Chapter 19 #2
“All right.” The blackberry-ale-loving dwarf hopped down. “Are you unloading the wagon, Chef, or are we?” he asked Jildarin. “We charge five extra silver for door-to-storeroom service.”
It took another minute of daunted—and maybe flustered—staring before Jildarin squared his shoulders and nodded to himself.
“Yes, very well. It is good that you’ve brought these.
I will have many options when selecting dwarven alcohols to incorporate into a meal fitting a king. Yes. I will pay the unloading fee.”
“Right.” The dwarves unlocked the tailgate with a clang. “Where do you want them?”
“Take the wagon around to the back. The ales will have to go in the storeroom.” Jildarin grimaced.
Rylana had no trouble imagining him wondering if there would be room for him to turn into his dragon form and sleep once the many kegs were stacked inside.
“Maybe you should let me handle all the ordering going forward,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“Around back? All right.” The dwarves relocked the gate, one muttering, “You should have said it would be a gold to unload. Everyone knows dragons are fussy customers.”
“He paid a fair price for the sampler,” the other said and smiled at Jildarin. “No need to be greedy.”
“They’re smaller than gnomish commercial ovens at least,” Rylana offered, glad those ovens were gone.
Of course, since Jildarin had purchased the large bedroom set, that took up quite a bit of space.
She wondered if she would be able to reach her corner of the storeroom after the kegs were all rolled in.
“I wouldn’t mind a couple of those ales if you don’t need them all,” Mya said, joining them.
“Or even portions of some of the kegs that you do plan to use. That blackberry ale sounds delicious. I know I could incorporate it into a frosting. Someone said the dwarven king is coming to your diner. Is that true?”
“To sample my excellent fare, yes,” Jildarin said.
“Also to see if I do indeed have his family’s long-lost horn.” Rylana politely didn’t point out that the diplomat had implied the horn was the sole reason the king would come. After all, as Jildarin had observed, Rylana supported him and his ambitions. And he liked that.
“Ah. What an honor to make a meal for him,” Mya said. “Even though we lived in the capital and my husband was a relative, I only got to meet and speak to the king a handful of times over the years. I wasn’t really… made to feel welcome at court.”
“By the jilted almost-wife?” Rylana asked.
“Yes. Making me unwelcome was her lifelong goal, as far as I could tell.” Mya gazed wistfully at the kegs.
The dwarves were arguing about unloading fees and hadn’t yet directed the horse team around to the back of the building.
“I wonder if… Do you think there’s any chance King Ekton would visit my bakery while he’s here?
” Mya looked hopefully at Rylana, as if wondering if she might arrange that.
“The king will come to visit the diner,” Jildarin said firmly.
“Maybe Mya could make a few baked goods and bring them over for dessert,” Rylana suggested. “Or you two could collaborate on a dinner and sweets that complement each other.”
“Collaborate! The king will come to experience the fine fare of a great dragon chef, not sugar-saturated desserts made by someone else.”
“Dwarves like desserts.” Rylana looked at Mya for confirmation.
The wary expression she wore didn’t suggest she wanted to argue with Jildarin—or stand too close for a dragon’s tirade—but she did nod. “Very much so.”
“And you don’t make desserts,” Rylana told Jildarin.
“I’ve mastered numerous sweet after-meal dishes.”
“Yeah, but you don’t really like them. Except the crème br?lée and other things that let you unleash your natural dragon magic to burn them.”
“The dishes are caramelized. Not burned. A skilled and delicate touch is required.”
“Listen, Jildarin,” Rylana said, “I know you’ll make an excellent meal that any dwarf including the king will love.
And you’ve seen from the lines and busyness of Mya’s bakery that she makes excellent breads, pastries, and other desserts.
Anything she creates will complement your meal, not detract from it.
Especially if you come together to plan a collaboration. ”
The mulish expression Jildarin wore as Rylana spoke wasn’t heartening, but she stepped closer and lowered her voice to add, “Besides, she’s a neighbor, and her business attracts people to your business.
And vice versa. Helping each other out is a good idea.
Further, it would be nice for Mya if she could have an opportunity to win the regard of the king. ”
That, Rylana admitted to herself, was the least likely argument to sway a dragon.
Jildarin wasn’t heartless, but she didn’t know how much he cared if a grandmother from a lesser species was reunited with the children and grandchildren she hadn’t seen for years.
Rylana groped for something that would sway him further and was about to mention the plaque, but Jildarin let out a grumbling sigh.
“I will allow her to see my menu and consider a dessert that might complement what I plan to create,” he said.
That wasn’t quite the collaboration Rylana had in mind, but Mya was quick to say, “I can do that.”
Maybe the dwarven baker was also thinking that serving the king something he enjoyed could lead to him putting in a good word for her with the influential females of his court.
“Might I take samples from some of these kegs?” Mya asked him diffidently.
“Dwarves enjoy desserts as well as savory courses inspired by alcohol. And when I say inspired, I mean liberally soaked in. Oh, have you heard of Dwarven Flaming Cherries? You douse them in brandy and briefly set them afire right at the table before serving them. The flames go up quickly and make a display that entertains the diners. The alcohol gets burned off, but it leaves a delicious deep flavor.”
“Hm,” Jildarin said neutrally.
His nose had wrinkled slightly at the mention of entertaining diners at the table, as if such antics were beneath him, but his eyes had also brightened at the talk of setting things aflame.
“I’ll wait to see what menu you’re planning,” Mya said politely, “then consider if that dish might be appropriate.”
“We should set something aflame.” Jildarin nodded. “I am growing to like this idea. I believe people even expect fiery dishes from a dragon.”
“I would think so,” Mya said.
“Thank you, Jildarin.” Rylana gripped his hand, glad he’d conceded, at least to some degree. Lowering her voice again, she murmured, “It’s nice of you to help the other businesses on the street—and be a good neighbor.”
“I am agreeing to this because you requested it,” Jildarin said, some of the intensity returning to his eyes as he held her gaze.
Rylana thought of their interrupted interlude in the kitchen.
Would he agree to go back to such activities once the wagon was unloaded?
Unfortunately, the dwarves were just now guiding their horses to pull the wagon around to the back.
It might take them hours to carry all those kegs into the storeroom.
“You are my business partner,” Jildarin added, lifting his hand toward her face. “And you are the one…” He looked in the direction of the lake—of her father’s estate?—and didn’t seem to know quite how to finish the sentence, but he brushed his knuckles along her jaw.