A Dash of Dragon

by Heidi Lang

  “Uh . . . ,” Greg said. She remembered the way she’d felt when Elister the Bloody had first appeared in her restaurant.

  “Is everything all right?” Elister asked quietly.

  “Everything’s fine, just fine.” Lailu tugged Greg toward her kitchen. “This is my friend Greg, a fellow chef. We’re just, uh, collaborating on a dish.”

  Lailu could feel all eyes on her as she practically dragged Greg into her kitchen and pulled the curtain back into place.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  “Nothing.” She checked on her dragon broth. It was simmering nicely, but could use a little more salt.

  “Nothing?” Greg repeated. “Nothing?” His voice rose and Lailu shot him a warning look. “That’s Elister the Bloody out there in your dining room!”

  “Shh. I am perfectly aware of who is in my dining room.”

  “Are you? Because you seem awfully calm about it!”

  “I said shh, Greg. It’s not like it’s the first time—”

  “Not the first time? Do you regularly entertain him here, then?” Greg’s voice sounded strangled. “He’s the one practically running the kingdom.”

  “That’s only until the king is a little older,” Lailu pointed out. “Besides, the queen is technically the one—”

  “You can’t really believe that,” Greg cut her off. “Lailu, he slaughtered all those people! All those nobles.”

  “That was to protect the young king,” Lailu said defensively.

  Greg stared at her. “Really? You really think he did that to protect the king?”

  “Why else would he?”

  “Um, let’s see, so he could be the one running the kingdom?”

  “Stop using that voice, Greg. I’m not stupid,” Lailu said.

  “You sure about that?”

  Lailu narrowed her eyes dangerously.

  “Sorry, that was . . . that was rude,” Greg said. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just, don’t you remember what he’s like? How he was at the academy? What he did?”

  “Of course I remember. It was right in front of me.” Lailu shuddered, trying not to picture the way Elister’s victim had looked, and how those crescent-shaped knives had gone through him so easily. “Anyway, it’s not like you don’t get high officials at your restaurant too.”

  “That’s different.”

  Lailu narrowed her eyes. “Oh, it’s different, is it? Why? Because you and your famous uncle are aristocrats?”

  “Why do you keep throwing that in my face? It’s not my fault—”

  “Oh, I know, and it must be so terrible for you.”

  Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly as tired as she felt. “Look. Aristocratic or not, we’ve never had anyone sitting in a private conversation in our restaurant during closed hours.”

  “And why should that matter?”

  “He’s turned your restaurant into his private meeting area. Into his territory. Don’t you see?”

  “Well, yeah.” Lailu shifted uncomfortably. “But it’s not any worse than being Mr. Boss’s territory, is it?”

  Greg frowned. “Why are you doing this to yourself? I mean, why let it be anyone’s territory?”

  “It’s not like I want these people here. But Slipshod borrowed money from Mr. Boss, so I’m stuck with him, and Elister seems to really like my cooking, so he keeps coming back. And I have to cook for the elves tonight, so . . .” She shrugged. “What can I do?”

  Greg shook his head and muttered something.

  “What?” Lailu demanded. “We can’t all start out with money, you know.”

  “You could have come to me. I would have helped you out. I wanted to help you.”

  “I didn’t need your help. I can do this on my own,” Lailu said stiffly. “And it’s none of your business who I choose to let into my restaurant during closed hours. So you can take your portion of dragon from downstairs and go.”

  Greg stared at her, then past her, his eyes sweeping over all the dragon meat and ingredients in various stages of cooking. She knew the only counter space not taken up by her preparations was where Slipshod’s dragon cuisine book was perched. Honestly, the room looked like an explosion had gone off.

  “Want a hand with this?” Greg asked suddenly.

  Lailu gaped at him.

  “I’ll be your assistant,” he added quickly. “I won’t try to take over the cooking, I promise. You just look like you could use a little extra help.”

  “What about your restaurant?”

