“I’ll let her know, but I doubt she has that on her mind.”
“Whatison the mind of that one?” Jildarin squinted at her. “Why does she lurk around?”
“She’s drawn to the shop across the street.”
“The bakery of dubiously shaped cakes?”
Rylana snorted but, having chatted with the grandmotherly dwarf who made adult-themed desserts for various occasions, did not protest the description.
“No, though I understand she’s a fan of their scones. It’s the coffee shop that she loves. Also, I don’t think she’s decided what she’ll do with her life next.”
“For the sake of my servants, ensure that whatever she does next doesnotinvolve my diner.” Jildarin walked back into the kitchen, earning a bow from Gniknik on his way past.
Worried for the comrade who’d not only fought with her for years but who’d saved her life more than once, Rylana vowed to look for Sylin to warn her.
2
After the lastmeal service at the diner, Rylana peeked into the coffee shop, looking for Sylin. Despite the later hour, everyone from bespectacled university students studying their books to goblin workers from the docks to gnomes arguing over schematics and mochas—possibly schematicsofmochas—occupied the tables, but there weren’t any elves within.
Rylana wished she knew where Sylin was currently staying. She’d left the room above the tavern where she’d slept her first week in town, and she’d been cagey about sharing if there was another spot. Maybe she worried that Rylana would be captured by elves, questioned by magical means, and be forced to share everything she knew. Thatwasa possibility, so Rylana wouldn’t blame Sylin for thinking that.
The door to the bakery opened as she passed it, and two grinning goblins walked out together, carrying a cake in a rectangular box so large that it took both of them to tote it. Two bumps on the top suggested another anatomically inspired dessert lay inside. Through the window, rows of cupcakes with suggestive frostingdesigns were visible. Above, the painted sign promised the availability of custom baked goods, naughty or nice, no questions asked. Rylana wondered how many mundane—ornice—treats the bakery sold.
The dwarven owner, Mya, who’d held the door open for the goblins, crooked a finger toward Rylana. Flour dusted her brown apron, and reddish-gray strands of hair stuck out of her slumping braid, but her blue eyes were always bright and alert.
“Trouble?” Rylana pointed her thumb toward the departing goblins.
“No, those two are good customers. They pay my prices without haggling, and they keep coming back. But a couple of elves visited earlier…” Mya raised her eyebrows, then wiped her hands on her apron, leaving powdered sugar alongside the flour, and propped her fists on her hips. “They were aloof and rude.”
“That’s how most elves are, isn’t it?”
“They asked if I’d seen your friend.”
“Ah, then I’ve met them. They came into the diner too.” Rylana looked toward the coffee shop again, wondering how long she would have to wait for Sylin to visit. Rylana felt urgency to deliver her warning as soon as possible. There was also a part of her that wanted to ask and make sure Sylin wasn’t lingering in Tranquility because she’d heard the queen was coming and someone wanted to pay her to do exactly what those elves had suggested, assassinate her. The aftermath of such an action wouldnotensure a peaceful retirement.
“She’s a good customer too,” Mya said. “I would hate to see her dragged off to the elven enclave or the peacekeepers’ jail.”
“Does she buy your adult goods?” Rylana asked, amused by the idea. In the years she’d known Sylin, she’d never seemed that interested in the notion of bonding, or even having flings, with people. Of course, Sylin was circumspect enough that she couldhave had ten lovers during the war and Rylana might not have known.
“She likes the coffee-dusted swirl cookies, berry scones, and will purchase a croissant if it’s in the normal shape.”
“As opposed to anabnormalshape?” Rylana asked before remembering that Sylin had mentioned the adult-themed croissants before.
“Sexuality isn’tabnormal.It’s a perfectly healthy part of life. I have five children and fourteen grandchildren.”
“Helped into existence by suggestive croissants?”
“More often by strong ale,” Mya said. “I’ve been thinking of implementing that into some of my breads to see if it helps with sales to dwarves and other fans of the substance. I’m afraid that, save for the perennially horny goblin community, I’ve sold fewer of my adult cakes lately. Since Chef Jildarin reduced the amount of dragon spices he’s putting in his soups and stews, fewer amorous passersby have been inspired to come in.”
“He was out of his spices for a while and had to fly south to acquire more, but hehasadjusted his recipes. He wants people to love his food, and doesn’t mind using his secret ingredient to encourage that, but he doesn’t want them to be inspired to loveeach otherafter consuming it. Especially since those urges come upon them so promptly.”
“So I gathered from the times I’ve heard him kicking people out of the diner while roaring ‘No coitus.’” Mya’s eyebrows twitched.
“Yes.” Rylana had the sensation of being watched and looked toward the coffee shop, her gaze drifting upward, above the awning and toward the corner of the roof. Was that a shadow or a person dressed all in black and looking down at her? “I’m going to visit the coffee shop. Good luck with your bread.”
Mya didn’t look toward the rooftop but said, “Tell your friend to keep an eye out. Ostensibly, the elves obey the laws of Tranquility,and they aren’t brazenly violent by nature, regardless, but they have enough magic that they can find ways around the ribbons tied to their weapons, much like your dragon forgetting to turn his burners on and yet somehow still frying up bacon.”
“He’s notmydragon. In fact, he tells people I’m his servant.”
