Page 88 of Morel Dilemma

With a nod and a bright smile, Tezilly swept the tray off the bar and placed three small cups on the table in front of the seat next to Fareesa. The queen’s eyebrows twitched—by the gods, that gesture was so similar to one Sylin made that it alone could have removed all doubt for Rylana. Fareesa didn’t, however, object to the placing of the cups.

Brella came behind her partner with a basket and tongs and set down a plate with sprinkle-covered cookies. She also added two frosted currant buns—ah, was that who Mya’s special order had been for?—including tiny ramekins of whipped butter.

“If you want your poop coffee,” Rylana murmured, “you’re going to have to walk obediently over there and sit next to your mommy.”

Sylin slanted her a dark side eye. “You’re a dreadful comrade.”

“No, I’m magnificent.”

“You have the maturity of a raccoon.”

“Yes, I do. Shall I come along and place my protected-by-a-dragon nearness next to you at the table?” Rylana waved toward all the elven warriors looking on.

“No.” Sylin blew out a slow breath. A nervous breath? “This should be a private conversation.”

“Something that will be easily achievable with fifty keen-eared elves ten feet away.”

“There are only eighteen elves up here.”

Two hells, it seemed like a lot more. Probably because of all the tension those elves were emanating.

“The rest are in the dining room below and can communicate telepathically with the others,” Rylana said before falling silent. Sylin was walking toward the table.

Fareesa still stood by her chair. Despite Sylin’s slow response to her command, the queen hadn’t moved or presumed to repeat it.

When Sylin reached her, they both sat down. Rylana wasn’t surprised when Sylin promptly reached for one of the sample cups. Her fingers twitched toward the black ivory coffee, but she must have decided to save that for last because she selected one of the others.

“I only occasionally drink coffee,” Fareesa said, reaching not for a cup but for one of the currant buns. “But I adore pastries.”

The taste-tester elf gasped and hurried forward, as if he would gnaw off a corner or at least lick it before letting Fareesa touch her lips to it. She flicked her fingers to keep him back.

“Sweets don’t align well with my diet and fitness regimen,” Sylin said stiffly. She’d perched on the chair adjacent to the queen’s, but her back was straighter than a fireplace poker.

Rylana almost snorted, not objecting to the idea of Sylin having a fitness regimen but knowing full well that she availed herself liberally of Mya’s offerings, even the sweet ones. Especially the sweet ones.

“Nor with mine, but here we are.” Fareesa smiled, waved the bun in the air, and took a nibble.

The taste-tester watched in morose defeat.

As Sylin took her first sip of coffee, watching the surrounding elves as much as Fareesa, the queen tore off a chunk of the bun and dipped it into the black ivory coffee.

Brella gasped and clutched her hand to her chest. Maybe specialty coffee wasn’t supposed to be diluted by currant buns—or have little crumbs floating around in it.

“I told you we should have ordered some biscotti,” Tezilly whispered to her.

Sylin eyed the dipping, as if condescending words had sprung to her mind, but she nobly refrained from questioning the queen’s taste aloud. Had Rylana defiled a rich and perfect brew with a pastry, she would have heard all about it.

“Attention, attention,” Gniknik called from the landing at the top of the stairs. “The master chef, Lord Jildarin-grozanarav of Clan Killcrusher, has finished preparing scintillating and sumptuous vegetarian and omnivore offerings featuring the legendary enchanted morels.”

Rylana scratched her jaw, wondering at the grandioseness. Jildarin had greeted the queen personally a few minutes earlier, so it wasn’t as if they needed an introduction.

The elven warriors barely glanced at Gniknik, instead keeping their focus on the queen and her guest. Several diners unrelated to the elves made polite claps, grunts, or fist-on-table thumps, whatever was appropriate to the cultures of their species. Willow lifted her head and flapped her tail, presumably enthused about the omnivore offering more than the vegetarian meal.

Gniknik waved to someone not yet in view on the stairs. “We will now begin the dinner service for those on the terrace.”

Rolf, Zalani, and Jildarin himself came into view, all carrying trays, all appearing proud of the offerings. When Jildarin looked at Rylana, she braced herself, knowing she’d irritated him earlier with her suggestion and not certain if he’d forgiven her.

He widened his eyes with some significance. Did he want to speak with her?