Chapter 8 #2
“Your estate has the great swimming dock with the slide and diving board.” Rylana turned to Zilek to explain her lack of pants at the time. “All the kids in the neighborhood went there in the summers. And we were in swimming suits, not inappropriately nude.”
“You leaped off the diving board and gyrated so wildly in the air that yours was pushed askew when you landed, and you hardly cared, letting all the boys view your indecent areas.”
“I don’t think my indecent areas were that developed and interesting to look at when I was six.” Nonetheless, her cheeks warmed, possibly because Zilek was considering her lower regions with a smirk. “I can’t believe you remember all that.”
Rylana only vaguely recalled the older siblings who’d been tasked with keeping an eye on the younger children to ensure nobody drowned in the lake.
“Yerin has recently reminded me of your youth and informed me that you schemed to help your dragon chef win his contest.” Evalla frowned tartly in Jildarin’s direction, though she hadn’t been brave enough to stomp over and make accusations to his face.
“The Golden Whisk wasn’t Yerin’s contest,” Rylana said. “And he was the one scheming.”
“A Molingvar would never resort to that. He’s educated and civilized. He didn’t run off to be a mercenary in some southern war of dubious origins. A mercenary. A paid thug. A sellsword available to the highest bidder. A venal hireling.”
“I’m delighted you brought your thesaurus to the wine tasting,” Rylana murmured.
“And Lord Avandar isn’t much better,” Evalla surprised her by saying, then lifted a hand to flag down another woman who’d recently arrived.
“That is Lady Devra,” Zilek said. “The companion of which I spoke.”
“Our landlord’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“Devra, this is the one I told you about.” Evalla pointed at Rylana.
She grimaced. What was this? Thanks to Yerin, all the high-society types were aware of her and gossiping about her? No, Devra frowned darkly. This had to do with more than gossip.
“To think, I was looking forward to returning to Tranquility and reacquainting myself with those I grew up with,” Rylana said, not for the first time of late.
The new woman strode over, brown hair in ringlets that bounced about the shoulders of a crimson velvet dress. She had pale skin, a plump figure, and green eyes slitted in irritation.
“Once you’ve left the cave of your youth, you may hunt again with your clan, but you can never return to the nest from whence you came,” Zilek said.
Rylana looked at him.
“A dragon saying,” he offered.
Still pointing at Rylana, Evalla said, “This is another of the Avandar children. Like everyone else in the family, she also adores money.”
“Uhm.” Rylana lifted a finger to protest.
But Devra spoke first. “I don’t care how much money the Avandars have or how great the estate is or how much influence your family has. As I told my husband, Lord Avandar doesn’t have any right to order respectable self-made businessmen in the city to do his bidding.”
Rylana lowered her hand. Was it possible this had to do with the eviction Aztor had threatened?
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. Lord Avandar went personally to my husband’s office to demand he order the tenants in one of his prized assets near the waterfront to break their lease and leave.
He didn’t explain anything, just said he would pay market rate for the lost income.
When my husband said he wouldn’t force his tenants out, Lord Avandar had a big orc thug accompanying him get pushy, implying it wouldn’t be financially wise for Aztor to go against the Avandar family.
I’m surprised he didn’t send you, the former mercenary, to hold a knife to his throat. ”
“I have been known to engage in such activities.” Irritated with the woman—both women—and her father’s meddling as well, Rylana lowered a hand to her waist where she usually carried her utility knife.
Too bad the dress tie hadn’t been a sturdy enough belt to hang a sheath from.
She growled, wishing she had the blade so she could bare it, if only to send the women scurrying away.
Maybe her body language and growl were menacing enough on their own because they skittered back of their own accord. Or had Zilek done something? Rylana looked at him to check, but he wore an amused expression as he gripped his chin with his hand and observed.
“Such a savage,” Evalla whispered to Devra.
“That whole family isn’t what it was during Aranak Avandar’s reign.”
Rylana was tempted to explain that she’d had nothing to do with the threat. She was one of the tenants, after all. But the women backed farther away, sending wary glances in her direction.
She lowered her hand and huffed. Though it might have come out as another growl. Was she spending too much time around dragons?
Zilek chuckled. “Their kind are easily cowed, aren’t they?”
“I suppose.” Rylana hadn’t wanted to cow anyone, just get answers.
