“Never trust a writer who doesn’t have too many books to read. Or a reader, for that matter,” said Zelia. She approached the desk, shuffling through papers and knickknacks until she produced a quill and inkwell. With some resignation, she said, “So, I assume you’ve got something you’d like signed?”
Fern nudged Viv in the leg, and she started, remembering the basket hanging over her arm. “Oh! Oh, no. Uh, I—we—had a sort of proposal. Actually, I guess it’s a favor? Well, also it would probably be good for—” She realized she was rambling and thrust the basket out instead. “You know what, let me start over. We brought a gift.”
Zelia shrugged at Berk, who gently disengaged his feet from Potroast and cleared a space on a side table. Viv set the basket down and flipped back the muslin. “My, uh, good friend Maylee owns the bakery on the beach. She packed up a few things for you.”
“Sea-Song?” The first note of real interest entered Zelia’s voice.
“Oh, you know it?” Viv asked.
The elf peered with interest into the basket, which was stuffed with scones, lassy buns, and long, gleaming sticky cakes wrapped in paper that smelled strongly of lemon.
Berk laughed, a deep, easy sound. He clapped Viv on theshoulder. “If I’d known that basket was from Sea-Song, I would’ve sent you straight in.”
Plucking a lassy bun from the assortment, Zelia withdrew to her throne of squashy pillows and gestured to two book-stacked chairs opposite her desk. She broke off a large piece, popped it into her mouth, and chewed with obvious pleasure.
As Viv and Fern cleared their seats, the elf swallowed and said, “All right, you’ve earned a few minutes. You’re the owner, aren’t you?” she inquired, tilting the bun toward Fern. “Your father opened that shop, if I recall. An ‘R’ name, I believe… Rowan?”
“Uh, yes, ma’am.”
Zelia flashed Berk an amused expression. “I thought you told me they called me ‘miss’?”
Berk looked up from where he was rubbing the gryphet’s belly and offered a vague shrug.
“And you…” Zelia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at Viv. “You, I don’t believe I know. I haven’t puzzled out what you’re doing in her company yet. Those aren’t bookselling arms.”
“Oh, I’m just around for a few weeks. A friend of Fern’s, I guess. Helping out here and there. Which is what I wanted to talk to—”
“Actually,” said Zelia, a sly smile spreading across her lips, “Idoknow you. You’re that orc who was dragged into town a few weeks back. Highlark is lucky he made it out alive.”
“Um, yeah,” said Viv, face flushing hot and honestly feeling a little persecuted. “Yeah, thatwasme, but I feltrealbad about it. I wasn’t in my right mind at the time, because of the fever, and—”
Fern put her face in her paws.
Zelia burst into full-throated laughter and slapped the arm ofher chair. Wiping away a tear, she rolled a hand at them. “All right, I’m more intrigued by the moment. If nothing else, I’ll work this all into a book. Do go on. Your proposal?”
Viv decided she’d better bull ahead as fast as possible if she was going to get anywhere. “We’ve done a lot of work on the bookshop and wanted to see if you would come and visit when Fern reopens.”
“Visit?” The elf frowned. “You want me to shop there?”
“Oh, no! No, we want people tomeetyou. People who love your books.”
Zelia studied Viv. “My dear, why do you imagine I live this far out of the city?”
Viv knew the answer the elf wanted but took a gamble, and said, “Because you inherited a lot of money and a huge estate in the country?”
Fern gasped and slowly turned her head to stare at Viv with huge, disbelieving eyes.
Greatstrider considered her, mouth drawn into a thin line, until it slowly curved back into that sly smile. “You’re an interesting person, Viv.”
“I think that’s the first time anybody has ever said that to me.”
“Sometimes, it’s even a compliment,” said Zelia, and took a satisfied bite of her bun.
“What is happening?” asked Fern helplessly.
Berk patted the rattkin gently on the shoulder, Potroast purring in his other arm. “It means she’ll come.”
The satchel at Viv’s side rustled in anticipation.
