Chapter 2 #3
Rylana took the second half of her scone with her and followed Sylin across the street and up the stairs to the diner’s terrace.
The sun was out, and a few patrons who’d come for lunch lingered at the tables under the branch-based pergola, foliage stirring in a gentle breeze.
The diners’ plates were empty, but they were chatting amiably over chilled tea and a red juice that had to be a new offering.
Maybe Jildarin had also gotten ahold of some alpine strawberries.
“That’s the spot.” Rylana, who couldn’t bring herself to stand back while someone else was zapped, took the horn from Sylin.
A tree grew cheerfully from a pot higher than Rylana’s waist and wider than a nearby table.
It was near the pergola but not one of the four whose trunks created the posts and leaves that provided its shade.
With a more compact, bushy nature, the tree’s branches were densely covered in many-pointed glossy leaves that reminded Rylana of holly.
It smelled slightly of citrus and had trumpet-shaped flowers and orange berries.
The night of the attack, those flowers had spat thorns, aiding the rooftop defenders against the treacherous elves.
With no threats nearby today, they hung quietly, not alertly skyward as they’d been that night.
“The tree emanates as much magic as the horn,” Sylin remarked.
As a sense-dead human, Rylana had to take her word for it, but the thorn-flinging flowers would have informed her of its enchanted nature anyway.
“As I was saying, your whole rooftop emanates magic these days,” Sylin added.
“Is it overwhelming or pleasant?” Rylana stopped beside a table adjacent to the pot. A pair of gnomes were seated there, sipping pink drinks, and watched her curiously.
“The rooftop terrace is wonderful,” one said. “I don’t even like elfy nature stuff, but it’s so relaxing.”
His buddy nodded in agreement.
“It is relaxing up here,” Sylin said.
“That’s good.” Not relaxed in the least and bracing herself for something unpleasant to happen, Rylana dropped the horn into the soil of the pot. She watched warily for several long seconds. Nothing happened.
Rylana crouched and peered at the carvings. Was it possible the ale mugs were illuminated, and it was hard to tell with the sun out? When she’d seen the horn glow before, it had been early in the morning.
“I don’t sense anything to indicate its magic has increased in intensity,” Sylin offered.
Rylana risked poking the horn with her finger. Nothing happened.
“Is that supposed to fertilize the tree?” one of the gnomes asked.
“No, I was hoping the tree would fertilize the horn,” Rylana said.
“I… don’t think nature works like that. Even weird elf nature.”
“It’s not weird,” the gnome who’d praised the rooftop said. “It’s wonderful.”
“You’re just feeling mellow because the goblin put rum in your strawberry juice.”
“That is good.”
“It had better be. It prompted you to give him a ridiculous tip.”
“Rolf may have a new scheme we need to talk to him about,” Rylana muttered, picking up the horn and touching it to the tree branches.
She tapped it against the leaves, then pushed it through them to the trunk. Again, nothing happened. Grumbling, she wandered around the rooftop, touching the horn to every tree and bush she passed, even the moss growing between the slate floor tiles.
“When I suggested this,” Sylin said, “I didn’t mean to start a new hobby for you.”
“I would think elves would approve of copious tree touching.”
“We have a word for that. Drylesnivari. It’s the less platonic version of your word dendrophilia.”
Rylana walked toward the last pot in a corner overlooking the street and gave Sylin the scowl the comment deserved. “I don’t have that much interest in the trees.”
Sylin’s eyes glinted. “If you did, I would suggest you request plant-shaped baked goods from Mya.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Mocking you does delight me.”
“Now, we reveal the real reason you stayed in Tranquility.” Rylana touched the horn to the last bush. Nothing.
In the street below, two male dwarves were peering into the front window of the bakery. Given the information Mya had shared, that made Rylana pause.
“Maybe she’s getting some dwarven customers after all,” she said, though something about the pair made her think they weren’t there for pastries.
Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, red-haired, and wearing unremarkable gray and brown clothing, they wouldn’t have stood out in a group of dwarves, but they were spending a long time peering in the window, and they weren’t pointing at the items on the display.
It looked more like they were checking out people at the tables inside.
One dwarf shook his head, then turned to face the street—and point at the diner.
Rylana crouched low, the railing and descending greenery providing a curtain. She peered between the leaves as the other dwarf also looked toward the diner. Their gazes drifted upward, skimming over Rylana, the leaves camouflaging her, and they spoke quietly to each other.
Rylana only caught a couple of words, but “too much magic” and “can’t tell” were among them.
Sylin came to stand at the railing beside her, not bothering to crouch or do anything to hide herself.
The dwarves looked up at her, and she folded her arms over her chest. They turned back to the bakery, now feigning interest in the goods on display, but, after glancing toward Sylin again, they jogged into the alley between it and the coffee shop.
“Did they seem suspicious to you?” Rylana asked.
“Yes, but there are a lot of suspicious characters on this street.” Sylin pointed at a familiar black carriage parked in front of the coffee shop.
Zilek’s conveyance.
“Yes, the hour of your date approaches,” Rylana said.
“Lucky me. I still sense Jildarin in there with his brother though.”
“He said he was asking Zilek for advice. Should we be concerned?”
“I would be.”