“Not right now, thanks. I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
“Nor have I. I was told to come hungry.” She winked and lowered her tray for Rolf when he came over. “I’m Mya Stonehammer, by the way. Did I mention that this morning when we spoke?This is not my first time coming over here, but it is my first time being invited in to eat.”
“I’m Rylana. I’ve, uh, seen some of your cakes go out.”
“Naughty or nice?” Mya winked and pushed one of her red-gray braids over her shoulder. “I admit, after I lost my husband in the mines and needed a new career to have something to do with myself now that my young ones are grown, I thought I would use my baking talents to make tasty treats for children’s birthday parties, weddings, and summer- and winter-fest galas. But when the dragon opened his diner and started drawing people with thatsoup… Well, they needed desserts.”
“Naughty desserts?”
“Apparently! I do charge more for those. I’m not a prude, mind you, but it’s more of a challenge to bake and affix various somatic appendages than to simply make and frost a round or square cake.”
“I imagine thezergsticks fall over if you’re not careful.”
“Yes, and nobody wants a limpzergstick.” Mya pointed toward the kitchen. “Is the chef ready for us?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t invited to anything.”
“No?” Mya tilted her head. “When Jildarin-grozanarav mentioned wanting new people to try tonight’s creations, I assumed he would include you.”
“You can pronounce his full name? That’s impressive.”
“I can’teasilypronounce it, but you know how dragons feel about their clans and their heritage. I wouldn’t want to insult him. Does he allow you to simply call him Jildarin?”
“So far, he has, but he probably doesn’t expect much from someone who shot him in the war.”
Mya blinked and mouthed, “Shot?”
Maybe Rylana shouldn’t have mentioned that, but she shrugged and tapped her temple.
“Enter, diners,” Jildarin's voice boomed down the hallway. “You will sample my dishes now and not gossip outside of my kitchen.”
“I’ll take that,” Rolf said cheerfully, pulling Mya’s tray out of her hands, some cookies and miniature loaves remaining, “and finish handing out your samples.”
“Hm,” Mya said, though she let the goblin depart with her goods so she could walk obediently into the kitchen.
Rolf had already shoved two loaves into his mouth by the time Rylana followed the dwarf through the swinging door. She doubted many more samples would be handed out. It was impressive that goblins could have such lean musculature despite a propensity to eat as much as dragons. And far more sweets than dragons.
Jildarin scrutinized Rylana and Mya before nodding to himself and pointing toward the table in the back. “I have placed sample plates under cloches, much as they will be delivered to the judges at the Golden Whisk. Of course, you know thatImade the dishes—as long as everything is done according to the rules of the contest, the judges won’t know which chefs prepared which items—but I will not tell you what the dishes are or about the ingredients, thus to not predispose you to certain opinions.”
“I’ve already heard about some of the ingredients,” Rylana murmured, eyeing the small silver cloches clustered in front of the stools, numbers written with a charcoal stick atop each. Three seats were set at the table, each with a torn-off piece of butcher paper next to the cloches. Rylana wondered who else Jildarin expected to join them.
“You will sample each dish and rate them on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most excellent.” Jildarin guided Rylana and Mya to the table.
“The lengths I go to for free food,” Mya murmured, taking the seat by the wall.
“You have a thriving business,” Rylana said. “You can’tneedfree food.”
“No, but I’ve been curious about the fare here for a while. And the owner.” Mya looked over her shoulder, lips twisted thoughtfully. “He is a quirky dragon, is he not?”
“Those of us who survived the war all are, I think. If we weren’t before, all the years of fighting and death made us so.” Rylana had meant it as a joke, but it wasn’t really, even ifquirkywasn’t quite the appropriate word to describe the survivors. Damaged, maybe.
“In order to be of most assistance,” Jildarin said, “you should keep your conversation centered on the food.”
“I’m not surewarcan explain him,” Mya said.
“You may discuss the dishes,” Jildarin said, as if he couldn’t hear the comments about him, “but I suggest you first independently rate them on your own. Someone else’s strong opinion might sway your own.”
“Thanks for the life advice,” Rylana said dryly.
