Chapter 19
When Rylana stepped out of the diner, Jildarin had disappeared. One of the peacekeepers must have turned off the alarm gongs that emanated from the nearby pillars, because the night had grown quiet.
Shutters drawn, the bakery as well as most other stores on the street were closed for the day, but soft yellow light emanated from the coffee shop, and people were visible through the window. Outside, mist fell, wreathing the streetlamps, and a few hooded pedestrians hurried along their routes.
“It’ll be hard to chat with Jildarin if I can’t find him.
” Rylana headed for the alley, though she doubted he was lurking there.
Might he have headed out of the city for another hunt?
Or to do… whatever his brother had been alluding to earlier?
Mating? “Maybe he went to the wine party,” she murmured.
When she peeked around the corner to the alley, she didn’t see anyone, but her instincts warned her of a threat behind her.
She spun about, reaching instinctively for the sword that wasn’t at her waist, but she wasn’t quick enough.
A strong arm pulled her against a hard chest, and a hand clamped over her mouth.
Fear swept through her as well as a sense of indignation and betrayal that she would be attacked in Tranquility. Where had those cursed peacekeepers gone?
“You seek to take advantage of my distraction and slay me?” Jildarin asked.
“What? No,” Rylana tried to say, but his hand muffled her words. She stomped on his foot and drove an elbow backward, the discussion with Zalani about him still considering her an enemy springing to mind.
She landed her blows, but he endured them without releasing her.
“No,” he murmured to himself. “You were attempting to assist my diner when I arrived.”
She nodded. Yes, she had been.
“And you have sold my stoves.”
Another nod.
Jildarin released her and stepped back. “You are a strange enemy.”
“Because I’m not trying to be your enemy.” Rylana turned to face him. She’d thought—hoped—he was past being suspicious of her, but having an arsonist target the diner had probably set him on edge again. “The war is over.”
“Long before the war, humans considered dragons enemies.”
“I’d never met a dragon before the war. I rarely considered them at all.”
He blinked a couple of times, as if he couldn’t imagine someone not considering dragons.
“There weren’t any in Tranquility before you and your brother arrived.” There at least hadn’t been any in her youth. Rylana didn’t know if any had visited in the more distant past. “I don’t think I’m the strange one here.”
Jildarin gazed at her, and she expected a rebuttal, but what he said was, “You are perhaps not the only strange one.”
“I’ll agree with that. Do you want to get a cup of coffee?” Rylana pointed up the street to the shop.
“What?”
“It’s a caffeinated beverage, so it might stimulate you, but…
someone lit your diner on fire. You weren’t going to sleep tonight anyway.
” Since she, as a good worker—and not his enemy—felt compelled to go back and help clean after this, she didn’t expect she would be able to sleep for quite a while either.
“I have tasted it before.”
Right. She remembered that he’d called it flavored water and Sylin had been affronted.
“And you didn’t like it?” Rylana asked. “Have you tried a latte or a mocha? I didn’t think I liked coffee either until I had it mixed with milk and sugar. Those ingredients improve a lot of things.”
His lip twitched with distaste. “The half-elf suggested I make bacon coated with maple syrup, sugar, and other sweet offerings because the two-legs enjoy such things. To drench delicious meat in sweet substances sounded loathsome to me, but it has proven popular. Especially the bacon glazed with blueberry jam and other fruits. I am attempting to adapt my cooking to the palates of my clients.” That admission didn’t keep him from twitching his lip again.
“Humans don’t mind sweets mixed with savory. Or with bitter, as in the case of coffee. Why don’t you let me buy you a latte, and you can try it? They don’t have to add sugar. Do you like milk?”
“Milk is a peculiar thing for adults to consume since it is produced as part of the mammalian birthing and weaning cycle, but its viscosity, fat content, and taste are not entirely unappealing.”
“Yeah, I’m a fan too.” Rylana presumed to take his hand, the very hand that had been smashed to her mouth, and started toward the coffee shop.
Jildarin walked with her but warned, “You will not attempt to poison my beverage.”
“I will not, no. A moment ago, I thought you were starting to realize that I want to help you, not kill you.”
“It is strange for any two-legs except an elf to desire to help a dragon.”
“Yes, but we just established my strangeness.”
“That is true. Poison came to mind because I noticed a bulging pouch of something malleable, likely a powder, against my thigh when I pulled you into me.”
