Chapter 6 #2
Tharla snorted. “Really, Ry. As if your father would ever retire.” She waved dismissively.
“Anyway, it’s a more delicate matter that he wanted me to bring up with you.
It would be nice if you would succumb to his desires and go into the family business so I wouldn’t have to hear about such things or answer questions on such matters.
Though I suppose I can’t blame you entirely.
If your brother had half a brain for business—or just half a brain, in general—Uncle Gavlin wouldn’t have pinned his hopes on you.
He could also deign to train my husband if he weren’t so insistent on a blood relative being his heir and taking over the business one day. ”
The door opened behind Tharla, Vilma returning with bouquets of fresh lavender and roses.
Rylana’s jaw descended. Those had to cost more than Tharla’s coffee order, especially since the shop didn’t overcharge like the ridiculous place she’d mentioned.
With only a glance at their table—or maybe the back of Tharla’s head—Vilma hurried into the kitchen.
“Maybe he’ll get more flexible when he realizes his children aren’t destined to be the heirs he dreamed of all through our youth,” Rylana offered. “And apparently beyond.”
“It depends if you consider it flexible that he sent me to ask if you’ve plans to marry and have babies. He’s concerned you’ll near the end of your fertile years without children.”
Rylana stared at her. “Father brought up my fertile years? And sent you to ask about them?”
She’d never discussed anything related to female reproduction with her father in her life. One time, during her teenage years, she’d had a public accident during her cycle and had mentioned her mortification to him. He’d rushed off and hired a maid to advise her on such matters.
“From what he hinted at,” Tharla said, “I gathered he wonders if you might have offspring with someone smart and entrepreneurial, which could result in grandchildren that he could help educate.”
“So they would take over the family business?”
“Yes. He’s tried to have influence over your brother’s children, but they largely use books to kill spiders. They excel more in hurling balls through sporting apparatuses than anything academic.”
Rylana rubbed her face. “Why doesn’t Father just find someone appropriate who isn’t a blood descendant but who will love and grow his business with the same dedication and reverence he has?”
“Such people exist?”
“They must. Look, even if I were going to have children with someone suitably smart and entrepreneurial…” Were such traits even handed down to one’s offspring?
Her brother hadn’t inherited many attributes that could be described by such words, though she’d always believed that was more a lack of interest than inherent dullness.
“That would be a long-term play for Father. He’s already in his early sixties. ”
“I said the same thing—tactfully, so that he wouldn’t think I was calling him old. He’s assured me that he’ll cling to the mortal realm long enough to provide adequate tutelage.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
Tezilly arrived with Tharla’s drink. “Double-shot, no-foam, vanilla-bean cappuccino with a dusting of crushed lavender and rose petals.” The two cookies perched on the saucer were the smallest Rylana had seen come out of the kitchen, and there wasn’t a design swirled in the top of the drink.
Maybe that was hard to achieve without foam and with flower petals scattered everywhere.
“Goodness,” Tharla said, “I was starting to wonder if you’d chartered a ship to sail to the equator to collect the beans personally for this.”
Tezilly smiled with an impressive lack of teeth baring. “Not quite.”
After delivering the drink, Tezilly went to the chalkboard and wrote lavender-and-rose-petal-dusted latte under the specials. After a thoughtful pause, she added lavender-and-rose-petal sugar cookies. Well, one did need to use up excess ingredients.
Tharla sipped from her drink, and Rylana expected a snide comment, but Tharla’s eyebrows rose, and she smacked her lips.
“This actually isn’t bad. At my other coffee shop, the flower petals are usually dried, but they did crush them.
The aroma is nice.” After another sip, she said, “If you’ve news on the marriage or fertility front, I will, with only a modicum of embarrassment, share it with your father. ”
“I…” Rylana looked out the window, as if a sign from the gods might appear and save her from the conversation—or at least inform her on how to tactfully end it.
Someone with lush dark-green hair was looking in the front window of the diner. The person wore a cloak over a tan dress and athletic footwear. That wasn’t Sylin, but the similar hair made Rylana look again.
“Ry?” her cousin prompted.
The green-haired elf turned and looked at the coffee-shop window, as if she’d sensed Rylana watching. Oh, it was Layothlee. Of course.