At least she’d done that, though what was she supposed to do now?
Why did Father want her and Jildarin kicked out of the building where they ran the diner?
So she would be forced to go work for him?
That was the only potential reason that came to mind.
“Not like female dragons, who would have tried to bite your head off. Though you’re fearless when you face them as well, aren’t you?” Zilek’s eyes crinkled. “Jildarin told me all about it. Given his regard for you, it is a little surprising that he hasn’t done more than allow you into his lair.”
“He’s focused on his cooking.”
“At night? In his lair?”
Rylana gave him an exasperated look. He only smiled. Too bad her original plan of arriving before Zilek hadn’t come to fruition. Who could have known that he would show up at the diner to pick her up?
As more guests entered the cellar, Jildarin extricated himself from his admirers and walked over to join Rylana and Zilek.
At the bar, the sommelier was setting out stemware and lining up some of the choice wines that people had brought.
A server started bringing around small tasting glasses of a sparkling white.
“You have already learned what you sought?” Jildarin angled himself to stand between Rylana and Zilek, using his shoulder to bump his brother to the side. Not appearing offended, Zilek accepted a glass from a server and smiled into it as he sipped.
“More through luck, and a childhood history of pantslessness, than through skill, but yes.”
She expected to have to explain that, but Jildarin nodded. “Dragons, too, enjoy gyrating in the air and swimming about in lakes. It is most refreshing during warm weather.”
“You were eavesdropping?” Rylana had long ago learned that dragons had keen hearing and wasn’t surprised he’d caught the conversation. It wasn’t as if the women had been keeping their voices down.
She decided to be more pleased than offended by Jildarin’s attention. Some men might have been too distracted—and enthralled—by being surrounded by attractive doting women to keep an eye on their original companion.
“Monitoring you after the threatening females approached, yes,” Jildarin said.
“I am certain you would dominate if you were to engage in a physical confrontation with them, but, as you are well aware, there are repercussions for partaking in violence in this city.” He touched his own chest, maybe thinking of the peacekeepers fining him for turning into a dragon in front of his diner.
“Yes, we’ve both run afoul of Tranquility’s rigid stance on peace, of late,” she said.
“Indeed.” Jildarin eyed his brother. “I also sought to ensure Zilek did not try to lure you into one of the hidden dens back there to foist an undesired mating session upon you.”
“Really, my brother,” Zilek said. “Never have I had to foist, force, or otherwise inflict a mating session on a female of any species. Most desire me and are eager for my attention. Should, however, one have poor judgment and puzzling taste and not wish to engage, I would respect her choice. Just as one must respect the choices of female dragons.”
“Unless one wants one’s head bitten off, certainly,” Jildarin said.
“It was my tail that Lushina-varlevook nearly dismembered during a misunderstanding in our youth, but quite. Also, those are wine cellars, not dens. They’re magically climate controlled, with the rare and temperamental vintages being stored within.”
“I am certain their intended use would not keep you from secreting a female into one and firmly shutting the door behind you.”
“Perhaps not.” Zilek smiled thoughtfully toward the dimly lit entrances of the cellars. “I do not believe I could attract a beautiful and cultured elf of exquisite bloodlines into such a subterranean space.”
“I think the ogre bouncer would go in with you,” Rylana said.
“But the beauteous Layothlee would not.”
“You’d have to secret her into a hollow tree,” Rylana said, though she doubted Zilek would have any luck in his pursuit of her.
“An elf assassin might not be as inclined to turn her nose up at a subterranean den.”
“Sylin likes dens. Whether she’ll like you or not, I suppose remains to be seen.” Not that interested in Zilek’s pursuits of women, Rylana pointed to Jildarin and tilted her head toward a corner. “May I have a private word with you?”
“Certainly.” Jildarin held a hand up toward a woman who looked like she was coming over for an autograph and walked with Rylana to the corner.
“I don’t know how long you want to stay,” she said, “but, as you apparently heard, I’ve learned what I wanted to learn. It sounds like I’m going to need to have an uncomfortable conversation with my father.”
“It is unfortunate that both our cultures impose a no-incineration-of-family-members policy.”
“That would really bring the gnomes out with their fine-issuing devices.”
“More than that,” Jildarin said. “Slaying a prominent citizen, or anyone at all, would result in an expulsion from the city.”