Page 74 of Morel Dilemma

“Your receptionist said you were off having adventures yesterday.”

“I was schmoozing potential big-money clients for Father.”

“While adventuring.”

“That’s how wealthy people schmooze, Ry. Have you forgotten the ways?”

“I didn’t run into a lot of wealthy people during the war.”

“Of course not. They pay people to fight. They aren’t the ones fighting. That was a very odd career choice that you made. At least your new business is a little more civilized.”

A roar came from within the diner, and the front door banged open. Jildarin pushed two middle-aged male goblins out. “No sneaking up to the terrace before the unveiling, and definitely no attempts to woo the elven workers!”

Jildarin slammed the door shut before they could respond.

“The chef may not be that civilized,” Frodin amended, “but I peeked inside earlier. The diner itself is tidy, homey, and full of good smells.”

“Goblins can bring out anyone’s savage side,” Rylana said.

“But dragons wear their savagery on all sides, don’t they?”

“Jildarin usually isn’t that bad, though you wouldn’t want to irk him.” Rylana squinted at Frodin. “Look, I empathize with your situation, and if you want, I’ll go with you to speak to Father about the succession. Or our lack of desire to be a part of it.”

Judging by Frodin's wince, he’d attempted to have that conversation before and it hadn’t gone well. “Can’t you just take over my job for a while? You can serve meals and flirt with men here in the evenings.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“That’s what the half-elf was doing when I walked in.”

“She’s not the bookkeeper. She works for tips. Just talk to the landlord, Frodin. Please? I’ll see Father with you and give you this wonderful horn, and all you have to do is not blackmail Aztor.”

“I told you it’s not blackmail.”

“I know, I know.” Rylana held up her hand. “The wine bribe. Rescind it, please. Or just give him the bottles.”

“Those are rare and expensive.”

“More rare and expensive than this horn?” Rylana gestured as enticingly at it as she could. Old hunting horns didn’t excite her that much.

“Probably close. I would like that. Let me think about it.”

“Frodin. Come on. Do the right thing. Even if Father is overbearing, it’s what Mother would have wanted. For us to get along and not try to manipulate each other.”

Frodin winced but didn’t give her anything more promising before climbing into his carriage and rolling away.

Rylana sighed and lowered the horn. Had she truly believed coming back to Tranquility to reunite with her family would be a good idea? At the time, she’d been sweating and dodging attacks in the jungle, so maybe her naivety had been understandable.

“Or maybe I was delusional,” she muttered and walked into the diner.

21

Rylana tucked the hunting horn into her quiver for safekeeping and found Jildarin in the kitchen with the enchanted morels cleaned and spread out on the counter. They were glowing less than when they’d first been picked but still had a faint magical limning. Jildarin had acquired a few baskets of mundane mushroom varieties too, and he had cookbooks as well as a text called Magical Ingredients Great and Small, Inert and Explosive open.

“I must be careful with the serving size,” he murmured.

“What happens if you eat too many?” Rylana recalled Sylin’s warning, but it hadn’t been detailed. “Not explosions, I hope.”

“No, but…” Jildarin pointed to an entry specifically on enchanted morels and read aloud. “These deliciously rich and savory mushrooms are a favorite elven food, known to have pleasing and relaxing effects on the brain even as they sate the most discriminating palate. They occasionally induce visions and clairvoyance or what some have called an almost startling brightness of thought and lingering acuity. Enchanted morels, however, must never be used as the main ingredient in a meal because an overdose may cause the consumer to fall into a deep magical slumber from which they cannot be woken for a full day and night.”