Page 12 of Morel Dilemma

Rylana told herself that if Zalani could afford to get dresses here—Zalani, whom Jildarin had never paid a salary beyond those tips—it probably wouldn’t be too richly priced. She removed her trousers and tunic and allowed the golem and gnome to measure her.

Every time Tranklin said, “Hm,” the golem uttered a mechanical-sounding version of the same.

Not two minutes into the experience, the front door opened, and a draft whisked in. Rylana crouched in case she had to spring for her clothes. Given the way her life had been going lately, she half-expected a cadre of elven warriors led by Captain Tassani to stride in to question her on Sylin’s last known whereabouts.

But Jildarin was the one to stride in, spotting her over the racks. Half-crouched, Rylana waffled on whether to spring for clothes or not. He met her eyes, smiled, and waved one of the cookbooks at her, his finger holding a place. Maybe he’d found a suitable recipe to enthrall the palate of the elven queen.

“I’d be chuffed if a dragon smiled at me like that,” Zalani said.

“Any dragon would do?” Rylana decided not to worry about clothes. She had her undergarments on, so she wasn’t completely naked, and Jildarin never seemed to notice what she wore or didn’t wear, regardless. She told herself that was fine, that it wasn’t disappointing that he’d never been moved to ogle her.

“Well, one shape-shifted into a human or elf, probably. And male.”

“Yeah, you should stay away from the female dragons. The ones I’ve met have all been dreadful, whether they’re shape-shifted or not.”

“Because they tried to kill you?”

Rylana had told Zalani the stories of her various encounters with Jildarin’s relations.

“That was the dreadful part, yes,” Rylana said.

Jildarin made his way through the displays and racks to stand before her and open his book to a page two-thirds of the way through. With a touch of curiosity, he took in her bare legs, stomach, and partially covered breasts, but only for a moment before shaking his head and pointing to the text. Again, Rylana told herself not to be disappointed that his gaze didn’t linger.

“I believe I’ve found the perfect recipe,” Jildarin said. “It would go well with a touch of my dragon spices.”

“You’d better make sure Zilek isn’t in the room when you give the queen those spices,” Rylana said. “Since he’s apparently irresistible to older female elves, at least the ones who’ve imbibed them.”

“I would employ a delicate touch of the spices, only enough to ensure Queen Fareesa loved the dish, not any nearby males. And they’ll be delicious in this.” He held up the page so she could read the title of the recipe.

Tranklin seemed unfazed by the odd discussion. He was occupied by wrapping his measuring tape no fewer than three times around her various body parts, then writing down the presumably very accurate results in a notepad that his golem held for him.

“Enchanted Morel Risotto,” Rylana read aloud, glimpsing ingredients such as duck fat, chives, and a crumbly textured cheese made from cow's milk, salt, and rennet.

“I believe I can find all of the required components at this time of year,” Jildarin said, “but the enchanted morels, as we discussed earlier, are quite rare and hard to acquire. I would go out myself to seek them in the wilds, but dragons are hunters, not foragers. We don’t excel at finding the food that our food eats.” His lip curled in a faint sneer.

It was impressive that he deigned to cook vegetarian dishes—or vegetables in any sense—as well as desserts, breads, and other things that delighted omnivores but were considered lesser by pure carnivores.

“I can see where dragons would be largely indifferent to mushrooms,” Rylana said.

“Yes. But dragon chefs must craft dishes to delight the palates of many.” With the book lying open in his hands, he gazed expectantly at her.

It took Rylana a moment to guess, “Do you want me to try to find some enchanted morels in the markets?”

“Yes, you are a talented shopper and acquirer of ingredients. You also always seem to know the appropriate price of everything and how to negotiate with vendors.”

Zalani touched her hand to her chest and smiled, as if she found his praise wonderful and romantic. Rylana did appreciate it, but she’d already assigned herself what she deemed a more important mission than making a dish for a visiting queen from a far-off land, one who might or might not ever deign to eat at the diner.

“I can check around in the morning,” she offered, then realized that would be the ideal time anyway. “The foragers are usually at the markets early, then run out of their supply by this time of the day.” She waved in the direction of the afternoon sun.

“That is acceptable.” Jildarin nodded. “You will not inform the vendors of this as a part of your negotiations, but be aware that I will pay any price for quality enchanted morels.”

“I know how much money is in your coffers,” Rylana said. “It’s a much more substantial amount than when I first came to the diner, but it’s not any-price substantial. And we need to save some coin to pay the plant master.” She grimaced, reminded of the landlord problem. “Assuming Aztor lets us renew our lease.”

“He will. If he does not, I have determined that I will threaten to incinerate him when he comes to evict us.”

“You can’t incinerate anyone in Tranquility.”

“I am fairly certain the law does not preclude threatening incineration. That may be sufficient.”