Chapter 17
The rain started again during the dinner hour, making Rylana wonder if the elves would indeed finish the rooftop terrace in time for a gathering the following night.
And, if so, would Jildarin be able to convince the queen to visit?
Normally, Rylana wouldn’t care one way or another about that, other than wanting Jildarin to succeed at his quest, but if the coffee sampling happened to lure Sylin to visit while the queen was dining, and they could speak…
Maybe Rylana shouldn’t interfere in her friend’s life, but she couldn’t help but feel Sylin might regret it later if she brushed off this attempt by her family—by her mother—to connect with her.
Maybe because Rylana had lost her own mother at a young age, and had always felt that hole in her life, she wanted others to have what she didn’t. At least when it came to her friends.
Focused on cooking, Jildarin spoke little when Rylana passed through the kitchen, depositing dirty dishes and picking up his artful—and sumptuous—plates to serve. But when the patrons had all left and she was closing out the books for the day, he leaned into the office.
“I will take my native form to hunt tonight,” he said.
Since he hadn’t departed to do that after dark before, Rylana looked at him in surprise. “Are you craving some tasty nocturnal prey?”
Jildarin hesitated. “Dragons do enjoy moon wanderers and giant horned frogs.” He spread his arms to indicate how giant those frogs could be.
“All right.” Rylana didn’t think he was being entirely honest, but if he wanted to head out, she wouldn’t pry.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d decided to give in to his family’s pressure and fly off for a mating session with a female dragon, but that wasn’t any of her business.
“Be careful if you’re hunting with your brother,” she did say with a smile.
Jildarin snorted. “I am not. I simply need to fly.” He tilted his head and considered her for a moment. “And think.”
Something about his expression made Rylana want to ask, About me? But, not sure she wanted to know, she didn’t.
“Enjoy the night,” was all she said. “Hopefully, the rain has stopped.”
“It has.” He brightened. “It’s clearing nicely. The morning will be excellent foraging weather.”
“I hope so. It would be a shame if the elven queen departed without tasting your take on enchanted morels.”
“Intolerable,” he said and turned into the hall. His voice floated back as he added, “I will complete this quest and earn her patronage—and the right to place her name on the plaque.”
That plaque no longer sounded theoretical, and Rylana wondered if he’d crafted it. Perhaps by burning dragons into the wood.
After he departed, she worked a while longer before finishing up and turning off the lamps. She touched a finger to one of the wall sconces, its thin wooden shade burned with the same dragon figure that Jildarin had placed on the door—and the chalkboard at the coffee shop.
The thought of going to bed—to her blanket on the floor in the storeroom—alone strangely saddened her.
It wasn’t as if Jildarin spoke to her at night.
But he was always there. Usually in his powerful dragon form but sometimes, especially lately, changing into human form during the night.
She remembered him admitting to waking with dawn trees and hoped that wasn’t the reason he’d left tonight, to sleep somewhere else and not be betrayed by his body because of her presence.
Maybe, after the terrace was open and the queen had departed, and life at the diner had settled down, Rylana would look for lodging elsewhere.
Even though Jildarin had offered to let her fix up a space in the storeroom, she hated to disturb him.
A dragon ought to be able to sleep comfortably in his own lair.
Before heading to bed, she peered out the window toward the coffee shop, wondering if Sylin might be in the area.
Thanks to the rain soaking everything, she probably wasn’t that tempted by rooftop beverage-drinking.
The shop had closed its doors and shutters and cut out all its lanterns anyway.
But… was that the tiniest hint of candlelight visible through the slats in the shuttered attic window of the bakery?
Rylana hesitated, knowing Sylin would have come over if she’d wanted to talk, but curiosity prompted her across the street anyway.
Thanks to the late hour and dampness, it was empty, not a single pedestrian or wagon in sight.
The night was quiet as well, only the trickle of water running into the storm drains audible.
Not surprisingly, the front door of the bakery was locked, the lights downstairs extinguished, but when Rylana passed through the alley to the back, she found the entrance unlocked. Because Mya had forgotten to secure it? Or because a certain assassin had picked the lock and entered that way?
Rylana let herself in and felt her way to the narrow stairs that led up to the attic. The trapdoor in the ceiling was open, a hint of candlelight visible.
“Sylin?” she called softly before presuming to climb up. A wise person didn’t ascend unannounced into the camp of an assassin.
“Are there any elves with you?” came the wary reply from above.
