Chapter 4
When Rylana crossed the street and opened the front door of the diner, the only people inside were the gnome waiter and the solo customer who hadn’t left his booth, even after the excitement outside and seeing the other patrons being kicked out.
He was working on a dessert now, some kind of flatbread that smelled of cinnamon.
The scent of bacon that she’d lovingly inhaled earlier lingered in the air, but it didn’t smell like someone was cooking it fresh now.
She almost slid into a booth and asked the gnome if there was any left, but it had been the dragons that she’d wanted to observe, and they weren’t in the front room, nor did she hear voices in the kitchen.
Was there a back entrance that they might have gone out?
Rylana ventured into the alley she’d visited—fled into—earlier, then circled around to the block behind the diner.
Lined with warehouses and stables, the street wasn’t as busy as the shopping and dining thoroughfare out front.
She spotted a wide drive that led to large carriage doors and the storage room in the back half of the diner.
She almost called it a warehouse. If Jildarin had to pay rent for all that space, no wonder he was behind on his payments.
One of the carriage doors stood ajar, a sign on the wall next to it a copy of the one posted out front. The Dragon Diner: Bookkeeper Wanted.
Though certain Jildarin had no more interest in hiring her now than he had an hour earlier, Rylana walked closer to the doors.
The only windows were high on the walls, so she doubted anyone would see her coming, but she stepped carefully.
Dragons had a lot of innate magic, and she’d learned from personal experience that they had sublime senses when they were in their native forms. It was possible their senses remained nearly as strong when they shifted into other forms.
As she drew closer to the door, the hair on the back of her neck rose. Even though she couldn’t see or hear the dragons, her instincts told her they were inside the storeroom. She stepped off the drive and crept closer, then pressed her back to the wall beside the open door.
“Do you actually sleep in here?” a man with a rich baritone asked. That had to be the brother. Zilek. “In your true form? Isn’t it claustrophobic?”
“During the war, I slept in caves that were smaller than this.” That was Jildarin's voice. Also rich in tenor, it was almost pleasant when it wasn’t raised to swear at Rylana. “Caves filled with stalactites that jabbed me in the back every time I twitched my tail.”
“That doesn’t happen here? There are crates and barrels everywhere. Where do you lie down? And what in the two hells are all those metal boxes with legs lined up along that wall? Do I sense magic emanating from them?”
“They’re gnomish commercial ovens. I’m attempting to make an arrangement with the dwarf baker across the street to make bread, since so many of the patrons seem to think meat should be accompanied by that.
I’m still wrapping my head around vegetables as a desirable thing to eat.
But she’s thus far been unwilling to give me a reasonable discount for ordering in bulk. And for being a dragon.”
Rylana raised her eyebrows at the comment—at the entire conversation. Spying on dragons wasn’t a good idea, even when fully armed. Why was she doing this?
“Because of her recalcitrance, I had to learn to bake bread,” Jildarin finished. “And purchase my own oven.”
“Yes, but why are there so many of them?”
“There was a small mistake during the ordering process. Processes. I didn’t realize the ovens were custom made and took weeks to craft, so, when the first didn’t arrive in a timely manner, I sent my goblin server, Rolf, to order another.
I didn’t realize he had execrable handwriting that would be misinterpreted.
Or that a crafts-gnome wouldn’t check before filling what should have seemed like a ridiculous order. ”
“I’m shocked you expected a goblin to be able to write at all. Their specialty is stealing books, not reading them.”
“He grew up in the city and said he went to a human school.”
“More likely a thieving school. I’ll wager at least two of those ovens ended up stashed behind a log in a park.”
“Yes, yes, my ability to hire minions is questionable, but I have a deadline coming up—the competition is only a week away—and I’m busy perfecting my recipes. I don’t have time to deal with goblins, peacekeepers, landlords, or suspicious mercenaries interrupting my day.”
Rylana shifted her weight, tempted to leave before the dragons realized that one of the suspicious mercenaries was spying on them.
“This is an odd life that you’ve chosen for yourself, Jildarin-grozanarav.”
“Said by the dragon going regularly to operas and theaters.”
