“They neglected to supply me with such treats. I wasn’t as spoiled as you.” Sylin smirked.
“But they also didn’t pressure you to go into the family business, I’ll bet.” Rylana pointed ahead to a manor sprawling along the opposite side of the road. Even though it wasn’t on the shoreline with a beach of its own, the elevated terrain gave it a view of the lake. A surprising number of carriages were parked along the wide circular drive, and people were heading through the front doors or around the home toward the back. The smoke of a bonfire wafted from that direction. Was Yerin’s family hosting a party? There weren’t any notable holidays this week, but maybe they were celebrating the arrival of good spring weather.
“When you’re a wolf, the family business is hunting,” Sylinsaid. “Thepackbusiness. I didn’t mind being a part of that since I enjoyed eating.”
One of the carriages that had been on the ferry arrived, the horses pulling it into the driveway to park at the end of the queue. Once it stopped, the door opened, and a man and woman in elegant clothing stepped out. A butler came out to greet them, accepting a gift in a ribbon-tied box and leading them toward the front door.
The butler glanced toward Sylin and Rylana and looked like he might impede them if they tried to step onto the estate, but the newcomers spoke, distracting him.
“Will we be able to get into the shindig without force?” Sylin looked at Rylana, as if she might pull ornate invitations written with fancy calligraphy from an inside pocket.
“Let’s hope so.” Rylana hadn’t expected there tobea shindig. “There are rules about using force against people you played with when you were children.”
“You wouldn’t put the butler in that category, I assume. Or is he also a childhood chum who once displayed aggressive tendencies toward your bicycle?”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“Force could be acceptable then.” Sylin cracked her knuckles.
“Let’s firstaskif we can go in.” The breeze shifted, and Rylana caught a whiff of seasoned meat roasting. “That smells wonderful.”
“Yes.”
By the time they were climbing the broad marble steps toward the front doors, the butler had ushered the couple inside and returned. He frowned at their approach, his gaze taking in their unassuming travel clothing and faces that hadn’t seen makeup brushes in a long time. Rylana didn’t know if Sylin hadeverworn makeup, not that her beauty needed any enhancing.
“You do not have invitations,” the butler stated, more certainty than a question.
“No, but we’re not looking to go to the party. I’m hoping to speak with Yerin.” Rylana thought about giving her family name, which would probably result in her being invited in, but it would doubtless also result in someone mentioning to her father that she’d been by. “I’m a fan of his work as a food critic. He published a write-up recently in theChroniclesabout the Dragon Diner, and, while it spoke highly of some of the menu items, he didn’t mention the ingredients in any of the dishes. There’s a certain soup, in particular, that I was hoping to learn more about. Is it possible he would come out to discuss it?”
If Yerin was as passionate about food as Rylana believed, an invitation to talk on the subject might appeal to him. Unfortunately, the butler gazed at her without expression, then closed the door in their faces. Rylana had a feeling the message wouldn’t get to Yerin.
“Are yousureforce wouldn’t be acceptable?” Sylin asked.
“Force on the door? Your elven blood might give you the strength to knock it down. It looks solid though.”
“My years of assiduous training would be of more assistance than my blood.”
“If you say so.” Rylana, who wouldn’t have minded a little elven blood of her own, knocked on the stout oak. Maybe she would mention her family name, after all. But the butler didn’t return to give her a second chance. “Rude.”
17
“We could goaround the house to the backyard,” Sylin offered when the butler didn’t return. “There’s not a gate, a bramble patch, a dog with long fangs, or any of the other typical deterrents.”
“True.”
And the scents of roasting meat were coming from that direction. Maybe Yerin was back there, attending to a rotisserie spit over a fire.
They padded across the well-trimmed lawn, rounded a great stone chimney, and walked into the backyard and onto flagstone pavers with moss growing between them. The paver patio stretched across the length of the back of the manor, and dozens of people stood and visited while holding small plates and tankards or wineglasses. Most were human, but a few dwarves and gnomes dotted the gathering. No elves, fortunately, for Sylin’s sake.
A large fire did indeed burn in a rectangular stone pit with a full pig roasting over it, a yawning servant rotating it. Beside him stood Yerin, basting the meat with a large brush. Before Rylanacould wave to draw his attention, he frowned into his saucepan, shook his head vigorously, then strode toward a back door. He went inside without noticing them.
“At least we know he’s home,” Rylana said.
“As is that roasting pig.” Sylin’s nose lifted into the air. “Perhaps we should visit it while we wait for him to return.”
“Visit it with a knife and fork?”
“Naturally.”
