by Heidi Lang
“What kind of backup plan?”
He hesitated. But then the bell above the door chimed and he ducked behind the kitchen curtain.
That same blond elf strolled in, the one with the cold blue eyes and hundreds of braids. And right behind him came . . . Ryon?
“All right, little chef, it’s been three days,” the elf announced. “Where’s Hannah?”
Lailu stood slowly. “I d-don’t know.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “I think you do know.”
Lailu lifted her chin. Could he smell the lies on her? Could he read it in her face? She forced herself not to think of Hannah, asleep and vulnerable, just upstairs . . .
“I told you, Eirad, she hasn’t returned here yet,” Ryon said. “I’ve been looking for her.”
Eirad smirked. “I’m sure you have.” Ryon’s eyes narrowed and Eirad’s smirk faded immediately. “Fine. Little chef, tell your friend that she needs to bring the item tonight.”
Lailu took a deep breath. “What happens if she doesn’t have it for you yet?”
“Well, then we start taking other things of value from her.” Eirad leaned back against a table. “We’ll begin with some fingers, then maybe some toes, and then move on to the ears. That sort of thing.”
“She’s only fourteen!” Lailu burst out.
The elf shrugged. “Old enough. She knew the penalties when she stole from us.”
Hannah, why? Lailu shook her head.
“She’ll know where to find us.” He gave Ryon a hostile look, then stalked out.
“That went surprisingly well,” Ryon said into the silence.
“Thanks for sticking up for me.” Lailu collapsed back into her chair.
“For you? No problem.” Ryon hesitated, one hand running back through his dark, silky hair. “But he’s right. The elves always collect what they’re owed, and when they don’t . . . well, I’ve seen their collection of limbs. It isn’t pretty.”
“I don’t think Hannah knows where it is,” Lailu admitted miserably.
“Maybe you should go upstairs and ask her.”
Lailu’s eyebrows shot up. “You knew Hannah was here?”
Ryon shrugged.
“You lied? To an elf?”
“I lie to everyone.”
“But can’t they always tell?”
“Not when I do it.”
Lailu frowned, studying Ryon. There was something off about him, something she couldn’t quite figure out. “But aren’t you working for him?”
“Am I?” Ryon smiled. “Anyway, even if the item is gone, you and your friend can still make it out of this, all limbs intact.”
“How?”
“The elves can’t resist a good bargain. So offer to cook them something they’ve never had before. Something . . . extravagant.”
“Really? That could work?” Lailu’s stomach unknotted as the smallest bit of hope welled up. Still, a bargain with the elves? They were more slippery and dangerous than an enraged kraken.
“It’s worth a try. But be careful how you word your bargain. Make sure you’re very clear about what you’re trading, and what you’re getting in return.” He stretched. “Anyhow, I’m off to see your boyfriend now. Any messages to pass him?”
“M-my what?”
Ryon’s grin widened. “You know, handsome fellow, long blond hair. Knows you as ‘Lala.’ Or is it ‘Lillie’?”
“Vahn?” Lailu’s face burned. “He’s not my, I mean, he’s . . . friend, my brother’s . . .”
“Relax, I’m just teasing you. You could do much better.”
Lailu highly doubted that. “Why are you meeting him?” She suddenly remembered Vahn’s statement: I never thought I’d be doing a job for this particular group. Maybe the elves hired Vahn to investigate their disappearances? “Are you working together?”
“Not . . . exactly,” Ryon hedged. “I’ve been in the business of trading information for a while now. Vahn is just one of my many customers.”
“I thought you were just supposed to be ‘spying’ for Mr. Boss—”
“That’s what I want him to believe.”
“—and that instead you were secretly working for the elves,” she continued.
“And why would you think that?” He grinned, obviously enjoying this, but Lailu ignored his flippant attitude. She thought again of the jar Brennon had left her to give to Vahn. It had been on her mind since last night. Could she trust Ryon? She didn’t know when Vahn would be by again, and Ryon had helped her before. Maybe . . .
