Page 8 of Morel Dilemma

“Clearly,” she murmured.

“There is a small favor that you could do for me, Jildarin.”

“As I suspected.”

“I’d like some more of your dragon-spiced soup.”

“What happened to the pot that I made you? Were you mugged by libidinous ogres on the way to the elven enclave?” Jildarin returned to flipping through the pages of the cookbook, as if they were magnetic, drawing his gaze.

“Mugged? By a puny lesser species? Oh, that’s rich.”

“Ogres aren’t that puny.” Rylana looked toward the front room. The landlord had to be getting impatient waiting for them, and now that she’d determined that Zilek probably wasn’t an immediate threat to her, she didn’t want to linger to listen to his nonsense.

“To a dragon, their strength is insignificant,” Zilek said. “Ogres are not nearly as formidable as elves, who have reasonably powerful magic and know of the weaknesses of dragons. It is always a good idea to keep on their good side.”

Rylana had taken a step to depart, but the mention of elves rooted her feet to the floor.

“When I took the pot of soup to the enclave,” Zilek said, “intending to woo the beauteous Layothlee⁠—”

“To seduce her,” Rylana corrected, glad she’d warned the visiting elf about the soup.

“—there were far more other elves around than I’d planned,” Zilek continued, shooting her a do-not-interrupt-dragons look. “She was practicing with her troupe and resisted my entreaties to part from them for a private walk. Further, the most delicious and scintillating aromas were wafting from the soup pot, and the others nearby noticed. It was wise of you to put mushrooms in the mix, elven favorites, as those cookbooks will inform you. But the scent drew the entire troupe, and, to my chagrin, Layothlee invited them all to sample the soup. She had a few bites, declaring it ambrosia, but as others elbowed their way in, she didn’t have an opportunity to consume a large enough dosage of spices to prompt the desired effect.”

“For her to get horny and fling herself at you?” Rylana asked.

“Precisely. That evening, the moonlight was shining upon her lush green hair and gleaming in the guileless pools of her sapphire eyes, and I don’t mind telling you that I was quite moved. Aroused, even. But the other elves consumed far more of the soup than she, including the elder who leads the troupe, despite her, ah, most advanced age.”

“Valesena?” Rylana wondered if he meant the elf she’d met and couldn’t help but smirk as she imagined the elder flinging herself upon Zilek.

“I believe that was her name, but she failed to introduce herself to me before she grew assertively amorous and attempted to initiate a mating session. Right there next to the main path through the enclave.” Zilek shuddered as he lowered his hand. “She was not the only one to abruptly find me alluring, but she was the most… alarming.”

By now, Jildarin was running a finger down the page of one of the recipes, his attention elsewhere.

“Did you escape without being maneuvered into a mating session?” Rylana asked since Zilek had paused, as if expecting some interaction from them. She didn’t particularly want the details, however, and it didn’t sound like this would lead to new information about Sylin or the elves’ ongoing search for her.

“I did, but it wasn’t the most graceful of exits. Ultimately, I changed into my native form, causing nearby pillars to alarm, and flew out of the city, not daring to return until the next day.”

“Despite the mishap with the spices, you want more soup?” Jildarin asked, though his gaze remained on the cookbook. He’d found a section on enchanted morels.

“To try again, certainly. Dragons are not easily defeated by even ignoble failures. This time, I intend to approach Layothlee when she is alone. I am certain she liked the soup and could be enticed to consume a proper dosage, if she had the opportunity.”

Rylana doubted that and suspected Layothlee had intentionally shared it around so she wouldn’t be tempted into eating a full serving. Or, as Zilek was probably rightfully calling it, a proper dosage.

Gniknik entered the hallway and cleared his throat diffidently. “The landlord still wishes to see you, Chef Jildarin and Rylana. He’s growing somewhat impatient.”

“I’m coming,” Rylana said.

Zilek reached out a hand to keep Jildarin from walking away without answering him.

“Yes, yes,” Jildarin said. “You’ve brought me useful books, and I will, in exchange, make another batch of soup for you.”

“Excellent.”

“Perhaps, this time, the queen herself will be nearby and want to try it.”

“That… would not be much more desirable than the troupe leader consuming it. As I recall, Queen Fareesa was once renowned among her people for her great beauty, but I believe she’s several centuries old and, as her political rivals angling to name the next heir always point out, past her childbearing years. Mating with her would be less appalling than with the troupe elder, but it is not a goal of mine.”

“To her relief, I’m certain,” Jildarin said. “Return tonight, and I will have soup for you.”