Chapter 22
Rylana spent the day before the Golden Whisk balancing the books and figuring out how much the fire had set the business back.
Fortunately, thanks to the enthusiastic volunteers, they hadn’t had to spend much on repairs, but having to replace so many ingredients had been costly.
The diner was lucky she’d thought to snag a portion of Rolf’s earnings.
“If nothing else unexpected happens, we’ll still come out ahead for the month,” Rylana decided. “Considering the business was in the red for all the months prior to my arrival, that’s pretty good.”
Yawning, she left the office, peeking into the kitchen on her way past. Jildarin was once again hard at work, stirring, cutting, and muttering to himself as he prepared dishes that would serve both as practice and to sate diners arriving for the evening meal.
With only one night left until the contest, Rylana wondered if Yerin would send more goblins to make another attempt to derail Jildarin. It would be his last chance.
Appointing herself a patroller, Rylana walked through the premises.
She didn’t see anything amiss in the repaired and cleaned dining room, and none of the patrons ambling in looked like trouble.
When she passed through the storeroom, she likewise didn’t find anything amiss.
Outside, there wasn’t any fresh graffiti on the doors, nor were any cloaked goblins skulking, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Jildarin's dishonorable competitor, as he’d put it, would try something else.
On a whim, she climbed onto the flat roof of the building, where she had a view of the streets in front of and behind the diner, as well as over the dwarven bakery and a tavern to the lake.
A corner of her family’s castle was visible across the waterway, and she made a face in that direction, the unsatisfactory conversation with her father coming to mind.
When she looked up and down Acorn Street, she was surprised to spot someone else up on a rooftop. Above the coffee shop, a hooded and cloaked figure stood beside a table, leaning a shoulder against a brick chimney.
Rylana's first instinct was to feel alarm, especially since the person was facing in her direction—was someone spying upon the diner?
—but the figure sipped from a coffee cup, as if merely enjoying a private rooftop balcony.
The person noticed her watching and raised the cup in a salute.
There was something familiar about the movement.
“Sylin?” Rylana wondered, then asked, “What are you doing up there?”
She didn’t speak loudly, but Sylin’s keen elven ears must have caught the words because she pushed back her hood to reveal her forest-green hair.
Since Rylana hadn’t spotted any trouble at the diner, she climbed down and headed over to the coffee shop. In an alley to the side of it, she found a metal ladder that led to the rooftop, so she joined her comrade.
“Was it too crowded inside for your tastes?” Rylana asked, sitting in the solitary chair, one Sylin wasn’t using. She scooted it around so that she could see across the street toward the diner.
“It is quite busy, more so than I prefer, but the quality of the beverages ensures crowds will always be typical.”
“Yeah, I think their stuff is good too.”
“I’m up here because it would be unwise for me to be observed too frequently in one place. Word might get around, and the elves who seek me out could waylay me.”
“But sitting on the rooftop of the place where you’ve been frequently observed is all right?”
“From here, I can see anyone coming.”
“You could vary your routine and visit some other coffee shops in town.”
“This one is the best.” Sylin sipped from her mug.
“Your addiction might be your undoing.”
“We all have to die of something.”
“Well, I’m glad to have you around for company.
As you saw, my family isn’t interested in me, Father at least. And the home I’ve looked forward to returning to for so many years isn’t quite…
what I remember.” Rylana waved toward the city on their side of the lake rather than looking toward the family estate.
Her father had been what she’d expected.
But the rest of Tranquility hadn’t felt as much like home as she’d thought it would, and she wondered if she would be able to recapture the nostalgia of her youth.
“I’m not sure if it’s changed or I have.
No, I guess that’s not true. I’m certain I’ve changed more than the city has. ”
“Likely.”
“How much longer will you stay? I can’t imagine that having elves hunting for you on every street corner is that appealing.” Earlier, Rylana had mentioned the alchemist elf in the market to Sylin.
“Oh, I don’t know. It forces me to stay sharp. Yesterday, I ran from two elven hunters with a hound who thought they would hunt me down. They did not succeed.” Sylin smiled at some secret amusement, then sipped again.