“I do have something for him. Something strange,” she said, making up her mind.
“Oh?”
“Brennon gave it to me.”
Ryon froze.
“Wait here.” Lailu lugged her pixy paprika canister out of the kitchen and into the dining room, then unscrewed the lid and lifted the jar of purple liquid out.
All the color drained from Ryon’s face, leaving him whiter than freshly kneaded dough. “By the gods.”
“What is it?” Lailu’s heart beat faster. The jar was still warm in her hand, the liquid inside hissing like it hadn’t been buried in a dark cabinet for the past few days.
Ryon’s eyes found hers. “Elf blood.”
22
LAILU HAS A PLAN
Lailu dropped the jar.
Ryon lunged forward, catching it a foot off the ground.
“I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it,” Lailu mumbled. She felt sick, the world swimming around her. She had to sit down.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I had no idea,” she whispered hoarsely.
Ryon gave a wry chuckle. “I can tell.” All laughter faded as he looked at the jar in his hand. “Brennon gave you this?”
She nodded.
“Did he steal it from Mr. Boss?”
“Um . . . I think he said he stole it for Mr. Boss,” Lailu croaked. “But then he decided not to give it to him.”
“Stole it from whom?”
Lailu hesitated. She thought of Starling, and of Wren. He’s bankrupting himself to buy this junk from the scientists. “I don’t know,” she lied.
Ryon squinted at her. “Lailu, if you know anything . . .”
“I don’t. Not really.”
He nodded. “Well, this changes everything.” He pulled Lailu to her feet. “Don’t tell anyone about this, not even that mentor of yours. If Eirad had searched your place just now, you’d be a smear on your floor. Even I wouldn’t have been able to save you.” He squeezed her hand, then released her. “I don’t know what Brennon was thinking, giving this to you.”
“So is he d-dead, then?”
Ryon’s eyes were cold. “He’d better be.” Pocketing the jar, he turned and left the restaurant, the door chiming cheerfully behind him.
Lailu stood there for a long moment, breathing hard and trying not to think about blood, elven blood, sitting in her cabinet for days. Taking one last deep breath, she headed upstairs to find Hannah.
Hannah wasn’t in the bedroom. Frowning, Lailu turned to go back downstairs when she heard a scuffling noise, and Slipshod’s door opened. Hannah poked her head out, then tiptoed into the hall, shutting the door behind her.
“What are you doing?” Lailu asked.
Hannah jumped, then turned around guiltily. “N-nothing.”
“Is Master Slipshod in there?”
“No. I saw him leave out the back.”
“And so you snuck into his rooms? Why?” Lailu narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to steal from him, too?”
“Of course not! Lailu, I swear I left the elves’ haircomb on your nightstand. I know I did. But I can’t find it anywhere. So, I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“You thought my mentor took it?”
Hannah bit her lip, then nodded.
“No way! Why would he . . .” But Lailu remembered how weird Master Slipshod had acted right after Mr. Boss moved up their loan’s deadline. And she could have sworn he’d gone into h
er room that night. Could he have? “No way,” she repeated weakly.
“B-but I’ve l-looked everywhere for it.” Tears streamed down Hannah’s face. “It’s g-gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“This was my last hope,” Hannah sobbed, indicating Master Slipshod’s door. “He must have s-sold it, or gambled it away already.”
“If he ever had it in the first place.” Lailu shook her head. “Did you really steal it off an elf’s head?”
Hannah gave a tremulous smile. “Yes,” she sniffled.
“How?” Even if she wholeheartedly disapproved of Hannah’s stealing, Lailu was dying to know how she pulled it off.
“We-ell”—Hannah drew out the word—“I was doing the hair of Lady Abigail, and Gweneth, she was my roommate—”
“I’ve heard.”
“Horrible person, by the way. Well, she was asked to do the hair of this elf who was visiting Madame Pompadour. For practice, you know? Our stations were right next to each other, so I just sort of . . . helped her.”
