Chapter 25
Jildarin and Rylana considered closing the diner and allowing only the king’s party to eat that evening, but not being open for breakfast and lunch had left the regulars distraught.
Long before the posted dinner hour, a long line had queued up outside.
Since those customers were loyal to the diner and had a vested interest in seeing it continue to operate, Rylana doubted they would cause trouble.
She did, however, direct them to the terrace so the main dining room would be available for the king’s party.
A couple of food critics she recognized were among the visitors, and Rylana was tempted to dissuade them from eating tonight.
If the dwarves considered rockballs pedestrian, those immersed in the fine-dining scene might have scathing comments.
But she trusted Jildarin could and would make lumps of ground meat exquisite.
When last she’d passed through the kitchen, he’d been carefully spicing and mixing batches of it while setting out ingredients for his sauces.
Sylin arrived and claimed a corner of the dining room, her gnomish vacuum flask in her hand. “I scouted for four blocks in all directions and didn’t spot any shifty-looking dwarves. Just the fifty or so heading this way. I trust they’re expected.”
“Yes, thanks for checking.”
Sylin pushed aside a chair so she could lean against the wall at her chosen table, all the doors and windows in her view.
Rylana let Jildarin know the king was on his way, then rounded up the staff to make sure everyone was ready. To give them energy, she handed out sugar cookies slathered with a delicious ale-buttercream frosting that Mya had brought over. A few samples of what she would serve later that evening.
“Yummy.” Gniknik managed to get frosting on his nose and not notice.
Rolf jogged into the diner just ahead of the meal service. With his hair sticking out in all directions, he looked frazzled but also relieved. “My wives have recovered sufficiently from their illness to resume watching over our children.”
“They must be magnificent ladies,” Rylana said, unable to imagine keeping an eye on a dozen children, even with the help of a co-wife. “You’re lucky to have them.”
“I am, yes. And they are lucky to have me. I satisfy them nightly and give them no reason to stray.”
“Other than the fact that you’re always willing to take on a third wife?” Sylin asked.
She’d been propositioned more than once by Rolf.
“They would not mind sharing the child-rearing duties with a third wife. The challenge would be convincing a non-goblin to enter into such a relationship, but my vast stamina and horizontal agility would charm a newcomer, and she wouldn’t be quick to leave.”
Sylin made a face.
“Goblins are agile. Remember the kids we saw swinging from Plant Master Chalora’s vines?” Rylana pointed to a window where a few leaves were visible, swaying in a breeze.
“Just how she imagined her sophisticated elven garden being used, no doubt,” Sylin said as Rolf joined Gniknik in setting tables.
“She probably wouldn’t be fazed,” Rylana said. “Unlike many elves, she doesn’t seem stuffy. And she was teaching those children, remember. She can’t mind youths.”
“Elven youths. They’re far more intelligent and sophisticated than goblin children.”
“Your people are almost as arrogant as dragons, you know. I guess that’s why you naturally became allies during the war.
” Rylana breathed in delicious scents of frying meat and simmering gravies wafting from the kitchen.
Though she never would have thought she’d long for something called a rockball, she looked forward to sampling the evening’s fare.
“I, for one, thought the goblin children were cute. For the sake of peaceful dining ambiance, I hope Rolf doesn’t bring them by that often—at least not all at once—but it’s nice to see young people playing and being happy.
I didn’t realize I missed that during the war. ”
“Are you having maternal stirrings? Shall I inform your cousin? She was the one asking about that, wasn’t she?”
“On behalf of my father, yes. And, no, I’m not stirred. I’m just…”
Sylin raised her eyebrows.
“Well, I guess it’s something I should start to consider more seriously. I’m not that young anymore, and if I decide I do want children….”
“You’ll have to go on quite a quest with your dragon to figure out how you might hatch his offspring.” Sylin smirked.
“That’s not possible.”
“Oh, I don’t know. As we discussed the other day, there are tales of dragons having offspring with two-legged species. Magically assisted of course.”
“Jildarin and I haven’t even gone on a date yet. I’m not bringing up magically assisted offspring to him.”
“After all the time you’ve spent with him, what could you possibly need to do with him on a date that you can’t simply do here?”
“Have two minutes alone with him without being interrupted,” Rylana said, frustration seeping into her words.
“Only two minutes? Dragons are known for more stamina than that.”
