Page 59 of Morel Dilemma

“I will take my native form to hunt tonight,” he said.

Since he hadn’t departed to do that after dark before, Rylana looked at him in surprise. “Are you craving some tasty nocturnal prey?”

Jildarin hesitated. “Dragons do enjoy moon wanderers and giant horned frogs.” He spread his arms to indicate how giant those frogs could be.

“All right.” Rylana didn’t think he was being entirely honest, but if he wanted to head out, she wouldn’t pry. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d decided to give in to his family’s pressure and fly off for a mating session with a female dragon, but that wasn’t any of her business. “Be careful if you’re hunting with your brother,” she did say with a smile.

Jildarin snorted. “I am not. I simply need to fly.” He tilted his head and considered her for a moment. “And think.”

Something about his expression made Rylana want to ask, About me? But, not sure she wanted to know, she didn’t.

“Enjoy the night,” was all she said. “Hopefully, the rain has stopped.”

“It has.” He brightened. “It’s clearing nicely. The morning will be excellent foraging weather.”

“I hope so. It would be a shame if the elven queen departed without tasting your take on enchanted morels.”

“Intolerable,” he said and turned into the hall. His voice floated back as he added, “I will complete this quest and earn her patronage—and the right to place her name on the plaque.”

That plaque no longer sounded theoretical, and Rylana wondered if he’d crafted it. Perhaps by burning dragons into the wood.

After he departed, she worked a while longer before finishing up and turning off the lamps. She touched a finger to one of the wall sconces, its thin wooden shade burned with the same dragon figure that Jildarin had placed on the door—and the chalkboard at the coffee shop.

The thought of going to bed—to her blanket on the floor in the storeroom—alone strangely saddened her. It wasn’t as if Jildarin spoke to her at night. But he was always there. Usually in his powerful dragon form but sometimes, especially lately, changing into human form during the night. She remembered him admitting to waking with dawn trees and hoped that wasn’t the reason he’d left tonight, to sleep somewhere else and not be betrayed by his body because of her presence. Maybe, after the terrace was open and the queen had departed, and life at the diner had settled down, Rylana would look for lodging elsewhere. Even though Jildarin had offered to let her fix up a space in the storeroom, she hated to disturb him. A dragon ought to be able to sleep comfortably in his own lair.

Before heading to bed, she peered out the window toward the coffee shop, wondering if Sylin might be in the area. Thanks to the rain soaking everything, she probably wasn’t that tempted by rooftop beverage-drinking. The shop had closed its doors and shutters and cut out all its lanterns anyway. But… was that the tiniest hint of candlelight visible through the slats in the shuttered attic window of the bakery?

Rylana hesitated, knowing Sylin would have come over if she’d wanted to talk, but curiosity prompted her across the street anyway. Thanks to the late hour and dampness, it was empty, not a single pedestrian or wagon in sight. The night was quiet as well, only the trickle of water running into the storm drains audible.

Not surprisingly, the front door of the bakery was locked, the lights downstairs extinguished, but when Rylana passed through the alley to the back, she found the entrance unlocked. Because Mya had forgotten to secure it? Or because a certain assassin had picked the lock and entered that way?

Rylana let herself in and felt her way to the narrow stairs that led up to the attic. The trapdoor in the ceiling was open, a hint of candlelight visible.

“Sylin?” she called softly before presuming to climb up. A wise person didn’t ascend unannounced into the camp of an assassin.

“Are there any elves with you?” came the wary reply from above.

“No. I’m bereft of even dragon companionship tonight.” Rylana climbed the stairs.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“No, but I think my jasmine-and-rose-hip shampoo may have driven him to escape into the woods.”

“Humans do rub strange scents all over their bodies.”

Rylana didn’t point out that she thought Jildarin might find it appealing not strange. Once in the attic, she joined Sylin on the wooden floor where she sat cross-legged near a bookcase. An open tome rested in her lap, diagrams visible. Or maybe those were genealogical trees?

“A little light reading to help you sleep well?” Rylana sat across from her.

Sylin made a sour face, but she closed the book and held it up to reveal the title.

“Two Thousand years of the Elven Royal Family and Their Positions in Court. Sounds scintillating. Did Mya have that in her bookcase?” That would be a strange title for a dwarven baker to pick up.

“I got it from the university library.”

“Because you’re curious? Oh,” Rylana added, an idea coming to her. “Are you looking for yourself? For a mention of young Sylinesla?”

Sylin’s expression grew even more sour, as if she were sucking on a lemon. Or maybe, since she’d grown up in the evergreen forests of the Skyfang Mountains, sea buckthorn or gooseberries would have been a more apt sour find.