DRIVEN BY DESTINY

  TRACKING TROUBLE

  BOOK 3

  LINDSAY BUROKER

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2023 by Lindsay Buroker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  With the summer sun warming her back, Arwen Forester knelt on the earthen roof of her father’s house, distractedly picking lingonberries. She was watching the half-dragon, Azerdash Starblade, construct a magical regeneration pool on the back half of the farm.

  He stood shirtless in the cavity he’d hollowed out beside the pumpkin patch, his eyes closed, his arms spread as he gripped a small spherical artifact. Tendrils of power emanated from it, twining with his own significant power and working together to infuse the earth with magic. Though Starblade barely moved, the sweat dampening his skin attested to the effort it took to create the pool.

  “Maybe I should bring him some lemonade,” Arwen mused.

  It was a three-day process, and he’d been at it all morning. Maybe he would enjoy a break and a refreshment. And while he drank, he would gaze at her with his violet eyes, perhaps showing his appreciation while stepping close and touching her cheek. He might like the feel of her skin and forget that he found her mongrel dark-elven blood distasteful. He might also forget that he’d said numerous times that he had no romantic interest in her.

  A black Jeep rolled up the long gravel driveway, and Arwen pushed away her silly thoughts. She was supposed to be picking berries for the sauce for tonight’s big dinner, not fantasizing about something that wouldn’t come to pass.

  Sensing Val Thorvald and Matti Puletasi in the Jeep, Arwen waved at its approach. She lowered herself to the small deck, where her magical bone-and-wood bow and quiver of arrows leaned against the railing. The doormat read NO TRESPASSING instead of WELCOME.

  Should she put that inside for the dinner? By now, her guests knew that she and especially her father were on the skittish side when it came to people and preferred their privacy. Maybe Val and Matti wouldn’t think anything of the unfriendly mat. Besides, Arwen planned to host the meal outside so everyone could enjoy the weather.

  But why had they arrived so early? She hadn’t expected her visitors until that evening. The turkey had hours left to roast.

  After parking, Val hopped out. She lifted a finger, then pulled out a few narrow rectangular chocolate boxes as well as a ham wrapped in foil.

  “Hi, Val.” Arwen joined her in the driveway as the pregnant Matti got out more slowly, her due date fast approaching. “You didn’t need to bring food.”

  “Well, Zav is coming, so you’ll need a lot of meat. I assume you don’t mind that I invited him, especially since he’s promised to install powerful wards around your property to keep out strangers—especially dark-elf strangers.”

  Yes, Arwen had been glancing over her shoulder constantly since her run-in with the brother she’d never known she had. Even though she’d shot him in the back and watched him tumble into a waterfall, she doubted he was dead—or that he would stop troubling her.

  “I appreciate that, and he’s welcome of course.”

  “Sarrlevi is coming too,” Val said. “He can’t spend more than an hour away from Matti in her time of need.”

  Matti snorted but didn’t refute the statement.

  Arwen bit her lip, wondering how many people would show up for her dinner, one that she was only hosting because Yendral and Starblade had asked her to cook them a meal. Yendral, though he had nothing to do with the creation of the pool, had already flown past numerous times to check on the progress. Supposedly, he was hunting and might bring her something for the table.

  In addition to Val and Matti, Arwen had invited Amber and Willard, mostly because they’d all been at the Coffee Dragon when Arwen had been thinking that having a dinner with only Yendral and Starblade present might be awkward. Oh, she would love a private meal with Starblade, one that featured soft music and romantic candlelight, but his half-dragon comrade added an element of uncertainty.

  More than once, Yendral had mentioned admiring her squish, which Arwen had ambivalent feelings about. She wanted Starblade to admire her squish—or anything else on her that might appeal to him. Yendral was handsome and friendly enough, but she didn’t want to have sex with him. However, as powerful as the half-dragons were, it had crossed her mind that Yendral could use magical coercion to convince her that she did want that. He didn’t seem as bound by honor as Starblade. With more people present, many of whom were capable fighters and fearless in the face of dragons, the odds of Yendral doing something untoward seemed lower.

  Still, her inherent fear of crowds, even crowds of friends, made Arwen grimace at the idea of numerous people on the property. The picnic table would only seat six, maybe eight if everyone got cozy. What would she do if more guests came? She couldn’t ask Colonel Willard or Lord Zavryd to sit on a stump.

  Matti walked around the Jeep to join them, her magical war hammer slung over her shoulder. As a good half-dwarf, she rarely left her weapon behind, even when she might need to be whisked off to the delivery room at any time. She also gripped a canvas grocery bag that rattled with empty jars.

  “Thought I’d return these.” Matti hefted the load. “I didn’t realize quite how many of the jars of jam and pickled vegetables that Sarrlevi brought me came from your farm. Your food is really good. It’s good that you’re selling some of it at the Coffee Dragon now.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Arwen said.