  “Well, my uncle won’t like it, but . . . it can be closed for the day.” He had a pained look in his eyes that went against his casual tone.

  Lailu’s chest filled with something suspiciously like gratitude. She really could use some help, and Greg was an excellent chef. Almost as good as she was, honestly. “You’d close your restaurant to help me?”

  “Again,” he reminded her.

  “Again?”

  “Well, I already closed it once this week to help you hunt dragon.” He winced. “But sure, I mean, since I’m your friend.”

  “I just said that so Elister’s bodyguards wouldn’t shred you,” Lailu said testily. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  Greg grinned, and Lailu’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile back. “Fine, fine. You can stay and help. But don’t think I don’t know your real motive.”

  “Oh?” He raised one eyebrow and took a step toward her. “And what’s that?”

  “You just want to learn from the master.”

  He stopped, surprised, then laughed. “You never change, do you? Cooking really is all you ever think about.”

  “What else is there?”

  Greg opened his mouth like he was thinking of saying something, then just shrugged. “All right, what’s first, Master?” he asked instead.

  “Master?” Lailu grinned. “I could get used to that.” She looked around. “Separate two bowls’ worth of broth out of that big pot, and cook it in that smaller one.” She indicated a brass pot sitting out on her counter. She’d originally planned on using it to cook up a special sauce, but that could wait.

  “You do realize the dragon meat hasn’t been boiling long enough to get the real flavoring yet?”

  “Of course I realize that. What kind of chef do you take me for?”

  Greg shrugged and ladled out the broth. “Just saying,” he muttered.

  “Now, what I’m planning to do is grab the last of my batyrdactyl bones and throw them in the small pot of soup. The flavoring, as you know, comes out of them a lot faster—”

  “—and with a hint of the dragon flavoring spiced with pagora plant, that will be perfect!” Greg finished excitedly.

  “Pagora? I was thinking some lebinola spice.”

  “No way. Lebinola is way too sweet.”

  “I like sweet. It’s like me.”

  Greg snorted and turned back to his ladling. “Just saying,” he grumbled. “But you are the master chef here.”

  “You seem to be ‘just saying’ an awful lot for an assistant.” Lailu narrowed her eyes.

  Greg pursed his lips but kept quiet while he ladled the rest of the soup. Lailu could have sworn she heard the words crabby and cakes muttered under his breath, but in the interest of preserving their partnership, she pretended not to. After all, she really did need the help.

  30

  NOT LEAVING

  After agreeing on pagora plant with a hint of lebinola, Lailu and Greg prepared a soup that both of them found suitable as an appetizer. While Greg kept an eye on the lean dragon meat searing in a pan, Lailu headed into the dining room to serve Elister and Starling.

  “—highly explosive. Neon has even found a way to make it different colors, like fire flowers in the sky,” Starling explained, leaning across the table.

  “And how would fire flowers help me with the Krigaen Empire?” Elister asked coolly. “I mean, that’s fine for outdoor dinner parties, I suppose, but hardly practical.”


  Starling smiled, her green eyes glittering. “Do not misunderstand me, Elister. I am not such a frivolous woman. Pretty they may be, but I think you’ll be much more interested in their other capabilities.”

  Mr. Mustache gave a dainty cough that Lailu found completely ridiculous coming from such a large man. Elister and Starling looked up, and he nodded in Lailu’s direction.

  “Ah, Lailu. What’s on the menu for today?” Elister asked. Starling’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Lailu took a deep, shaky breath. “For today’s menu, you get a Lailu . . . and Greg,” she added, “one-time special. For your appetizer, we prepared a batyrdactyl soup with a light flavoring of mountain dragon.”

  Their eyes widened at the mention of the mountain dragon, and Lailu placed bowls of soup in front of each of them before continuing. “For your entrée, you’ll be served a top loin cut of mountain dragon, cooked medium rare for the optimal flavoring, with a light drizzle of my very own specialty sauce and a side of steamed carrots, broccoli, and snap-dragon peas.”

