“Oh. There are some elves in the city—wardens, Lornysh said—looking for him. Unfortunately, I met one. It was unpleasant. And so was he.”
“What do they want?”
“To kill him, I gather. Revenge for the elves he assassinated during the war. I saw him briefly last night, and he’s considering leaving the city. Better that than a confrontation he knows he can’t win. I said we—at least Cutter and I—would stand with him, but he doesn’t want us risking injury—or death—for his sake. Laudable, but I don’t think I can simply stand aside while wardens try to kill him. I owe him my life several times over.”
Targyon walked to the window and looked out onto the gardens below.
Jev cleared his throat. “I thought you might be willing to volunteer some resources to help him, or at least help drive hostile elves out of the city.”
“I appreciate that Lornysh assisted our people during the war,” Targyon said slowly—he sounded like he was trying to choose his words carefully. “And if he comes to me for help, I will feel obligated to give it, but my inclination is to stay out of elven business. Especially business that might pit us against the elves.” He turned from the window to face Jev. “As I started to say, I sent a message to the Taziir king, requesting that he send another ambassador and as much staff as necessary to man the tower. I’m going to send a team to repair it. I know it’s early to hope we can mend fences with our northern neighbors—perhaps they’ll consider it early throughout my entire lifetime—but I wanted to at least make an overture. To let them know we don’t mind them in our city.”
“I mind those wardens in our city,” Jev said.
Targyon spread his hand. “I do empathize, but Lornysh must have known there could be consequences when he made the choice to assist humanity. If he wishes to leave, that may be for the best. Until tempers cool.”
“Until tempers cool? Those people live for centuries. They could hold a grudge for half of eternity.”
“They are Lornysh’s people. He must have known he would one day have to deal with them again.”
“He couldn’t have known he would have to stand alone,” Jev said, his face hot. He had expected Targyon to be more sympathetic, more willing to stand up for their friend.
“As I said, Jev, if he asks me for help, I will provide what I can. I’m definitely not unappreciative that he helped my uncle during the war—that he helped us. I just don’t know the whole story, so it’s hard to know which is truly the right one to side with, and I can’t afford to make mistakes by choosing the wrong side.” Targyon cocked his head. “Do you know?”
“Know what?”
“The whole story.”
Jev hesitated, wanting to say that he did and that he was positive his friend was the wronged party. But he couldn’t.
“He’s never told me much of his past,” Jev admitted.
“Ah.” Targyon picked up a piece of paper on his desk. “This is why I called you up. I sent my invitation to the Taziir king right after Ambassador Shoyalusa left. The response arrived on a merchant ship that came in last night. Your Elvish is better than mine. Will you check my translation?”
“Yes.” Jev stepped forward and looked over a pale green sheet of paper covered in a flowing, elegant script. An Elvish script. Interesting that the Taziir had chosen to respond in their own language. Jev knew there were plenty of elven scribes who knew the human tongues. He supposed it was a message in and of itself. If Targyon couldn’t be bothered to translate it, they couldn’t be bothered to have relations with him. “There’s a poem,” Jev said as he read. “About how the sea is harsh and many ships never make it to shore.”
“Yes. There’s a message in the symbolism, I assume.”
“Actually, the whole letter is in verse.”
“And vague. I noticed. Does the pod of orcas guiding the ship to harbor after it’s recovered from a siren attack mean they’re sending someone?”
Jev read the poem a couple of times, trying to see beyond the literal translation. An academic who studied their culture would be a more appropriate resource right now than a soldier who only knew the Taziir through battle. And through his friendship with Lornysh. Jev did know that even elven nonfiction tended toward poetry and symbolism. He’d once read an instruction pamphlet on how to season frying pans that had involved a dragon cave allegory.
“It does seem to have an optimistic bent underlying the numerous warnings,” Jev said. “And I agree that the ship guided by orcas suggests the elves will be sending someone to guide us through treacherous waters with their infinite wisdom.”
“That’s not exactly what I asked for.”
“From what you’ve told me so far, being king is more about wearing silky pajamas in a big bedroom in the castle than getting what you want.”
Targyon’s forehead wrinkled. Jev made a mental note to chastise Rhi later for putting the king’s nightwear in his mind. Not that chastising would do anything to her. She would probably consider it flirting. Maybe Hydal should chastise her.
“There wasn’t a date mentioned anywhere, right?” Targyon asked.
“No. The orcas could show up tomorrow or in ten years.”
Targyon snorted. “On the chance that it’s tomorrow, go to the elven tower, will you? Take Zenia. She has a lady’s eye. See what needs to be done to make it livable, and requisition people from the castle to help.”
Jev was about to object to what sounded like being named head maid, but Targyon kept speaking.
