“And waking troll gods.”
“Nobody has woken any gods. But he was aftersomething.” Rylana closed the book and tucked it under her arm. “We’ll check those estates in case he’s more foolish than I believe. We’ve probably got an hour until the first ferry leaves. I do plan to be on that ferry. I’m craving bacon.”
“And the company of your lair mate.” Sylin nodded and smiled.
“Have I mentioned what a joy traveling with you is?”
“Not as often as you should.”
6
By the timethe ferry docked in Tranquility, it was well into the breakfast hour, so Rylana hurried toward the diner, glad the previous night’s rain had stopped. Sylin had accompanied her to check Vormalt’s residences, but none of the staff at either estate had seen him recently—or so they’d promised—and Rylana hadn’t pressed the matter. She’d chanced across his wife, Pennigrew, in the garden, and she’d said Vormalt was at an archaeologic ruin site near the mountains. Since she’d believed he’d been there all week, Rylana hadn’t put much stock in that.
She decided she would report Vormalt’s transgression at peacemaker headquarters after the workday, but, with the castle no longer glowing, she didn’t think there was a need to hurry. As it was, Jildarin would want to know why she was late to work, and she didn’t know what she would tell him. She’d had to go on an emergency trip to straighten tipped-over troll idols and appease whatever entity had prompted the castle to glow?
Maybe she should have asked Sylin to return with her and verify the outlandish tale, but she’d stayed on the west side of the lake. To explore and keep an eye out for Vormalt, she’d said, buthis crimes didn’t have anything to do with her, so Rylana suspected she was simply avoiding places the elves might look for her. She might well end up camped in the boathouse.
A line of customers waited outside the diner, the woman in front tracing the dragon design burned into the door with a longing finger, and the seats inside were full. Reminded of her plans to expand the capacity by creating outdoor seating on the rooftop, Rylana put Vormalt and his schemes out of her mind so she could focus on work. When she pushed her way inside, the air was full of the delicious scents of soufflé, bacon, sausage, and grilled onions, mushrooms, and fiddlehead ferns. Gniknik almost sprang upon her.
“Oh, good. More help is here. Take these to the kitchen, please.” He thrust a tub of dishes at her. “We’re packed, and my collector is on the fritz.”
Since Rylana’s empty stomach wanted her to head straight to the kitchen—and breakfast—regardless, she shifted the history book in her grip so she could accept the dishes. When she used the tub to push open the swinging door, she almost ran into the back of a tall man in a black frock coat with neatly trimmed dark-silver hair visible under a beaver-fur top hat. Jildarin's brother, Zilek. He glanced at her without stepping aside and gave a wave that might have indicated acknowledgment or dismissal. Knowing him, probably the latter.
“I understand why you’ve stopped using all but incremental dosages of our fabled dragon spices in your soups and stews,” Zilek said, “and I don’t blame you one iota. I can’t imagine the indignity—not to mention the lingering odors left by bodily fluids—of having lesser speciesmatingwithin the structure in which you keep your lair. I’m sure you can make an exception, however, for me and use your little spoons and pots and pantry items to create a delicious soup containing afulldose.”
“I’m not going to assist you with seducing an elven female,”Jildarin said, bent over a cutting board as he minced herbs. The ovens and several burners were in use, pans holding everything from sauces to sautéing vegetables to omelets. Not atypically in this kitchen, the flames for the burners weren’t on. Jildarin always denied having much magic or the ability to create dragon fire while in his human form, and yet… the pans frequently heated themselves.
“She’s not merelyan elven female,” Zilek said. “As if someone who could be described in such pedestrian terms would be desired by a distinguished and powerful male dragon such as myself, a male dragon who could have any female that he desires.” Zilek looked over his shoulder at Rylana, a contemplative expression on his face.
She didn’t know if he wanted her to nod in agreement or swoon, as ifsheached with desire for him. She thought about sticking her tongue out, but it was rarely wise to mock a dragon, and she didn’t know him as well as she did Jildarin.
Regardless, Zilek turned back to his conversation without waiting for her response. “She is Lady Layothlee, a close relative to the elven queen and an exquisitely graceful ballerina in the famous traveling aerial ballet. Her beauty is such that males from every race long for her, even more so, I understand, once they’ve seen her perform. Her deep sapphire eyes gaze into your soul with knowing wisdom mingled with a touch of humor. The perfect curves of her body entice sculptors to most assiduously take hands to clay. And, finally, her intrinsic magic is enough to make all nearby males thrum with desire, even should they be in their dragon forms.”
“Where did I put my garlic press?” Too focused on his work, Jildarin didn’t so much as roll his eyes at the talk of thrumming—or anything else.
Rylana smiled and stepped around Zilek to set the tub by thesink, the book on the counter, and grab the garlic press out of a drawer.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she held the tool out to Jildarin. “Do you want me to help with plating?”
He seemed to notice her for the first time as he accepted the garlic press. “Ah, yes, but first, we must discuss that thing that is so important to the business that you desired to discuss.”
“The rooftop eating area?” Rylana asked before realizing he probably just wanted an excuse to shoo his brother away.
“Yes, thepergola.” Jildarin nodded firmly as he slid garlic cloves into the press. “I must know its dimensions and details and where precisely it will be located, and let us consider the stairs, as well. Two-legs need such structures for reaching elevated perches, yes? Oh, Zilek, this won’t interest you. Now that you’ve eaten, perhaps you’ll wish to depart.”
“I would wish to depart to a greater extent if you placed containers ofwell-spiced soup in my hands,” Zilek said dryly.
“I don’t see why, if you are as desirable to females as you claim, you need dragon spices to seduce one.”
“I don’tneedyour soup, but it would be helpful and enjoyable for both of us to consume as a prelude to frisky mating activities.” Zilek smiled, rested a hand on his chest, and looked toward the ceiling, probably imagining those activities right there.
“Is my brother as desirable to females as he says?” Jildarin asked Rylana.
“Uh, he’s probably okay to some of them.” Rylana made herself answer politely—or at least inoffensively—though the desire to stick her tongue out at Zilek lingered. Hewashandsome in his human form, and she remembered that Zalani had been interested. Admittedly, she was interested in a lot of men, and her curiosity might have been roused more by the idea of sleeping with a dragon in general than Zilek specifically.
“Some.” Zilek scowled at Rylana. “Many. If notmost.”
“Just not the ballet elf,” Jildarin muttered, grabbing a spoon to stir a couple of his pans.
