Chapter 9 #2
Zilek headed straight toward the front row.
Rylana, who had the tickets that Layothlee had given her, didn’t know where they were supposed to sit.
The green slips didn’t have numbers or seat assignments that she could see, but when she showed them to an usher, he also directed them to the first row.
“Fancy,” Zalani murmured, smiling and tightening her shawl against a cool breeze. She wore a sleeveless blue dress that left her shoulders and a good deal of her bosom bare.
“I’ve never seen elven acrobats,” Mya said. “This should be entertaining.”
“Their people don’t fear flying,” Zilek said.
“Their bones must heal faster than those of dwarves.” Mya patted one of her stout hips.
Jildarin chose a chair on an aisle, and Rylana sat next to him with Mya and Zalani on her other side. What a marvelous view they would have of the performance, not only of what happened in the air but on the stage and apparatuses as well.
Jildarin gripped his chin thoughtfully, staring at the ground instead of watching the preparations.
“Is everything all right?” Rylana asked him. “You’re not dwelling on your brother teasing you, are you?”
“Oh, no. I never dwell on that,” he said as the music rose and some of the magical lights dimmed. “I was debating whether leaving Gniknik in charge of the diner was wise or if we should have closed it for the evening. One does hate to lose revenue and disappoint diners, however.”
“I think it’ll be fine for one night. Though maybe I should have invited Rolf to come with us. Things would be especially fine at the diner if he weren’t leaning on people to leave larger tips.”
“You do not believe he is an acceptable employee? I’ve found that he works hard and comes early and leaves late in addition to doing deliveries. He is quite motivated to earn those tips, and I’ve not caught him thieving.”
“That’s true. I haven’t seen him use his fingers to lighten any purses. He only employs his tongue.”
“Yes. He also works at the bakery from time to time.”
“I have seen him washing Mya’s dishes. He’s fine as an employee. I just think it’s good to keep an eye on him.”
“As one must do with all goblins. I am concerned that Gniknik, so often distracted by his tinkering, will not be able to keep him in line. And the help we brought in is barely trained to do more than collect dirty dishes and fill glasses.” Jildarin looked in the direction of the waterfront—the diner—and shifted on his seat, as if he might leave.
Rylana dropped a hand on his wrist. “It’ll be fine for one night. Relax. I know dragons are capable of that. I remember seeing some in the mountains above the jungles, sunning themselves on ledges like lions sated by a recent feast.”
“Those dragons did not run increasingly busy diners.” Jildarin looked down at her hand.
Rylana felt presumptuous for trying to keep him put, but he didn’t move his arm away. He settled back into his seat, even if he didn’t look that relaxed.
“One for my brother and one for his lady,” Zilek said, raising his voice to a vendor as the music increased in volume. The elven acrobats were jumping and somersaulting and vaulting their way into the park and onto the stage.
An elven server with a tray came over to Rylana and Jildarin, having already accepted Zilek’s money. He offered mugs of dwarven beer and glasses of elven wine.
“For you, sir, lady.” Instead of letting them pick, the server, presumably issuing what Zilek had paid for, handed them glasses of a deep red wine. Those would have more alcohol and be more potent than the beer, so the choice was probably intentional.
Jildarin didn’t look certain about accepting his glass, but he did so. Rylana did, as well, holding it up in a salute to him. Maybe if Jildarin drank a glass of wine, he would be able to relax and stop thinking of things that could go wrong at the diner while they were away.
Beverage in hand, he looked hesitantly at Rylana. She smiled and sipped from her glass.
“Hm.” Jildarin sniffed his, reminding her of the perusal he’d done before trying a latte. His nose wrinkled, and he issued another longer, “Hm,” before taking a sip.
Rylana spotted Layothlee trotting on a tightrope dozens of feet above the stage.
She wore a fitted costume that wouldn’t impede acrobatic maneuvers, though there were also what looked like delicate gossamer wings that fluttered with her movements.
Partway across the tightrope, she leaped into the air, somersaulting as she descended, the wings flapping like those of a butterfly, then landed on a trampoline, and sprang into the air again.
Claps, troll hoots, and dwarven whoops came from the crowd.
“Ahhh,” Zilek rumbled, settling back with a wineglass of his own to enjoy the performance.
Maybe if he continued to be enamored with Layothlee, he would forget that Rylana had promised him a date with Sylin. Poor Sylin. Rylana was trying to hook her up for meetings with everyone.
The introduction wrapped up, and the performers started telling a story with music and movements.
Rylana also found herself settling back to watch and enjoy herself.
An elven singer with a surprisingly deep voice came out, words in an ancient version of their language flowing out into the park.
Even though Rylana couldn’t understand any of them, she didn’t have any trouble following the story, a tale of two starry-eyed lovers wanting to unite rival families in the era when elves had been tribal and hadn’t yet formed one great kingdom.
Everyone from swordsmen and archers to ogres, wyverns, manticores, and dragons tried to keep the couple apart, as portrayed by the acrobatic dancers in costumes.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rylana checked on Jildarin numerous times, wondering if he was enjoying himself or still worrying about the diner.
He did take more sips of the wine, apparently finding the drink palatable.
It was rich and smooth, nothing like the acidic white cooking wines she’d tasted in the kitchen.
She caught him glancing at her a few times.
“Everything all right?” she asked again, leaning close so he would hear her over the music, singing, and calls of approval from the audience. “Are you enjoying the show or thinking about the next mushroom dish?”
Jildarin set his empty wineglass down next to his chair, considering a moment before answering. “It is not unpleasant to sit here.”
“Good.” Rylana patted his arm, tempted to let her hand linger.
He surprised her by resting his hand on hers, keeping her fingers in place. “I…”
Goodness, had Zilek been right about the alcohol? That consuming some would make Jildarin less inhibited?
“Yes?” she prompted, gazing into his brilliant emerald eyes.
“I was thinking about mushrooms. I must find the enchanted morels in enough time to taste them and experiment with several possible dishes so that I can invite the queen to dine before she departs. I have been considering making a wooden plaque that could be hung by the bar that would display a list of important persons who’ve visited our diner.
It would be a wondrous testament to its desirability if her name could be first.”
“Of course, and that’s a good idea. We’ll find you some morels.” Rylana told herself that she wasn’t disappointed that Jildarin was sitting next to her in a beautiful park under the burgeoning stars and thinking about mushrooms and his ambitions for his diner. After all, he was a chef.
She leaned back in her seat, but he tightened his grip to keep her hand in place on his arm.
She raised her eyebrows. “Is there anything else?” she asked, though she didn’t mind the warmth of his touch, not in the least.
“I…” Jildarin looked toward the stage, then toward the back of the seating area. With most people enraptured by the performance, they weren’t paying attention to him, but maybe he would prefer to speak somewhere private? “If you come with me, I will tell you.”
“Okay.” She was enjoying the performance, but curiosity prompted her to follow Jildarin down the aisle, past those seated on blankets in the grass, and toward the magnolia trees at the edge of the field.
What did he have in mind?