Cutter frowned and picked up a hammer. Jev didn’t have anything nearby that could be used as a weapon. He folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin, hoping to exude some of that natural determination and defiance that Zenia conveyed so well.
“You are the friend of Lornysh Grazharon?” the cloaked figure asked, not lowering his hood. Though his voice was cold, he had a lilting accent. A Taziir accent.
“Yes,” Jev said, refusing to deny it, “but I guess not as much of a friend as you’d think since, in the years I’ve known him, he’s never told me that was his surname.” Grazharon wasn’t Lornysh’s last name—that was an elven word that translated to mean a pariah in exile—but Jev truly did not know the real one.
Cutter frowned, perhaps recognizing the word, too, but he didn’t speak. He merely glared at the figure and tapped the hammer against his hook, making a soft clink, clink, clink.
“Where is he located?” the elf asked. “We know he is in this grimy human city.”
We? There was more than one elf looking for Lornysh? That didn’t sound like a good thing.
Jev shrugged, refusing to let any emotion show. “Then you know as much as I do. He comes and goes as he wishes and doesn’t keep me apprised. You might check at the symphony. He’s a fan of culture.”
“Human culture.” The elf spat on the floor, almost hitting Cutter’s boot.
Cutter growled and surged in, raising the hammer. Jev lifted a hand, intending to intervene—whatever was going on, starting a fight wouldn’t help anything—but the elf moved too quickly. Incredibly quickly. He caught Cutter’s wrist and squeezed, twisting and forcing him to drop the hammer. Then he whirled Cutter around and thrust him toward one of the anvils.
Indignation and fear for his friend sprang into Jev’s heart, and he lunged in, forgetting his desire not to fight.
He threw a punch, but something slammed into his gut before it landed. Pain from his still-recovering ribs blasted him, and he couldn’t keep from gasping.
What had that been? The elf’s boot? By the founders, he was fast. Jev hadn’t even seen him lift his leg to kick.
Before he knew what was happening, he was spun about, his chest ramming against the anvil with Zenia’s chain spread across it. A roar came from behind him—Cutter. His friend sprang for the elf, but energy crackled in the air, and a wave of power slammed into him. It wasn’t directed at Jev, but he felt some of it, like a battering ram slamming into his back. His chest hammered the anvil again, hard enough that he worried his ribs would be broken once more.
Something cold wrapped around the back of his neck—fingers.
Jev thrust backward with his elbow and had the satisfaction of hearing the elf grunt as he connected. But then a strange icy power gripped him, and Jev couldn’t move again. He couldn’t even breathe.
“The time has come for him to pay for his crimes against our kind,” the elf whispered in Jev’s ear. “If you impede us, you will die.” The fingers tightened, nails digging in painfully. “We know you were a soldier in your foolish war, that you killed our people. I would enjoy sinking my dagger into your spine right now.”
Jev wanted to retort—hells, he wanted to breathe—but neither his lungs nor his tongue would move. He realized it wouldn’t even take a dagger for this enemy to kill him. This lone elf had chilling power that made him wish Zenia were there with her dragon tear.
The elf’s fingers left his neck, and Jev sensed him leaving—he didn’t hear a thing, even though the smithy had grown deathly silent—but he still couldn’t move. His lungs burned, crying out for air, but they were as frozen as the rest of his body.
A gasp came from the floor behind him. Abruptly, the power holding Jev disappeared.
He sucked in a deep breath and spun. The elf was gone. Cutter lay on the floor, curled in a ball, his eyes squinted shut.
Jev dropped to his knees beside him. “Are you all right?”
“Who in all the stone bowels of the earth was that?” Cutter demanded.
Despite the heat of the smithy, Jev couldn’t keep from shivering. “Someone who I hope never finds Lornysh.”
