Page 59 of Ale Storm

“We passed a big garden booth with plant starts for sale. I wondered if it was the foliage that made the horn glow rather than some kitchen ingredient.”

“So far, it’s only glowed twice, and I wasn’t able to replicate it the next time I waved it around the pots on the terrace. Besides, if plants got it excited, wouldn’t it have glowed more often? There are a lot of trees and plants in the city, and we’ve been walking all over.”

“There aren’t that many trees. Outside of the parks and the elven enclave, it’s mostly buildings and cobblestones.”

“There are a lot of parks though. Especially compared to other cities we visited as mercenaries. It’s quite nice here.”

“Does that mean you’re going to settle down and stay for the rest of your life?”

“I’m not sure, but I am a partner in the diner now. That suggests a degree of commitment.” It wasn’t until she said the words out loud that Rylana realized she did intend to stay. Even if her relationship with her various family members wasn’t quite what she’d hoped, she’d already come to care for Jildarin and the staff at the diner. And Mya. And Brella and Tezilly. True, they hadn’t engaged in a lot of deep and revealing conversations, but it was hard not to feel affection for someone who delivered deliciously addictive lattes every day. Somewhere between arriving in Tranquility and believing she and everything here had changed and having the diner invaded by goblin children, Rylana had come to feel this was home again.

“True,” Sylin said as they walked under the archway of the busy marketplace. “I doubt your dragon would let you go, regardless. He bought you a bedroom set. He must believe you’re his now.”

“I’m less bothered by being claimed by a dragon than I should be.”

“I assumed. Even a goblin child can see that you’re smitten.” Sylin turned down the aisle they’d been in when the female dragons had appeared—and the horn had glowed.

“I doubt smitten is the word Rolf used to his wife.”

“No, goblins apparently mate based on zerg stick size.”

“I’m sure Rolf doesn’t know anything about that part of Jildarin.”

“I suppose it depends how often he looks in that direction. Goblins are at a height about even to that particular area on a human male.”

“I’m positive Rolf doesn’t spend a lot of time looking at Jildarin’s crotch.” Rylana spotted the plant shop and weaved past wagons and shoppers carrying baskets, not eager to continue a discussion on this topic.

Fortunately, Sylin dropped the subject. She was alternately glancing at the horn and peering past plucked chickens, crates of fresh fish and eels, woven glass bowls and plates, and other offerings. When they reached the plant shop, with rows and rows of small pots offering starts of lavender, rosemary, orcbane, and countless other herbs, Rylana stopped and pointed the horn around. It had been dangling quiescent on her chest. When she touched it, there wasn’t any hint of warmth.

“Well, maybe the dwarven king will tell me what you do before reclaiming you,” she said to it.

“King?” Sylin asked.

“He’s coming to the diner soon.” As Rylana walked through plant-filled aisles, hoping the horn would react to something, she summed up the morning visit.

“Is that why your dragon was muttering phrases in Dwarven when I looked in?”

“I think that’s how he puts himself in the right frame of mind for a project. He gets excited by a new culinary challenge.”

“He’s an interesting dragon.”

“An amazing dragon.”

Sylin gave her a knowing look but did not mention zerg sticks again. Thankfully. Instead, having explored all the aisles in the plant shop, she led the way to an alchemy tent. Hundreds, if not thousands, of beakers, vials, tins, and twists of dried herbs were available, filling the air with myriad exotic scents. Unlike with culinary herbs, the latter were more pungent and unappealing than enticing, at least to Rylana’s nose. The labels were sparse to nonexistent, so she could only guess at the purposes of the various items.

An aged troll female watching them didn’t volunteer any information. She looked like an older version of the shaman who’d come out to Lucky Island to bless the sacred bread the night of the offering.

“It’s glowing,” Sylin said.

Rylana looked down in surprise and touched the horn. It was not only warm to her fingers but so much so that she could feel its heat through her clothing.

“It’s not a plant that sets it off, then.” Sylin scratched her jaw. “An alchemical concoction?”

“There weren’t any of those on the terrace garden,” Rylana said.

“Are you sure? One of the elven traitors may have flung a potion at us during the chaos. With so many people on your rooftop, it was hard to see everything going on.”

“Many of my formulas are plant-based,” the troll female said in an aged voice. “The natural world is at the base of all that may be made with magic.”