Chapter 14
Their elven escort walked to either side of Rylana and Jildarin. Hemming them in, she couldn’t help but think. Jildarin didn’t appear alarmed in the least. Of course not. They didn’t want to question him.
On the way, the group passed through Boxwood Park, a sprawling grassy area interspersed with deciduous trees, their branches laden with blossoming white and pink flowers.
On the far end, a stand of evergreens surrounded a pond, and two teams of uniformed peacekeepers navigated among ferns and logs, excited hounds on leashes leading them.
One bayed, as if it had treed a raccoon, but its handler bent to pat around the fungus-studded base of a log and withdrew something from a hollow.
A bracelet? Made from silver and probably laced with magic, it gleamed in the sunlight.
“Good find,” the gnome crooned to his dog.
“That’s a pretty one,” another nearby gnome said, “but it’s not on our list. It’ll go to the lost-and-found.”
“It’ll go to my wife’s wrist if nobody claims it in two weeks.” The dog handler winked and patted his hound.
More baying came from deeper in the copse.
“One day, maybe the pixies will think to hide their stolen treasures beyond the borders of the city,” Rylana said, having seen similar scenarios in her youth. The special peacekeeper unit of canine handlers with their four-legged log inspectors had existed in Tranquility for centuries.
“There are some people who hunt pixies because of their mischievous ways,” one of their escorts said, coolly side-eyeing her, as if she might fall into that category.
“Even though they are themselves good at hiding, it is not safe for them beyond the borders. Many pixies find refuge in these parks.”
“They wouldn’t need refuge if they weren’t always stealing shiny objects.”
The elf waved in dismissal. “It is their nature.”
Doubting the pixies respected the borders of their enclave, Rylana wondered how the elves dealt with thefts, but its entry arch had come into view toward the end of the park, so she didn’t ask.
That great arch, softly glowing as if lit from within by a silvery moon, rose more than twenty feet and was almost as wide.
Two elven warriors stood within it to either side of a path that transitioned from gravel in the park to smooth white river rocks that also glowed faintly with moonlight.
The warriors wore tan leathers and green cloaks as well as swords and bows.
With a start, Rylana realized their weapons weren’t secured by tranquility knots.
“Your people are allowed to use their weapons within the city limits?” she asked.
Despite Sylin’s suggestion that she wouldn’t be physically tortured, Rylana envisioned elves with faces chiseled from ice wielding sadistic serrated tools while she lay strapped helplessly on a bloodstained slab.
“Within the borders of the enclave, we may do as we wish,” one elf said.
“Our kind have a diplomatic understanding with the gnomes,” the other said.
“Meaning you’re special.” Rylana knew some of the other intelligent species had portions of the city where predominately their kind lived, but none of them had enclaves or guards to keep others out.
“Centuries ago, we were specifically invited to come and lend our magic to the establishment and enrichment of Tranquility. Unlike the other two-legged species that showed up opportunistically. Half of the early inhabitants were criminals fleeing the wrath of law enforcers from their own lands.” The elf curled a derisive lip.
“To draw our kind here, dispensations were offered.”
“So you are special.”
“No more so than your dragon ally who may also employ his weapons—his fangs, talons, and fire magic—while in his lair.” The elf nodded politely toward Jildarin, though he was gazing skyward, lost in thought. Musing on culinary troll-god offerings, perhaps.
“All he gets is permission to sleep in his native form in his own lair,” Rylana said. “Which doesn’t extend past the storeroom of his diner. It’s not hundreds of acres in the middle of the city.”
“The enclave is a mere two hundred acres, and there are many of our kind living within it. A solitary dragon does not need much space.”
Jildarin twitched an eyebrow at that, proving he was listening.
They’d reached the arch—and the armed guards—so Rylana didn’t continue the conversation. The two males nodded at Jildarin, as if he was always welcome in, at the same time as they held their palms up toward Rylana.
“This is the one who knows the assassin and possibly her whereabouts,” their escort explained.
“She will finally be questioned?” one guard asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Very well.”
The guards stepped aside so the group could enter. Rylana grimaced, not liking that all the elves here seemed to know about her and Sylin. What had either of them done since they’d arrived in Tranquility to warrant such scrutiny?