Jev stood shirtless in front of the mirror in his room in Alderoth Castle as he smeared the unctuous concoction that one of the Temple healers had given him all over his chest. He thought about knocking on Zenia’s door to see if she was there and if she would rub some on his back, but he was reluctant to let her see him with fresh bruises across his flesh. The explosion had been a noble injury, but being beaten up by an elf was another matter. The skin of his throat was turning an unappealing blue-black. He smeared goo on it.
A faint tapping reached his ears, and he looked around the tidy room for the source. A mouse?
While he’d been away, a maid had washed the linens, made the bed, and picked up the junk he’d left on the floor, so there weren’t many hiding places for rodents.
The tapping sounded again, and Jev realized it came from the large glass window that overlooked the dark courtyard. He grabbed his pistol from the holster that hung over his desk chair and edged toward the window.
It was too dark outside to see much. Night had fallen as Jev had walked up to the castle, leaving Cutter behind at the smithy to continue on his project—a surly elf wouldn’t distract him, he’d declared.
Jev unfastened the latch, pushed the window open a couple of inches, and stepped back.
A cloaked and cowled figure pushed his way inside, and Jev leaped back. At first, he thought it was the elven magic user who’d attacked him in the smithy. But familiar silver hair tumbled out from under that cowl.
“Lornysh?”
“Who else were you expecting?” Lornysh spoke quietly and closed the window behind him.
His voice, Jev noticed, wasn’t as accented as the other elf’s had been. A sign that he’d been outside of Taziira for much longer?
“Coming through my window? In children’s tales, it’s usually the valiant lover of the princess. Oddly, it was never the valiant lover of the prince. It was always zyndar men who scaled the stone walls of castles and keeps and such. In hindsight, it’s possible those tales were rather limited in scope.” Jev thought of his cousin Wyleria, who apparently had a female lover, and decided those children’s tales had failed to accommodate the full spectrum of audience tastes in a lot of ways.
“I apologize for not being your lover. Presumably, she can walk down the hall to reach you. The guards don’t seem to have instructions to let me into the castle.”
“Have you asked Targyon to give them those instructions?” Jev decided to focus on that statement rather than the one about Zenia. As much as he wished otherwise, she was not now, nor had she ever been, his lover. Though the handful of kisses they had shared had been achingly wonderful, and he vowed there would be more of them.
“No.” Lornysh pushed his hood back. “I believe my stay in your kingdom is at its end.”
Jev wrenched his attention back to the present, concerned for his friend and also distressed at the idea of him leaving in a rush. Or at all.
“Does that mean you saw the surly, abusive elf? Are you all right?” Jev glanced down but didn’t see any droplets of blood on the floor around Lornysh.
“Elf? There’s more than one. I’ve avoided them so far.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
Lornysh looked at Jev’s bare chest and the gunk smeared on the bruises.
“I’m glad I only met one.” Jev grabbed his shirt and, hiding a wince, tugged it over his head. He was as disinclined to let Lornysh see his injuries as he was Zenia. Especially since a single elf had so handcuffed him. Him and Cutter. Jev felt moderately better knowing Cutter hadn’t had any more luck against their pointy-eared foe, but he would have preferred it if they had handled him and driven him out of their city with a boot in the ass. “Do you know how many there are?”
“I saw four at the tower last night.”
“The elven embassy?”
“Yes. I believe they’re l
ooking for me. I sensed a whisper of Taziir magic last week, and I’ve been alert ever since. Fortunately, I spotted them entering the courtyard and slipped out before they came in. I’d had my bag packed in anticipation. I’ve been expecting this day, though I thought it might take them longer to send someone for me.”
“They who? Who’s after you?”
“I believe the four I saw are highly trained elf wardens. No doubt sent because I fought against my people in the war.”
“Oh.”
Jev didn’t know what else to say. He’d often wondered at Lornysh’s choice to do that, to kill his own kind and help the human army. Lornysh had never said why he’d chosen to do so, nor had he spoken about his past. Jev didn’t even know which of the Taziir cities he came from or even for sure that he was from Taziira and not from one of the smaller elven communities around the world.
“So, this is some kind of death squad, sent to hunt you down and punish you for your choices?” Jev asked.