“Then we definitely need to go on a date.”
“Can’t you hire someone to stand in front of the door of the storeroom and keep people out while you engage?”
“Are you volunteering?”
“No, I’m not.”
“You said security is an expertise of yours.”
“It is,” Sylin said, “but I don’t want to be nearby when he finally has a release for that tension he radiates. I don’t know when exactly he decided humans are capable of making him horny, but his desire for you is apparent to everyone now.”
Rylana thought of Shebly’s comment and couldn’t disagree, but her cheeks heated. How had they gotten on this topic of conversation?
“The dwarves are coming,” Gniknik called from the window by the front door. Outside, the ornate carriage they’d seen from above rolled into view.
“Thank the new and old gods,” Rylana said.
Sylin smiled knowingly and sipped her coffee.
The door opened wide, and several armored dwarves strode in, chain mail and swords and axes clinking and clanking, iron boots clomping on the tile floor.
Reminded of the night the elves had turned on their queen, Rylana eyed those weapons, making sure tranquility knots tied them into scabbards and onto belts.
They did, but as she well knew, if one was willing to endure a few zaps—and risk alerting the authorities—one could untie the knots.
A herald, or perhaps a priest, walked in after the guards; he wore robes and a helmet covered in blue velvet with an emblem of a silver pickax crossing a sword on the front.
“I am High Priest Vaknorok,” he announced, looking expectantly—or maybe imperiously—around. “King Ekton has arrived.”
“We’ve a table for him right here, friend dwarf.” Gniknik gestured to the largest booth in the diner. “If he prefers a more open eating experience, we’ve also pushed these tables together.” He pointed to seating in the middle of the room.
“The booth looks good,” a dwarf with a deep voice rumbled.
King Ekton walked in, a rotundness to his form suggesting he enjoyed food often and might not be too hard for Jildarin to please with his offerings.
Silver streaked his red hair, and, despite carrying some extra weight, he seemed sturdy and reasonably fit.
He was dressed more like the guards than his priest, with a tied war hammer on his belt, though he wore a mithril crown rather than a helmet.
It gleamed in the light from the sconces and hanging ceiling lamps.
“A monarch likes his privacy to more easily gossip and whisper about the food and company.” Ekton directed the comment toward his priest but also looked around, considering Gniknik, Rolf, and finally Rylana and Sylin. “What an eclectic group of servers.”
Sylin’s eyebrows rose at being lumped in with the servers.
The priest stepped close to Ekton and whispered while pointing at Rylana. She was once again wearing the horn around her neck, and she lifted it over her head, ready to foist it on the king. If the dwarf gang wanted it, they would have to root through his underwear to find it.
“I’m the diner’s bookkeeper, sire. Rylana Avandar.” With the horn in her hands, she walked toward him. “I believe you came to see if this belongs to your family.”
“King Ekton came also to dine here on our fine food,” came Jildarin’s voice from the hallway.
Though he wore his usual simple black trousers and white chef’s coat, the sleeves evenly rolled up to reveal his forearms, he always managed to look trim and a little imperious himself.
Unlike with the elven queen, he must not have met the dwarven king before, because he introduced himself formally.
“I am Jildarin-grozanarav of Clan Killcrusher, chef and owner of the Dragon Diner. I will be preparing and serving your meal tonight.”
“Are you sure you’re a dragon?” Ekton asked. “I’ve never been served by your kind.”
“Dwarves are more often meals for their kind,” one of the guards muttered.
Ignoring him, Jildarin pointed toward the booth.
“I have taken on the duty of creating excellent food for lesser species so that they might come to better understand the intellectual, cultural, and artistic excellence and even superiority of dragons. You will sit there. As you examine the antique that my business partner found, I will bring the first course. You will enjoy it immensely.”
“Now he sounds like a dragon,” Ekton said to his priest.
“Yes, sire.”
Not appearing offended by Jildarin’s pomposity, Ekton, the priest, and a few dwarves dressed in everything from doublets and hose to chain-mail armor to a smith’s leather apron joined him at the booth.
Others filled in most of the remaining tables, with a few guards standing on duty near their king.
A female dwarf wearing spectacles entered the diner last, a book open in her arms, and she squeezed in at the end of the booth.
King Ekton hadn’t yet taken the horn from Rylana, but when his people had all sat down, he waved for her to bring it over.