“Oh. I forgot about that.” Rylana stopped under a streetlamp, released Jildarin's hand, and pulled out the sack. “I don’t know what’s inside.
I suppose it could be poison, but there’s a lot of it.
” She lifted it to demonstrate its heft.
“My elven friend is far more knowledgeable on the subject than I, but I think poisons tend to be hard to come by and purchased by the dram rather than the pound.”
“Whatever is inside is magical.” As Jildarin eyed the pouch, some of his perennial suspicion returned to his gaze.
“Is it? I took it from the goblin who started the fires. Maybe it’s something magical mixed with black powder. If so, we’re lucky he didn’t blow up the entire diner.”
“He did enough damage,” Jildarin said glumly, doubtless thinking of his ruined dragon spices.
When Rylana untied the knot in a ribbon holding the pouch shut, Jildarin stepped back.
“I do not know what the magic signifies,” he said, “but my instincts warn me to be wary.”
“Funny, my instincts always warn me to be wary of you.”
“It is wise for the lesser species to be cautious around dragons. Even other dragons are wary among our own kind.”
There wasn’t enough light to see much when Rylana peeked into the pouch.
She sniffed the substance inside. It didn’t smell like black powder or strongly of anything.
She risked pinching out some of the granular substance and spreading it on her palm to study under the light.
It was closer to sand than a powder and a dull gray-green in color.
She opened the access panel on the side of the streetlamp and tossed a pinch of the substance into the flame, then jumped back in case it exploded.
It didn’t, but it did flash, and a silver ring of light floated like a halo in the air around the flame for a moment before disappearing.
“Magical,” Jildarin stated with a nod.
“Yes, but to what end?”
“I do not know.”
After tying the pouch shut again, Rylana tucked it away. “I’ll try to find out later. An alchemist might be able to tell.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s get that coffee.” She extended a hand toward the shop.
The door opened before they reached it, the blue-haired half-gnome who had waited on Rylana before inviting them in. Vilma, wasn’t it?
“Greetings, greetings.” She nodded at Rylana, then looked curiously at Jildarin as she guided them to a table.
During her previous visits, Rylana hadn’t received such prompt treatment.
Maybe the coffee shop had a different policy in the evenings.
Or maybe, since she’d brought two comrades by who’d proven generous tippers, she was now rated as a V.I.P.
guest. Indeed, another server was rubbing her side, like Vilma might have elbowed her to reach the door first. Rylana doubted Jildarin would be as grand a tipper.
Dragons, after all, were notoriously stingy about giving up portions of their treasure.
Vilma seated them in a cozy corner near a fireplace with a partial view of the kitchen where a magical gnomish espresso machine hissed as it heated and foamed milk.
Most of the tables were occupied, with the usual middle-aged or older clientele replaced by university students with stacks of books surrounded by coffee cups in various stages of depletion.
A gnome with a pad of paper knelt before the roasting equipment, either drawing a schematic or simply sketching the machinery like a human or elf would paint a landscape piece.
“What can I get you?” Vilma asked over the sounds of an argument in the kitchen.
“I told you the recipes would have to be adjusted,” one voice wafted out. That sounded like Tezilly. “The oven is far more magical than normal ones. That will affect the baking process.”
“You can’t possibly believe that a dragon sleeping next to this oven for a few weeks means the cookie recipe needs adjustments.” And that crabbier-sounding voice belonged to Brella.
“Dragon emanations are known to cause things around them to turn magical. It says so in the book.”
“It’s talking about the rock formations in their caves, not gnomish commercial ovens.”
“All things.”
“It’s fine,” Vilma assured Rylana and Jildarin when they hesitated to place their order. “Those two argue about everything. And the sprinkles are hardly glowing at all with the latest batch. Some customers might even like a little sparkle in their baked goods. What can I get you?”
“My enemy assures me that I will enjoy the flavored water with milk,” Jildarin stated.
“My enemy?” Vilma mouthed.
“I didn’t assure you that you would like a latte,” Rylana said. “I just said you might.”
“We have a new mocha sampler with four small cups using different roasts and different cocoas,” Vilma offered.
“I’ll take that,” Rylana said. “Jildarin will have a latte. Without sugar.”
“Hm,” he said, almost a growl.
“Jildarin… the dragon?” Vilma took a step back.
“The dragon chef,” Rylana said. “He’s quite talented. Have you been to the diner?”
“No, I’ve heard… things. And earlier…” Vilma looked toward the window and made a face.