admit his lack of dragonspeaking skills until he was forced to do so. His timing was a bit off, but Emory nodded and made appropriately grateful noises. Luckily, the dragon didn’t notice. He’d already turned to me. “And Ms. Banks, is it? Welcome to my home.”
“Lord Relobu,” I executed another slight bow. “Thank you very much for inviting us. Emory was delighted to see your invitation.”
Lord Relobu nodded and gestured back to the table. “Please, return to your seats. I fear I won’t be joining you for dinner. I simply wanted to greet you personally before the food arrived.” He turned to my boss. “Mr. Glask, how was the ride over? I trust the car arrived on schedule?”
Emory blinked at the dragon stupidly. I leaned near his ear. “He wants to know how you liked the limo.”
“Oh, yes, yes. The limousine was wonderful. Very...spacious. Thank you.”
There was an awkward pause before Relobu turned his head from Emory back to me. “He doesn’t understand me?”
“Well, uh,” I really hated when this question was invariably asked, because it put me in the position of admitting DRACIM had a non-dragonspeaker running one of the largest departments in Tulsa. Usually, if it were a lower-ranking dragon, I could tell them that Emory preferred they speak directly to me, as I would be the one making the final arrangements in whatever situation we were embroiled in. Dragon society was built around strict, almost medieval notions of class status, and most of them accepted this explanation easily. But this was freaking Lord Relobu. There was no way I could tell him he didn’t rank high enough to garner a manager’s attention.
So I used a different excuse. “Emory has a bit of a hearing difficulty. Low frequency tones are hard for him to pick up. He asked that I facilitate the conversation.”
I bit my lip and tried to look more confident. That was a thing, wasn’t it? That people could hear high notes, but not low ones? Lord, I hoped so.
Lord Relobu looked once again at Emory before nodding. “Well, Ms. Banks, it was a pleasure. Please convey my regards to your colleague.”
And with that, North America’s dragon lord lumbered from the hall.
Only then did I notice Richard and Trian standing near the two place settings at the table. I smiled absently at Richard, but my eyes were drawn to Trian. Dressed in a dark shirt and matching pants, he was every inch a professional.
And it was painfully obvious that he was one of the other dinner guests.
Chapter Three
“So, let’s get started, shall we?” Richard gestured for us to choose a seat. I deliberately waited until Trian pulled out a chair before choosing one on the opposite side of the table. Childish? Probably. But I really, really didn’t care at this point. I could kill Emory for this.
I must have made a face, because Trian smiled slightly before settling into his seat. Emory, still breathing heavily from his earlier rant and brief encounter with a dragon lord, collapsed into the chair beside me, leaving Richard to occupy the seat near Trian.
Once seated, I smoothed my hands along my dress. Why was I so nervous? Sure, I’d just met a dragon lord in person, but otherwise, this had been a pretty uneventful night. No angry, destructive dragons, no unavoidable discussions with unhappy humans, and not even a bit of vomit. Take away the fancy dress, the mansion and the famous artwork, and it was just another business function.
But I couldn’t stop the gooseflesh from rising along my arm. This felt like something more than a social function.
The doors opened for two waiters, dressed in unrelieved black, one carrying an enormous bowl full of salad, and the other a step behind with a bottle of wine.
At the sight of food, even if it was just salad, Emory perked up considerably. He made a comment about the ripeness of the tomatoes and soon he and Richard were involved in a discussion about family recipes.
I murmured my thanks to the waiter as
“Lord Relobu,” I executed another slight bow. “Thank you very much for inviting us. Emory was delighted to see your invitation.”
Lord Relobu nodded and gestured back to the table. “Please, return to your seats. I fear I won’t be joining you for dinner. I simply wanted to greet you personally before the food arrived.” He turned to my boss. “Mr. Glask, how was the ride over? I trust the car arrived on schedule?”
Emory blinked at the dragon stupidly. I leaned near his ear. “He wants to know how you liked the limo.”
“Oh, yes, yes. The limousine was wonderful. Very...spacious. Thank you.”
There was an awkward pause before Relobu turned his head from Emory back to me. “He doesn’t understand me?”
“Well, uh,” I really hated when this question was invariably asked, because it put me in the position of admitting DRACIM had a non-dragonspeaker running one of the largest departments in Tulsa. Usually, if it were a lower-ranking dragon, I could tell them that Emory preferred they speak directly to me, as I would be the one making the final arrangements in whatever situation we were embroiled in. Dragon society was built around strict, almost medieval notions of class status, and most of them accepted this explanation easily. But this was freaking Lord Relobu. There was no way I could tell him he didn’t rank high enough to garner a manager’s attention.
So I used a different excuse. “Emory has a bit of a hearing difficulty. Low frequency tones are hard for him to pick up. He asked that I facilitate the conversation.”
I bit my lip and tried to look more confident. That was a thing, wasn’t it? That people could hear high notes, but not low ones? Lord, I hoped so.
Lord Relobu looked once again at Emory before nodding. “Well, Ms. Banks, it was a pleasure. Please convey my regards to your colleague.”
And with that, North America’s dragon lord lumbered from the hall.
Only then did I notice Richard and Trian standing near the two place settings at the table. I smiled absently at Richard, but my eyes were drawn to Trian. Dressed in a dark shirt and matching pants, he was every inch a professional.
And it was painfully obvious that he was one of the other dinner guests.
Chapter Three
“So, let’s get started, shall we?” Richard gestured for us to choose a seat. I deliberately waited until Trian pulled out a chair before choosing one on the opposite side of the table. Childish? Probably. But I really, really didn’t care at this point. I could kill Emory for this.
I must have made a face, because Trian smiled slightly before settling into his seat. Emory, still breathing heavily from his earlier rant and brief encounter with a dragon lord, collapsed into the chair beside me, leaving Richard to occupy the seat near Trian.
Once seated, I smoothed my hands along my dress. Why was I so nervous? Sure, I’d just met a dragon lord in person, but otherwise, this had been a pretty uneventful night. No angry, destructive dragons, no unavoidable discussions with unhappy humans, and not even a bit of vomit. Take away the fancy dress, the mansion and the famous artwork, and it was just another business function.
But I couldn’t stop the gooseflesh from rising along my arm. This felt like something more than a social function.
The doors opened for two waiters, dressed in unrelieved black, one carrying an enormous bowl full of salad, and the other a step behind with a bottle of wine.
At the sight of food, even if it was just salad, Emory perked up considerably. He made a comment about the ripeness of the tomatoes and soon he and Richard were involved in a discussion about family recipes.
I murmured my thanks to the waiter as
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