“It had to be more than curiosity that prompted you to come by three times in the last two days.”
“It was only twice.”
Vormalt waved for a blue-haired gnome—or maybe she was a half-gnome, because she was on the tall side for one of their diminutive species—to bring them coffee. One of the owners—Brella—was roasting beans again, and the air smelled wonderful.
“A latte for me,” Rylana told the girl. Then, feeling obligated to at leastattemptto turn this into a work-related business excursion, she added, “Will you ask the owners—I met them yesterday—if they have any interest in purchasing a better-than-new gnomish commercial oven?”
The girl blinked.
“They mentioned that they get their cookies from the bakery next door, but it would be less expensive if they made their own here in the shop. Further, you could incorporate your coffee into the batter. I enjoy dipping a wafer biscuit into my lattes, don’t you? I’m certain all manner of treats could be enhanced with espresso powder if not whole delicious beans from your fine local roastery.” Rylana waved toward the equipment.
“I… will see if they are interested.”
“Your father must lament daily that you chose not to go into the family business,” Vormalt said dryly. “You almost makemewant to buy an oven from you. At the least, the cookies one could make sound appealing.”
Turning back to Vormalt, Rylana asked, “You weren’t the one stalking me in the streets last night?”
“Certainly not.”
“Just peering in the windows?”
“I was hoping to speak with you and thought you might remain at the diner after closing.”
Rylana debated if she believed him. She hadn’tseenanyone following them the night before, with only her instincts alerting her to the possibility. Still, with his height and a tendency toward clumsiness that appeared to have lingered, he was, as she’d considered then, an unlikely stalker.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
“You said you haven’t been to the castle to visit your family?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“Hm. I used to enjoy sitting with you in the grand library by your room. Remember the sofas with the view of the lake?”
“I remember them.” Rylana watched him as their drinks arrived, little cookies again on the saucers.
She would have to join Sylin for evening jogs if she were going to be a regular at such a calorically abundant establishment. Not to mention the danger of working in a diner overflowing with wondrous food. Her life as a mercenary had kept her in good shape, with Cook’s mealsnevertempting her to overindulge, but Tranquility offered many more culinary delights.
“Howmuchis the oven?” the girl asked before leaving. “Tezilly wants to know. Also, how is itbetterthan new?”
“Ninety gold coins, down from the original price of one hundred.” Rylana was glad she’d researched that the day before. “And it’s been meticulously kept in Jildarin's storeroom where he sleeps in his dragon form at night, the magic his body emanates flowing into the items nearby, including the oven.” Rylana had no idea if Jildarin'semanationscould convey any power to nearby objects, but, after hearing his story of how dragon spices came to be, it seemedpossible. “I’m not sure what exact power might now lurk in the oven,” Rylana said, catching Brella glancing their way as she took empty bean sacks toward the back, “but maybe cookies made within it would be less likely to burn or be dry.”
“That’s a lot of coin,” the girl said, “more than I’ve ever seen, but I will pass your words along.”
“Thank you.”
Rylana faced Vormalt again, expecting more dry comments and amusement in his eyes, but he was gazing thoughtfully out the window.
“I suppose the castle is about the same,” Vormalt said, as if he hadn’t heard the oven conversation, “since your mother passed long ago, and your father wasn’t the sort to bring in decorators. Your brother, Frodin, and his wife lived there for a few years, but they eventually got their own place in town. Have you kept in touch with your family? Do you know what they’ve been up to this last… what’s it been? A decade and a half?”
“Seventeen years.” Rylana sipped from her latte.
“Goodness. Other than the hair, you look really good after all this time. At least from what I can tell under those mannish clothes you’re wearing. I suppose dresses aren’t practical for mercenaries.”
“They aren’t. It’s a wonder that I once found you somewhat witty and charming.”
“I was angling for something then.” Vormalt winked at her.
“Thus greasing your words with flattery?”
