Page 30 of Morel Dilemma

“You’re a good dragon.”

“Yes.”

The dwarf hopped down and opened the door for them. “Is Master Zilek-grozanarav coming?”

“You’ll have to come back later for him.” Rylana thought of rumors she’d heard about ogre stamina. “Much later.”

9

The next evening, after Jildarin had either prepared or started everything for the dinner service, he and Rylana headed out the door to walk up the hill toward Boxwood Park for the elven ballet. A couple of servers had been temporarily hired on to help so that Zalani could also come. Rolf and Gniknik were putatively in charge, but, under Rylana’s advisement, Tezilly would be checking in on them frequently to ensure Rolf neither schemed up a way to make extra money nor instituted mandatory and exorbitant goblin tips.

Since Rylana had received four tickets to the ballet, she’d also invited Mya. The stout grandmotherly dwarf groused about having to walk uphill through the city to the park while admitting she shouldn’t have sampled so many brown-sugar-and-cinnamon apple tarts that afternoon. Since she’d been trying a new recipe, frequent taste testing had apparently been required.

Fortunately for Mya’s desire to refrain from athletic endeavors, after they’d walked only three blocks, a familiar magic-powered carriage and dwarf coachman arrived. Zilek, who’d also acquired a ticket to what was the new opening night, the previous opening having been postponed because of the curse, offered to give them all a ride.

He didn’t mention how his previous night’s cellar adventure had concluded, but, with his arms stretched along the seat back, he looked quite content. Like the proverbial smug pixie who’d stashed a stolen treasure in a spot nobody would ever find it.

Hopefully, Zilek wouldn’t ask about Sylin, whom Rylana hadn’t seen that day. If her elven friend was wise, she’d left the city by now and was far from danger. A few conversations at the diner during the lunch hour had suggested the elven queen had come ashore and was staying in the enclave, preparing for diplomatic gatherings with the gnome city leaders as well as troll, ogre, and orc tribal chiefs and a dwarven ambassador who were traveling to Tranquility to see her.

Rylana shifted on her seat, feeling restless as the carriage rolled through the streets. As she gazed pensively out the window, she wished she had accomplished more during the day. That morning, she’d searched in three markets, trying to find enchanted morels for Jildarin, but, from what she’d learned, there weren’t any in the entire city. A goblin vendor had offered to capture some of the luminescent lake plankton and paint them onto regular mushrooms—for only a small fee, of course—but that wouldn’t do. When Jildarin had been visibly disappointed by her inability to deposit enchanted morels on the kitchen counter, she’d felt like she’d let him down. He hadn’t said that, only admitting that he’d asked fellow chefs if they had any in their restaurants, and that he’d also not found any. But she liked that he appreciated her value in accomplishing things he couldn’t, or at least didn’t care to, and wanted to continue to exceed his expectations.

Rylana had also taken a ferry across the lake to the family castle, bracing herself for a confrontation with her father. The butler, Zames, had said he’d left town for a couple of days, heading up the Troll Gulf River for business. She shouldn’t have been relieved, since she needed to resolve the eviction issue, ideally before Plant Master Chalora’s team progressed further on the rooftop project, but she had been, nonetheless. She was frustrated that her father was inserting himself into her life. After she’d been gone for so long, shouldn’t he have accepted that she wouldn’t have anything to do with his business or succession plans? Whatever the reason for his renewed interest, she wished he would drop the matter of his own accord.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and Rylana thought they’d arrived, but a whinny sounded ahead of them. They hadn’t yet reached their destination; they were in a long queue of other carriages, a mixture of horse-drawn, steam-powered, and magic-propelled, all waiting to be directed to a parking area.

“Were we able to fly,” Jildarin said, “arriving in the desired location would be simpler.”

“Yes, we’d already be in our seats, watching the ballerinas and acrobats warm up,” Zilek said, “and being served libations and hors d'oeuvres by the servants waiting to tend the needs of the front-row guests.”

“Servers,” Rylana said.

Zilek gazed blandly at her, then looked to his brother. “Since we have two-legged companions, however, even if the laws of Tranquility allowed us to fly about in our native forms, we would have to carry them upon our backs.”

He looked pointedly at Mya. Suggesting he would never deign to carry the dwarf? Judging by her aghast expression, she had never desired to sail through the sky on a dragon’s back anyway.

“Dwarves don’t fly,” she said. “We don’t even like to stand on stools to reach for high shelves.”

Zilek’s gaze was less pointed when he looked at Zalani. Maybe he would have carried her? He raised his eyebrows when he looked at Rylana.

“I am willing to carry my business partner upon my back,” Jildarin said.

“Yes, business partners fall into a special category, don’t they?” Zilek smirked, his eyes crinkling.

Jildarin frowned at him.

Rylana rubbed her face and looked out the window again. The carriage had only moved forward a couple of places in the queue, but maybe they were close enough that they could hop out and walk to the venue, leaving the dwarf coachman to find parking. After all, she’d walked all over the city already that day. It wasn’t as if wearing a dress and sandals, the latter something Zalani had brought for her after tutting in dismay at Rylana’s boots, precluded self-propelled ambulation.

“My business partner is very valuable,” Jildarin said.

“Oh, I know. I’ve heard you’ve been seen flying with her on your back.” Zilek’s eyelids drooped with significance.

“You will not make the same assumptions that Mother and Aunt Lysilria have, will you?” Jildarin asked with a sigh.

“I would never presume to assume anything.” Zilek’s smirk lingered. “It is, however, quite rare for a dragon to allow a two-legged rider and almost unheard of unless it’s an elven warrior and they’re flying into battle together.”

“As we’ve established, I have a few quirks.”

“Oh, yes. Most certainly.”