“I enjoy being entertained by the lesser species. Listen, my brother, the war is over, and it was draining. We all need to recover and decompress, so I can understand taking the time to explore a new hobby or passion—even a strange obsession with cooking, as if meat devoured raw after being torn from the bones of one’s prey isn’t perfectly delicious.
What I can’t believe is that you want to serve the lesser species.
I am here so that they might serve me. That is the correct order of the world, and they are most honored to attend to my every desire. ”
“It helps that you brought gold from Mother’s hoard and pay them handsomely to do so.”
“That does add to their feeling of honor,” Zilek said.
“You spend lavishly on frills like wine and entertainment and that castle you’ve leased, but you won’t give any coin to me for my endeavor.”
“The wine I purchase is serious and sophisticated. I will admit the box tickets to the dwarven opera might have been a touch frilly, but those bearded ladies can sing. It’s brilliant and so relaxing. As to the rest, you know Mother forbade me from giving you gold.”
“Even though I, during the proving quests of my youth, acquired a large sum of what’s now in the clan hoard.”
“As I’ve told you before, she’ll gladly share coins with you if you’ll fulfill the one request she’s made of you since the war ended.
I’m here today on her behalf to remind you of your familial duty.
I’d even go so far as to consider it a favor if you flew off to obey Mother’s wishes so that I don’t have to hear about how magnificent your strength and athleticism and stamina are and what an utter waste it is that you haven’t used your male essence to impregnate a suitable female. ”
“I suspected it wasn’t a craving for my wit that brought you.”
Zilek laughed. “Your wit. That’s rich. You’re too busy being surly to amuse anyone. For the sake of your patrons, I hope your kitchen knives are sharper than your wit.”
“With such flattery, you’re certain to receive favors regularly.”
“I don’t regularly need favors. I only wish you’d obey Mother’s one request. And that I wouldn’t have to hear about the desirable physical qualities you apparently demonstrated in such abundance during the war that the Clan Sunclaw females want you above all others to sire their offspring.
Never mind that you and I are from the same clutch and practically the same.
Further, I didn’t let a scruffy human archer almost shoot my eye out in the heat of battle. ”
“Do you want to mate with the Sunclaw females?” Jildarin asked. “I’ll happily send you in my stead.”
“Not particularly. They’re as crabby and temperamental as you and have a tendency to pedantically instruct all the males around them.
I can imagine how mating with one would go.
Ahead of the event, she would probably send a list of requirements for her satisfaction and bite my head off if I mixed up the ordering. ”
“That sounds accurate. And I was only shot because I flew across the valley and over the enemy frontlines to risk their wizards and archers so that I could destroy that dreadful gnomish contraption that was shooting our kind out of the air.”
“Yes, you’re very brave. I do adore hearing about your exploits. Does the scar itch in bad weather? It was quite a deep gouge and with a mithril arrow. Those are painful.”
“I’m aware,” Jildarin said. “The female who was responsible came today to the diner.”
“What? The human archer?”
“Yes.”
Out in the street, a horse pulling a wagon clopped past.
A moment of silence followed, and Rylana wondered if the brothers were looking toward the open door. Had they realized someone lurked outside?
Since humans had no inherent magic, not the way so many of the other intelligent species did, they generally made good spies and assassins because magical beings couldn’t detect them, but a dragon might see, hear, or smell a human.
“Did you slay her?” Zilek asked. “You must not have, or you’d be in a better mood. To slay an old nemesis is most satisfying.”
“You know the laws of Tranquility forbid slaying. Or changing into a dragon outside of one’s lair.”
“Yes, it’s tedious to obey the mandates of such lesser species as gnomes, whether they and their city are backed by the new god or not, but it is also appealing not to be hunted down by overly ambitious soldiers out to prove themselves.
Was the human archer here to slay you? That should also not have been permitted by the peacekeepers. ”
“Her weapons were tied, and I did not detect mithril in her quiver.” Jildarin's voice held a growl when he added, “She did throw a knife at my eye.”
Rylana bristled, forgetting her wariness and half-tempted to stalk in to defend herself. She’d only thrown the knife because he’d turned into a dragon and tried to incinerate her.
“She must be drawn to those atypical emerald orbs of yours. I believe that’s one of the attributes the Sunclaw females find appealing. It can’t be only your strength and stamina that draw them.”