Chapter 16 #2
“I’m not sure, but I am a partner in the diner now.
That suggests a degree of commitment.” It wasn’t until she said the words out loud that Rylana realized she did intend to stay.
Even if her relationship with her various family members wasn’t quite what she’d hoped, she’d already come to care for Jildarin and the staff at the diner.
And Mya. And Brella and Tezilly. True, they hadn’t engaged in a lot of deep and revealing conversations, but it was hard not to feel affection for someone who delivered deliciously addictive lattes every day.
Somewhere between arriving in Tranquility and believing she and everything here had changed and having the diner invaded by goblin children, Rylana had come to feel this was home again.
“True,” Sylin said as they walked under the archway of the busy marketplace. “I doubt your dragon would let you go, regardless. He bought you a bedroom set. He must believe you’re his now.”
“I’m less bothered by being claimed by a dragon than I should be.”
“I assumed. Even a goblin child can see that you’re smitten.” Sylin turned down the aisle they’d been in when the female dragons had appeared—and the horn had glowed.
“I doubt smitten is the word Rolf used to his wife.”
“No, goblins apparently mate based on zerg stick size.”
“I’m sure Rolf doesn’t know anything about that part of Jildarin.”
“I suppose it depends how often he looks in that direction. Goblins are at a height about even to that particular area on a human male.”
“I’m positive Rolf doesn’t spend a lot of time looking at Jildarin’s crotch.” Rylana spotted the plant shop and weaved past wagons and shoppers carrying baskets, not eager to continue a discussion on this topic.
Fortunately, Sylin dropped the subject. She was alternately glancing at the horn and peering past plucked chickens, crates of fresh fish and eels, woven glass bowls and plates, and other offerings.
When they reached the plant shop, with rows and rows of small pots offering starts of lavender, rosemary, orcbane, and countless other herbs, Rylana stopped and pointed the horn around.
It had been dangling quiescent on her chest. When she touched it, there wasn’t any hint of warmth.
“Well, maybe the dwarven king will tell me what you do before reclaiming you,” she said to it.
“King?” Sylin asked.
“He’s coming to the diner soon.” As Rylana walked through plant-filled aisles, hoping the horn would react to something, she summed up the morning visit.
“Is that why your dragon was muttering phrases in Dwarven when I looked in?”
“I think that’s how he puts himself in the right frame of mind for a project. He gets excited by a new culinary challenge.”
“He’s an interesting dragon.”
“An amazing dragon.”
Sylin gave her a knowing look but did not mention zerg sticks again.
Thankfully. Instead, having explored all the aisles in the plant shop, she led the way to an alchemy tent.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of beakers, vials, tins, and twists of dried herbs were available, filling the air with myriad exotic scents.
Unlike with culinary herbs, the latter were more pungent and unappealing than enticing, at least to Rylana’s nose.
The labels were sparse to nonexistent, so she could only guess at the purposes of the various items.
An aged troll female watching them didn’t volunteer any information. She looked like an older version of the shaman who’d come out to Lucky Island to bless the sacred bread the night of the offering.
“It’s glowing,” Sylin said.
Rylana looked down in surprise and touched the horn. It was not only warm to her fingers but so much so that she could feel its heat through her clothing.
“It’s not a plant that sets it off, then.” Sylin scratched her jaw. “An alchemical concoction?”
“There weren’t any of those on the terrace garden,” Rylana said.
“Are you sure? One of the elven traitors may have flung a potion at us during the chaos. With so many people on your rooftop, it was hard to see everything going on.”
“Many of my formulas are plant-based,” the troll female said in an aged voice. “The natural world is at the base of all that may be made with magic.”
“Any idea what might set off an antique dwarven hunting horn?” Rylana asked her, daunted by the number of substances nearby. Any of hundreds of vials could have been causing the reaction.
The female squinted at the artifact, and Rylana felt an itching sensation. Was the alchemist using some magic to investigate it? Or to investigate her?
“That is not welcome in my shop.” The troll pointed toward the exit. “Leave.”
“Leave?” Rylana asked. “I could be a buyer. I’m in the need of— Er, is that purple beaker smoking?”
“Take that horn and leave. It is not welcome.”
“Why not? Can you tell what it does?”
The troll reached into a basket and grasped a vial of gray powder. “You will leave. I insist.”
The way she held it up made it look like it could be used as a weapon. Maybe it could. The peacekeepers probably weren’t educated enough on alchemical concoctions to know which substances needed tranquility ribbons tied around them.
Sylin must also have thought it a weapon because she’d crouched, as if ready to dodge the vial if it were thrown. Or maybe she meant to attack the aged troll? That wouldn’t be a good idea. For many reasons.
Rylana touched her arm and nodded toward the aisle out front. “We aren’t troublemakers. We’ll leave.”
“Do not bring that near my shop again,” the troll said coldly.
Rylana waved an acknowledgment.
“We aren’t troublemakers?” Sylin asked as they walked away. “Have you met yourself?”
“Funny. You were the one about to pull a dagger on a seventy-year-old troll lady.”
“Don’t be silly. All I have with me is my utility knife.” Sylin eyed the horn again, but it had stopped glowing.
Rylana touched it and found it had cooled, no warmer than any other piece of ivory. She looked back, wishing she could learn whatever the troll female knew. If she handed the horn to Sylin and returned without it, might the troll speak with her then?
“Visiting Plant Master Chalora could be a good idea,” Sylin said.
“Are you willing to risk going to the enclave, given the mixed reception you’re getting from elves?”
“I meant it might be a good idea for you to go. You’re the one with the horn mystery.”
“Yeah, but visiting Chalora was your idea,” Rylana pointed out, heading toward the back exit of the market and the roads that would take them toward the enclave. “Maybe the elves there today will be delighted to see the queen’s daughter. What an honor.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m honored every moment that you bless me with your aristocratic presence,” Rylana said.
“Even when I mention your dragon’s zerg stick?”
“I might be slightly less honored then.”
Sylin halted abruptly. Rylana tensed and scoured the shoppers and booths on the route ahead, expecting trouble. Then she spotted what—who—Sylin must have seen. And he must have sensed her approach because he swung around and beamed a handsome smile at Sylin.
“Zilek,” she said with a groan.