Chapter 9
The floor in the corner of the diner’s storeroom was dry and the air warmer than Rylana had expected, given that the kitchen ovens had been allowed to burn down for the night.
Since dragons preferred southern climates, maybe Jildarin had a magical implement that provided warmth.
Or maybe his giant dragon body put out heat.
During the night, Rylana had been very aware of the powerful, winged, and fanged predator sleeping scant yards away in the center of the storeroom.
Only after she’d seen his silver-scaled body on the cement floor, tail curled around it, snout resting on the end, had she realized that what she’d initially considered haphazard and overflowing stacks and mounds of crates, kegs, and sacks were arranged to form a cozy space around him as he slept.
Or did he sleep? Whenever Rylana had stirred and looked over, she’d caught one of his silver lids open, an assessing emerald eye gazing in her direction.
How strange that he worried about her when she kept thinking how vulnerable she was.
Her sword, bow, and quiver were inaccessible to her, thanks to the ribbons, and neither her knife nor unarmed combat skills would save her if such a strong, powerful, and fast foe attacked her.
How ludicrous that she’d thought sleeping in a dragon’s lair would be better than enduring a night on a park bench in the rain.
When Rylana had been a mercenary, she’d traveled with a small tent as well as her food, water, and medical supplies, but, when she’d left, she’d turned in her gear to the remnants of the unit, never planning to return to a soldier’s life.
Even though she and Sylin had traveled for several months first, Rylana had planned from the beginning to end up back in Tranquility.
During those last years of the war, when the battles had dragged on and on, fewer and fewer comrades surviving after each engagement, she’d longed for a less bloody existence, one filled with more peace.
She’d daydreamed of starting fresh here and reestablishing relationships with old friends.
And, after Mav had died, there’d been no reason to linger in the south.
Half-asleep, dreams lingering, Rylana didn’t hear Jildarin rise or change back into his human form. It wasn’t until the scent of frying bacon wafted back into the storeroom that she came fully awake. That smelled amazing.
She swigged from her canteen, pulled on her boots, and touched the previous day’s clothing to see if it had dried.
Despite being draped on a crate, everything was still damp, so she fished her spare clothes out of her pack.
After dressing, she started for the hallway.
Her nostrils twitched like those of a hound, and her mouth watered in anticipation, but a knock at the carriage doors made her pause.
Unpleasant thoughts of Vormalt, stalkers, and bacon getting cold filled her mind, and she wanted to ignore it and hurry up the hallway.
But what if Jildarin was expecting a delivery?
Since she was working for him, however vaguely and noncontractually, and would be ordering supplies soon, accepting deliveries would probably be her responsibility.
That didn’t keep her from drawing her utility knife as she walked to the doors.
It was, after all, early for deliveries.
The knock came again. Windows were high and sparse in the storeroom, so Rylana couldn’t see out. She opened one of the doors warily.
Sylin stood in the same clothing as the night before, but she wasn’t damp, and she looked as beautiful and unrumpled as ever. As Rylana had observed before during the years they’d worked together, elves seemed incapable of rumpling.
“You slept with the dragon?” Sylin asked with amusement.
“I slept… adjacent to the dragon. With crates between us.” Rylana waved toward her corner, her belongings visible. Oops, maybe she should have tucked her corset and drawers away, but they needed to finish drying.
“I’m surprised you trusted each other enough for such intimacy.”
“It was raining. And there were a lot of crates between us.”
“Which wouldn’t be an obstacle in the least to a dragon who decided to slay you in the middle of the night. The pillar alarms wouldn’t have gone off since he was being dragonly in his own lair.”
“I’m aware.”
Sylin tilted her head. “There are rumors that if a woman screams, the golems will hear and come of their own accord.”
“If anyone screams and they are within auditory range, yes.”
“There are two golems standing at that fountain, but I don’t know how long they’ve been there.” Sylin pointed down the street toward the intersection.
Rylana frowned in that direction and walked up the drive far enough to see the spot. In addition to the two magical, stone-skinned creatures, a pair of uniformed gnomes were pointing about, one holding a small notepad. The rain had stopped, but large puddles remained on the cobblestones.
