Page 63 of Morel Dilemma

“What a blabbermouth.”

“Much like barkeeps, coffee baristas gossip.”

“But not about their secret menu items.”

“Of course not. That’s bad for business.”

After another yawn, Rylana pushed herself to her feet. “Jildarin will probably roust me from my blanket early for foraging. I’d better get some sleep.”

“Will you do me a favor? If you find the enchanted morels, put a mushroom in the window as a signal.”

“So you’ll know whether the queen will come tomorrow night?”

“And if I need to avoid your diner or not, yes.”

The way Sylin rested a hand on the book made Rylana believe she was conflicted on whether the queen’s presence would keep her away or not, but she said, “All right,” before heading for the stairs.

18

When Rylana walked out of the bakery and headed for the diner, few clouds remained in the night sky, leaving stars and a full moon illuminating the damp cobblestones. She yawned again, then took a breath of the fresh air, wondering if Jildarin had returned yet from his excursion.

Halfway across the street, she paused, her instincts itching, an unsettled feeling coming over her. Even before movement drew her eye toward an alley, she knew someone was watching her.

Two cloaked figures glided out of the shadows. Rylana drew her utility knife.

One figure pushed back a hood, revealing pointed ears. As the moonlight gleamed silver in his intent eyes, the elves glided forward with determination. A second pair of cloaked figures, these with drawn bows in their hands, stepped out of the alley near the diner.

“Two hells,” Rylana muttered, looking down at her small blade.

The first two elves drew short swords.

“Where are your tranquility knots?” she asked. “They’re a trendy part of living in this city, you know.”

“We have an exemption,” the lone unhooded elf said.

“That exemption only applies when you’re in your enclave, right?”

Rylana sprang for the front door of the diner, hoping Jildarin was inside. But when she grabbed the knob, it flared with magic and buzzed painfully. She clenched her jaw and tried to turn it anyway, certain she hadn’t locked the door on her way out, but it didn’t budge.

“Jildarin?” she called.

“Your dragon master is not in his lair,” a female voice spoke—one of the hooded archers.

“He’ll be back soon, and he’s not my master. We’re business partners. Equals. I keep the books, and he cooks.” Knife still in hand, Rylana put her back to the door.

If the elves attacked, the pillar in the nearby intersection would go off, sending gongs that the peacekeepers would hear. That should have been comforting, but Rylana didn’t doubt that these four trained warriors could kill her before the gnomes arrived. And if the elves had exemptions in some matters, they might have exemptions in others. Maybe they wouldn’t be punished for breaking the law. Not that she would care much about that if she were dead.

“Equals,” the female elf said with a laugh. “A human and a dragon? Even elves do not consider themselves the equals of dragons.”

“Not physically or with magic perhaps,” one of her male comrades said, “but in other ways, we are equal. Or superior.”

Rylana recognized that one’s voice. He and his buddy had once tried to take her to the enclave for questioning.

“As enjoyable as it is to chitchat with pompous elves,” she said, “I’m not interested in going anywhere with you tonight. Unlock my door, will you? It’s past my bedtime.”

“You needn’t go anywhere,” the female said softly. “We believe the one whom we seek is nearby.” She looked toward the coffee shop.

Rylana pointedly did not look at the attic of the bakery. She was torn between wanting Sylin to come out and help her, since these elves looked like they intended to attack, and hoping her friend disappeared, the way she usually did, so the pointy-eared miscreants wouldn’t find her.