Page 65 of Ale Storm

Sylin looked him up and down—had she taken a step closer?—and smiled slightly at his ears. “I might feel something.”

“How promising.” Chuckling, Zilek twitched a finger. Magic flowed from him to shut the door, and the carriage rolled around one of the greenhouses to head out of the enclave.

Sylin watched it depart.

“You’re not really more attracted to him because he shifted forms, are you?” Rylana had been joking about the pointed ears. She hadn’t truly thought it would make a difference, though she admitted his elven physique was appealing.

Sylin glanced at her. Had her cheeks grown a touch pink?

“His personality is the same,” Sylin said. “Narcissistic, pompous, arrogant. I only suggested he fly to the South Pole so he would be gone for a while and not around to pester us.”

“So, if he returns with delicious meat for you, you won’t spring into bed with him.”

“Certainly not.”

“Or against the closest wall,” Rylana said, remembering Zilek’s advice to Jildarin on what to do with her.

“Rylana?”

“Yes?”

“Mind your own business. No, mind your own dragon.”

By then, Plant Master Chalora had noticed them. She dismissed the children, telling them to enjoy an early recess.

Her silver-blue hair was swept back with a clip, and a celestial-themed blue dress flowed to her ankles, the hem swishing over sandaled feet as she walked over to join Rylana and Sylin.

“It’s good to see you.” Chalora nodded to both of them, not showing any of the aloofness that the guard had. “You didn’t, by chance, bring any of Chef Jildarin’s mouthwatering bacon, did you?”

“Aren’t there rules against bringing meat into the elven enclave?”

“Oh, no. Some of us prefer vegetarian dishes, but many enjoy meat as well. We are hunters in addition to gardeners, after all. You may deliver bacon to me anytime. Especially the most scrumptious bacon marinaded in what was it? Pineapple and garlic-sugar-chili sauce. When I brought Chef Jildarin tropical ingredients from our greenhouses, I didn’t imagine what fabulous things he could do with them.” Chalora clasped her hands to her chest.

“How did I miss the pineapple-chili bacon?” Sylin asked Rylana.

“I think he’s only made that once. It’s your fault for not coming by the diner every day.”

“It’s hard to be a regular when you’re being hunted by elves.” Sylin gazed around the enclave, no doubt taking note of a couple of guards standing innocuously against a tree at the edge of the gardens, pretending not to be watching them. Watching her.

“You worked visiting the coffee shop daily onto your calendar.” Rylana lifted the horn over her head to show Chalora. “Plant Master, it was remiss of me not to bring bacon, but you’re welcome to visit the diner anytime. After you put together that wonderful terrace for us, neither Jildarin nor I would object to giving you all the food you’d like at no cost.”

“Would I still be pressed into leaving a goblin tip?” Chalora looked at the horn without any recognition or sign of interest, but that wasn’t surprising. It was a dwarven artifact, after all.

“If you come today, you might be pressed into leaving a dozen tips.”

Chalora blinked, and Rylana waved away the comment. “I found this horn while questing with Jildarin for enchanted morels. Technically, a peacekeeper’s hound found it. We’re soon to learn if it belongs to the dwarven royal family.”

Chalora’s slender eyebrows arched. “I can sense that it’s magical but wouldn’t have guessed it overly significant. The artwork is somewhat crude by elven standards.”

It crossed Rylana’s mind that Zilek’s pomposity fit well with pointed ears. Maybe he should keep his new elven form.

“It’s quite old, I understand,” Rylana said. “Maybe dwarven ivory carving art wasn’t that refined then.”

“Dwarven art still isn’t that refined,” Chalora said. “But it was presumably meant more for utility as a hunting horn than a masterpiece. Is it simply that it once belonged to the royal family that gives it significance?”

“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out. It warms up at times, and in three instances, I’ve seen these little mugs glow blue. Once was after the attack on the terrace. Not during it but the morning following. I bumped one of the potted trees and dropped it in the soil. That’s when it glowed. Then it didn’t glow again, despite me waving it all over the rooftop.” Rylana spread her arms. “The mugs didn’t light up again until we wandered through the market past leather goods, meat on skewers, a plant shop, and an alchemy shop run by a crabby troll.”

“Meertah, yes.” Chalora smiled. “She’s famous for the many, many potions, formulas, and tinctures she offers.”