“Dragons believe we all exist to serve them, but… they’re more open about their feelings and opinions than elves, so you always know what they’re thinking. The elves here… They can be dangerous, and the enclave isn’t a safe place for outsiders to visit—or be dragged forcibly into.”
“Oh, I know all about elves. Trust me.” Rylana touched her side. Though, unlike Jildarin with his scar by his eye, her old wounds were under her clothes so others couldn’t see them.
“Yet you travel with one.”
“She fought with my mercenary unit and on the side of the joint kingdoms.”
“An interesting choice. She must have been estranged from her people.”
“Something like that.” Rylana waved vaguely. Sylin’s story, what she knew of it, wasn’t hers to tell, and Sylin might be listening in on the conversation at that very moment.
Mya didn’t pry further, instead stepping back inside and turning down the lamps for the night.
Instead of walking into the coffee shop, Rylana passed it, turned into the alley, and found the metal ladder bolted to the side of the building. She climbed to the shadowy rooftop and made out the dark form of a single table and chair, something the owners had put up there for their quirky elven guest. Sylin had deemed it unwise to openly visit the shop and drink inside, assuming it might be watched and her presence reported, but she hadn’t been willing to forgo visiting her coffee supplier completely.
Sensing someone in the shadow of the chimney, Rylana said, “You could tell Tezilly and Brella that they don’t need a chair up here. You never sit in it, do you?”
“I do not,” came Sylin’s voice from the shadows. “When enemies approach, it’s easier to spring upon them from a crouch or leap into action from a standing position than if your knees are under a table with your butt cheeks planted.”
“Mind if I plantmycheeks? They enjoy being horizontal.”
“Go ahead. Since you’re not as sought after by enemies, I won’t even advise against it.”
“My charisma keeps enemies away. Though it doesn’t work that well on dragons.” Rylana was pleased Jildarin no longer viewed her as an enemy, but, more than once, she wondered if she would again see the female dragons they’d skirmished with by Toadstool Rock. The two sisters hadn’t been pleased that Jildarin was spending time with Rylana instead of mating with them. Shehopedthey would forget about her, but shehadshot at and wounded one of the sisters. If that dragon showed up again, wanting revenge, more than Rylana’s butt cheeks would be in danger. “The fact that my bowstring is tied with tranquility ribbons further convinces people I’m not a menace,” she added.
“My knife case is in a similar state, but there are other methods of dealing with enemies.”
“Yes. Speaking of that, did you know the elven queen is on her way to visit Tranquility?”
“I have heard that, yes. I’ve never met her but don’t consider her an enemy.”
“Do your people know that? Some elves from the south came by the diner and implied that’s why their local kin have been aiming their cannons at you.”
“Elves don’t employ black-powder weapons.”
“They’re metaphorical cannons,” Rylana said. “You wouldn’t assassinate a queen, right?”
“I suppose if someone offered pay commensurate with thetremendous risk one would undertake to get close to and kill such an important person, I would consider the job. As you’re aware, I’ve killed high-ranking elves before.”
“A queen is more thanhigh-ranking. She’s thehighestrank, at least among elves. But, yes, I’m aware that you aren’t deterred by assignments involving pointy-eared targets. Though you’ve never explained to mewhyit doesn’t bother you to assassinate elves or why you joined the mercenaries, for that matter.”
“The same as you. I needed a job that would make use of my unique skillset.”
“Knife skills could as easily be turned toward making crudités. You may like the challenges that assassinations offer, but they’re not all you’re qualified to do.”
“Crudités. Really.” A soft slurp sounded as Sylin drank from a coffee cup. “Idocrave a challenge. Assisting a chef would not fulfill me.”
“I understand from Jildarin that butternut squash, rutabagas, and ogre roots—thanks to their awkward shapes and hard skins—can be challenging to prepare. Maybe you should try them. Then your people would love you instead of fearing you. You know elves adore vegetable dishes.”
“I’m certain they don’t fear me.”
“They think you might be here to assassinate the queen,” Rylana said, not certain the ramifications were sinking in for Sylin. Or maybe she understood perfectly but simply wasn’t worried. Still, Sylin had mentioned weeks ago that she might have to leave Tranquility if her people continued to search for her.
“I had no idea the queen was coming here until recently,” Sylin said. “I don’t feel vengeful toward her, but you are correct that I don’t feel any more warmly toward my own species than toward a goblin or an ogre. If anything, when I chanced across elves in my younger years, I found them more contemptuous than others toward me. Because, in their eyes, I was a savage and acted morelike an animal than an elegant and refined being.” A rare hint of bitterness entered Sylin’s voice as she added, “As if it was my fault I was abandoned in the forest as a toddler, had to fend for myself, and didn’t have anyone to teach me multiple languages or to play musical instruments or grow beautiful flowers in a garden.”
“You’d think elves would consider being raised by wolves a point in a person’s favor. Very natural.”
“They enjoy nature, but they also value a broad education.”
