“You will handle the ordering of my supplies going forward?” Jildarin asked, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“Yes. Just tell me how much of what you use for the diner in aweek, and I’ll take care of the ordering and recording costs. Since you’re a regular customer, maybe I can also barter for discounts.”
“Sometimes, I require special ingredients for a single-use purpose.”
“Like dragon spices?” Even after he’d pointed out his various ingredient supplies, Rylana remained vague on what those were and where they came from. He hadn’t once mentioned them that evening. Did they come from a furtive merchant in the Forbidden Market?
“Only adragonmay acquire dragon spices.”
“They’re not sold in the city, I’m guessing.”
“One must fly deep into the southern climes and up to high mountain caves in the sides of steep, rocky cliffs that are guarded by magic—and the scaled inhabitants within.” Jildarin touched his chest. “The various luminescent mosses, lichens, and fungi that, when dried and pulverized, we call spices grow on rock formations that hum with dangerous power. They are attuned to the magic of the dragons that live nearby and exist only where we live.”
“So, you can’t get the spices delivered, then?” Rylana envisioned a goblin on a winged bicycle attempting to reach one of the caves to collect the ingredients.
“You cannot.”
“Resupplying seems like it would be a pain in an ogre’sbukokeven for you.”
“Collection does demand a journey since there are not dragon caves in this area. My kind prefer the warmer southern reaches.”
“I remember. Can you grow them in your storeroom with your own bodily emanations?”
“I…” Jildarin paused to look thoughtfully toward the lake.
They were only a few blocks from the turn up to Acorn Street and the diner, and nobody had attacked Rylana yet, so she tried to loosen her tense shoulders. Even if someonewasfollowing her forsome reason, walking beside a dragon, even one distracted by a discussion of spices and emanations, ought to be a suitable deterrent.
“I hadn’t considered whether that would be possible,” Jildarin said. “This climate is temperate, not warm, but the heat from the kitchendoesdrift back to the storeroom in cool weather. The growth of the mosses and fungi has not spontaneously happened, but perhaps I will ask one of our scientists if it might be possible if one inoculated the area.”
“Dragons have scientists?”
Jildarin looked balefully at her. “As I informed you, our kind are more educated and sophisticated thanyourkind believe.”
“Sorry. It’s hard to look at someone with fangs longer than swords and think of sophistication. Or science.”
“You judge us by our appearance.”
“No, I judge you by the fact that dragons ate my comrades during the war.”
“Human meat is unpalatable. I assure you they weren’teaten.”
“Fine, but they were eviscerated or burned beyond all recognition and left for dead.”
“Dragons are fearsome predators when their ire is raised, which your kind are sufficiently talented at doing.” Jildarin touched the scar near his eye.
“I received a lot of injuries too, you know. The war was rough on both sides.” Rylana almost untucked her tunic to show him a scar along her side that had almost evisceratedher, though it had been delivered by an elven sword rather than dragon fangs, but the streetlamps didn’t provide thatmuch illumination. Besides, if someonewasfollowing them, she didn’t want to provide material for a peep show.
“Yes. Cooking is more relaxing than battle. The special ingredients of which I spoke can be acquired in the city. They are notcomponents in my regular recipes, but I am practicing with them for the Golden Whisk. You know the details of it?”
“I don’t know anything about it. My brother, cousins, and I didn’t jump to attend cooking contests when I was growing up.”
“It is strange that you thinkdragonslack sophistication.”
Rylana wanted to reply with a witty retort, but a yawn derailed her. All she managed was, “Oh, I’m sure,” and to think longingly of a comfortable bed.
Jildarin, perhaps contemplating growing fungi, turned to walk toward Acorn Street. Rylana rubbed her gritty eyes and debated asking what she’d considered and dismissed earlier. The worst he could say wasno, right?
“I’ve already passed the first step of having my meals chosen during a blind taste test,” Jildarin said, “so I am officially one of only a dozen contestants in the Golden Whisk, but I must now practice developing recipes and executing dishes made from myriad different ingredients, some unusual. At the least, the combinations of ingredients required to be used in the dishes are atypical. For the contest, we may bring our own knives and our own spices, but everything else will be supplied at the venue, and we will not know in advance which ingredients we will have to showcase in meals for the judges. From what I’ve researched about past years’ competitions, it is usually a mixture of mundane and exotic ingredients.” Jildarin held up his bundle of eels.
