Today Ryn's package finally arrived.
I still do not know what is inside.
What I do know is that the box is extremely expensive-looking.
Polished wood.
Decorative brass fittings.
Elegant craftsmanship.
The sort of container designed to convince people the contents must be important.
Or expensive.
Possibly both.
Ryn accepted it personally.
Then immediately carried it upstairs.
I asked what was inside.
She smiled.
This rarely improves my situation.
Then she informed me she would be treating me to lunch.
An unexpected development.
Naturally, I accepted.
Free food remains one of the greatest achievements of civilization.
While we were walking toward the dining hall, Ryn casually informed me she intended to use me as a shield.
I stopped walking.
"Excuse me?"
"A shield, Miss DeLuna."
I waited for additional explanation.
None arrived.
Instead she continued walking.
I followed.
Mostly because I wanted answers.
Partly because I wanted food.
Food won.
The dining hall of Second Chance Inn was crowded as usual.
Merchants.
Adventurers.
Travelers.
Scholars.
At least one werebear.
The werebear waved when he noticed me looking.
I nearly waved back.
Ryn physically redirected my attention before the situation escalated.
We eventually settled at a table near the center of the room.
Then food arrived.
Immediately afterward, my investigation regarding the shield became considerably less important.
The first dish was something called Second Chance Pie.
Apparently nobody knows what is inside until it is served.
A culinary philosophy I find both exciting and deeply irresponsible.
Today's version contained mushrooms.
Several kinds.
Along with meat I could not identify confidently.
Whatever it was, the result was excellent.
I now understand why the inn serves it as a signature dish.
The second meal was venison apple stew.
Warm.
Rich.
Comforting.
The sweetness from the fruit softened the venison perfectly.
The third dish was grilled wolf steak.
I had never eaten wolf before.
At least not knowingly.
It tasted somewhere between venison and beef.
Firm.
Smoky.
Remarkably good.
The honey-glazed carrots were equally dangerous.
Dangerous because I kept reaching for more.
At some point I became aware that Ryn had barely touched her food.
Instead she seemed unusually interested in the surrounding conversations.
Particularly those involving merchants.
This should have warned me.
Unfortunately, I was distracted by pie.
Eventually a familiar topic emerged.
The upcoming Dunskar auction.
Again.
The rumors appear to multiply daily.
One merchant confidently claimed the Caravan Master would personally attend.
Another claimed he was seeking an artifact capable of revealing someone's true nature.
A third claimed he intended to acquire two specific artifacts.
The details changed constantly.
The confidence remained unwavering.
Rumors possess an impressive resistance to reality.
The conversation became stranger.
Apparently the mysterious princess accompanying him would arrive carrying one hundred thousand Gold Crowns.
I nearly choked.
That sounded like enough money to purchase several villages.
Or perhaps a small nation.
I am admittedly terrible at judging wealth.
Still.
One hundred thousand felt excessive.
According to the merchants, this mysterious princess was connected to one of the old races.
Possibly not even human.
The theory seemed popular.
Another merchant disagreed immediately.
Then proposed something even less believable.
A few minutes later, someone mentioned Prince Elowen.
Specifically that the princess might be his fiancée.
I frowned.
That part seemed especially strange.
Because if they were discussing the same Elowen I knew—
it made very little sense.
High Elven traditions tend to be stubborn.
Very stubborn.
Historically impressive levels of stubborn.
Marriage outside established expectations rarely falls into the category of "routine."
Then again, rumors are not required to make sense.
Only to spread.
The discussion continued.
The artifact became more powerful.
The princess became more mysterious.
The stakes became larger.
At one point I am reasonably certain somebody implied civilization itself might change.
Ryn nodded thoughtfully through all of this.
Smiling occasionally.
Looking almost pleased.
Eventually she stood.
And walked over to join the conversation.
This should have concerned me more than it did.
I listened from my seat.
Not intentionally.
The merchants were simply very loud.
Among other things, I heard Ryn casually mention that the heir of Roderick Street would also participate in the auction.
Furthermore, that this heir intended to compete for the same items.
The reaction was immediate.
Several merchants nearly spilled their drinks.
Others began speculating wildly.
Values increased.
Predictions multiplied.
Arguments erupted.
Within minutes the conversation had become complete chaos.
Ryn returned to the table looking entirely satisfied.
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Then calmly resumed eating.
For several moments neither of us spoke.
Finally I asked the obvious question.
"Ryn."
"Yes, Miss DeLuna?"
"Doesn't Roderick Street only have you, Ronan, and Spathian?"
A pause.
Then another.
Ryn closed her eyes.
Very slowly.
The way people do when deciding whether to laugh or surrender.
Eventually she covered part of her face.
I still do not know why.
The conversation ended there.
Which somehow left me with even more questions.
Now I am back in my room.
The package remains mysterious.
The auction remains confusing.
The Caravan Master apparently travels with a princess.
Prince Elowen may or may not be involved.
One hundred thousand Gold Crowns continue to sound unreasonable.
And I still have no idea how I functioned as a shield today.
Though considering how happy Ryn looked afterward—
I suspect I succeeded.
Somehow.
Without noticing.
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