“No. I’m bereft of even dragon companionship tonight.” Rylana climbed the stairs.
“Did you two have a fight?”
“No, but I think my jasmine-and-rose-hip shampoo may have driven him to escape into the woods.”
“Humans do rub strange scents all over their bodies.”
Rylana didn’t point out that she thought Jildarin might find it appealing not strange. Once in the attic, she joined Sylin on the wooden floor where she sat cross-legged near a bookcase. An open tome rested in her lap, diagrams visible. Or maybe those were genealogical trees?
“A little light reading to help you sleep well?” Rylana sat across from her.
Sylin made a sour face, but she closed the book and held it up to reveal the title.
“Two Thousand years of the Elven Royal Family and Their Positions in Court. Sounds scintillating. Did Mya have that in her bookcase?” That would be a strange title for a dwarven baker to pick up.
“I got it from the university library.”
“Because you’re curious? Oh,” Rylana added, an idea coming to her. “Are you looking for yourself? For a mention of young Sylinesla?”
Sylin’s expression grew even more sour, as if she were sucking on a lemon. Or maybe, since she’d grown up in the evergreen forests of the Skyfang Mountains, sea buckthorn or gooseberries would have been a more apt sour find.
“How old is the book?” Rylana asked.
“Old enough that the queen’s offspring aren’t mentioned.”
“Isn’t mentioned. She apparently only had the one.” Rylana raised her eyebrows, assuming Layothlee had told Sylin what Fareesa had told Rylana.
Sylin scowled. She was displaying a lot more emotion than usual. Maybe that was a testament to how much the situation had rattled her.
Rylana didn’t know whether to try to draw Sylin out to share her feelings or to shut up and let her volunteer them—or not—as she wished. The latter would probably be wise.
Still, Rylana caught herself asking, “Is Queen Fareesa in there?”
“Yes.” Sylin opened the book to a page she’d marked.
It looked more like a bibliography than a family tree.
“Apparently, in her younger days, she wrote two books on etiquette and one on the art of diplomacy with dragons, wyverns, minokawa, bugbears, werewolves, and other dangerous intelligent beings.”
“Does the diplomacy go beyond hurling haunches of meat to them and running away?” That was how Rylana would deal with a bugbear, wyvern, or werewolf.
“If she wrote an entire book on the subject, one would imagine so.” Sylin closed the tome and gazed at a lantern on the floor.
“You might find it illuminating to visit the elven court, instead of only reading about it,” Rylana suggested. “So you could talk to actual elves.”
“My experiences with actual elves haven’t led me to want to chat with them.”
“Well, I’d avoid the ones from that ambitious family—the Shaldonas, wasn’t it?—but your own relatives might be all right. Layothlee wasn’t sure what to make of you but didn’t seem to have an aversion to you, and you know the queen wants to see you…”
“You spoke with her afterward? Layothlee?”
“Oh, yes. I chat up elves regularly now. Captain Tassani wants me to go out for coffee with him.”
“Don’t bring him to my coffee shop. His elves already loiter around this area far too frequently.”
Rylana didn’t mention that they were loitering here because Sylin loitered here. “Jildarin suggested that if I must go on a date with Tassani, we should have it at the diner, so he can keep an eye on things.”
“He wants to watch your date with another man?”
“He says he doesn’t trust Tassani, which is probably fair. The captain was among those who originally wanted to interrogate me about you.”
“I wouldn’t trust him either.”
“I’m undecided yet on whether I do or not.”
“Will it depend on if he’s a good kisser?”
“It might.” Rylana pointed at the book. “Do you want me to leave you alone to read in peace? Or try to help you with research?”
There were a few other books stacked on the floor that Sylin had presumably also checked out from the library.
“If Jildarin returns,” Sylin said, “he’ll miss you terribly if he finds you gone.”
“Is that your way of deflecting the topic of conversation from you to me?”
“Usually. I don’t need help researching, but…” Sylin dropped her hands onto the book in her lap and gazed down at them.
“You don’t want to be alone?”
“I don’t entirely mind your presence here.”
“Your heartfelt invitation to stay warms my heart.”
“It’s more than I’ve given the elves.”
“True. I am honored.”
Sylin set aside the book, wincing as she did so. After releasing it, she rotated her arm.
“Training accident?” Rylana guessed.
Sylin pushed aside her shirt to reveal a crooked bandage, blood seeping through, and Rylana stared.