenges, but…”

She waited for Sylin to prompt her to continue, but her comrade’s gaze remained toward the water, a slight frown on her lips. That was all right. Rylana didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence anyway.

“I guess I’m wondering if I’m succeeding at… I don’t know.” Rylana shrugged. “Act Two of my life. When we left the south, all I knew was that I wanted to put the war and being a mercenary behind me and do something else, something more meaningful.”

“More meaningful than helping a dragon fix what was a failing diner?”

“That is important, especially for Jildarin, and I’ve come to care about him and want to see him succeed, but I can’t help but feel I’m… living someone else’s dream.”

“Dragons are large. They and their personalities—and their dreams—take up a lot of space in a cave and can subsume all else that’s nearby.”

“Yeah.” Had Rylana allowed herself to be subsumed? And, if so, did she mind? “I’m just…”

“You’ll have to decide if helping Jildarin is what you’re meant to do. I’m your running partner, not your therapist.” Sylin pointed toward the center of the lake.

“What is that?” Rylana asked, finally seeing what Sylin must have detected earlier.

A great green watercraft that looked like a floating island with masts and sails—and were those living trees?—was drifting out of the mist toward the docks.

“The elf queen has arrived,” Sylin said with certainty.

“You’d better find a bush to hide under.”

“I will.” Sylin headed not for the path down from the peak but toward the steep shrub-covered slope on the far side.

“One not adjacent to your coffee shop.”

Sylin cast her an anguished look before pulling her hood lower over her eyes and disappearing from view.

Logically, the arrival of elven royalty shouldn’t have any impact on Rylana’s life, but she had a feeling it would. Possibly not for the better.

Grimacing, she headed back to the diner.