  “I have some news from Zoltan about your tattoo-removal recipe. Do you need help?” Val pointed to the roof where Arwen had left her bucket. “Or any assistance with dinner? I’m not the best cook, but I’ve gotten handy at making meat and poultry all different ways. And I can definitely pick berries.”

  Before Arwen could say that she had enough lingonberries, Val trotted up to the deck and pulled herself onto the roof, her blonde braid swinging. Between her half-elven agility and six feet in height, she made it look easy. Before harvesting anything, she looked toward the back of the property and smirked down at Arwen.

  “Is picking berries what you were really doing up here?” Val asked.

  “Yes, of course.” Arwen pointed to the bucket, though she assumed Val had gotten a glimpse of the shirtless Starblade.

  “There are only three berries in there.”

  “What? It was half full.” Arwen pulled herself up, leaving Matti to head inside with the bag.

  Father was working in the barn, so Arwen didn’t worry about anyone running into him. He’d oozed disapproval at her admission to inviting people for a dinner party and wanted nothing to do with her visitors, so she doubted she would see him at all that evening. Starblade was the only person Father didn’t mind; they’d bonded over tractor parts.

  A crow cawed from the stove vent as Arwen made it up and peered into the bucket. There were more than three berries but perhaps not as many as she’d picked.

  “Do crows eat lingonberries?” Val peered toward the bushes, vines, and trees that seemingly grew at random on the property but that had been planted to complement each other.

  “Crows eat anything.”

  “I don’t sense any goblins, at least. They love berries to go with their roadkill meals. I should warn you that I heard some might come by later. They were talking about it at the Coffee Dragon yesterday.”

  Arwen blinked. “Random goblins are going to show up at my dinner?”

  “Nin tried to dissuade them, but they promised they would bring an appropriate gift and that you would love having them.”

  “Uh.” Even though goblins were far from intimidating, Arwen’s shoulders bunched at the thought of more people than she’d invited arriving. She decided to leave the unwelcome mat out.

  “I think I told you I showed that recipe to Zoltan,” Val said, “and he’s researching where the ingredients can be found. Some aren’t that rare and can be easily foraged or purchased in markets on other worlds. Some are very rare. You might have to go on a quest to find them. Multiple quests.”

  “I expected that.”

  “Once you’ve got everything, Zoltan said he’s capable of making the formula for your green-skinned tattoo artist to use. Have you seen him lately? Mark, isn’t it? I remember he asked you out.” Val arched her eyebrows.

  “No. I’m not avoiding him, but… I’m not sure I want to have coffee with him.” Arwen caught herself before she looked toward Starblade,
but Val might have guessed her thoughts, because she looked.

  “Not when you’ve got a half-naked half-dragon doing chores for you?”

  “It’s not a chore. It’s a—”

  “Huge commitment for a project that most people would only undertake if they’re being paid handsomely?”

  “I’m not paying him. I asked for a rejuvenation pool as a joke before I realized how much work it would be, and he… agreed.”

  “Maybe you should hold out for him and wave away the date requests from the half-troll.”

  Arwen shook her head. “He’s not… He’s told me…”

  “I know, I know. He might be getting over someone else.”

  They’d discussed that possibility before, but Arwen had no idea if it was true. She hadn’t asked Starblade.

  “The fact that he’s here suggests some kind of interest in you,” Val said.

  “He likes my food.”

  “Well, everyone likes that.”

  Matti walked back outside, giving Arwen a reason not to respond.

  “It smells amazing in your kitchen,” Matti called up. “If you want to expand your business and become the next Pepperidge Farm, we could put you in touch with some business-savvy people.”

  Val nodded. “Zoltan is an expert marketer.”

  “Your vampire alchemist roommate is an expert marketer?” Arwen asked.

  “Yes. His YouTube following of infatuated female teenagers is so large that the company sends him plaques.”

  “I don’t think teenagers would pay for my baked goods,” Arwen said, though she’d made deals with Val’s sixteen-year-old daughter.

  “Everyone likes pie,” Matti said, “and teenagers don’t have to pay bills, so they have disposable income. But don’t limit yourself. With some social-media marketing, you could reach people of all ages.”

  Val nodded. “You have a huge potential customer base. I’m positive. You could be shipping your desserts around the world to the masses and retire from picking berries. Or hire someone else to pick them while you oversee the farm.”

  “I only have two ovens.” At the moment, those ovens were busy baking a couple of turkeys and cranberry-oat cobbler for her dinner guests.

  “You might have to expand,” Val said.

  “I wouldn’t want to work anywhere besides the farm. Especially this time of year when the view is magnificent.” Arwen caught herself looking toward the back of the property again and blushed.

  “Your crops are magnificent?” Matti asked.