“The golems weren’t there last night,” Rylana said, “but the peacekeepers run patrols around the clock throughout the city, so spotting them isn’t unusual. Where did you sleep? I’d wondered if you’d found a place. This was a last resort.”
Sylin’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I assumed.”
“It was fine. He didn’t bother me other than by looking mistrustfully in my direction every time I moved.”
“You should be used to that. Mercenaries get mistrustful looks all the time, even from allies. The kingdom soldiers never trust those who hold no oaths and work only for coin.”
“Yeah, but the soldiers don’t have the giant eyes of a predator that pierce unnervingly into your soul.”
“It’s the fangs I’d be more worried about piercings from.
I slept in a room above a tavern only a few blocks away.
I was doing my evening jog to stay fit when two drunkards were thrown out into the street not ten feet in front of me.
Apparently, they’d been brawling, and the owner said their rooms were forfeit.
I swooped in like a hawk on a field mouse and took one of the new vacancies.
You would have found it delightful. There was a mattress, a pillow, and blankets. ”
“I assume you slept on the floor.”
“Well, of course. Assassins can’t let themselves go soft. Last night, I came back to see if you wanted to share the room, but the front door was locked, the lanterns were out, and nobody was there.” Sylin spread her arms.
“I accompanied Jildarin on an excursion along the waterfront.”
“A romantic excursion?”
“He showed me a place on the boardwalk between the city and Lucky Island where he could kill me without the peacekeepers knowing.”
“As an assassin, I wouldn’t say that would necessarily destroy my mood for intimacy.” Sylin’s nostrils twitched. “Is that bacon? And… some kind of egg dish?”
“I think so.” Rylana peered at a metal and ceramic smoker burning outside near the door, with the smell of fish wafting from it.
Or was that where the eels had gone? Rylana was surprised she’d slept heavily enough as morning approached that she hadn’t heard Jildarin rummaging around, setting up the smoker.
“There are eels in there,” Sylin said. “I already checked. They smell good. I’m surprised passersby haven’t taken samples.”
Given how few humans Rylana had encountered who craved eels, she wasn’t surprised. Though the scents wafting out were more appealing than she would have expected.
“Why don’t you come in, and we’ll see if my new dragon employer will feed us?” Rylana waved for Sylin to follow her toward the hallway.
“As a chef, that’s his duty, isn’t it?”
“I get the feeling that, while he does want the common man—and dwarf and orc and gnome—to experience and appreciate his food, his primary concern is winning the upcoming Golden Whisk.”
“The what?”
“It’s a cooking contest.”
“Huh.” Before entering the hallway, Sylin gazed around the storeroom. “Why are there so many of the same kind of appliances?”
“Ordering mishap, I understand. I’m going to help him refine his purchasing system—or lack of a system—and get rid of excess inventory. You aren’t in the market for a gnomish commercial oven, are you?”
“Not at this time. Your new employer sounds quirky for a dragon.”
“Yes.” Rylana peered into the kitchen as they drew even with it, though she could see Gniknik and Zalani seating people in the dining room and was tempted to head straight there.
But the staff, as she’d learned the day before, ate in a back corner of the kitchen.
Not certain how Jildarin would feel about Sylin joining her, especially when he had suggested several times that he didn’t find assassins appealing, Rylana knocked on the swinging door before entering.
“Mind if my friend joins us for breakfast? And by the old and new gods, your food smells amazing.”
Opening the door allowed them to enter a heavenly mixture of sumptuous aromas. There was the bacon, of course, but Rylana picked up the scents of herbs and spices, baked eggs, melty cheese, and other foods she couldn’t identify but longed to try.
“Yes,” Jildarin stated, barely glancing at them as he took pans out of the oven.
For some reason, he was shirtless, revealing a lean but muscular physique, and Rylana blinked at the choice for kitchen work.
Didn’t he worry about hot spatters? “For your friend, it is four coppers for breakfast. Only employees eat for free.”
“That’s fair,” Sylin said, waving that she had the coin.
Rylana was tempted to object, but, as Jildarin had pointed out last night, she had only worked one day for him. And a partial day at that. Once she’d fixed all the inefficiencies and his business was turning a profit, she would ask for more benefits. Like wages.
Inhaling deeply and with a pleased smile, Sylin hurried to stools at the staff table in the corner of the kitchen.