  “Now you see why I chose this restaurant,” Elister said. “And here you were suggesting we leave.”

  Starling glanced sidelong at Lailu. “I merely thought that afterward we should go somewhere a little more private so I can give you a demonstration of my latest invention.”

  “Did you bring it with you?” Elister leaned forward, clearly forgetting about his soup. Lailu scowled, but forced herself to continue backing out of the dining room.

  Greg looked up at her from over a large bubbling pot. “So, what did they think?”

  “They didn’t taste it yet,” Lailu said, trying not to sound bitter. “They’re too busy talking.”

  “What about?”

  “I think,” she began, frowning as Greg added in some more seasoning, “they were talking about those fireworks that Hannah had . . .” Her frown turned into an outright scowl. “What are you doing?”

  Greg jumped, a guilty look on his face. “Sorry.” He quickly put down the seasoning bottle. “Just thought it needed a bit more spice.”

  Lailu stalked over and picked it up. She looked at it a second, then looked at the pot and sighed. “It does need a bit,” she admitted reluctantly, handing the bottle back to him.

  His lips twitched, but he was smart enough not to smile as he added the seasonings. “So, when is your dinner rush, eh?”

  “You mean my date with the entire elf clan to determine Hannah’s fate?” Lailu’s stomach twisted. “And mine, too.”

  “Yours?”

  “Oh, if I don’t make the best dragon cuisine they’ve ever tasted, I’ll be forced to work for them.”

  “For how long?”

  “Well, just, uh, for the rest of my life.” Lailu tried to say it offhandedly, but the horrified look on Greg’s face made the words stick in her throat.

  “You agreed to those terms?” His voice cracked on the last word, and Lailu winced.

  “They were the only ones they offered.”

  “Those are the worst terms I’ve ever heard! I mean, that basically means you’ll be their slave.”

  “I realize that,” Lailu muttered.

  “They’ll make you work for them until you grow old and your fingers fall off your hands and your eyesight fades from all the fumes of the poisons they’ll have you cook up, and—”

  “You’re really not helping right now.”

  “It’s just, I’d think you of all people would have refused them.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Lailu put her hands on her hips.

  “Just that you’re so big on your own independence. I mean, that’s kind of what got you into this mess in the first place, isn’t it? Otherwise you could have joined a good household, or worked with my uncle and me. Instead, you go and start this venture with Slipshod.” Greg’s mouth thinned and he shook his head. “Really, what were you thinking?”

  Lailu let out a breath. “If they like my cooking, they’ll take care of my debt to Mr. Boss. And besides, I couldn’t leave Hannah to them, and it was the only way I could think of to help her.”

  Greg’s eyes softened. “You’re very loyal, you know that? You’re the most loyal person I know.”

  Lailu’s face grew hot and she looked away, fidgeting.

  “So.” Greg cleared his throat. “When are they coming? I mean, I’m assuming you won’t want them to be here at the same time as Elister and Starling, right?”

  “No, by all the gods, no. The elves won’t be here until this evening. I’m sure Elister and Starling will be long gone by then.”

  But as the day wore on with Elister and Starling showing no signs of leaving, Lailu’s anxiety rose higher than the steam in her kitchen. She alternated between cooking and hovering in the doorway, silently urging Elister to go. At one point he looked up, a bite of dragon steak halfway to his mouth, his eyes meeting hers. “Ah, Lailu.”

  Lailu jumped, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste to move back into the kitchen.

  “No, no, don’t hide. Come on out here.”

  Lailu trudged over to the pair of them. She glanced out the window, her heart sinking as she saw how low the sun was in the sky. It was creeping ever closer to dinnertime. Why were they still here? What could they possibly still have to talk about?

  “You have outdone yourself,” Elister said warmly, indicating the plates in front of them. “This has to be the finest meal I’ve had in years. Better even than the basilisk fish you served up before.”

