Sylin lowered her fork and mouthed, “Flavored water,” with a horrified expression.
“People like coffee,” Rylana said, “and you don’t want customers to leave to get a drink elsewhere, right? If you serve it here, you can charge a profitable amount, and folks will linger and chat amiably.”
“I don’t want people tolinger.” Jildarin made a shooing motion. “Go clear the plates next to the critic’s table.”
“But you don’t want me to spy?”
“Certainly not.”
“Right. I’ll let you know if I hear good things.” Rylana smiled as he shooed her out the door again.
But her smile dropped as soon as she reached the dining room, looked around, and found the booth where a bespectacled man sat across from another man, a notebook and pencil on the table beside numerous plates with different menu items between them. The critic was somewhat familiar—someone from the west side of the lake who’d been a kid about the time Rylana had, she thought. But the man across from him wasveryfamiliar, and she groaned as his gaze swung toward her. Vernest Vormalt.
10
Rylana resistedthe urge to fling herself behind the bar to hide from Vormalt—after all, he’d already seen her. She needed to deal with him. Reminding herself that she was a combat veteran who’d faceddragons, she walked to the table.
The food critic looked up, blinking curiously at her a few times. “Rylana Avandar?”
“Yes,” she said. His name clicked for her between one breath and the next, and she added, “Yerin Molingvar, right? You’ve changed.”
He hadn’t worn spectacles as a kid, and his freckles had been more pronounced, but she remembered him riding past the castle on his bicycle and asking if she or her brother wanted to come out and play. He’d been fond of making elaborate sandcastle villages on the beach while lecturing the other kids on proper structural support and engineering challenges. The rest of the children in the neighborhood, Rylana and her brother included, had been more interested in throwing balls or tossing sticks into the water for the dogs to fetch.
“You’ve changed too.” Yerin adjusted his spectacles and considered her face—or maybe her hair.
“Yes, quite. What did you do to yourself, Rylana?” Vormalt waved at her hair. “That used to be lush and long, and now it’s… Did you cut it yourself?”
“Actually, a comrade did. She’s skilled with knives.”
“Not that skilled.” Vormalt smirked.
“I’ll admit her blade moves are more for assailing enemies than cutting hair, but the only scissors in our unit were in the doc’s medical kit, and I was loath to be trimmed by something used for snipping off sutures and removing bloody bandages. Besides, I’ve found it practical to have my hair shorter. And you’re not as charming as you used to be, Vernest.”
The smirk turned into a dazzling smile in a face that remained handsome, the flecks of gray in his hair doing little to detract. “You remember me too. I’m touched.”
“Why are you lurking at the Dragon Diner?” Rylana looked at his wrist, relieved to spot a golden marriage bracelet there. Whatever had brought him by, it wasn’t a quest for a wife.
She’d asked the question to Vormalt, but Yerin lifted his notepad and answered. “The newspapersent me to try the food and learn if there’s a story here. This diner is developing quite a reputation.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to ask if she knew more and would gossip. “Do you… work here?”
“Yes, but only since yesterday.” Rylana eyed the notepad, glimpsing lists of ingredients, several with question marks after them.
Was Yerin trying to deconstruct Jildarin’s recipes? She had no idea if that was typical for a food critic but supposed it might be. He would want to mention specifics in whatever write-up he did. Hopefully, he wouldn’t pick out the spruce tips and make scathing comments about being fed tree branches.
“Are you a waitress now? At a diner a block from the docks?”Vormalt’s smile shifted back into a smirk—a condescending one. “Does your father know? He would be terribly disappointed in you working such a menial job, I’m certain.”
“I’m the bookkeeper. But I used to kill people for a living.”
Vormalt blinked. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to announce, especially in Tranquility, but Rylana felt the need to let him know that she’d changed and that she wouldn’t be pressured by whatever he wanted.
“Gavlin Avandar might also be chagrined by that career choice,” Yerin murmured.
“I didn’t tell him about it,” Rylana said. “Vormalt, you must need something since you keep coming by this lowly diner a block from the docks. Do you want to step outside and discuss whatever it is in private?”
“I would like to speak with you, yes.”
“I gathered when we saw you peering through the window last night.” Rylana arched her eyebrows as she waited to see if he would deny he’d been the window-peeper. He did not. “I assume it wasn’t a desire to monitor the bacon preparation that brought you by.”
“The baconisexcellent. Write that down.” As Vormalt slid out of the booth, he waved at Yerin, almost knocking over a water glass near the edge of the table. It wobbled but remained upright.
