Page 28 of Morel Dilemma

“I think the ogre bouncer would go in with you,” Rylana said.

“But the beauteous Layothlee would not.”

“You’d have to secret her into a hollow tree,” Rylana said, though she doubted Zilek would have any luck in his pursuit of her.

“An elf assassin might not be as inclined to turn her nose up at a subterranean den.”

“Sylin likes dens. Whether she’ll like you or not, I suppose remains to be seen.” Not that interested in Zilek’s pursuits of women, Rylana pointed to Jildarin and tilted her head toward a corner. “May I have a private word with you?”

“Certainly.” Jildarin held a hand up toward a woman who looked like she was coming over for an autograph and walked with Rylana to the corner.

“I don’t know how long you want to stay,” she said, “but, as you apparently heard, I’ve learned what I wanted to learn. It sounds like I’m going to need to have an uncomfortable conversation with my father.”

“It is unfortunate that both our cultures impose a no-incineration-of-family-members policy.”

“That would really bring the gnomes out with their fine-issuing devices.”

“More than that,” Jildarin said. “Slaying a prominent citizen, or anyone at all, would result in an expulsion from the city.”

“I’m sure the peacekeepers would stick a few slips of paper with fines on them in your belt on the way out.”

“That does seem in line with their proclivities. I am prepared to leave whenever you are.”

“We can stay and enjoy the wine if you like.” Rylana noticed the woman waiting for an autograph with a couple others, all sending glances toward Jildarin, as if they hoped to pounce on him as soon as he was free.

“I left the completion of my stinging-nettle-and-ogrewart soup in the hands of Zalani.” Jildarin bared his teeth.

“So, you feel compelled to return? Is that another dish you’re perfecting for the elf queen?”

“For elves, in general, yes, but she may find it appealing. Her warriors certainly will. Even though nettles lose their sting once you cook them, elves enjoy food that fights back. It is perplexing how many of them opt for vegetarianism. A great number of delicious animal prey fight back.”

“Yeah, I always like it when my food tries to kick my ass before I eat it.”

Jildarin nodded, missing her sarcasm. “Nothing induces an appetite more than a long hunt against particularly challenging prey. The dining experience is all the more satisfactory.” Jildarin looked toward the door. “I am prepared to depart now.”

Rylana smiled, not surprised that he would prefer work to socializing. This wasn’t her kind of activity either.

“Do you want to sign that woman’s paper on the way out?” Rylana asked. “I think she wants your autograph.”

“That is… a stylistic writing of one’s name, yes?”

“Yup. She must be a fan of your work.”

“She has accepted that dragons, despite being fearsome predators, are not savages and have a rich culture and appreciation of the arts, including culinary arts.”

“I’m sure.”

As they detoured toward the woman on the way to the exit, she beamed a smile and let her gaze slide up and down Jildarin. Something told Rylana that her appreciation was as much for his sex appeal as his food.

“You require my autograph,” he stated, pointing at the paper.

“Yes, please. And I’ll sign something of yours too.”

He blinked as he considered her.

“I’m an actress. I’ll be performing all next week in Troll on Thin Glowing Ice at the theater on the way up the hill to the venue that hosted the Golden Whisk.”

Judging by his expression, Jildarin didn’t understand why that would prompt him to desire her signature, but Rylana waved for him to be polite and accept it. She picked up a card that listed some of the cellar’s wine offerings, turned it over, and handed it to the woman to sign. Meanwhile, Jildarin drew a dragon on hers, one that matched the pyrographic designs burned into the door and lampshades of the diner. Maybe that was how he signed his name.