  “Th-thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I, too, find this meal to be fantastic.” Starling smiled. Her plate was practically empty, Lailu noticed with relief. That must mean they were almost done. “I was just telling Elister here that I’ll have to bring my associates to your restaurant. I’m sure they would love it.”

  “You mean the scientists?” Lailu blurted.

  Elister chuckled. “See, Starling? Already famous, even all the way out here.”

  “Yes, well, that is our goal.” Starling tilted her head to the side. “Have you met any of them?”

  “I visited Gilded Island earlier, and a scientist took my picture, and I saw a man driving a horseless carriage.” A maniac, she amended silently.

  “You shall have to meet the others,” Starling said. “We’ll all come out here for dinner sometime.”

  Lailu opened her mouth to say she’d like that, but nothing came out. She felt like she already had enough going on, what with Elister, Mr. Boss, and the elves turning her restaurant into their own personal hangout. “Er,” she said instead, “have you tried Greg’s restaurant? It’s right there on Gilded Island and it’s . . . well, almost as good as mine.”

  “I heard that!” Greg yelled from the kitchen.

  “LaSilvian’s, isn’t it?” Elister looked faintly amused. “I remember you don’t carry their wine here.”

  “Yes, well, I prefer other brands.” Lailu had a sudden idea. “And speaking of wines,” she said slowly, “I see that you are just about finished with your meals. How about I bring you one of our dessert wines, on the house? I’m sure you’re both busy—”

  “Busy?” Elister chuckled. “My dear chef, I have no plans for today. In fact,” he continued as Lailu’s heart sank to her shoes, “I’m enjoying my meal so much I think I’d like to stay around and wait for dinner. Starling?”

  “Dinner sounds fantastic.” Starling scraped her fork across her now empty plate. “I’m certainly in no rush, either.”

  “How about a game of chess, then?” Elister asked. “It’s quite popular in our country. You really should learn it.”

  “A game?” Lailu asked desperately. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s pretty loud, what with my cooking . . . difficult to concentrate . . . probably want to leave . . . ,” she mumbled. Elister completely ignored her as he explained the rules of the game to Starling. Lailu stood there, watching as the sun dropped lower in the sky, along with her hopes for a successful evening. “I’ll get you your d
inner, then,” she said dejectedly, turning on her heel and walking slowly back to the kitchen.

  “Now what?” Greg asked.

  Lailu slumped against the wall.

  “I mean, I guess you could ask them to leave.”

  “I can’t do that. That’s Elister out there!”

  “I know, I know.” Greg looked far too calm; Lailu had to stifle the urge to shake him. “You could just tell him the elves have rented out this space for the evening.”

  Lailu shook her head. “I don’t think I want him to know about all that. Or, rather, I don’t want Starling to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .” Lailu hesitated, remembering her promise to Wren. A promise is binding. Did it still count if Wren had vanished? “I think the less she knows about the elves’ location, the better.”

  “Well, Elister and Starling are going to know soon enough. I mean, I’m pretty sure they’ll notice when the gang of elves shows up for dinner.”

  Lailu scowled. “Just stir the pot.”

  Greg opened his mouth to retort when they both heard a soft knock-knock-knock. They froze, staring at each other. It was coming from the back door.

  31

  MAKING CONNECTIONS

  The sound of Lailu’s hammering heart drowned out the knocking outside. Could it be the Butcher? But would he really knock? Master Slipshod? Her heart beat even faster.

  “Are you going to open it?” Greg asked at last.

  “I’m debating,” Lailu said.

  Shaking his head, Greg stepped past her and grabbed the door handle.

  “Wait—” Lailu began, but it was too late. Greg pulled open the door.

  Ryon stood just outside, one hand raised to knock. As soon as Lailu saw him, her fear was flooded in a wave of relief, and she dragged him inside, shutting the door behind him. “It’s about time,” she huffed.

  “About time? For what?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”

  Ryon flashed a slow, cocky smile. “Have you, now?” He winked mischievously. “Missed me, huh?”

  “In your dreams,” Lailu snapped.