Once they passed through the arch, the noises of the gonging pillars stopped.
All the city noises stopped as a whisper of magic ran over Rylana’s skin.
In the enclave, birdsong filled the background, as well as musical laughter from a group of male and female elves in a nearby meadow.
They were practicing throwing each other into the air, doing somersaults and rolls, and landing with twirling flourishes.
Elsewhere, something like a harp played, notes floating across the meandering paths and through copses of trees, some ancient and broad enough to have homes built into and around their trunks.
In the rest of Tranquility, most of the trees had been logged, except for in parks and select greenbelts, but, here, many towered hundreds of feet high.
Layers of platforms and decks had been built around some, supporting more buildings—dwellings or communal areas.
“You have never visited this place?” Jildarin asked, watching her face.
“I’ve never been invited, no. I don’t think there were guards at the arch in my youth, but the elves always discouraged people from wandering in.” Rylana supposed dragons weren’t discouraged, but there hadn’t been any of them around in her younger years, so she didn’t know.
“One of our elders approaches,” the elf closest to her said, pointing at a stately female in a lacy white gown that flowed to her sandaled feet. Silver-haired, with streaks of pale blue in her jaw-length locks, she walked with a gnarled staff, a diamond tip glowing a faint green.
“I don’t suppose she’s a senior librarian?” Rylana couldn’t guess the female elf’s age but didn’t think she was old enough to have lived since the establishment of the city and the enclave.
“Lady Hythia is a scholar and is familiar with our repositories of knowledge.”
The escort elves bowed as the elder approached. Hythia’s gaze skimmed over Rylana before settling on Jildarin.
“It is good to meet you in person, Lord Jildarin-grozanarav,” she said, “and may I congratulate you on your victory in the Golden Whisk? We’d hoped our own chef, Mistress Evelisa, would garner the most votes, but it is no disgrace to lose to a dragon.
I’m most fascinated by your choice to retire from your military career to take up cooking. ”
“It is a more recent interest of mine. This is my new bookkeeper and partner in the diner, Rylana.”
Hythia’s gaze returned to Rylana, and she mouthed a surprised, “Oh,” after he said partner.
“Rylana Avandar,” she said, though she doubted the elves would be impressed by her family name.
Their kind didn’t ship a lot of cargo around the world, at least not by lines controlled by humans.
“We’re hoping to dig here for historical knowledge to learn what might appease the troll gods so that they’ll lift whatever curse they’ve placed on the city. ”
“That… is your duty as a bookkeeper?”
“It’s affecting business at the diner. People don’t go out to eat when they’re worried about curses.”
Skepticism laced the gaze Hythia continued to level at Rylana. “Lord Jildarin-grozanarav, may I speak with you privately?”
“Yes.” Jildarin walked off with her, leaving Rylana on the path with the two elves.
The way they eyed her made her think they were debating if they could steal her away for a quick interrogation.
The guards at the arch were also looking at her instead of out toward the park and the city.
Rylana was glad Hythia didn’t take Jildarin out of view, simply stopping beyond earshot.
The elder kept looking suspiciously back as they spoke, and her gestures suggested Rylana was the topic of the conversation.
She probably wouldn’t offer to take them to their library anytime soon.
Rylana sighed, wondering how much of their disdain was because she’d fought their kind during the war and how much because she’d shown up in the city with Sylin. Before arriving in Tranquility, Rylana hadn’t realized how much Sylin’s people had taken note of her and considered her an enemy.
“Hello?” a female elf asked from the side of the path.
She’d approached from the direction of the acrobats or whatever they were.
With forest-green hair similar in hue to Sylin’s, she had striking sapphire eyes in a beautiful face, and her enigmatic smile was warm rather than suspicious.
Dressed in fitted garments suitable for somersaults and leaping about, she had an athletic build that remained feminine enough to attract male gazes.
Not sure if the elf addressed her or her escort, Rylana touched her chest and lifted her eyebrows.
“Yes, hello.” The female elf smiled. “I’m Layothlee of the Windsong Traveling Troupe.” She gestured to the still-practicing elves, some of whom were leaping and gliding between tree branches now, magic keeping gravity from affecting them to the extent it would most people.