“You were not here this morning to receive my list of requirements for replacing storeroom ingredients and equipment.” Jildarin gave her a sour look from the stove when she walked in, the scents of frying bacon luring her closer.
“You can give them to me after breakfast. I left early to research something for you.”
“Did it involve swilling flavored water across the street?”
“It did not. I asked an alchemist about the contents of that pouch. Someone wants you to change into a dragon.”
“We’ve knownthatfor days.”
“Yeah, but the other methods haven’t worked, have they? The gritty stuff in the pouch was an anti-magic concoction, supposedly, and makes those who have used their power to shift into another form return to their native bodies. I think maybe, after the fire was started, you were supposed to run outside to look for the perpetrator, get pelted with the substance, and turn into a dragon in the street—outside the permissible sanctuary of your lair—as the peacekeepers happened to be in the area.” Rylana remembered the pair of uniformed gnomes that had trotted inside during the chaos of the fire. They’d returned later to get a description of the arsonist, and had promised to look for him—as proper peacekeepers should—but she doubted chance had put them in the area when the fire started.
Jildarin didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on his cooking. The tantalizing aromas made Rylana's stomach rumble, and she wanted to grab a plate and scoop piles of hot food onto it.
Hegrabbed a plate and used tongs to arrange several varieties of perfectly cooked bacon on it next to a slice of the frittata. He also plucked a honey-glazed biscuit from a basket that had been covered with a cloth. A ramekin of freshly whipped butter was nestled in it, and her stomach rumbled even more.
“Your reason for being missing is acceptable.” Jildarin handed her the plate.
“I’m glad you think so. And I’m extra glad that you’re giving me this.” Rylana grinned, stuck a piece of bacon into her mouth, and picked up a fork for the eggs. She didn’t mind his pomposity when he was handing her delicious food.
“Yes. Did your research reveal who thesomeoneis that wants me to change so that the peacekeepers will expel me from Tranquility?” His eyes burned with intensity this morning, suggestinghe had decided to stay and fight instead of giving up and leaving.
“I don’t have proof, but I have a hunch. You remember the food critic, Yerin?”
“Yes. As I told you, he was also selected to compete in the Golden Whisk.”
Rylana nodded. “He sees you as a threat to win, and I think he wants to get rid of you before the contest.”
“It wouldn’t be honorable to seek the expulsion of a strong competitor.”
“No, it wouldn’t, but I’m sure he’s doing it anyway.” Rylana bit into the warm biscuit, savoring the rich buttery layers and a hint of salt with that honey glaze. Oh, that was fabulous. She wanted to grab another biscuit from the basket before she’d finished the first. Considering dragons apparently didn’t crave sweets the way humans did, Jildarin had a deft touch with a honey wand.
“He should desire to fairly beat the best competitors,” Jildarin said, “else his victory would be meaningless.”
“I know, but he wants to win at any cost.”
“Because of the monetary prize?”
“I doubt it.” Rylana cut a piece of the frittata, eyeing the green spirals dubiously, but when she popped it into her mouth, everything blended well together and tasted wonderful. And was that goat cheese in there? Perfect. “Yerin’s family has money, and he’s spending who knows how much to hire goblins to assault your diner.”
“My dinerisbeing assaulted,” Jildarin growled. “If one of my rivals is responsible, I will… Cursed golems, I can’tdoanything, not in this city.”
“You can win the competition. In Tranquility, the best revenge is personal triumph.”
“Without my spices?—”
“You canstillwin.” Rylana speared a piece of frittata with her fork and held it up. “Trust me.”
Jildarin squinted at her, and she expected him to remind her that he didnottrust her. “By your calculations, you believe this could be possible?”
She almost laughed at the expression, recognizing it as her own. “By mytastebuds, I do.”
“Taste is subjective. Your calculations interest me more.” Jildarin walked to the pantry. He or the volunteers had already cleaned it out, replaced the shelving, and tucked the newly purchased ingredients inside. He gripped his chin and perused them thoughtfully. “If I will not have use of dragon spices, I must take other spices with me to the competition.”
“You’ve decided to stay in it, then?”
“I will not be chased out of the Golden Whisk by a dishonorable competitor who sendsgoblinsto do his dirty work.”
“Good.” A loudvroomcame from the dining room. The combination air-purifier-vacuum? “Everyone knows gnomes are more reliable for dirty work anyway.”
