Chapter 10 #2
Rylana debated if she believed him. She hadn’t seen anyone following them the night before, with only her instincts alerting her to the possibility. Still, with his height and a tendency toward clumsiness that appeared to have lingered, he was, as she’d considered then, an unlikely stalker.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
“You said you haven’t been to the castle to visit your family?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“Hm. I used to enjoy sitting with you in the grand library by your room. Remember the sofas with the view of the lake?”
“I remember them.” Rylana watched him as their drinks arrived, little cookies again on the saucers.
She would have to join Sylin for evening jogs if she were going to be a regular at such a calorically abundant establishment.
Not to mention the danger of working in a diner overflowing with wondrous food.
Her life as a mercenary had kept her in good shape, with Cook’s meals never tempting her to overindulge, but Tranquility offered many more culinary delights.
“How much is the oven?” the girl asked before leaving. “Tezilly wants to know. Also, how is it better than new?”
“Ninety gold coins, down from the original price of one hundred.” Rylana was glad she’d researched that the day before.
“And it’s been meticulously kept in Jildarin's storeroom where he sleeps in his dragon form at night, the magic his body emanates flowing into the items nearby, including the oven.” Rylana had no idea if Jildarin's emanations could convey any power to nearby objects, but, after hearing his story of how dragon spices came to be, it seemed possible. “I’m not sure what exact power might now lurk in the oven,” Rylana said, catching Brella glancing their way as she took empty bean sacks toward the back, “but maybe cookies made within it would be less likely to burn or be dry.”
“That’s a lot of coin,” the girl said, “more than I’ve ever seen, but I will pass your words along.”
“Thank you.”
Rylana faced Vormalt again, expecting more dry comments and amusement in his eyes, but he was gazing thoughtfully out the window.
“I suppose the castle is about the same,” Vormalt said, as if he hadn’t heard the oven conversation, “since your mother passed long ago, and your father wasn’t the sort to bring in decorators.
Your brother, Frodin, and his wife lived there for a few years, but they eventually got their own place in town.
Have you kept in touch with your family?
Do you know what they’ve been up to this last… what’s it been? A decade and a half?”
“Seventeen years.” Rylana sipped from her latte.
“Goodness. Other than the hair, you look really good after all this time. At least from what I can tell under those mannish clothes you’re wearing. I suppose dresses aren’t practical for mercenaries.”
“They aren’t. It’s a wonder that I once found you somewhat witty and charming.”
“I was angling for something then.” Vormalt winked at her.
“Thus greasing your words with flattery?”
“Yes, that’s typical for all men courting women.” He winked again.
She didn’t think all men had that tendency, but she didn’t want to prolong the conversation and said only, “Since you’re apparently more prone to honesty now, tell me what you want.”
“I would appreciate it if you could take me to your family’s castle for a visit. As I was saying, I always loved the library, and there were a few old tomes that would be of particular interest to me now that I not only read about history but have a career researching it.”
“Uh-huh. Why won’t my father let you in?”
“His grudge.”
“Over the dog?”
“He adores his hounds.”
“That, I know, but he liked you almost as much. He wanted you to marry me, after all.”
“I think that was less about adoration and more about me being apt enough with numbers and his business that he believed you and I would produce suitably scholarly offspring. He had fewer hopes pinned on your brother, you know. I’m surprised he wasn’t the one who ran away.”
Rylana waved that away, hardly believing her father had held a grudge against Vormalt for all this time. “I’m sure he would let you in if you asked.”
“I did ask. Several times. Did you know there are magical security wards to keep trespassers off the grounds and out of the castle?”
“I did know that, yes. Father had them installed when I was a kid. His hunting hounds love people too much and weren’t good deterrents.”
“Well, after all these years, your father hasn’t let me step foot inside, not that I’ve made a habit of pestering him. Pennigrew has a castle, too, you know.” Vormalt sipped from his cup, smirking around the edge. “A bigger one.”
“Yet, it doesn’t satisfy you fully.”
“It’s not as ancient and steeped in history, and it’s a bit gaudy and grandiose if we’re being honest.”