“I’d feel bad if they found you and I stumbled across your body outside the diner, all because you’d stayed in the area for my sake.”
“For your sake?” Sylin asked, her tone still amused, then sipped again.
“Are you only lingering here because of the coffee shop?”
“Not only. Have you tried the offerings from the dwarven bakery?”
“No. I’m not in the mood for a cake with a giant zerg stick protruding from the top. Besides, now that I know dwarves like to season their food with rocks, I’m skeptical of their fare.”
“The scones are excellent. I recommend them.”
“They’re not shaped into or decorated with genitalia or other sexually suggestive material, are they?
I’ve had enough of that kind of thing of late.
” Rylana waved toward the diner, though, with the dragon spices ruined, there hadn’t been any of the special soup for a couple of days—much to the lament of a few customers who’d slipped in, hoping to make a deal with Rolf for a to-go container.
“The scones are chaste.”
“Good to know.”
“The muffins are also nonsexual. The croissants… You may want to avoid the croissants.”
Rylana decided not to ask how those might be altered for adult tastes.
“Will you seek to establish a relationship with your father?” Sylin asked.
“Nothing in our meeting suggested he’s interested in that,” Rylana said, surprised Sylin had asked.
“No? He seemed distressed that you hadn’t gone into your family business.”
“My father has never been distressed in his life. Disappointed, maybe.” Rylana waved her hand, years past caring that she might evoke that feeling in him.
Sylin twitched a finger, not commenting on the distinction. “You’re now working in a business. Perhaps that will change his opinion of you and your life choices.”
“I’m working for a dragon chef for no pay in a diner located across from a naughty bakery.”
Sylin sipped from her coffee. After a pause, she said, “Oh, that was your point.”
“I’m also sleeping on the floor in a storeroom. I don’t think my father would be impressed by the new direction of my life.”
“He may like naughty baked goods.”
“If he does, I don’t want to know about it.”
“If his primary angst is that you became a mercenary, but you are no longer employed in that field and you are also using the academic skills that you learned from your tutors…” Sylin spread a hand toward the sky.
“Are you suggesting I go talk to him again and tell him all about my new job?”
“Should I be forced to leave, perhaps pursued by crabby elves with hounds, I will no longer be able to provide you with companionship. You might find that less distressing if you reacquainted yourself with your family. There are few in the world that one is tied to by blood, and such bonds shouldn’t be torn asunder lightly. ”
“I’d rather acquaint with Jildarin.”
“Perhaps you could take him a croissant.”
“I meant talk to him, not… two hells, I don’t even know what those croissants look like or suggest.”
“I’m certain Mya, the baker, could educate you. She’s very worldly.”
“Jildarin isn’t.” Rylana waved. “Not in that area.”
Sylin gazed at her without comment.
“Not that we’ve discussed it in depth, but he’s said he doesn’t have sex recreationally.
Dragons don’t, I mean. Or so he says. That might not be true for all of his kind.
His brother has implied that, at least when he’s in human form, he gives in to the urges that come with being one of us.
” Rylana pushed a hand through her hair, feeling flustered.
How had they gotten onto this topic? “If Jildarin can be believed, he doesn’t have similar urges. ”
“Is that disappointing? Or a relief?” Did Sylin look amused again? Yes, her eyebrow had moved, and the corner of her mouth was quirking slightly.
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
“I see. Do you still plan to attend his cooking competition?”
“He ordered me to.”
“That wouldn’t make me inclined to go.”
“Yeah, but I may have to watch his back. As I learned during our foray across the lake, Yerin is out to get Jildarin.”
Sylin stirred with interest. “With a blade? Explosives?”
“An alchemical goblin powder that could force him to turn into a dragon.”
“I suppose that could be exciting. I wouldn’t have expected that from a cooking contest.”
“The chefs care deeply about their creations,” Rylana said. “Do you want me to see if I can get you in to watch?”
“Get me in? Is it an exclusive event with tickets required? Like the final performance in a season of the dwarven opera?”
“I’m certain.”
“Fascinating.”
“It could be.”
Sylin sipped from her cup. “Hm.”