Page 2 of Morel Dilemma

“You didn’t reserve a ticket for me.”

“Because it would be suicidal for you to go. Though I did get the feeling that the ballerina, Layothlee, was looking for you and specifically wants you to attend.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“According to Jildarin’s brother, Zilek, she’s a relative of the queen. He may not be the most reliable resource though. Anyway, Layothlee seemed friendly and wasn’t overly snooty when I spoke with her.”

“I believe it’s possible for people with important relatives to refrain from snoot. You were raised in a pompous castle by a shipping magnate, and you’re unpretentious.”

Rylana wiped more mud from her cheek. “I’m delighted that you think so. The family castle isn’t as pompous now that we know there’s a troll temple under the library.”

“Does that negatively affect property values?”

“Unless you want to sell to a troll clan.”

They’d reached the top of the peak and had it to themselves, no walkers sitting on the wet wooden benches that looked over the city and Luminous Lake.

“Our discussion reminds me that I need to visit Tranklin’s Fine Gowns and Tailoring to buy a dress for the event tomorrow. Or at least something less…” Rylana waved at her damp trousers, shoes, and tunic. They were nearly as sodden as the cloak that was supposed to be keeping her dry. “Soldierly.”

She resisted calling her wardrobe mannish, the term that Vernest Vormalt had used for both her clothes and her short hair. When she’d heard the peacekeepers had caught up to him and were detaining him indefinitely for having unleashed the troll gods’ curse on the city, the news hadn’t distressed her overmuch.

“Dresses aren’t practical for sneaking into secure compounds or engaging in battle,” Sylin said.

“Neither of which I plan to do at the elven ballet. I’m expecting nothing but elegance, sophistication, and an utter lack of conflict.”

“It sounds boring.”

“Perfect for an evening off after a busy day at the diner. And a busy week. Our increased popularity, thanks to Jildarin winning the Golden Whisk, has kept the place bustling. Oh, you might want to stay away today. The elven plant master is coming to show us design options and start preparations on the new rooftop seating area.”

“Your life has changed a lot since our mercenary days,” Sylin said, her gaze toward the low gray clouds hanging over the lake.

A thick mist prevented Rylana from seeing to the estates on the far side, and the fishing boats and merchant ships coming and going were barely visible. Even so, Sylin looked intently toward the water, as if she could detect something out there.

“I did come to Tranquility hoping for a more sedate and restful life. I would like to think that my new work—bringing culinary satisfaction to diners while providing a convivial atmosphere—makes up for some of the carnage I helped bring about during the war.” Rylana made a gesture to mimic loosing an arrow from her bow. “Creating a pleasurable dining experience improves people’s lives rather than destroying them.”

“Uh-huh. Are you and your dragon still arguing about whether the pergola should be made from lumber or living trees?”

“We’re going to let the plant master decide.” Rylana wiped more water from her face. At least the rain was letting up. “I will admit this isn’t exactly what I thought I’d be doing when I returned to Tranquility. I’ve been enjoying the work and the many challenges, but…”

She waited for Sylin to prompt her to continue, but her comrade’s gaze remained toward the water, a slight frown on her lips. That was all right. Rylana didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence anyway.

“I guess I’m wondering if I’m succeeding at… I don’t know.” Rylana shrugged. “Act Two of my life. When we left the south, all I knew was that I wanted to put the war and being a mercenary behind me and do something else, something more meaningful.”

“More meaningful than helping a dragon fix what was a failing diner?”

“That is important, especially for Jildarin, and I’ve come to care about him and want to see him succeed, but I can’t help but feel I’m… living someone else’s dream.”

“Dragons are large. They and their personalities—and their dreams—take up a lot of space in a cave and can subsume all else that’s nearby.”

“Yeah.” Had Rylana allowed herself to be subsumed? And, if so, did she mind? “I’m just…”

“You’ll have to decide if helping Jildarin is what you’re meant to do. I’m your running partner, not your therapist.” Sylin pointed toward the center of the lake.

“What is that?” Rylana asked, finally seeing what Sylin must have detected earlier.

A great green watercraft that looked like a floating island with masts and sails—and were those living trees?—was drifting out of the mist toward the docks.

“The elf queen has arrived,” Sylin said with certainty.