“I’m not seeing anyone right now, unless one counts the dragon I share a storeroom with at night.” Rylana delved into her pocket to pay for the drinks, leaving a nice tip.
“A dragon! That strange dragon chef?”
“Yes, but he’s delightful, not strange. Not unpleasantly strange, anyway.
And he’s my business partner. Speaking of that…
” Rylana finished her latte and stood. “I’ve got to go.
A business matter awaits.” She pointed at the diner.
“I’ll let Father know personally if there are any changes to my relationship status. ”
Frowning, Tharla peered through the window. But, with her message delivered, she didn’t try to keep Rylana from leaving.
“Are you here on business, by chance,” Rylana asked when she joined Layothlee outside the diner, “to keep me from being a liar?”
“I could order a plate of the mushrooms. I’ve heard they’re good.
” Layothlee held up an envelope with a wax seal in the shape of a maple leaf.
It wasn’t addressed to anyone. “I came because I was instructed to deliver this to your elven comrade. It contains a ticket for the ballet and is good for any performance during our two-week schedule. I’m skeptical that it will be utilized, given the unabashed aims of the local elves here, but…
” She shrugged and extended the envelope.
“Sylin isn’t in the city anymore.” Rylana didn’t look in the direction of the boutique where she’d last seen her elven comrade.
“That’s for the best, I suppose,” Layothlee said without surprise, “but I would like to meet her. I keep hoping to chance upon her, though I understand why she’s avoiding her own kind right now.”
“It’s a permanent avoidance rather than a temporary one, I believe.
” Rylana didn’t mention that Sylin had hunted down elves when she’d been in the mercenary unit.
It sounded like the local pointy-eared citizens already knew that.
“Though the elves from the Tranquility enclave have given her a lot of reasons to be even more determined than usual about maintaining that policy.”
“That’s what I’ve gathered.”
“Why do you want to meet her?” Rylana couldn’t imagine that Layothlee had even heard about Sylin before arriving in Tranquility. They’d never encountered the elven troupe, at least during all the years Rylana had been a mercenary with Sylin.
Layothlee looked up and down the street, waiting until no passersby were near, before whispering her response. “I think we may be related. Do you know if she was raised as an orphan?”
Rylana gaped. Maybe she should have guessed, since they had the same elegant beauty and dark-green hair—a rare hue among elves—but she hadn’t. It took a moment before she could do anything but stare in surprise.
“According to her,” Rylana said as Layothlee waited patiently for an answer, “she was raised by a wolf pack in a forest somewhere to the south.”
“Oh, really?” Layothlee digested that for a moment. “Maybe that explains her… career choice. And lack of interest in having a relationship with her own kind.”
“I figure it accounts for her love of steaks anyway.”
“It is hard to live on plants and fungi alone without magic and some intensive agroforestry.”
“I doubt the wolves were that into cultivating vegetables and mushrooms.”
“Do you happen to know which southern forest she grew up in?” Layothlee asked.
“She never mentioned it. She can be tightlipped about her past. About many things that don’t fall under the realm of her passions.”
“What is she passionate about?”
Rylana hesitated to give out much information on Sylin.
Even if Layothlee was a relative and didn’t have anything to do with the hunt going on for her, it was also possible this friendliness was a ruse.
Maybe Layothlee wanted to learn more about Sylin and her whereabouts, not because they were relatives but because she also believed Sylin a threat to be dealt with.
“Currently, coffee,” Rylana said, certain the elves already knew about Sylin’s frequent visitation of the shop across the street.
It was a wonder they hadn’t succeeded in catching her yet, but Rylana had long suspected Sylin had some innate elven magic that helped her to remain hidden—and sense people nearby looking for her.
Layothlee chuckled. “Elves more typically prefer tea, but we’ve been known to sample coffee while traveling. Well, if you’ll give this to her the next time you see her, I would appreciate it.” She lifted the envelope again and held it out. “There’s a note inside for her too.”
“From you?” Rylana accepted it. A slight tingle suggested that magic as well as the wax seal ensured it wouldn’t be opened by anyone but the intended recipient.
“From someone.” Layothlee smiled enigmatically.
“Well, you’ve roused my curiosity.”
“I hope it’ll rouse hers as well.” Layothlee waved and strolled off down Acorn Street.