Page 32 of Ale Storm

“No, my company and wise counsel are a great boon to your life.”

They slowed down as they reached the post office. A wooden boardwalk with hitching posts stretched across the front, and a great loading yard took up the back, wagons rolling out at that moment. Sylin leaned her elbow on a newspaper dispenser and nodded that she would wait outside. An orc tripped and almost fell off the boardwalk while looking at her—probably enraptured by her great elven beauty—and she put her hood up.

Rylana walked inside without causing anyone of the opposite sex to fall over. She’d never tried to mail a letter to royalty before and braced herself to receive a hard time from the clerk. But the female gnome accepting packages, letters, and coins didn’t bat an eye. Maybe people sent mail to kings and queens all the time. If that was true, Rylana wouldn’t hold her breath waiting for a reply. The dwarven king might have multiple lackeys who vetted his mail.

“This can arrive in one week or two days,” the clerk said in a bored tone. She was perched on a platform that put her eyes even with Rylana’s across the counter, all manner of stamps and ink pads arrayed in front of her. “Depending on if you want to spend four coppers or four silver.”

“Two days is pretty fast.” Rylana opted for the silver investment, even though she doubted anything would come of the letter. “Are dragons involved?”

“Teams of thoroughbred horses changed out at outposts along the way. If you can find a dragon to help us with mail delivery, I’ll pay you.”

“Should business ever slow down at the diner, I’ll let Jildarin know there might be a position here for him.”

“Chef Jildarin? The winner of the Golden Whisk?” The gnome clerk had appeared bored before, but her eyes brightened and she looked at Rylana’s face for the first time.

“Yes. I’m his business partner.”

“That’s amazing. He’s amazing. I was at the Golden Whisk and got to try a few tidbits of his second dish. I don’t even like orcish fieldthrash and octopus, but the food was so good. I’m going to carve out a portion of my next paycheck, hand the kids to my in-laws to watch, and take my husband to the Dragon Diner for a romantic meal. If we can get in. Are you really his partner? Do you get to taste everything he makes?”

“Yes and yes. Even the things involving spruce tips, glowing eels, and other quirky ingredients.”

“Amazing,” she said again, oozing reverence. “I’ve heard about the eels. He smokes them, doesn’t he? Smoked eels are the best.”

“Come by the diner one night, and I’ll give you a discount.” Rylana thought their prices were reasonable but didn’t imagine postal clerks made a fortune.

“That would be amazing.” The gnome clearly had a favorite word.

Rylana hadn’t made the offer expecting special service, but after stamping the location on the envelope, the clerk selected more stamps. Priority. Very important. A sticker she added to the back was of a wyvern with wings.

“Thank you,” Rylana said as the clerk walked the letter past two large bins where she’d been tossing other packages and set it in a small box. Rylana had no idea if it would get there any faster—even relays of thoroughbreds could only travel so swiftly—but maybe the extra stamps would at least get the dwarf who accepted the king’s mail to put it on the top of the stack.

“Did your family name get your letter into a priority bin?” Sylin asked when she returned.

To Rylana’s surprise, Captain Tassani stood beside Sylin. Rylana hadn’t seen him since they’d had a brief coffee date.

“Actually, mentioning Jildarin’s smoked eels did,” Rylana said.

“Eels are known to be catnip to postal workers.” Tassani spread his cloak wide and bowed to her. “Good afternoon, Rylana. I don’t suppose your dragon partner has turned his attention to another or that you’ve decided pointed ears are sexier than pointed tails.”

“Neither,” Rylana said.

“Alas.”

“I thought you showed up to talk to me, Captain,” Sylin said dryly.

“Your stern aloofness has never suggested that you would be interested in dating me, Your Highness.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll skewer you with my favorite knife.”

“Stern,” Tassani repeated, nodding at Rylana.

“She prefers to go by Sylin.”

“Until a couple of weeks ago, Sylin was all I knew,” she grumbled. “And, yes, it’s what I prefer.”

“Of course.” Tassani bowed to her.

“What brings you by, Captain?” Rylana asked.