Page 57 of Ale Storm

“Yes. We’re fine.”

“That’s a relief. It would be a shame if she were terribly wounded and couldn’t bake for a time.”

“Did you check on her first?”

“Yes, but only because the bakery was on my way. Further, you’re a trained warrior, so I assumed you had held your own to some degree. She’s a grandmother.”

“Indeed.”

“I also came to see if you want to return to the market with the horn,” Sylin said. “I had a thought about a stall that I remembered we were near when the dragons showed up.”

“Sure.” Rylana was about to tell her about the dwarven diplomat’s visit, but two more goblins shrieked past the hallway and distracted her.

“Cleaning involves more groaning and scrubbing,” Rolf said sternly, waving the rag as he strode after them, “and less unnecessary glee.”

“Maybe we should see if he needs help.” Rylana headed up the hallway.

“We? I’m not a babysitter. Besides, you’ve just enticed me with the promise of duck-salad croissants.” Sylin peered into the kitchen as a chalky cloud of white dust flowed out.

Maybe Jildarin was experimenting with calcium salts—he’d mentioned that dwarves enjoyed flavoring their food with them.

When Rylana reached the dining room, she found Rolf and… goodness. Were all of his children there? The diners who’d been lingering earlier had wisely departed.

“Is everything okay, Rolf?”

“My wives are sick.” Rolf’s expression was exasperated, aggrieved, and betrayed all at the same time. “Both of them.”

“With a family that size, I’m amazed they aren’t sick more often,” Sylin said, catching up to Rylana. Maybe Jildarin had glowered when she’d peeked into the kitchen.

“Hush,” Rylana murmured to her.

“My ma isn’t home to watch them,” Rolf said, “and the neighbor who sometimes helps out had to go to work early today.”

“I think it’s all right to have them here until the dinner service starts,” Rylana said, “but I’d keep them out of the storeroom. Jildarin gets persnickety about people in his lair.”

“Oh, I know. Even if you’re retrieving flour for him, he asks why it took so long and makes sure you didn’t linger unnecessarily in the spot on the floor where he rests his scaled belly. I told the kids that a dragon works here and will roast them with fire if they go into the kitchen or his lair. They’re more fascinated than scared, and I’ve had a hard time keeping them from running back there to peer at him.”

Gniknik’s dish-collecting contraption rumbled past, two children riding inside it and squealing as it maneuvered around the dining room. With longer hair, they might have been girls, but all of the youngsters wore similar clothes made from burlap and canvas, and Rylana couldn’t tell if the styles suggested gender or not.

Sylin pointed toward one of the side windows. An older male child was climbing up one of the vines that dangled over the railing from the terrace. Fortunately, the magical elven flora was sturdy.

“Two hells,” Rolf blurted.

He set his shoulder-rider on the table and ran outside to check on the climber.

“Despite your father’s pressure,” Sylin said, “I think you’ve been wise not to have children.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want quite so many anyway,” Rylana murmured. “They’re kind of cute, though, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Two children might be manageable.”

“No.”

Despite the chaos they were creating, Rylana thought some of the goblins were adorable, especially the younger ones. In an overwhelming kind of way. Oh, there was another one dangling from a vine near the window. Dangling and swinging like a chimpanzee.

“They do seem like they’d be challenging to keep in line,” Rylana admitted. “I doubt Plant Master Chalora had that use in mind for her decorative foliage.”