“Learn how to make an appropriate offering out of rye?” Rylana asked with skepticism. That couldn’t possibly be enough, could it?
“I do not know what the ingredients in a proper offering would be, but perhaps you could find a troll who follows the old gods and remembers.”
“Who remembers? Trolls don’t live nearly as long as elves.”
They didn’t even live as long as humans.
“That is true,” Valesena. “And they’ve never been diligent about keeping written records. You may be in for a challenge.”
Lovely.
“Jildarinwas the one looking for a challenge. Not me. I was just looking for…”
What? To start a new career? To reconnect with friends and family from the past? She hadn’t done a good job of the latter yet. So far, the old acquaintances she’d met had all changed. Orshehad.
Valesena paused to look at her.
“I’m just supposed to balance the books,” was what Rylana opted to say.
“The great books of the past, present, and future are in need of balancing. Perhaps you were meant to take on this task.” She raised a hand of acknowledgment toward Jildarin, then returned to her troupe.
“Nothing daunting about that,” Rylana muttered.
16
“What’s that?”As they walked toward the exit of the elven enclave, a couple of armed guards following toensurethey departed, Rylana pointed to a piece of paper in Jildarin's hand. It looked like it had been torn from the notepad one of the elders had been writing on.
“An order.” Jildarin sounded bemused. “For my soup.”
“All those, erm, older elves want a dish seasoned with dragon spices?” Rylana couldn’t imagine any of the stately and sedate people who’d gathered around him longing to enhance their love lives. Did centuries-old elves evenhavelove lives?
“They’ve heard of the dish and are curious to try it. There were also four orders for coffee-rubbed mushrooms.” His eyebrows arched.
“None of those elders were nearby when I spoke about that.”
“Elves have the same ability to communicate telepathically as dragons.”
“Meaning nothing was private about my conversation with Layothlee? Or her boss?”
“Likely not.”
“I wondered if Layothlee might have drawn me aside to feign friendliness while finagling information on Sylin’s whereabouts out of me, but nobody ended up asking about her.”
“Several elveswantedto forcibly coerce that information from you,” Jildarin said. “They also warned me that they’d looked you up and know that you are dangerous to their kind and also dragon kind.” His eyelids drooped as he touched the scar on his temple and regarded her. “I informed them that I alreadyknewthat.”
“They’re a helpful people, aren’t they?”
“To their allies, they can be.” Jildarin slowed as they approached the exit archway.
The two guards who had been there before remained, but another elf stood in the pathway, a handsome male with short, spiky silver hair. Dressed all in black, save for leather armor that covered his shoulders and torso, he wore a sword in a belt scabbard, the hilt tied with a tranquility ribbon. In addition, numerous dagger hilts protruded from sheaths along his forearms and tucked into his boots. Rylana didn’t notice ribbons knottingthemto keep them from being drawn.
“I am Captain Tassani,” he stated, his voice pleasant but firm. “I work with Captain Laridon of the peacekeepers to ensure there’s no trouble in the city.” He had blue-gray eyes that politely acknowledged Jildarin before turning toward Rylana. With accusation?
“I don’t know if you noticed,” she said, “but there’s trouble in the city now.”
“The otherworldly kind that’s difficult for a warrior to thwart, yes. I stand ready if the priests, shamans, and elven elders determine that I may be of use.”
“That’s nice.” Rylana smiled at him, then made a shooing motion, though she doubted he would step aside. Why did she have a feeling that the interrogation she thought she might have escaped was about to begin?
