Page 42 of Morel Dilemma

“I would miss you too. Maybe Layothlee would agree to meet at your favorite coffee shop.”

Sylin squinted at her. “I’m still alive because I haven’t walked into any traps.”

Rylana shrugged. “You could set the time and place where you’d like to meet, and I could relay that to Layothlee. Pick somewhere defensible and where hordes of elves wouldn’t normally deign to go. Or would be at a disadvantage if they did.”

“Like the attic of the erotic bakery?”

“It’s only the elf captain who won’t deign to go in there. Because his mother would disapprove.”

They shared a smile at the memory of that conversation.

“Admittedly,” Rylana continued, “I haven’t seen any other pointy-eared people walk out with boob cakes either. Such desserts probably aren’t sophisticated enough for your kind.”

“No. Listen, I’m not interested in meeting that elf or any others.”

“Aren’t you curious about your family?”

“No.”

“Truly?”

“From what I’ve observed by watching you two, family is more of a pain in the ass than anything to be desired.”

Rylana scratched her jaw and looked at Jildarin. He twitched his tail and didn’t refute Sylin’s statement. Given that her father was trying to get their business evicted, Rylana didn’t know if she could refute it either.

“I think you should at least meet your family,” she said, “since you’re being given the opportunity to do so after being an orphan your whole life, but it’s your choice.”

“That elf could be lying to you. It could be a ruse to try to get me to come into the open where a squadron of her people could spring out and kill me.”

“I… think Layothlee probably wasn’t lying, but it’s your life. If, however, you change your mind, I could offer my father’s castle as a safe place where you could meet her. I need to talk to him about something anyway. And you know there are wards there to keep out the uninvited riffraff.”

“I doubt those wards would deter resolute elves,” Sylin said.

“Well, the castle is more protected than Mya’s attic.”

“But less coffee-shop adjacent. I would need stimulation to deal with one of my people.”

“You can bring your gnomish vacuum thermos to the castle.” Rylana shrugged. She sensed that Sylin might be on the verge of giving in—she had to be at least somewhat curious about the possibility of meeting a relative—but didn’t want to push too hard. “You can always stake out the castle and leave before they’re any the wiser if the wrong elf shows up or you change your mind about meeting Layothlee.”

“How do you know your father would approve of you hosting a shindig at his place?”

“One elf meeting another elf isn’t a shindig.”

“What if she brings fifty elven warriors with her?”

“That’s not a shindig either. That’s an invasion force. Look, why don’t I let her know that you might meet her at the boathouse later today? At dusk. Does that work for your packed schedule?”

Sylin grunted noncommittally. “Your plan wouldn’t be wise, not when every elf in Tranquility has so far wanted to use weapons on me instead of chatting.”

“I don’t think Layothlee has any weapons. Though some of her somersaults and kicks in the aerial ballet could probably be used to attack enemies.” Rylana held up her finger and grabbed her pack. Since she hadn’t known when she would run into Sylin next, she’d been carrying the envelope around. She dug it out, wondering if the contents would divulge any of the details of Sylin’s past, details that might make her more interested in going to a meeting. “Here you go.”

Sylin accepted the envelope and eyed it and the seal. “This is elven. And magical.”

“You should put your keen senses to work foraging for enchanted mushrooms.”

You are not informing the elf child, Jildarin said as Sylin debated whether to break the seal.

“Her name is Sylin,” Rylana said, “and I think her people should be the ones to inform her about her relations.”