Page 38 of Morel Dilemma

“Well, I can let her know you’re looking for her if I see her,” Rylana said, “but I don’t think she’s in town any longer.”

“If you would do so and give her that letter… I would appreciate it.”

Yes, Rylana had started to believe Layothlee hadn’t been the one to pen whatever was written in that envelope. “I will. I’ll hazard a guess, though, that she might not have any interest in, uhm, being the heir or ruling the elf world, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Surely, Sylin’s past would disqualify her from holding any kind of political appointment among the elves, much less being the heir to the throne. Two hells, did elven rulers even have a throne? Maybe they sat on a giant mushroom stool.

“At this point, I would be satisfied to speak with her and… see her again.” For the first time, emotion thickened Fareesa’s voice, and she gazed off into the woods across the stream.

“I can let her know.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, who is Layothlee to you?” Rylana asked. “Not a daughter, it sounds like, not if Sylin is your only child. But Layothlee said she thought they were related.”

“They are cousins, yes. Layothlee is my deceased husband’s brother’s daughter. Since the royal blood, as your kind would call it, passes through my veins, Layothlee is not in line to inherit the Scepter of Aszwan. Much to her relief, I imagine, though I have occasionally wondered if she chose a less than cerebral profession to ensure nobody tried to draw her into politics. She’s quite bright, but she seemed to decide it was wiser not to have others know that. Instead, she tosses herself about like a swallowtail butterfly drunk on nectar.”

“She seems quite good at it.”

“Athleticism runs in that side of the family.” Fareesa waved dismissively. “That is all I wished to speak with you about—far more than I would usually reveal to an outsider, but…” Her gaze shifted across the stream again, and was that a hint of moisture in her eyes? She blinked, looked back, and nodded to them. “Thank you, Lord Jildarin, for allowing me to steal you and your companion away from the evening’s entertainment.”

It had been the evening’s most delightful kiss that the elves had interrupted, but Rylana wouldn’t admit that.

“It is not trouble to make time for one who was a prominent ally during the war.” Jildarin inclined his head toward her. “Before you depart Tranquility, I would be honored if you would dine at my establishment. We’ve Plant Master Chalora installing a rooftop seating area and garden, and I’m perfecting my elven dishes.”

“It will be difficult for me to convince my guards to allow me into a portion of the city that isn’t heavily secured, but I’ve heard about your new culinary passion and would be interested in tasting your dishes someday.”

Was that a rejection?

“Tomorrow?” Jildarin asked.

“Probably not.” Fareesa smiled gently. “Perhaps Layothlee would come. I will send her by.”

“I would prepare a meal for her, and for other elves as well,” Jildarin said, “but I would be especially honored if you would consider coming. I’m going to acquire enchanted morels.”

The queen’s eyebrows rose with interest. “I haven’t had those in a long time. They’re very rare and very delicious.”

“Yes,” Jildarin said, though he’d probably never had one himself. Dragons didn’t even eat mushrooms. The food of their food, as they’d said. “I will inform you when I’ve acquired them and developed a recipe suitable for royalty. Then you can let me know when you would like to dine, and I will prepare the meal.”

“That is an enticing offer. Of course, I would more likely be lured into overriding my guards—and my common sense—to visit your establishment if my daughter might be in the area.” She looked toward Rylana and raised her eyebrows.

Jildarin also looked at her, his eyes intent. Rylana could tell Sylin’s comings and goings and whether she could be located had suddenly become more of an interest to him.

“I’ll see if I can find her,” Rylana offered again. “She likes Jildarin’s food too.”

Too bad Rylana worried she’d finally succeeded in convincing Sylin to leave the area for her own good. She might already be gone from Tranquility with no plans to return until after the queen departed. As far as Rylana knew, Sylin knew nothing about her mother and her heritage.

“Amazing,” she murmured to herself.

“My mushroom dish most assuredly will be.” Jildarin nodded firmly.

12

Warm spring sunshine beamed on Rylana’s shoulders as Jildarin flew away from the city with her on his back. Powerful wings flapping, he carried her along one of the rivers that flowed out of the Icefang Mountains. As they traveled upstream, farms gave way to forests of fir, pine, spruce, and cedar interspersed with deciduous trees, most now fully leafed out for the year.

“Can you see mushrooms from this high above the ground?” Rylana asked as Jildarin tilted his head now and then to better see the forest floor.

A dragon has eyes as keen as those of an eagle and can spot even tiny prey scampering in leaf litter from two miles away, he replied telepathically.

“But can you see a mushroom? They don’t move much, and they’re only prey for fungi lovers, right?”