“Yeah, I remember.” Rylana didn’t point out that it had only been a few weeks earlier that she’d walked into his diner and he’d started calling hermy enemy. She was glad that he’d eventually come to trust her—and believe she truly had retired as a mercenary and had no interest in killing dragons.
Mostdragons, anyway. She wouldn’t shed a tear at the passing of his mother, aunt, or the oversexed female dragons that had tried to roast her while they’d been attempting to seduce Jildarin. Well, no, they’d been trying tobribehim to mate with them.
“You had the opportunity to work for your father and what I’ve learned is an immense, sprawling, and very profitable shipping business, and yet you chose to stay at the Dragon Diner.” Maybe Jildarin’s slitted eyes indicated less suspicion or displeasure than she’d believed. Maybe his gaze was speculative. And appreciative?
The thought filled her with warmth. As did the beauty of the silver moonlight shining on his handsome face and short hair.
“It’s a good diner,” she said into the silence that followedJildarin’s words—maybe he expected a response. “And you… I think you need help more than my father does. Not that you aren’tcapableof the business aspect of running a diner, but I believe you much prefer to focus on the kitchen duties.”
“Correct.”
As the Whiskmaster agitated the water, so far doing nothing to prompt the bioluminescent aquatic life to brighten, Jildarin leaned forward and rested his palm on Rylana’s free hand. Her breath caught as he gazed into her eyes. For a silly moment, she thought he might kiss her, but she didn’t think he knewhowto kiss someone or what the purpose might be. It wasn’t as ifdragonshad lips they touched when they were in their native form, and Jildarin had made it clear in his conversations with his brother that he hadn’t engaged in sex while shifted into a human. And yet with Jildarin’s warm hand atop hers, Rylana couldn’t help but wish he would change his mind, that he would find her beauty—or maybe her usefulness—so appealing that?—
His gaze shifted past her shoulder. The current had turned the rowboat so that he now faced the shoreline, the mundane and magical lights of Tranquility helping to outline the city along the shoreline.
“The elven conclave,” he stated, leaning back.
Rylana looked over her shoulder. Since the verdant acreage that comprised the enclave was more like a park than the grid of streets and buildings that marked most of the city, she soon picked it out. Flames burned high in branches near its center.
“The curse,” she said, certain the elves wouldn’t intentionally torch trees within their compound. She spotted something else burning heartily in the core of the city. A large building that took up more than a block. Were there temples there? No. “I think those are Tranquility’s government buildings.”
Had the curse somehow caused one ofthemto burn? Or had Vormalt hired someone to makesureit did? So the gnome leaderswould be more amenable to deals—to his blackmail—when he approached them?
Her mind shied away from the thought of him engaging in such criminal activities, as she’d never gotten the sense when they’d been younger that he would willfully break laws, but maybe, after what he’d dug up, he didn’t believe the laws enforced by gnomes were rightful. Of course, it was also possible she hadn’t been attentive enough at eighteen to get a feel for his real character. When he tried, he could be quite charming, and that was the side he’d shown her back then.
“I’ve not yet had an opportunity to make the meals the elven elders requested.” Jildarin had only glanced at the fire in the government building; he appeared far more disturbed by the enclave burning. Since elves were allies of dragons, that made sense. “Because they showed interest, I was—Iam—eager to demonstrate for them the deliciousness of the food that I can craft. Lady Hythia knew the elven warrior, Yaroserin, my comrade whom I told you about.”
“The elf who taught you to cook.”
“Yes.” Frowning pensively, Jildarin released Rylana’s hand and took up both oars again. “I desire the elders to know that I learned from him and make some of his recipes from time to time. In that way, a chef may have a legacy and live on in the memories of others, even those who never knew him.”
“I’m sure the elves will have the power to put out the fire and heal those trees. But itwouldbe nice if we could figure out how to lift this curse.” Rylana shifted the Whiskmaster to the other side of the boat and poked it in and out of the water, wanting it to do something for Jildarin’s sake as well as the good of the city.
“Yes.” Jildarin shifted his gaze from the burning enclave to the gnomish tool. “This method is proving ineffective.”
“The aquatic yeasts must not feel the need to defend themselves from eggbeaters.”
Jildarin looked around. “We are a reasonable distance from the shoreline.”
“Reasonable?”
He locked the oars in the holders so that they wouldn’t fall out, then stood. Eyes narrowing, he said, “I will give the yeast a reason to believe they need to defend themselves.”
“Are you going to?—”
Magic rippled in the air around Jildarin. He stepped onto a bench, and Rylana ducked low as he morphed from a man into a great silver-scaled dragon, abruptly dwarfing the rowboat.
As Jildarin crouched to spring into the air, Rylana jerked the Whiskmaster inside and dropped it at her feet so she could grip the sides of the boat. His wings flapped, stirring her hair, and his talons left the seat. His movement was surprisingly light, not at all like a man leaping overboard, and the boat scarcely rocked.
With the moonlight gleaming on his silver scales, Jildarin spread his wings and flew toward the center of the lake. Not sure what he intended to do, Rylana watched as he soared about while gazing intently down at the water. She didn’t hear any alarm gongs coming from the city so assumed they were far enough out that the gnomes’ magic didn’t object to a dragon in its native form. He would have to be careful though, since there weremore pillars—and a peacekeeper station—on the far side of the lake. As far as she knew, only a small stretch of the wetlands on the southern end wasn’t claimed by Tranquility—and protected by the peacekeepers and their golems.
Jildarin banked and headed toward her, skimming low over the water. Even though they were allies now—business partners, so even closer than allies—Rylana couldn’t keep from shifting uneasily on the bench at the sight of a powerful dragon flying straight toward her. Her heartbeat sped up, and her instincts made her want to reach for a knife. As ifthatwould do anything against one of their kind. It didn’t help that Jildarin opened his great maw,and flames roiled in the back of his throat, yellow-orange swirls that were brilliant in contrast to the dark night.
“What are youdoing?” Rylana blurted, rising into a crouch in case she needed to fling herself overboard.
Only then did she realize that he was angling slightly to the side of the boat instead of straight at her. Jildarin opened his maw wider and breathed fire at the surface of the lake.
A distant cry of alarm from the docks promised someone was out and had spotted him. He bathed the water with his flames, close enough that their heat warmed Rylana’s cheeks. Belatedly, she realized exactly how he was trying to convince the yeasts of the need to defend themselves. As he soared past, she bent over the side of the boat. Of course, the water hadn’t caught fire, so the flames didn’t linger, but was that a hint of blue light from the spot he’d targeted?
