Page 99 of Morel Dilemma

“Yes. After all he’s done for me this week, maybe I should get him a gift.”

“I would. My point is that you won’t be that bereft in the absence of my delightful companionship.”

“I suppose I would survive if you departed, but I would miss you. Are you going?”

Rylana watched Sylin and felt she was doing a noble job of not grabbing her and shaking the information out of her. How Sylin could be so calm about the entire situation, Rylana couldn’t imagine. Was she stunned? Indifferent? Underwhelmed by meeting Queen Fareesa? The tiniest bit relieved to learn she had a living family member who’d cared enough to seek her out?

Sylin could have been any or all of those things, and Rylana would never have known. After all, Sylin had always been a master at hiding her thoughts and under-reacting.

“I do not plan to visit the seat of the elven kingdom in the south,” Sylin finally said. “Even if my kind didn’t have many reasons to detest me, I wouldn’t be interested in being involved in politics or meeting a lot of distant relations I can’t remember.”

“Did you remember the queen? Once you sat down with her? She’s not a distant relation.”

“I… She did seem familiar.”

“And hearing her say your full name also seemed familiar,” Rylana said with certainty, trusting she’d read her friend’s face correctly on that.

“Yes.”

“Maybe you could have a relationship with your mother without all the politics and machinations of the elven court and other families aspiring to take the scepter.”

“I gathered they all went together.” Did Sylin sound the slightest bit disappointed? Like she might, if the queen had stayed, have been content to meet her occasionally for coffee? “I’ve no interest in returning to the south, regardless. I left a lot of enemies behind there, and the humidity was unpleasant to exercise in.”

“Coffee originates in those latitudes. I’d think that would make you inclined to tolerate them well.”

“Thanks to gnomish vacuum-sealing technology, businesses here are able to acquire fresh coffee without any need for immersion in the thick, hot air.” Sylin looked across the street toward her chosen venue.

“You’re going to keep going there every day? Predictably?” Thinking of all the elves who had changed sides in order to attack her made Rylana worry for Sylin. Would she be any safer remaining here than if she went south with the queen?

“Twice a day most likely. I know you need me nearby to advise you when necessary.”

“I am woefully lost in life when left to my own devices.” Rylana considered Sylin for a moment. “Did you come this morning to advise me on something? I seem to recall you mentioning you’re not my therapist.”

“I am not, but I’m willing to jog with you and listen to you prattle about your family, love life, and goals.”

“That’s magnanimous of you.” Rylana remembered their conversation about dreams on the peak in the park. “I might be up for a jog this evening. Though I think I’ve decided…” She gazed around the terrace and noticed a few patrons in the street heading to the diner for breakfast. “Well, maybe for a season in one’s life, there’s nothing wrong with focusing on helping others fulfill their dreams. Maybe one can find contentment in that.”

“A famous human philosopher wrote that the more people you help, the more potential you have to be enriched yourself.”

“Is that a tenet you hold dear as an assassin?”

“Assassins help a lot of people.”

“But those who hire them more so than those they target.”

“Naturally.” Sylin headed for the stairs.

Rylana started to follow her but remembered the hunting horn she’d tucked under the bar during the battle. She retrieved it before striding after Sylin, but she bumped against one of the pots and dropped it. It landed on a layer of moss, something the elves had tucked around the shrubs and trees to keep the soil moist. When Rylana reached for the horn, it glowed yellow, and she paused.

“You didn’t do that before,” she said to it, surprised.

Even when Bixtok had rubbed it free of dirt, the horn hadn’t done anything to indicate the nature of its magic. If not for the dog finding it and Jildarin saying so, Rylana wouldn’t have guessed it was magical.

The horn glowed brighter, and were the mugs carved into the feast picture shining blue?

Tentatively, Rylana touched the horn, half-expecting it to zap her. Had something happened during the fight to activate its magic? She hadn’t noticed it glowing the night before, but she’d been distracted. It could also be that whatever tree this was that the plant master had tucked into the pot had magical properties. It did have some of those trumpet flowers that had spat defensive thorns. Could touching something else enchanted have caused the horn to flare to life? And what exactly did its magic do?

“What is that?” Sylin had returned to her side to peer into the pot.