She smiled at them and pointed toward the seats to her left. When they looked up at her, she realized she recognized one of the faces, Mya, the baker. The grandmotherly dwarf waved for her comrades to follow her to the top row, and they sat on the empty bench beside Rylana.
“Hello,” Mya said. “Are you here to support Chef Jildarin?”
“I’m here because he ordered me to come,” Rylana said but smiled to make it a joke.
Hehadtold her to come, but she would have come to watch out for him, regardless. Even if he was a powerful dragon, he was so focused on his craft when he cooked that he might not notice an enemy sneaking close.
Vormalt had stopped to talk to a couple of well-dressed humans, including one wearing wizard’s robes. Maybe he wouldn’t come up to speak with Rylana, after all.
“It’s wise to obey the orders of a dragon,” Mya said. “We are here to support the dwarven chef, Mesacor, but I will also wish well to Jildarin. After all, you two gave me a deal on a gnomish oven.” She winked.
“That’s how friendships are formed, I believe.”
“Yes. You should visit the bakery one day. We have many delicious items.”
“I’ve had the scones recommended to me.”
Thechastescones.
“They are wonderful. As the seasons progress, I add freshly harvested fruit to them.” Mya spoke more about her food, butRylana returned to perusing the venue and only murmured a few responses, so the baker shifted to chatting with her comrades.
All of the judges’ chairs were now taken, and a chef manned each station on the stage. The benches were almost full, and fewer people were trickling in, so Rylana guessed the competition would start soon.
The number of vendors had proliferated, dwarves and gnomes hawking everything from popcorn to skewers of roasted meat to bags of rock candy. The dwarf hefting those around promised his treats were sweet, sour, and hard enough to break teeth if one tried to bite them instead of sucking on them. A girl with her parents waved, apparently delighted by the description.
A pair of goblins in overalls showed tickets at the entrance and were allowed in. Rylana's gaze sharpened. Was that the goblin who’d started the fire in the pantry? With an accomplice? They wore overalls, as if they’d just come from work, and were carrying lunchboxes, but who knew what tools for sabotage might be contained within?
Rylana rose, thinking to confront the familiar goblin, even though they were heading for the benches instead of anywhere near the chefs, but Vormalt had left the people he’d been speaking with and was maneuvering up an aisle toward her.Straighttoward her.
It crossed her mind to leap off the back of the benches, escape him, and run up to the goblins, but they sat down in the front row, as if they were merely there to enjoy the competition. Further, a golem lumbered past behind the benches and stopped not far from Rylana. She might end up in its arms if she departed that way.
Vormalt smiled easily at her as he climbed, lifting a hand. He sat beside her, not noticing the besmirched spot, and her only satisfaction was that he was sitting in goose poo.
“You’re here to support the dragon chef, I assume?” he asked.
“Yes. What areyouhere to do?”
“Enjoy the entertainment, and I suppose I’ll root for Yerin, though he’s a bit of a self-absorbed twit.”
“Which naturally explains why you spend time with him.”
“Self-absorbed twit describes alotof people in the upper echelons of society. Though I wouldn’t say you fall into that category.” Vormalt smiled at her.
Rylana did not return the smile. “I’m not upper anything. I’m a retired mercenary.”
“Of course.” His smile didn’t falter. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
What was he up to now? Rylana didn’t want to be distracted. She wanted to make sure those goblins didn’t wander off to cause trouble.
“I’m busy right now,” she said.
“You’re sitting on a bench at a competition that hasn’t started yet.”
“I’m making sure nobody is scheming against my employer while he’s chopping vegetables and mincing meat.”
Actually, Jildarin had acquired two rags and a spray bottle of water or some other substance and was assiduously cleaning his station. Rylana smiled at the juxtaposition between tidy chef and the fearsome dragon who’d bitten and clawed two other dragons into defeat. Fortunately, the small wounds Jildarin had received during the battle didn’t seem to bother him. What had been a puncture wound in his maw when he’d been in dragon form now looked like the kind of cut one might receive while shaving in a hurry.
“Who would scheme at a cooking contest?” Vormalt asked.
