“Until the call for a buttery croissant beckoned?”
“Actually, I came to talk to Mya.”
“About what, dear?” Mya popped into view in the kitchen doorway. “Do you want something off the special menu?” She pointed to Sylin’s phallic croissant.
“I’m looking for an ancient troll baked good that might appease their gods.”
“That would have to come off anextraspecial menu,” Mya said.
“Yes. Do you have one?”
“I’ve certainly baked items that are specific favorites of trolls before, but… their gods have failed to come by and mention their preferences.”
“Jildarin is having the same problem. He’s taste-testing a meal on trolls now to see what they like. I guess he figures theirgodswould have similar tastes.”
“That might be a reasonable assumption,” Mya said. “Has he managed to tickle their tastebuds yet?”
“They’re enjoying some black bread that has squid ink as an ingredient. There presumably aren’t squid in Lumi Lake, but I know one can get some types of seafood from traders who bring it up the Troll Gulf River.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve used that as an ingredient in breads before. Trolls enjoy a touch of brine in their foods. Much like humans, their sweat and other bodily excretions have salt in them, so they need to replenish themselves.”
“I had no idea I’d be hearing about bodily excretions while I ate,” Sylin murmured.
“You of all people can’t have a weak stomach,” Rylana said.
“My stomach is quite firm.” Sylin thumped a fist against her abdomen. “I still don’t want to hear about trollish excretions.”
“I need to get back to work,” Mya said. “I’m staying late to prep since I got an order from the peacekeeper captain to supply cookies and breads to his patrollers first thing in the morning. They’re having to run around the city at top speed, responding to reports and helping the fire brigade with all the buildings that keep spontaneously bursting into flame. He wants his troops fortified with sugary treats to keep them going. I do have some centuries-old cookbooks in the attic, if you want to investigate.” Mya pointed past the dishwashing Rolf to the other end of the kitchen. Through the doorway, a narrow staircase against one wall was visible. “There are a few that were penned by troll authors—well, some human scribe probably wrote down the actual recipes. They may be useful.”
Rylana didn’t know if searching in troll cookbooks would reveal much—Jildarin and Zalani had alreadydonethat—but maybe she would find titles they hadn’t dug up.
“Do you want to help?” she asked Sylin.
“For what other reason would I have come to a delicious bakery than to assist you?” Sylin held up the last bite of her croissant before popping it into her mouth.
“You’re going to turn into a chubby assassin if you eat those every day.”
“I ran fifteen miles this morning.”
“How much was for exercise and how much was because you were being chased by elves?” Rylana headed through the kitchen toward the stairs.
“Being chasedisa form of exercise.” Sylin followed her up to the attic.
“True. I don’t recall Sergeant Oxhoks recommending it as a part of his training regimen though.”
“The man lacked imagination. If you really want to get in shape, flee hordes of enemies or a fire-breathing dragon on a regular basis.”
“You’re an odd elf.”
The narrow wooden stairs led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Rylana pushed it up, considered the darkness above, and grabbed a couple of lanterns to light before climbing into the attic.
The small windows on either end of the long, low-ceilinged space were shuttered. Boxes, bookcases, and crates filled with everything from pots and pans to erotic chocolate molds filled the floor space, making the attic even more claustrophobic than Jildarin's storeroom had been before she’d sold his surplus ovens and organized everything that remained. Thanks to the sloping ceiling, they couldn’t stand up straight, and Rylana doubted she would stay for long. After cocking an eyebrow at a box of molds for what looked like zerg sticks of various sizes, Sylin veered for the bookcases. Dust stirred as she and Rylana moved about, and they both sneezed.
“I don’t suppose the books are organized by which species the recipes inside are for.” Rylana crouched behind Sylin and held the lantern aloft.
“They’re not organized byanything. Not even by whether they’re books or not.” Sylin plucked a miniature pickaxe off a dusty shelf and held it up.
“Paperweight?” Rylana guessed.