  “Of course.” With her blush deepening, Arwen didn’t look at either of them.

  “Starblade is back there,” Val said dryly.

  “Oh, right,” Matti said. “I sense him.”

  “This view would be hard to replicate at a commercial kitchen in town.”

  “Everyone knows rural properties offer more relaxing work environments,” Arwen murmured, tossing berries into her bucket and pretending a lack of interest in the view. Why, she didn’t know since she’d already confessed that she enjoyed it, but she worried Val would tease her.

  “Relaxing or stimulating?” Val asked.

  “Uhm.”

  “I thought so. Anyway, we didn’t just come to discuss pies.”

  “That’s why I came.” Matti leaned against the deck railing, not interested in climbing onto the roof. Understandably so. She had a view of her own at home.

  “I wanted to make sure you know Zoltan is willing to make the formula,” Val said, “should you find all the ingredients, but you’ll need to go over there to negotiate rates with him.”

  “Okay,” Arwen said. “When is a good time?”

  “He was sleeping when I left. I’ll ask him tonight.” Val’s phone rang. She pulled it out, showed Willard’s name on the display, and said, “This is why I came.” She answered instead of explaining. “Hey, Willard. Yes, I’m about to ask. Yes, the dinner is this evening. Yes, I’m sure Gondo can come.” Val raised her eyebrows.

  Arwen hesitated but nodded. She didn’t want more people on the property, but she didn’t want to turn away new friends either. Oh, she might not consider Willard’s assistant a friend exactly, but he had connected Arwen with the goblin clan near North Bend, and one of them had led her to her brother’s lair. She owed Gondo.

  Val hung up. “Willard wants to know if she can borrow your heritage detector. A full-blooded elf came by her office, asking to see the results of Starblade’s blood test, specifically the part that suggested he’s related to King Eireth.”

  “It’s still at Imoshaun’s workshop.” Arwen was on the verge of saying Willard could see it any time but paused. “What elf wants to know? Do their people think it’s good or bad that Starblade is related to Eireth?”

  “I didn’t see the guy, so I don’t know. He introduced himself as a diplomatic envoy and kept picking up things in her office and poking everything like he’d never been to Earth before. Her Gondo-improved stapler is admittedly an odd knickknack. The elf thought so too and managed to staple his finger when he was prodding it with distaste. That resulted in Willard getting a blood sample from him. She wants to test it to see if he’s related to any elf who’s given us trouble. Like Matti’s nemesis Slehvyra or Anyasha-sulin, a schemer who claimed to be my cousin and tried to get me killed when I fought the dark elves at Mt. Rainier. They belong to factions that want to overthrow Eireth because they think he’s too accommodating to dragons—or they just want his power. It’s possible they’d want to use Starblade—or his blood—to their own gain.”

  “When it comes to elves, he can probably take care of himself.”

  “I know he’s powerful, but elves have plotted in the past and managed to take out full-blooded dragons.”

  “Well, Willard is welcome to use the device.” Arwen opened her mouth to say more, but the roar of an engine came from the barn.

  Her father rode out on Frodo. Their old tractor didn’t have a lot of get-up-and-go anymore, but it accelerated down the driveway and onto the path that led past the chicken coop and corn crib and toward the back of the property. Just visible, pulses of blue light came from under the hood.

  A soft cackle drifted back over the roar of the engine. Was that her father?

  “Is your tractor enchanted?” Val asked.

  “Just enhanced with a Gnomish part. Starblade brought it for my father.”

  “Oh, that’s smart.”

  “Smart?” When the tractor wobbled as Father rounded a bend, Arwen worried that souping up Frodo to run at NASCAR speeds might not have been the best idea.

  “Sure. Get in good with the father if you want to hook up with the daughter.” Val tapped her temple. “Smart.”

  “No, he’s not interested in me. I thought he might be a little, but… he’s not.”

  Val looked toward Starblade, and Arwen followed her gaze. Though he remained in his spread-armed, wide-legged stance in the future pool, his violet eyes were now turned toward them, as if he knew they’d been discussing him. With his pointed elven ears, he had to have hearing at least as keen as Arwen’s, but she and Val weren’t close enough that he could have overheard. She didn’t think.

  “Starblade just likes tractors?” Val asked skeptically.

  “He likes all machines, as far as I can tell, but he’s especially fond of Gnomish work. And siege engines.”

  Val blinked. “I guess you’re lucky he’s not building you one of those.”

  Arwen thought about bringing up how they’d discussed that Starblade, should he die, would like his airplane-refurbishment project to be delivered to Arwen’s property. All she said was, “Yes.”

  Yendral approaches with fresh meat to be prepared for dinner, Starblade spoke into her mind.

  Okay, I’ll see if I can incorporate it.

  You speak with Zavryd’nokquetal’s mate.

  Val, yes. They’re invited to dinner. Is that okay?