“Essentially.” Lornysh lifted a hand, palm up. “I’m not strong enough to defeat them. Better if I go so you won’t be endangered.” He glanced at Jev’s chest again, even though the shirt now hid evidence of injury. “I admit, I am not as prepared to depart Korvann as I expected to be. Even though I can’t say anyone has been welcoming, save for you and Targyon, of course, I enjoyed the culture more than I expected, and the climate is acceptable. I find the heat oddly appealing after all those long, frozen winters up north.”
“Lornysh, if you want to stay, and even if you don’t, I’ll help you. We’ll help you. I know Cutter will, and I can’t speak for Targyon, but I believe he would be willing to put some resources behind you too.”
“Resources.” Lornysh’s mouth twisted. “Men. Men who would be killed. These are elf wardens, superior warriors and magic users. Your people couldn’t stand up against them, and the Taziir have many reasons to loathe humans right now, so I have no doubt they would willingly leave bodies behind them. I cannot allow that, not on my behalf. I—” Lornysh broke off with a frown. “I believe the lover you’re waiting for is coming.”
“What?” Jev looked toward the door.
A knock sounded.
“Zenia?” Even though he was worried about Lornysh, Jev’s heart sped up at the thought of her coming to visit him. He made himself walk casually toward the door rather than springing to answer it like a teenager in love. Had he truly, just a few weeks earlier, wondered if he would ever feel the kind of love he’d felt back in those days when he’d pined over Naysha?
When he opened the door, Zenia was indeed standing there, and she smiled warmly at him. He returned the smile and clasped her hands, tempted to kiss her, but not with Lornysh watching.
“Zenia, come in.” Jev drew her inside, pleased when she came willingly and squeezed his hands back. “I’m glad to see you. I was just talking to Lornysh about…” Jev trailed off because when he gestured toward the room where Lornysh had been standing, he was gone. “Trouble,” he finished, his thoughts turning grim again.
Zenia looked toward the empty room and then the open window, a warm sea breeze drifting up from the harbor.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about too,” she said.
“Oh? I was hoping you came to snuggle.”
Her smile faltered, and he wished he hadn’t made the joke. To him, all this arranged marriage stuff was an annoyance, but to her, it must seem like a rejection, if not by him, then by his social class and his family. And maybe in a way, she would see it as a rejection by him. After all, he was a part of his social class and his family.
“Sorry,” he said, then closed the door. “Let’s talk.”
“About snuggling or about trouble?”
“I suppose we should be responsible and discuss the latter first.”
“Yes.”
Jev told himself he shouldn’t be disappointed by her agreement and waved Zenia toward the bed and the desk, inviting her to take a seat wherever she was comfortable.
She chose the desk chair. “You say Lornysh was here?”
“Just a moment ago. I’m not sure why he took off. There’s no reason he should find you a threat, though I suppose he could be on edge and worried about everything right now.”
“Did you hear about the tower?” Zenia asked.
“That four elves that want to kill him were snooping around? Yes, how did you hear it?”
“An informant, but she didn’t know—or didn’t say—they were here for him.”
“Lornysh believes they are, and I’m inclined to agree.” Jev touched the back of his neck, remembering that cold grip and the chill of the elf whispering in his ear. Maybe it had been his magic, but he’d seemed to carry some of those cold northern forests with him. “I want to help him, but I’m not sure it’s within my power.”
He glanced toward Zenia’s chest, thinking of her dragon tear. It lay nestled under the dress she wore, but he could see the leather thong around her neck. He fingered his pocket where a small pouch held the chain he’d made. After the elf had threatened him, Cutter had helped him finish it quickly, so he wouldn’t have to spend the whole night in the smithy.
Zenia followed Jev’s gaze and looked down at her chest.
He blushed. “Sorry, I was wondering if your dragon tear might help with the elves. That’s all. I wasn’t ogling your, uhm, lady curves.”
She lifted her eyebrows.
