Page 53 of Ale Storm

“File a report? But the thief is right there.” Gormer jerked his head toward Rylana. Being carried by a golem made it difficult to thrust accusing fingers at people.

As his troops marched off with the dwarves, Dindarin looked at Rylana, and she braced herself, expecting him to ask for the horn. She even started to reach for it. It wasn’t as if she objected strongly to giving it to the authorities—after all, she’d been contemplating chucking it into the lake earlier.

But Dindarin only said, “If we need more information, we’ll be in touch later.”

He walked off with the rest of his troops.

“Huh,” Rylana said. “That was pleasantly surprising. I was aware the peacekeepers knew we’d helped with the curse, since some of them were there on Lucky Island for the baking of the offering—and the exploding of the new-god temple—but…” She shrugged and issued another, “Huh.”

“The troll curse was quite disastrous,” Mya said, “not only for the people of Tranquility but for a lot of its infrastructure.” She waved toward the waterfront, though the portions of the street that had sloughed into the lake had since been repaired. “They would be foolish not to be grateful after your assistance.”

“And yours. I hope they know you mixed the special dough.”

“Yes, my contribution and personal risk to self was tremendous,” Mya said with a laugh.

“I appreciated your contribution.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m glad they believed us and that we’re apparently now respected members of the community.” The queasiness swept over Rylana again. Maybe it was time to lie down for the night.

“It’s good to be respected,” Mya said, sounding a little wistful.

“Yes. And it has nothing to do with who my father is.” Rylana stood a little straighter as she drew in a few deep breaths. “Jildarin and I are respected because of work we’ve done. We…” The queasiness increased, and Rylana had no choice but to hurry to the side of the alley and throw up. Two hells, what had she been thinking, letting that horn entice her to drink so much?

“Humans don’t hold their ale very well, do they?” Mya asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

15

Rylana woke up after dawn with a headache that made her groan, grab her temples, and wish she hadn’t woken up. She looked balefully at the horn dangling over the end post of her bed.

Scents of frying sausage and eggs, as well as black-currant-preserve oatmeal, wafted into the storeroom. Usually, Rylana loved that sweetened dish, but her stomach had no interest in food this morning, and she grimaced, hoping she wouldn’t need to rush to use the lavatory. Embarrassment reddened her cheeks as she remembered throwing up in the alley. The gnomish street-cleaning contraptions would whisk through and incinerate that eventually, but how mortifying. At least the peacekeepers had departed beforehand. Only Mya had witnessed the mishap.

Clanks and clinks came from the front of the diner, and voices wafted back. Not only had Rylana slept through Jildarin’s breakfast preparations, but patrons had already arrived to eat. She wanted to drag a pillow back over her head, but, as if he’d sensed her wake up, Jildarin walked into her corner of the storeroom.

Clad in dark trousers and his crisp white chef’s coat, the sleeves rolled precisely up to reveal his bare forearms, he gazed at her. Jaw shaven, hair combed, and clothes ironed, he looked especially neat and tidy. And she… she felt disheveled. She was disheveled. Before going to bed, she’d managed the wherewithal to scour her mouth out with tooth-scrub powder, but she needed another round. Or ten.

“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t usually sleep in, or, uhm, drink unwise amounts, but I was trying to research that horn, and it led to… poor decisions.”

“Hm,” Jildarin said, then clasped his hands behind his back and left.

Rylana groaned and pulled a pillow over her face, sad that she’d probably disappointed him. Surely, dragons never did something as foolish as getting drunk. Would he judge her for it? Maybe he would chalk it up to the strangeness of humans, but she much preferred it when she exceeded his expectations instead of the other way around.

She swigged water from the canteen that dangled from another post of her bed, then sat upright, intending to rise. Her pounding headache thwarted her immediately, and she flopped back onto the bed.

“I’m not going out with Mya again,” she muttered, not that she’d been the one making Rylana drink.

Jildarin returned with a tray. He walked past her to set it on the side table. A bowl of the black-currant-preserve oatmeal steamed in the center, with extra preserves in a little ramekin, and were those slices of her favorite coffee-rubbed bacon? She hadn’t thought she could eat yet, but her taste buds perked at the delicious scents. And he’d gotten a to-go cup of coffee from the shop across the street too.

She reached for that with gratitude, wrapping both hands around it. She’d thought he was judging her, and he hadn’t been. He’d seen how wrecked she was and brought her these wonderful offerings.

“Thank you, Jildarin.” Rylana swallowed deeply, the coffee wonderfully hot and bracing in her mouth, then reached for a piece of bacon. “I’m falling in love with you.”

“I also have affection for you.”

“You must since you’ve been doing all those errands for my father. No, those have been far more than errands.” Rylana thought of the barnacle-covered chest that he’d somehow dredged from the bottom of the ocean. “You’ve been going on quests.”