“As you pointed out, all the coffee you consumed compelled eagerness.”
“True. I’d also hoped for adventure.”
“It’s possible we’ll find that.”
“This area looks sedate.” Sylin eyed the ritzy estates as the ferry docked, crewmen tying it up with ropes. Someone waved for the pedestrians to disembark before the wagons and carriages. “There probably aren’t armed elves strolling about, looking for me.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a positive or a negative for you.”
“Well, if said elvesfoundme, they would be easier to deal with over here, where there aren’t peacekeepers swarming the roads like ants assailing a fallen cookie.”
“Tranquility’s laws are enforced all along the waterfront over here too.” As they walked off the ferry, Rylana pointed to a pillar half-hidden by tree leaves.
“Ah. I may not be able to stay long-term in this city.”
“Because of the enforced peace?”
“It’s kind of boring, isn’t it?”
“Maybe you could take up a new hobby. Do you want me to ask if Jildarin accepts apprentices?” Rylana led the way up the road, walking to the side to avoid the wagons and carriages heading inland from the ferry. At the top of the bluff, the road branched to travel north and south along the lake, or one could continue inland toward the mountains.
“I do not,” Sylin said. “And is he evenqualifiedto have an apprentice?”
“The flavors I’ve tasted thus far assure me that he is.”
“How did a dragon learn to cook? Don’t most of them eat the raw meat of whatever animal they killed two minutes earlier? That’s what I’ve observed when I’ve seen them hunting in the wild.”
“I’m not sure where he learned.” Rylana turned down the road that would lead to Yerin’s estate—and also past her family’s land. A horse-drawn carriage clopped by, one of several heading in the same direction. Rylana eyed the route ahead warily, having noidea what she would say if she ran into her father or any neighbors who remembered and recognized her.
Orwouldanyone look twice at her? It had been so long, and she’d had long hair when she’d left. Even people who’d known her as a girl might not recognize her at first glance.
Sylin followed her gaze to the castle in the middle of the grassy lawn, a low stone wall with wrought-iron bars on top of it providing separation from the road and the properties to either side. A weathered copper plaque identifying the property as AVANDAR MANOR was mounted by the gate, the patina more advanced than when she’d left.
Rylana spotted someone walking between the castle and a wooden stable and veered to the far side of the road. It wasn’t anyone she recognized, but she didn’t want to be seen. One day, if she remained in Tranquility, she would visit her father and brother, to say hello and ask them how they were doing, but she dreaded the idea. She would have to explain the decisions she’d made what seemed like a lifetime ago. Assuming they cared enough to ask about her decisions. Her father might still be disappointed that she hadn’t, after all the money he’d spent on tutors for her, gone into the family business. That had probably offended him more than the fact that she had departed without leaving more than a terse letter. She hoped things were going well and that her brother hadn’t also disappointed him.
“That’s your castle?” Sylin asked, no doubt having read the sign.
“It’s where I grew up, yes. I don’t claim any ownership of it.”
“It’s even more grandiose and pompous than I imagined.”
“Castles can’t be pompous.”
“Please. That place oozes pomposity from its leering, self-important gargoyles to the oversized towers to that fountain—it’s almost as big as the gatehouse. And there are stained-glass inserts in the machicolations. Those clearly aren’t functional anymore.”
“Thanks to the golems and pillars, the estates along the lake rarely need to fend off nomadic hordes of orcs, ogres, trolls, and barbarians anymore.”
“Is there a throne?”
“No. This wasn’t ever the seat of aking. My father does have a big cushy chair in his office that’s made from the hide of a spotted cow. I got in trouble for spilling grape juice on it as a kid.”
“Did you have to clean it, or did a servant pat you on the head and handle it?” Sylin asked.
“I told you we didn’t have servants. My mother gave me a bottle of vinegar and told me to blot, not scrub, until the evidence went away.” Rylana didn’t remember anything else from that long-ago day, but she did recall the strong scent of the vinegar that had hung in the air as she’d blotted furiously, trying to get the stain out before her father returned home from a business trip.
“The nice thing about living in a forest is nobody cares if you stain the trees.”
“The wolves weren’t offended by grape-juice spills in their den?”