“You helped her, huh?”
She shrugged. “It was easy to lean over and—” She mimed the motion of pinching something delicately between two fingers.
“Hannah.” Lailu shook her head.
“What? It was a very nice comb,” Hannah said defensively. “I couldn’t help myself. You should have seen the way the sunlight hit it from the windows. It made the whole world look shiny and green.”
“And she didn’t notice?”
“Well, obviously she did eventually.” Hannah wiped at her face. “But not at first, no.” She sniffed again. “I probably shouldn’t have worn it afterward. That was a little obvious, now that I think about it.”
Lailu wasn’t sure if she should strangle her friend or hug her. She exhaled. No sense in delaying anymore; she just had to be blunt. “Hannah, one of the elves was here for you again today. He said if you don’t return the comb, he’s going to . . . to start taking body parts.”
“Oh, dragon dung,” Hannah whispered. Then she burst into tears.
“It’s going to be all right.” Lailu patted Hannah’s shoulder awkwardly. “You’ll see. It’ll all work out.” But how? “Dragon . . . dung,” she repeated slowly, the beginnings of a plan swirling into place. “Dragon dung . . .”
“Lailu?” Hannah sniffled.
And Lailu smiled. Because she had a plan. A plan not only to free Hannah, but to free herself and Master Slipshod too.
It was time for Master Slipshod to teach her the secrets of dragon cuisine.
Lailu cornered Master Slipshod as he was creeping back inside the restaurant that evening. Before he could even sit down or move or do anything, she had blurted out the whole story, ending with her request.
“Absolutely not.” Master Slipshod crossed his arms.
“But it’s been in the papers! It’s even attacking villagers, and if we don’t do something about it, you know they’ll send a hero after it.”
“I highly doubt that. A hero couldn’t handle a mountain dragon.” Slipshod’s lips curled into a sneer. Lailu knew how he felt about heroes. It was a sentiment most chefs shared. She snatched at it.
“True, a hero might not be able to. But we could. If you’ll just teach me—”
“I’m not divulging the ancient secrets of dragon cuisine just so you can help your flighty little friend. Besides, you’re not ready.”
Lailu clenched her fists, her nails biting into her skin. “She’s not flighty!”
Slipshod snorted.
“And I am too ready. I haven’t done anything reckless lately—”
“You’re about to try bargaining with a pack of unscrupulous elves! If that isn’t reckless, I don’t know what is.”
“You could come with me.”
“I’m done bargaining, Pigtails. And never with elves. It’s a bad idea. I’d stop you if I could.”
Lailu narrowed her eyes. “I’m ready,” she repeated firmly. “I know I am.”
Master Slipshod’s eyes were tired and bloodshot, he still had the beginnings of a beard, and he’d run his fingers through his hair so often it stuck up in a wiry mess. But his eyes sharpened as he finally studied Lailu, really studied her. Lailu stood very tall, heart pounding. Eventually Slipshod gave a small nod. “You might be at that.”
“R-really?”
He turned away from her, one finger idly tracing the SV on the stove. “And you say this . . . this item Hannah misplaced is going to land her in a lot of trouble?”
“Yes.”
“And this dragon cuisine. It could balance out that trouble?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I hope so,” Lailu whispered.
Slipshod didn’t turn around, but his shoulders slumped. “Let me think on it some more.”
Lailu bit her lip. She wanted to know Master Slipshod would help her before using that as a bargaining chip, but she didn’t want to push it, not when he was so close to agreeing. Instead, she gritted her teeth and asked him for another favor.
“You want me to deliver messages now too?” Slipshod’s eyebrows drew together in irritation.
“Please. It’s important.”
He frowned. “Wren, you said? Some scientist’s kid?” He shook his head but took the letter Lailu wrote out for him. “Don’t really see the benefit to getting mixed up with her, but fine, fine.”
She wasn’t sure if Wren would even respond, but one way or another she had to know what that girl was up to. With these thoughts weighing her down, Lailu left her mentor behind and headed out for her meeting with the elves, feeling woefully underprepared but determined all the same.
