Chapter 3
Zilek came in through the storeroom and intercepted Jildarin and Rylana before they could head to the dining room to speak with the landlord.
Well-dressed in a mink-fur-collared frock coat, with his thick silver hair drawn back into a tail and his strong jaw artfully stubbled, he always blended in perfectly with the wealthy lords of Tranquility.
Far more drawn to Jildarin wandering around in his apron, Rylana backed out of Zilek’s way.
The last time she’d spoken with him, Zilek had informed Jildarin that their aunt wanted him to kill Rylana.
Since their surly relative had failed to slay Rylana herself, she’d apparently told her nephew to handle the job.
“Ah, there you are, my brother.” Zilek lifted a hand to pause them in the hallway. Two fat books—were those cookbooks?—were tucked under his arm. When Zilek looked at Rylana, a faintly amused smirk on his lips, she braced herself.
“Here I am.” Jildarin’s eyelids drooped.
He didn’t appear to be in the mood for whatever had prompted his brother to visit. Jildarin stepped closer to Rylana, his shoulder brushing hers. Maybe he also remembered the threat Zilek had issued.
“There’s no need for displeasure. I brought something delightful for you.
” Zilek lifted the books. “An elven chef who attends the wine conclave gave these to me to lend to you. I’d mentioned your hope of enticing the queen to visit your diner while she’s in Tranquility. Her ship has arrived. Did you know?”
“Has it?” Jildarin’s eyebrows rose with interest.
Rylana suspected that whatever the landlord wanted would have to wait.
“Just this morning, yes. The elves in the enclave are atwitter. Except for the ones hunting the rogue assassin. They’re out en masse seeking her out.” Zilek looked at Rylana again. “I informed them that it’s unlikely she remains in the city.”
“That’s right,” Rylana said without hesitation.
“What are those books?” Jildarin asked. “Do they contain recipes favored by elves?”
“By elven royalty, I understand.” Zilek held out the thick tomes. “Dishes with a long history of tickling the tastebuds of even the most sophisticated elf of the purest lineage.”
“I’m not sure lineage plays that much into one’s food tastes.” Rylana thought of Chalora in the kitchen, noshing bacon.
“Those of pure bloodlines prefer only the freshest and finest of fare.” Zilek spoke as if he were an authority on the matter.
Jildarin accepted the cookbooks and opened the first to flip through. Rylana crooked her head so she could read the titles.
The Forest Deconstructed: Artisanal Essentials from Nature. Was that a cookbook title? She wouldn’t have known if Jildarin hadn’t already opened it to a recipe with a picture of a sliced mushroom. The other tome was entitled Five Thousand Years of Gastronomy in the Elven Court.
“I have been considering fresh mushroom dishes that might appeal to a royal,” Jildarin said.
“I’m impressed that you can properly prepare such things. I’ve always thought of mushrooms as something our foods eat to fatten themselves for our enjoyment.”
“White-tail deer do consume them,” Jildarin said.
“Such common fare.” Zilek waved dismissively. “I caught a magical ghost moose recently on a hunt. It was delicious.”
“People highly value rare foods, don’t they?” Jildarin looked up from the cookbook, his expression thoughtful.
“I enjoy them,” Zilek said.
Rylana shrugged, more inclined to like common fare, but she didn’t disagree that others might seek out unique dining experiences.
“That is probably as true of elves as other intelligent species,” Jildarin mused.
“Scarcity increases the allure of a food,” Zilek said with confidence.
“Or a drink. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the late-harvest zinfandel that Lord Oxhon brought to our last conclave.
A most luscious dessert wine with an intense unctuous flavor that lingers on the tongue.
I understand the vintner can only produce it in years where the conditions are perfect.
” He brought his fingers to his lips for a kiss.
“Maybe there are some rare mushrooms you could add to a dish for the queen,” Rylana suggested. “Every now and then, there are enchanted morels in the market this time of year, but they’re hard for even expert foragers to find so they command a premium price.”
“Enchanted morels?” Jildarin considered her suggestion for a moment, then nodded firmly. “Yes. Yes, I like that idea.”
“Your bookkeeper has some value, doesn’t she?”
“Great value. That is why I have made her my partner and why you will not kill her.” Jildarin’s eyes narrowed. “You have not spoken again with Aunt Lysilria, have you?”
“No. I believe she and our mother left the area to attend to clan affairs, and I’ve already told you that I won’t kill your bookkeeper. Despite your strange ways, you are my older brother.”