“Also, look around and see if the old elven ambassador left any documents or letters behind that would be useful to know about. They seemed to have advanced warning of the troll problem. What else did the ambassador know? And what was he reporting back to his king? Don’t remove anything, but if a translation would be useful…” Targyon spread his hand.
“You’re suggesting we should snoop in the elves’ drawers?”
“I would like to be able to consider the Taziir allies again—that’s why I’ve invited them to send another ambassador, in the hope that they’ll see it as a peace gesture—but I’m under no delusion as to why the ambassador was here in the first place. To keep an eye on Korvann and report back to his people.”
“It’s why we used to have an ambassador in Taziira,” Jev said.
The last he’d heard, the human ambassador had mysteriously committed suicide.
“Yes. Since we were the instigators in the war, I can’t blame the elves for being suspicious of us, but what we need to know is if anyone is having thoughts of revenge.”
“Against more people than Lornysh?” Jev touched the back of his neck, remembering again the elf warden’s threat to kill him.
“Yes. Let me know if you find anything to suggest that my overtures of peace are naive. Things are going moderately well with the dwarves—I’ve moved those craftsmen out of the castle and into their new quarters and shops in the city—but we need more allies and quickly. And the elves, since they were our allies in the past and have no love for trolls, may be our best bet, along with the dwarves.”
“I’ll take a look, Sire.”
“Good. And do take time to see your father. I wouldn’t want my most trusted advisor to be grumpy and out of sorts because he’s forced to marry a woman he doesn’t love.” Targyon smiled.
“I’m your most trusted advisor? Sire, you need to raise your standards.”
“Undoubtedly.” The smile faded, and Targyon added, “Also, and I hate to say this, but… since you’re under some public—zyndar—scrutiny right now, it would be better if you weren’t seen with one woman while you’re engaged to another.”
Jev grimaced. He didn’t want this lecture from the kid he’d commanded only a couple of short months ago. “I understand, but I haven’t even met the woman I’m engaged to, not since she was a little kid, and I honestly can’t remember her from a bunch of other kids that were that age together. And I have to work with Zenia. We are colleagues.”
Targyon’s expression grew p
ensive, and Jev feared he might decide it wisest if he changed that fact. By firing him? By firing her? He couldn’t do that. Zenia was good at her job. She was made to do this kind of thing. Jev hated to admit it, but he was the disposable one.
“I’ll be circumspect, Sire. But I do intend to get my father to agree to me marrying Zenia. In the meantime, if you could make her a zyndari, that would be useful.” It probably still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the old man, since she would be new zyndar instead of from an old and established family, but Jev smiled wistfully at the thought of Zenia being considered a noblewoman without need of any intervention from her father.
“Historically speaking, it required a great deed that the entire kingdom was aware of before a king elevated a commoner into the nobility.”
“She did halt a troll invasion.”
“I wouldn’t assume it’s been halted. Delayed, perhaps. Besides, weren’t you and Lornysh the ones to kill all those scouts?”
“She was the one who led us to them.”
“Also, historically speaking, commoners elevated to the zyndar class were male, with their wives and children granted the status through the man.”
“I know that, but these are modern times. Can’t we have some modern rules?”
“There isn’t any land left to grant unless you want to give up some of yours. That’s the main reason nobody has been added to the class in almost two hundred years.”
Jev would happily give up some of his family’s land, but he didn’t own it. His father did.
“Go check on the tower, please, Jev.” Targyon flicked his fingers in dismissal, or maybe to indicate that he’d grown weary of the conversation.
Jev walked out without a word. It wasn’t Targyon’s fault that he was growing into his role of king and absolute ruler, but at that moment, Jev had liked it better when he’d been Targyon’s superior officer, and his young protege had been eager to please.
Jev, finding a moment alone, finally opened the gift he’d been carrying around for an hour. Fortunately, it wasn’t underwear. It was a biography on the legendary zyndar general, Govrato Gorndor. Naysha had written a quotation from the general on the first page and added a note of her own.
“To lead great men, one must first become great oneself.” You’re on your way, Jev. I have faith in you. Be well.
~Naysha
Jev closed the book and took a bracing breath. He was skeptical that he was destined to be a great leader, but by the founders, he resolved to deal with his family problems like a man.
4
Zenia rode out the main gate at Jev’s side, wondering if they were making a mistake by not bringing along a platoon of soldiers or a squadron of guards from the castle. Jev didn’t seem to believe there would be trouble at the elven embassy. Either that, or he was busy thinking about something else.
He had barely said two sentences to her since returning from his meeting with the king. When he’d left for that meeting, Zenia had been disappointed that she hadn’t been invited—she’d assumed it had to do with work—but she’d used the time to give their new employee instructions and watch her start on some tasks.
“Do you think we should pick up some men from the watch headquarters on the way to the tower?” she asked over the clip-clop of their horses’ hooves on the cobblestone road leading down the hill and into the city.
“No,” Jev said.
