Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [91]
Even as her cheeks warmed, Tipper ignored the reference to her suitors. “Rayn and I prefer to go help with the wounded, Mother.”
Sir Beccaroon pushed closer to Tipper. “Let us go back to the inn.” He gestured with his wing to indicate the crowd of villagers. “Perhaps this isn’t the place to discuss war.”
Lady Peg frowned. “There isn’t a good place to discuss war. There really isn’t.”
36
Decisions
Bealomondore followed Verrin Schope into the inn with the others. They passed through the small entryway with its registry desk and entered the tavern. A dozen men and a few women sat at the tables eating their noonmeal. Only three customers stood at the bar. Verrin Schope asked the innkeeper to join several tables so his party could sit together. Paladin, Tipper, Verrin Schope and Lady Peg, Taeda Bel, Maxon, Sir Beccaroon, and the artist took their seats. Danto had been left under Merry’s watch. The wizard’s four dragons and Rayn flew out the back window, probably in search of something palatable to their small appetites. Verrin Schope ordered beet, carrot, and onion stew for the table.
“It’s called chukkajoop in Amara,” he told the Chirilians surrounding him. “We’ve introduced it to the cooking staff here, and it has become a favorite among the villagers.”
“It is very pretty.” Lady Peg glanced around the table. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Bealomondore had seen pretty soups before. The chefs in some of the fancy houses he had visited drew pictures on the top of creamed bisque with a sauce that complemented the soup.
The wizard artist crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll set up a sound shield so we may speak comfortably.”
He closed his eyes. The conversations around them faded. Bealomondore looked around the room and realized people still chatted, laughed, and carried on with their activities, but no noise penetrated Verrin Schope’s barrier.
The tumanhofer leaned toward the wizard. “Can they hear us?”
Verrin Schope relaxed his posture and opened his eyes. He smiled as he looked around the room. “Ah yes, they can hear us, but they will overhear our lengthy discussion of the peculiarities of weather. We are free to speak of anything we want, but they will only hear tales of various climates.”
The serving girl came back with bowls and spoons to pass around. Behind her, a sturdy servant carried a large tureen of rich, red soup. Verrin Schope said a blessing, and Lady Peg ladled the chukkajoop into the bowls. The maid brought individual loaves of bread.
Bealomondore’s stomach gurgled in response to the wonderful fragrance of their meal. With no competition from the noise outside the arena of their table, the rumble rolled through the silence. Tipper looked up from across the table and smiled at him. “Me too, Bealomondore. I think I shall starve.”
Paladin nodded. “Flying always butters my appetite.”
Lady Peg picked up a small dish of butter from the center of the table and passed it down to Paladin.
He leaned forward to see around Tipper and Verrin Schope. “Thank you, Lady Peg, but the comment was figurative.”
Bealomondore saw Verrin Schope wink at the young ruler. From behind his napkin, the tumanhofer hid a smile. He waited for Lady Peg’s response, speculating on how she would interpret the provoking statement.
“I agree wholeheartedly, Prince Jayrus,” said the lady. She tasted the soup.
Bealomondore let out his breath. She’d missed a chance to insert a note of inanity. Was she ill? worried? distracted? That wouldn’t make a difference. She was always distracted. He lifted his own spoon and relished the wonderful flavor of beets, carrots, and onions.
Lady Peg frowned. “I do wish one’s figure did not reflect the love of good food. It’s so annoying to butter your bread and find rolls around your middle.”
As he tried to swallow the soup in his mouth, Bealomondore snorted and choked. Maxon jumped from his chair and stood on the