Rylana scratched her jaw. Hadn’t they mentioned being born in the same clutch?
As if he could guess her question, Zilek explained, “As he’ll inform anyone who will listen, Jildarin hatched a day before I did and is, therefore, my senior and much stronger and wiser.”
“Even Wixta is wiser than you,” Jildarin muttered.
“What? Our whiny little cousin tried to fly out of the nest before her wings were fully developed and almost plunged to her death. I’m insulted. I may take those books and leave.”
Jildarin stepped back, drawing them out of reach. “You will not leave. You have come seeking something. For no other reason would you bring this bribe.”
“You insult me again.”
“What is it that you want?” Jildarin asked. “Are you certain you do not desire to slay my partner?”
“I never did. I only sought to be a good nephew and clan member by doing as my elders wished.” Zilek rested a pious hand on his chest. “But it would be a shame to lose her. I agree. Despite being a puny and insignificant human, she has used the limited resources granted her by her species to turn your diner around.”
“I love it when dragons compliment me,” Rylana murmured, then raised her voice to ask Zilek, “Do you actually care about the diner’s success?”
Life would be simpler if Zilek weren’t angling to get her alone somewhere to kill her, but could she trust anything he said?
“My brother,” Zilek said, “is less of a grumpy scale wart when he’s not forced to deal with the minutia of running a business and can focus entirely on his new hobby.”
“That is a truth,” Jildarin said.
“I also hear that sleeping with numerous surplus ovens stabbing you in the back can be tedious, and you’ve been solving that problem for him.” Zilek nodded to Rylana.
“One night, I twitched my tail in my sleep and got it caught between two of the ovens.” Jildarin grimaced.
“Tedious.” Zilek nodded again to Rylana. “He clearly needs you.”
“Clearly,” she murmured.
“There is a small favor that you could do for me, Jildarin.”
“As I suspected.”
“I’d like some more of your dragon-spiced soup.”
“What happened to the pot that I made you? Were you mugged by libidinous ogres on the way to the elven enclave?” Jildarin returned to flipping through the pages of the cookbook, as if they were magnetic, drawing his gaze.
“Mugged? By a puny lesser species? Oh, that’s rich.”
“Ogres aren’t that puny.” Rylana looked toward the front room. The landlord had to be getting impatient waiting for them, and now that she’d determined that Zilek probably wasn’t an immediate threat to her, she didn’t want to linger to listen to his nonsense.
“To a dragon, their strength is insignificant,” Zilek said. “Ogres are not nearly as formidable as elves, who have reasonably powerful magic and know of the weaknesses of dragons. It is always a good idea to keep on their good side.”
Rylana had taken a step to depart, but the mention of elves rooted her feet to the floor.
“When I took the pot of soup to the enclave,” Zilek said, “intending to woo the beauteous Layothlee—”
“To seduce her,” Rylana corrected, glad she’d warned the visiting elf about the soup.
“—there were far more other elves around than I’d planned,” Zilek continued, shooting her a do-not-interrupt-dragons look.
“She was practicing with her troupe and resisted my entreaties to part from them for a private walk. Further, the most delicious and scintillating aromas were wafting from the soup pot, and the others nearby noticed. It was wise of you to put mushrooms in the mix, elven favorites, as those cookbooks will inform you. But the scent drew the entire troupe, and, to my chagrin, Layothlee invited them all to sample the soup. She had a few bites, declaring it ambrosia, but as others elbowed their way in, she didn’t have an opportunity to consume a large enough dosage of spices to prompt the desired effect. ”
“For her to get horny and fling herself at you?” Rylana asked.
“Precisely. That evening, the moonlight was shining upon her lush green hair and gleaming in the guileless pools of her sapphire eyes, and I don’t mind telling you that I was quite moved.
Aroused, even. But the other elves consumed far more of the soup than she, including the elder who leads the troupe, despite her, ah, most advanced age. ”
“Valesena?” Rylana wondered if he meant the elf she’d met and couldn’t help but smirk as she imagined the elder flinging herself upon Zilek.
“I believe that was her name, but she failed to introduce herself to me before she grew assertively amorous and attempted to initiate a mating session. Right there next to the main path through the enclave.” Zilek shuddered as he lowered his hand.
“She was not the only one to abruptly find me alluring, but she was the most… alarming.”
By now, Jildarin was running a finger down the page of one of the recipes, his attention elsewhere.