“If not, you’ll have to bake every recipe in those cookbooks, and we’ll hope for the best.”
“Every recipe withrye.”
“Right. How many was that?”
“When we departed, Zalani had identified twenty-three recipes and was halfway through one book. It is, apparently, a staple grain for their kind.”
“That’s a lot of baked goods to make. More than your legs will be tired by the time you finish.”
“I may need to recruit assistance.” Jildarin eyed her.
Rylana had never baked bread in her life. “Maybe Mya will help. She mentioned her business is down since the curse started too.”
“Her assistance could be acceptable.”
They’d reached a key intersection in town, and Rylana pointed to the left, one of several arrow-shaped signs on the corner mentioningTemples and Tabernaclesin that direction. “I’ll head thisway.” She waved to indicate that Jildarin could continue going straight to return to the diner.
He looked toward the sky for a moment, then back the way they had come. “I will go with you to the temple.” He lowered his voice. “An elf is following us at a distance.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Since she’d already guessed the captain’s words meant she hadn’t seen the last of their kind, Rylana wasn’t surprised. “I look forward to a day when I don’t need an escort to walk around the peaceful, serene, and untouched-by-crime city of Tranquility.”
The baying of a hound sounded, and a uniformed gnome ran through the intersection, being half-dragged by one of the copper-furred log-inspector dogs. The pillars had been silent since they’d exited the sanctuary, but one started sending out gongs of alarm again.
“Thesometimespeaceful and serene city,” Rylana amended.
“Indeed.”
As they walked toward an old portion of Tranquility with numerous abandoned and current houses of worship, several grates in the street sent a miasma of dubious green and gray vapors wafting into the air. An unappealing sulfurous scent accompanied them.
“I appreciate your company today,” Rylana said. “Walking around the city is more fraught than usual.”
A few feet ahead of them, a wooden sign in front of a tailor’s shop chose that moment to fall from its hinges and clatter onto the cobblestones.
“Indeed,” Jildarin said again as they walked around it. “I’ve not cooked troll recipes before. Their kind do not participate as judges in the Golden Whisk, and they’ve not been frequent visitors at the diner.”
“So, this could be just the challenge you were looking for?”
“It could beachallenge. As I’ve informed you, baking isn’t myforte or a particular interest, but for the good of the city—and sales at the diner—I will work to end the curse.”
“You’re a noble dragon.”
“I am apracticaldragon.”
“You’re kind of noble too.”
“Hm.”
Rylana smiled at him but resisted an urge to clasp his hand.
“There’s the troll temple.” Jildarin pointed between two large domed churches.
A wide alley led to an older structure in the back, a compact pyramid with four sets of columns at the corners. Though it was in better repair, the temple reminded Rylana of a smaller version of the ruins on the knoll. Despite being in decent shape, it looked old enough to have been in that spot at the founding of the city, maybe longer.
Two trolls walked out of the pyramid, one carrying an empty bag. Had he left an offering?
Rylana was tempted to run up and ask them about what their gods liked, but they had the look of dock workers, not shamans.
“Maybe we can go in and see what they left,” she mused, wondering if Jildarin could deconstruct existing dishes to guess at the ingredients, or if he would need a recipe book.