23
THE TREE FORT
Lailu studied the massive wooden doors cut into the side of the redwood tree. An intricate pattern sprawled across the front, swirls tangling together to form a flowing tree across both doors with some sort of writing underneath. Lailu was familiar with wood carving, and she knew instinctively that no tool had been used to make this image. It was as if the tree had grown the picture and words, fashioning the doors from its very essence. Back home she had heard stories about elves with the power to shape nature, to call animals, summon fire, and much more. Staring at this tree, she could believe those stories. This place was not grown so much as created.
There were no handles on the door, and she hesitated, about to knock. It felt like the tree was holding its breath, waiting for her.
Lailu looked down at the wooden platform under her feet, her eyes trailing out over the edge to the tiny path carved precariously into the tree itself. It stretched from the ground hundreds of feet below and wound its way up the trunk, each step just a tiny sliver carved into the tree. Had she really climbed that just to be stopped by a pair of intimidating doors?
Taking a deep breath, Lailu raised her fist.
The doors flew open, knocking her back.
“Mind the edge,” a woman’s cool voice said, and Lailu realized her heels were only inches from the end of the platform. She scooted forward quickly, her heart hammering.
A female elf stood framed in the doorway, her chestnut hair pulled into a bun, emphasizing her prominent cheekbones and large pointed ears. “You must be Lailu, the chef.”
“Y-yes.”
“We’ve been expecting you.” The elf bared her teeth and stepped back from the doorway. “Welcome to the tree fort.”
Had Ryon told them she was coming? Or did they just somehow know? Lailu tentatively stepped inside, the doors swinging shut behind her.
The elf stalked gracefully up a staircase in the back of the small room as Lailu followed nervously behind her.
At the top of the stairs stretched a long hallway smelling vaguely earthy, the polished wooden walls and ceiling adding to Lailu’s impression of walking through a forest. Was this all part of the same tree? It hadn’t seemed that big from the outside. Lailu shivered, remembering Eirad’s words, how he wanted to turn five years of her life into magic. How many years had been stolen to create th
is place?
Pushing those thoughts away, she glanced into each of the open doors they passed. Sometimes the elves in the rooms would look up, but most of them just ignored her.
When they got to a closed door at the very end of the hallway, Lailu’s guide raised a dainty fist and knocked three times.
“Come in.”
The elf pushed open the door. Lailu followed her in, her hands like ice.
Reclining in a large chair behind an even larger oak desk sat Fahr, the elf Lailu had seen at Lord Elister’s dinner party. His booted feet were propped up on his desk, his long black hair silky and smooth in the flickering firelight. Lailu could feel him watching her with his laughing blue-gray eyes.
“Gwendyl?” Fahr turned to Lailu’s guide, a small crease forming between his eyes. “I sent for Livea.”
The elf woman slid into an empty chair in the back corner. “She’s still out,” she said bitterly, “so I guess I’m the note taker today.”
“Livea’s out?” Fahr’s shoulders tensed.
The door opened again and Lailu’s heart sank as the familiar blond elf strolled in, his braids tumbling loosely around his shoulders. “I hear you want to negotiate after all.” He smiled at her, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “You can’t imagine how happy that makes me.”
“I think I’d prefer not to imagine, thank you.” Lailu was proud of how calm her voice sounded.
“Eirad, sit down,” Fahr said.
A hint of genuine humor touched Eirad’s eyes as he folded his tall frame into a seat. Now Lailu was the only one standing. She clasped her hands behind her back to hide their trembling.
Fahr moved his feet off the desk and straightened in his chair. “Let’s get this done then, shall we?” His blue-gray eyes fixed Lailu in place. “We have before us Lailu Loganberry, here to negotiate payment for one Hannah Meadows. Our records show that Hannah owes us an elven heirloom, now lost.”
“Lailu, what do you propose in exchange for this priceless item?” Eirad asked, taking over.
