Chapter 3 #2
“Did you escape without being maneuvered into a mating session?” Rylana asked since Zilek had paused, as if expecting some interaction from them.
She didn’t particularly want the details, however, and it didn’t sound like this would lead to new information about Sylin or the elves’ ongoing search for her.
“I did, but it wasn’t the most graceful of exits. Ultimately, I changed into my native form, causing nearby pillars to alarm, and flew out of the city, not daring to return until the next day.”
“Despite the mishap with the spices, you want more soup?” Jildarin asked, though his gaze remained on the cookbook. He’d found a section on enchanted morels.
“To try again, certainly. Dragons are not easily defeated by even ignoble failures. This time, I intend to approach Layothlee when she is alone. I am certain she liked the soup and could be enticed to consume a proper dosage, if she had the opportunity.”
Rylana doubted that and suspected Layothlee had intentionally shared it around so she wouldn’t be tempted into eating a full serving. Or, as Zilek was probably rightfully calling it, a proper dosage.
Gniknik entered the hallway and cleared his throat diffidently. “The landlord still wishes to see you, Chef Jildarin and Rylana. He’s growing somewhat impatient.”
“I’m coming,” Rylana said.
Zilek reached out a hand to keep Jildarin from walking away without answering him.
“Yes, yes,” Jildarin said. “You’ve brought me useful books, and I will, in exchange, make another batch of soup for you.”
“Excellent.”
“Perhaps, this time, the queen herself will be nearby and want to try it.”
“That… would not be much more desirable than the troupe leader consuming it. As I recall, Queen Fareesa was once renowned among her people for her great beauty, but I believe she’s several centuries old and, as her political rivals angling to name the next heir always point out, past her childbearing years.
Mating with her would be less appalling than with the troupe elder, but it is not a goal of mine. ”
“To her relief, I’m certain,” Jildarin said. “Return tonight, and I will have soup for you.”
With the cookbooks clutched to his chest, Jildarin looked like he wanted to find a quiet corner of the kitchen to peruse them thoroughly, but he instead joined Rylana as she stepped into the dining room.
“I trust Zilek will be no more successful in wooing the elven lady with a second batch,” he murmured as they headed for a booth the landlord had claimed. Whatever he wanted to discuss hadn’t kept him from ordering a poached-eggs dish.
“Not unless she wishes him to be.” Though she’d already told Jildarin as much, Rylana added, “I warned her all about that soup.”
He nodded. That was the only reason he’d been willing to make it for his brother, apparently having no interest in aiding him with seducing unsuspecting women.
The landlord, Aztor, was prone to surliness, and Rylana braced herself when he spotted them and rose from his seat. Surprisingly, he looked around with almost a glum expression before meeting their gazes.
“I regret to inform you,” he said, “that I won’t be renewing your lease next month. You’ll have to move your business to another establishment.”
“What?” Jildarin asked. “Just a few days ago, you approved the rooftop seating area, provided the elven plant master was the one to design and implement it.”
“I’m aware, but I have a… new tenant who wants the building and will pay a premium.”
Rylana squinted at him. “This is a negotiating tactic, right? Since the lease is up for renewal and the diner is profitable, you want to increase the rent.”
She didn’t like the idea, but she couldn’t blame the landlord for desiring to implement an annual increase.
She did hope, however, that he wouldn’t attempt to price gouge them because of their business success.
Maybe Jildarin shouldn’t have hung the glowing golden whisk in the window after winning that contest…
Aztor shook his head. “I’ve already told the other tenant that he can have the place. Sorry about that.” He placed a couple of coins on the table for his meal, then started toward the door.
Jildarin reached out and gripped his shoulder to stop him. “Why would you do that when we are currently leasing your establishment? We create no trouble.”
“Not now anyway,” Rylana added, “since the soup recipe has been perfected, and we’ve stopped letting Rolf scheme to host org— er, organized love-ins.
” She wanted to say more but also didn’t want to appear too desperate in case this was part of Aztor’s negotiating strategy.
She couldn’t imagine what else it would be.
Otherwise, why would he kick them out to bring in an unestablished tenant?
The landlord eyed the hand on his shoulder with concern, though he covered his wariness with a hostile glower. “If you manhandle me, I will speak to my lawyer about ending your lease prematurely, and you’ll have to leave this month.”
“I am, in fact, dragonhandling you,” Jildarin said, “but without force or inflicting pain.”
“Let go.”
Jildarin looked at Rylana, his eyebrows raised. Wanting advice?
“We can’t keep him here against his will,” she said.
“The pantry door has a lock. After the goblin arsonist ignited my ingredients and we had to replace everything, I had Gniknik install one.”
It took Rylana a moment to realize he meant they could keep the landlord against his will. But locking someone in the pantry was hardly a long-term solution.
“Unhand me,” Aztor said, glancing around, “or I’ll call for the peacekeepers, and they will force you to leave your diner this very day. I will, at least, give you until your lease is up.”
Jildarin frowned at him.
Rylana grasped his wrist and pulled on it, urging him to release the man.
Jildarin sighed and did so. Aztor scurried out the door.
“Humans are very confusing.” Jildarin looked around the dining room with distress furrowing his brow. The thought of leaving distressed Rylana as well, and she hadn’t been working at the diner nearly as long.
“That is an interesting business practice,” came Zilek’s observation from the hallway.
Rylana hadn’t realized he’d remained and turned to face him.
“And since that man is known for having some acumen in that area,” Zilek continued, “an odd choice.”
“You know Aztor?” Rylana asked.
“Vaguely.” Zilek waved his fingers. “He’s come to the wine conclave a few times.
I understand he’s a self-made entrepreneur and has accumulated much real estate and some degree of wealth, but he’s hardly considered cultured or sophisticated.
Worse, he considers those dreadful hybrid wines with the foxy aroma to be palatable.
It’s appalling. It’s because of his wife, who has much superior taste in all walks of life, that he’s permitted to attend. ”
“Few other buildings have room for a kitchen, dining room, and a dragon lair in the back,” Jildarin said to himself as he continued to gaze sadly around. If he’d heard his brother, he didn’t give any indication of it. Maybe he was used to filtering out Zilek’s blatherings on his wine club.
Distress lingered on Jildarin’s face, and Rylana wanted to hug him and smooth his brow. But such intimacy was beyond their relationship. Instead, she decided she would figure out what in the two hells had motivated Aztor to change his mind about leasing to them. And she would unchange his mind.
Determined, she walked toward Zilek. “When is your next wine-club meeting?”
If Aztor would be there, maybe she could corner him and get better information out of him. Especially if he was sloshed on those hybrid wines. And if he didn’t attend, maybe his wife could be a resource.