“My aunts always told me not to ogle those, especially not with my hand in my pocket.” He had intended that to sound amusing, but he remembered Zenia wasn’t that experienced with men and sex, and worried it came across as crude instead. “I did make something for you. For your dragon tear. For both of you.”
By the founders, why was he flustered? He knew she shared the same feelings for him that he had for her, so he ought to be past being awkward and bumbling around her, shouldn’t he?
Maybe it was that he hadn’t had opportunities to seek out women and sex in the last ten years. He’d been a normal enough teenager in that regard, but the opportunities had been fewer when he’d been away in Taziira, and he’d spent so much of that time lovelorn and mourning Naysha’s choice to marry another that he’d rarely been in the mood for what opportunities there had been. And then after he’d been captured and used by that elven scout, he hadn’t been inclined to have sex for some time.
“What is it?” Zenia asked, eyeing his pocket.
Realizing she might think he was being crude—again—he hurried to withdraw the pouch. “I made it. Cutter advised, and maybe he finished it off and stuck on the clasp, but I made most of it.”
She came forward and took the pouch and loosened the strings tying it closed. He wanted to stroke her hair and her face, but he made himself clasp his hands behind his back. She poured the chain out into her palm, and he held his breath.
Would she like it? Or would she reject it because he’d used valuable materials? The gold and silver strands were pure and had cost him a little money, but he wouldn’t consider it a lot. Still, she had rejected the suggestion of gifts from him before, not being willing to accept anything that she perceived as charity.
“It’s for my dragon tear?” she asked, holding it up. Was that a smile touching the corners of her lips?
“Yes. I assumed the leather thong was temporary and that it—you—you and it—might like something a little more fashionable.” He never quite knew how to refer to that gem of hers, especially since Cutter had mentioned it might be dangerous and possibly linked to a real dragon. “Not that I should claim an ability to make something fashionable. But I think it turned out all right. Cutter said it wasn’t hideous. Those were his exact words, mind you.”
Her smile widened. “I like it, Jev. Thank you.”
She slid a finger along the chain. Her gaze shifted to him, their eyes met, and a zing went through him at the emotions that swam in hers. Pleasure, he was certain, and gratitude? Or maybe that was love. For him.
She stepped closer, the c
hain looped between her fingers, and rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. The zing turned into a much more intense feeling, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. He was so pleased she liked it. And that she’d come to his room. When she hadn’t visited him again in the temple, he’d worried she was distancing herself, that she’d given up on them.
But she was here now, and she was kissing him like… damn, like she wanted him. Wanted them.
He had the urge to sweep her off her feet and carry her to his bed, but he knew nothing had changed for her, that she’d made that vow to herself not to sleep with a man out of wedlock, not to risk bearing a child that wouldn’t have a loving father around to care for it. And her.
Maybe she was thinking of similar things, because she broke the kiss, dropping her face to his shoulder. She didn’t step back, so he didn’t feel obligated to let her go. Instead, he rested his palm on the back of her head, relishing the silky feel of her hair, and tried to keep her close. She was breathing more quickly than usual, and he allowed himself a moment of masculine pride, knowing she found kissing him engaging.
“Why,” she whispered, “do you have to be so…”
“Amazingly appealing, alluring, and impossible to resist?” he teased and lowered his face to the side of her head, wanting to feel her hair against more than his fingers. It smelled good. She smelled good.
“Not an asshole zyndar.”
He started to laugh, but he thought there was a note of distress in her voice. “Zenia,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I know you heard about my father’s decision, but it’s not going to stand. I love you, remember? I’ll figure something out. We’ll figure something out.”
“I love you too,” she whispered and slid her hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck.
For an instant, he remembered the elf’s icy grip, but her fingers were warm and gentle, and when she pushed them up into his hair, he thought again of taking her to his bed. He made his feet root to the floor. As long as he and Zenia remained standing, he wouldn’t be tempted to sway her to break her word to herself. Though couples could do interesting things while remaining upright.
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 85
