“His name is Vernest Vormalt, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him,” Rylana said. “I can’t imagine what he would want with me. I don’t suppose he said?”
“Just that he heard you were back in the city and looked forward to reacquainting himself with you.” Zalani grimaced. “You’re lucky he didn’t stay for a bowl of soup. Even though I don’t usually mind the companionship of men—all right, I seek it out regularly—I prefer to choose who and when. When they get randy after slurping the soup and try to forcibly choose me, I’m less delighted.”
“I’ll bet,” Rylana murmured.
She eyed the hallway, half-expecting Vormalt to stalk into the storeroom at any moment. She had no idea what he wanted but reluctantly accepted that she would have to deal with him. An unpleasant thought, but she told herself that she was a much different person now, not a young and inexperienced girl of scarcely eighteen being pressured by her father. Now, she was a veteran and a seasoned fighter. Though she preferred the bow, she’d sparred with Sylin and the others often, not to mention engaging with actual enemies who’d made it to the shooting lines on the battlefield. She could handle Vormalt.
Not that he’d ever been overly physical with her. He’d tried to charm her with his wit—his wit and his gifts. The last gift he’d brought had been a collection of sugar cookies from a renowned confectionary in town, little purple and red sprinkles adorning the tops. They’d been speaking in the library, perusing some of the old tomes there, and one of Father’s dogs had gotten into the cookies before she’d tried one. The hound had eaten a couple before they’d caught it. Shortly after, it had run outside and thrown up all around the grounds before slinking off into the woods. She’d shooed Vormalt out of the library and chucked the cookies into the trash. A week later, she’d departed for the southand hadn’t returned. Until now. Maybe coming back had been a mistake.
“No coitus!” came Jildarin's booming voice from the dining room.
“I’d better get up there and help him usher out the guests.” Zalani hurried for the hallway as a great thump came from the front room.
“That sounds like very physical ushering,” Rylana said.
“That’s how dragons do it.” Zalani shrugged and smiled before disappearing into the hallway.
“You will eat in this establishment and nothing more!” Jildarin bellowed, another thump sounding, followed by the door slamming.
Rylana returned to her inventory, trusting her assistance wasn’t needed up front, though she yawned and rubbed her lower back. She’d been on her feet all day and wouldn’t mind sitting down, but she wanted to get through everything, and there was a lot ofeverythingin the large storeroom.
So far, she hadn’t discovered anything unexpected except that the quantities were sometimes odd. Did even a professional chef need twodozenspatulas? And an entireboxof meat thermometers? Yet there’d been scarcely a pound or two left in the bag of oats, a measuring cup left inside suggesting it was drawn from often. She hadn’t yet seen sign of dragon spices, though she’d found racks of rosemary, dwarfbeard, thyme, and elfmoss, staples in most northern kitchens.
“My enemy is still here.” Jildarin stood in the hallway, eyeing her.
“There’s a lot to inventory.” Rylana held up the logbook, then turned the pages to show him how much she’d filled. “I thought I’d wait until tomorrow to look for buyers for your gnomish ovens. Do you want to give me a list of your suppliers—butcher, fishmonger, grocery, that kind of thing? Or, I suppose it’s in your head, somaybereciteme a list. Then I can work with them to get totals for what you owe and what you typically order in a week.”
Jildarin gazed at her, his face difficult to read. She had toguesswhat he might be thinking. Probably that she was going to great lengths if this was all a ruse to allow her to get close and try to kill him.
Behind him, the dining room had fallen silent, and the hallway was dark, lamps extinguished. Rylana wondered if he’d sent the rest of the staff home after kicking out the randy customers. If she was going to ask him if she could sleep here tonight, this would be the time, though maybe she was foolish to contemplate spending the night in the same building as a former enemy. A former enemy bearing a permanent scar from one of her arrows. Just becauseshefelt guilty and wanted to make amends didn’t mean thathewouldn’t enjoy seeing her dead.
“Come with me,” Jildarin finally said and headed for the double doors in the back.
“Are you… going to recite your list for me?”
“I will show you where I get those items.” Jildarin glanced at her bow where she’d deposited it and the rest of her belongings earlier, then opened one of the carriage doors.
“So I can visit in the morning and learn about your accounts myself? I suppose I can do that.”
“Yes.” His gaze was cool as she picked up her cloak and joined him. Chilly air whispered through the doorway, and puddles dotted the drive and street outside.
“You’re not thinking of instead showing me the dark alley where you plan for my body to eventually be found, are you?” Rylana asked.
His eyebrows twitched, and he walked outside. “The alarms would go off again if I attacked you in an alley.”
“Probably only if you turned into a dragon first. Thereareoccasionally murders in the city that are carried out with items thepeacekeepers don’t classify as weapons and tie up with their ribbons. Even by bare hands from time to time. Determined killers can find a way.”
Jildarin looked at her again as they stepped into the street, lanterns on posts brightening the way.
“You knew that, right?” Rylana asked. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given you that information.”
“I’ve heard that the peacekeepers employ necromancers who can communicate with the souls of those who were killed in their city and find out who was responsible. The killers are then driven from Tranquility and memories of them magically stored in the guard pillars to ensure they may never return.”
“I’ve heard that too. I’m not sure how much consolation it is to the dead to know their killers are on the pillars’ naughty list.”
“Will you come with me, or not?” Jildarin didn’t sound like he cared one way or another.
Rylana sighed. “I’ll come.”