“Why would we be anything but? Honesty was always a hallmark of our chats.” When Rylana had been eighteen, after briefly being flattered by an older man’s interest, she’d assumed it was more her family’s status and money that had prompted Vormalt to pursue her.
And maybe it had been partly that, but now…
she was curious what about the castle drew him.
And had that been his reason all along for wanting to marry her?
No, that would be silly. Still, he wanted something there.
“Do you think you’ll be visiting your father soon?” Vormalt asked.
“No. I’m staying here in town and not going to see the family, so I can’t get you into the castle.
And I need to return to work.” Rylana finished her latte and dug into her purse, having to part with a few precious coins to pay for the drink, and stood.
“Don’t lurk around here, all right? I can’t help you with your problem, and there aren’t any libraries in the diner. ”
She kept herself from saying there wasn’t even paper that wasn’t wrapped around meat from a butcher shop. She found herself wanting to protect Jildarin's reputation rather than complaining about his quirks. At least he hadn’t sneered at her haircut.
“Of that I’m certain. Dragons burn libraries instead of reading books.”
Rylana almost objected but remembered how, a few years earlier in the Danbar Kingdom, a squadron of dragons and elves had torched a university in a stealth attack behind the frontlines.
They hadn’t targeted the library, but so much of that portion of the city had been built from wood that the flames had spread to disastrous effect.
“Keep those.” Vormalt pointed at her change and laid a gold coin on the table. “You’ve scintillated me with your conversational skills, so I can’t let you pay.”
“That’s enough for twenty cups. Don’t you carry smaller coins?”
“I’ve no need.” Vormalt waved airily. “And I might stay and have another drink. The coffee is quite good, isn’t it?” He gazed toward the book-filled shelves in the back.
“It is. And maybe they have books that would interest a historian. Some could be filled with ancient treasure maps.”
Vormalt snorted. “Yes, I believe most archaeologists start their research at the local coffee shop.”
Rylana's fingers twitched toward the table—since he’d offered to pay, she was tempted to take back her coins—but she stuck her empty hand in her pocket. Even if Vormalt was leaving a ridiculous amount, she didn’t want to feel she owed him anything.
His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t comment on her choice. Irritatingly, despite his suggestion that he might stay for another round, Vormalt rose to follow her out of the coffee shop.
Rylana was tempted to veer off in another direction, even if she would ultimately circle the block to go in through the storeroom, but the gnomes and golems that Sylin had pointed out earlier had moved to Acorn Street.
Even if she wasn’t doing anything wrong, she was reluctant to walk past them, lest they question her about who knew what.
Why were patrollers lingering in the area anyway?
Yerin was waiting outside the diner, his notepad tucked away. Hopefully, he and Vormalt would walk off together.
“Did you find the dragon fare satisfactory?” Vormalt asked him in an amused tone.
“Surprisingly so.”
“Did you get a chance to try the fabled soup?”
“I would prefer to do that in the comfort of my own home with a lady friend on the premises,” Yerin said. “Otherwise, if its reputation is to be believed, I might leap into your arms after a few spoonfuls.”
“Neither of us wants that.”
“Certainly not.”
“I’d have to repel such an advance and toss you to the nearest available lady friend.” Vormalt turned his amusement toward Rylana, though his gaze drifted upward to her hair again.
She bared her teeth, not wanting to participate in the insipid conversation.
They were blocking the door, so she made a shooing motion, hoping to stem off any further comments they might make about their sexual preferences, though she knew Vormalt’s perfectly well.
Assuming they hadn’t changed in the intervening years.
The men didn’t move, and the reason why opened the door and stepped out. The goblin, Rolf, strode out, smiling and clutching a bag in his arms. His step faltered when he saw Rylana. He recovered quickly and held the bag toward Yerin.
“Your leftovers, sir,” Rolf said.
Yerin accepted it and handed the goblin a silver coin.
“Is it Jildarin's policy to charge people for leftovers?” Rylana asked.
“Oh, that’s a tip, my lady.” Rolf kissed the coin, bowed to the men, then hurried back inside.
Yerin smiled, not disagreeing, and headed off down the street with his bag.
“Do see to your hair, Rylana,” Vormalt said before following his comrade. “It’s much more flattering when it flows lushly about your shoulders.”