Page 9 of Ale Storm

“It’s not weird,” the gnome who’d praised the rooftop said. “It’s wonderful.”

“You’re just feeling mellow because the goblin put rum in your strawberry juice.”

“That is good.”

“It had better be. It prompted you to give him a ridiculous tip.”

“Rolf may have a new scheme we need to talk to him about,” Rylana muttered, picking up the horn and touching it to the tree branches.

She tapped it against the leaves, then pushed it through them to the trunk. Again, nothing happened. Grumbling, she wandered around the rooftop, touching the horn to every tree and bush she passed, even the moss growing between the slate floor tiles.

“When I suggested this,” Sylin said, “I didn’t mean to start a new hobby for you.”

“I would think elves would approve of copious tree touching.”

“We have a word for that. Drylesnivari. It’s the less platonic version of your word dendrophilia.”

Rylana walked toward the last pot in a corner overlooking the street and gave Sylin the scowl the comment deserved. “I don’t have that much interest in the trees.”

Sylin’s eyes glinted. “If you did, I would suggest you request plant-shaped baked goods from Mya.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Mocking you does delight me.”

“Now, we reveal the real reason you stayed in Tranquility.” Rylana touched the horn to the last bush. Nothing.

In the street below, two male dwarves were peering into the front window of the bakery. Given the information Mya had shared, that made Rylana pause.

“Maybe she’s getting some dwarven customers after all,” she said, though something about the pair made her think they weren’t there for pastries.

Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, red-haired, and wearing unremarkable gray and brown clothing, they wouldn’t have stood out in a group of dwarves, but they were spending a long time peering in the window, and they weren’t pointing at the items on the display. It looked more like they were checking out people at the tables inside. One dwarf shook his head, then turned to face the street—and point at the diner.

Rylana crouched low, the railing and descending greenery providing a curtain. She peered between the leaves as the other dwarf also looked toward the diner. Their gazes drifted upward, skimming over Rylana, the leaves camouflaging her, and they spoke quietly to each other.

Rylana only caught a couple of words, but “too much magic” and “can’t tell” were among them.

Sylin came to stand at the railing beside her, not bothering to crouch or do anything to hide herself. The dwarves looked up at her, and she folded her arms over her chest. They turned back to the bakery, now feigning interest in the goods on display, but, after glancing toward Sylin again, they jogged into the alley between it and the coffee shop.

“Did they seem suspicious to you?” Rylana asked.

“Yes, but there are a lot of suspicious characters on this street.” Sylin pointed at a familiar black carriage parked in front of the coffee shop.

Zilek’s conveyance.

“Yes, the hour of your date approaches,” Rylana said.

“Lucky me. I still sense Jildarin in there with his brother though.”

“He said he was asking Zilek for advice. Should we be concerned?”

“I would be.”

3

“I can’t see the title of his book from here,” Sylin said.

Rylana peered through the front window of the coffee shop. Sylin had followed her down from the rooftop terrace and stood beside her, apparently not eager to enter.