On a whim, she climbed onto the flat roof of the building, where she had a view of the streets in front of and behind the diner, as well as over the dwarven bakery and a tavern to the lake. A corner of her family’s castle was visible across the waterway, and she made a face in that direction, the unsatisfactory conversation with her father coming to mind.
When she looked up and down Acorn Street, she was surprised to spot someone else up on a rooftop. Above the coffee shop, a hooded and cloaked figure stood beside a table, leaning a shoulder against a brick chimney.
Rylana's first instinct was to feel alarm, especially since the person was facing in her direction—was someone spying upon the diner?—but the figure sipped from a coffee cup, as if merely enjoying a private rooftop balcony. The person noticed her watching and raised the cup in a salute. There was something familiar about the movement.
“Sylin?” Rylana wondered, then asked, “What are you doing up there?”
She didn’t speak loudly, but Sylin’s keen elven ears must have caught the words because she pushed back her hood to reveal her forest-green hair.
Since Rylana hadn’t spotted any trouble at the diner, she climbed down and headed over to the coffee shop. In an alley to the side of it, she found a metal ladder that led to the rooftop, so she joined her comrade.
“Was it too crowded inside for your tastes?” Rylana asked, sitting in the solitary chair, one Sylin wasn’t using. She scootedit around so that she could see across the street toward the diner.
“Itisquite busy, more so than I prefer, but the quality of the beverages ensures crowds will always be typical.”
“Yeah, I think their stuff is good too.”
“I’m up here because it would be unwise for me to be observed too frequently in one place. Word might get around, and the elves who seek me out could waylay me.”
“But sitting on the rooftop of the place where you’ve been frequently observed is all right?”
“From here, I can see anyone coming.”
“You could vary your routine and visit some other coffee shops in town.”
“This one is the best.” Sylin sipped from her mug.
“Your addiction might be your undoing.”
“We all have to die of something.”
“Well, I’m glad to have you around for company. As you saw, my family isn’t interested in me, Father at least. And the home I’ve looked forward to returning to for so many years isn’t quite… what I remember.” Rylana waved toward the city on their side of the lake rather than looking toward the family estate. Her father had been what she’d expected. But the rest of Tranquility hadn’t felt as much likehomeas she’d thought it would, and she wondered if she would be able to recapture the nostalgia of her youth. “I’m not sure if it’s changed or I have. No, I guess that’s not true. I’m certain I’ve changed more than the city has.”
“Likely.”
“How much longer will you stay? I can’t imagine that having elves hunting for you on every street corner is that appealing.” Earlier, Rylana had mentioned the alchemist elf in the market to Sylin.
“Oh, I don’t know. It forces me to stay sharp. Yesterday, I ran from two elven hunters with a hound who thought they wouldhunt me down. They did not succeed.” Sylin smiled at some secret amusement, then sipped again.
“I’d feel bad if they found you and I stumbled across your body outside the diner, all because you’d stayed in the area for my sake.”
“For your sake?” Sylin asked, her tone still amused, then sipped again.
“Are you only lingering here because of the coffee shop?”
“Notonly.Have you tried the offerings from the dwarven bakery?”
“No. I’m not in the mood for a cake with a giantzergstick protruding from the top. Besides, now that I know dwarves like to season their food with rocks, I’m skeptical of their fare.”
“The scones are excellent. I recommend them.”
“They’re not shaped into or decorated with genitalia or other sexually suggestive material, are they? I’ve had enough of that kind of thing of late.” Rylana waved toward the diner, though, with the dragon spices ruined, there hadn’t been any of the special soup for a couple of days—much to the lament of a few customers who’d slipped in, hoping to make a deal with Rolf for a to-go container.
“The scones are chaste.”
“Good to know.”
“The muffins are also nonsexual. The croissants… You may want to avoid the croissants.”
