Page 16 of Morel Dilemma

“But smothered under mushrooms, right?”

“So smothered that it’s like hunting for mithril in a copper mine without a dwarven guide.”

“Well, if you happen to see any enchanted morels in the forest while you’re hiding from elf patrols, feel free to pick them for me. You can flag down one of those dwarves driving ore wagons down from the mountains and have them delivered to the diner. No need for you to return to town. We’ll pay the driver for his detour. Jildarin is determined to make enchanted morels for the queen, not that we yet have any idea if we’ll be able to entice her to visit. He has, however, mentioned that he’s met her before. Maybe she’ll be inclined to sample the fare of a dragon chef. He’s also a rarity.”

“Yes, he is. I’ll keep my eye out in the forest.”

“Thank you. If, during your date with Zilek, he tries to drug you with spiced soup or acts at all inappropriately, I’ll swoop in and shoo him away.”

“I can handle inappropriate companions on my own, thank you.”

“Well, he is a dragon.”

“Will that preclude him feeling pain if I kick him in the fragnok under the table?”

“Probably not as much pain as a normal human.”

“Running that experiment could be amusing.” Was that a gleam of interest in Sylin’s eyes?

“I’ll tell him you’ve not only agreed to the date but look forward to it.”

Sylin waved what might have been agreement and headed toward the rear exit of the alley.

6

A plump woman with curly brown hair stood outside the diner when Rylana returned with her dress draped over her arm. Since it was late afternoon and between the lunch and dinner services, Rylana assumed she was a passerby reading the menu posted by the door, but when the woman turned, Rylana halted, recognizing her.

“Cousin Tharla?”

“Yes. I was looking for…” Tharla’s eyebrows rose as she looked Rylana up and down. “Pixie’s pilfering, Uncle Gavlin said you’d changed, but, uhm.”

“I was a mercenary until recently.” Rylana tried to smile, but, as her cousin’s gaze lingered on her combat boots, it may have come out as more of a grimace.

When she’d been dodging enemy patrols in the steamy southern jungles and longing for the peaceful city of her youth, it hadn’t occurred to her that all her relatives and old friends would think her years as a mercenary had made her… odd.

“He said you’re a partner at this diner now and keep the books.” Tharla looked up, but her gaze snagged on Rylana’s short hair. “You can’t dress a little more… feminine?”

“I just bought a dress.” Rylana lifted it, though she had no intention of wearing it for work. After so many years in trousers and boots, she’d grown accustomed to them. Besides, Zilek’s teasing aside, she liked having pockets. Lots of them. Dresses were usually skimpy in that department.

“Oh, that’s a very nice hue.” Tharla ran an appreciative hand over the garment bag. “Did you buy it from Lomasina’s?”

“The boutique run by the gnomes down the street.”

“Oh, Tranklin’s. The tastes of the proprietors are a bit pedestrian, but the gnomes are exquisite tailors. Do they still have the golem? Did you get shoes? A purse?” Tharla peered at Rylana again, as if expecting to find numerous shopping bags stashed somewhere.

“I let the gnome talk me into a few accessories, but I don’t carry a purse. I have pockets. And the dress is long enough that I wasn’t worried about shoes.” Rylana shuddered at the memory of the heeled slippers Tranklin had held up with enthusiasm.

Mouth in a stunned, “Oh,” Tharla blinked a few times in distress.

“Look, it’s nice to see you, but I’m sure you didn’t show up after seventeen years to talk about clothes.”

“That is something I enjoy discussing, but no. As I said, I spoke with your father and...” Her gaze drifted to Rylana’s feet—her boots. “It’s still early enough in the afternoon that you could go back for shoes. Or, oh, that artisan half-ogre cordwainer has a shop at the end of Acorn Street. Despite having hands as large as kite shields, she has a gift for craftsmanship and can custom-make wonderful and beautiful footwear. She’s been in the business for decades and was one of the bellwethers who started the trend, in this very city, of fitting shoes differently for the left and right foot. You know, instead of using straight lasts. They’re wonderfully comfortable, and the trend has, from what I’ve heard, swept throughout the lands.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, though, since summer is coming and I’m no longer traipsing across battlefields littered with shrapnel and arrowheads, I might go barefoot.”

An expression of stricken horror took over Tharla’s face. Across the street, a handful of raucous goblins walked out of Mya’s bakery with a large square-shaped box with bumps on the front. Usually, the boxes were rectangular with the bumps on the top. The grandmotherly dwarf must have baked something extra custom for their needs.

The goblins chanted, “Stag party, stag party,” as they reverently carried their box away.