Page 25 of Ale Storm

“That is true. I think that’s the book he’s been referencing.” Rylana pulled the leather-bound tome she’d seen earlier from a shelf and took it to a counter, softly glowing pendant lamps illuminating the area. “A Guide on Etiquette and Manners for Courtly Love in the Modern Era,” she read the title aloud.

“How modern?” Sylin asked. “That book looks ancient.”

“Well, it was published after the printing press was invented.”

“That’s not saying much. Those pages look like they’re vellum.”

“I think so.” Rylana flipped to the title page. “Attikust the Monk published it… three hundred years ago.”

“I don’t know a lot about human courting history, but I suspect things have changed somewhat in the past three centuries. You’re lucky Jildarin hasn’t sent butchered boars to your family yet. Wasn’t that an old custom?”

“With the spear that was used to slay them, yes. That was to prove that a man was a good provider. The boar and spear typically went to the mother of the daughter though. Since my mom passed, Avandar Castle will probably be saved from the arrival of bloody implements of impalement.”

“Something that will please your butler, no doubt.”

“Yes. If Jildarin is getting his advice out of this book, it might explain why he thinks he needs permission from my father to date me.” Rylana had started flipping through the pages, but she set the book down with a thunk of realization. “Two hells, that must be where he went on his errand.”

“Across the lake to visit your father in your castle?”

“Well, we know he didn’t go out to sate the needs of any female dragons.”

“Not those two female dragons anyway. What are these little berries in the gravy? And there are peppercorns too. Delicious.”

“Even if he is across the lake,” Rylana said, “I’m surprised he didn’t sense the dragons and come to help. The lake isn’t that many miles across.”

“No, you can jog around the whole thing in three hours.”

“You can jog around it in that time. It would take me three days.” Rylana seemed to recall that it was more than twenty miles around, enough of a trip that the ferry had been placed into service centuries earlier to shorten the journey.

“That’s because you’ve let yourself grow soft.” Sylin rubbed another piece of meat around in the gravy and popped it into her mouth. “This is so good.”

The scents lingering in the kitchen were scintillating. Rylana resolved to have a few bites in a moment, but she continued browsing through the pages to see if Jildarin had left any illuminating notes.

“He’s underlined some sections,” she said. “Or someone has. This looks like it came from the university library. Maybe a lot of men over the years have risked the ire of the librarians by taking pen to page.”

“I think only a dragon would be so presumptuous and disrespectful of books belonging to others.”

“It does look like the same pen or quill was used throughout…”

Sylin came to the counter and opened what Rylana called the junk drawer and poked past a measuring tape, shears, parchment paper, and a meat thermometer to withdraw a gnomish endless-ink pen. She scribbled on a scrap of butcher paper.

“Yes, this is a match.” Sylin stabbed the pen toward the open book as if it were a fencing foil.

“You’re quite the detective. Why doesn’t Captain Laridon hire you more often?”

“How do you know I’m not working for him at this moment?”

“By eating lamb in Jildarin’s kitchen?”

“Maybe I’m solving the mystery of your missing dragon.”

“Something paramount in the minds of the gnome peacekeepers, I’m certain.”

“If he’d been in town, I doubt those female dragons would have dared fly so close.”

“Yes, I had that thought myself.” Rylana continued flipping through the pages, pausing anywhere Jildarin had underlined something. “Here’s a section on gifts that are certain to woo the heart of a refined and sophisticated female. Decorative brooches, carved jewelry boxes, inscribed combs...”

Sylin looked pointedly at Rylana’s short hair. “Since you don’t use any of those things, he opted for the less traditional full bedroom set.”