“It’s been a couple of nights since the elves were seen poking around, but should we assume we won’t run into them? I know it’s broad daylight, but they must be staying somewhere in the city while they look for Lornysh.”
Jev frowned, and Zenia wished she hadn’t reminded him that his friend was a target.
“I’m guessing they’re not staying anywhere so easy to find. Also—” Jev twisted in his saddle to make sure nobody was riding or walking within earshot, “—Targyon wants us to poke through the old ambassador’s desk drawers to see if he left any interesting documents behind. Before a new ambassador shows up, making it difficult to snoop.”
“Is a new ambassador coming?”
“Either that, or we can expect a pod of orca whales in the harbor soon.”
Zenia stared at him, trying to decide if that was a joke she didn’t understand or something that was actually likely. Jev appeared more grumpy than jocular today.
He noticed her scrutiny and smiled—it appeared forced. He leaned over and patted her shoulder. “It’s likely the elves are sending someone, yes. Targyon wants us to make sure the tower is livable and also to investigate while we have the chance. I’d rather not investigate with the watch looking on. Zyndar are noble and honorable and do not rummage through other people’s drawers. At least not with an audience looking on.”
“All right, but if an elf warden jumps out of one of those drawers, I’m going to remind you I suggested bringing reinforcements.”
“If an elf warden jumps out of a drawer, I’m not sure all the watchmen in the city would be of any help.”
Zenia stirred in her saddle, surprised by the statement. “They’re not that powerful, are they?”
“They’re powerful.” Jev rubbed the back of his neck, and Zenia noticed faint bruises on his skin. “I may have been exaggerating, but not by much. I saw one battle an entire platoon of the king’s men and win. Or at least get away. And he left twenty men—twenty skilled veterans—dead in his wake. They have magical swords that are more than equal to our firearms, and they’re trained with magic as well. Strong magic. Lornysh is a warden, and he once admitted to me that he was considered a weak one, since his skills are more heavily combat-oriented and magic isn’t his strength.”
“I’ve seen him use magic.”
“Yes, he has some. He’s just not a natural at it. He…” Jev trailed off, squinting toward the city gate.
A single side-saddle rider was heading up the road on a handsome chestnut stallion.
“That’s Wyleria.” Jev hesitated before lifting a hand.
Zenia could guess the reason for the hesitation. She believed he liked his cousin, but Wyleria had been the bearer of bad news lately.
“I hope she’s not here to tell me I’m marrying someone else,” Jev grumbled.
“That’s not legal.”
“There could be a backup woman lined up. In the event Fremia comes to her senses.”
“That may be legal.”
He gave her a bleak look and slowed his horse as Wyleria trotted up to them.
“Good morning, cousin.” Jev forced another smile. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
Zenia wanted to hug him, but that certainly wouldn’t help matters, not with his cousin watching.
Wyleria, after smiling at Jev, frowned slightly at Zenia. Because they were riding into the city together? Zenia lifted her chin. She and Jev were colleagues, damn it. They were supposed to work together. And ride places together.
“Good morning, Jev,” Wyleria said, focusing on him. “Your father has decided that I should be the one to keep telling you news you may find unpleasant. My mother apparently told him I’m your favorite cousin, thus making me the natural choice. But if they keep sending me with unpalatable news, I’m sure that won’t be the case for long.” Wyleria smiled, but her eyes held concern. She probably truly worried Jev would stop talking to her.
“Four founders, there isn’t really a backup woman now, is there?” Jev blurted.
Wyleria’s eyebrows drew together. “Backup woman?”
“It’s a joke,” Zenia said. “I think.”
Jev shook his head.
“No, I’m here about Fremia,” Wyleria said. “Aunt Vivione decided the two of you need to meet. She invited Fremia up to the house for lunch tomorrow, and you’re expected to be there to entertain her.”
“Entertain?” Jev looked at Zenia, and she had the distinct impression he wished that she weren’t here to hear about this. And also that he could make this Fremia woman—and their engagement—disappear.
“Yes, ent
ertain,” Wyleria said. “Be charming and compliment her beauty. I suppose you could be odious and say her hair looks limp and greasy, in the hope that she’ll back out of the marriage, but that probably won’t work. Her mother has been around Dharrow Castle a lot, talking to your father, and I get the feeling she’s behind the engagement as much as Fremia is. Maybe more.”
“Why lunch?” Jev asked. “I have work to do. I can’t spend the whole day up at the castle.”
“Don’t you need to talk to your father, anyway?” Zenia asked. “Perhaps if you went early, there would be time for a long discussion in the morning.”
“Nobody has long discussions with the old man.”
Wyleria wore an expression of agreement.
Zenia merely gazed at Jev, hoping he was only joking and realized this would be a good time to go up there. If Jev didn’t change his father’s mind, Zenia definitely wouldn’t be sleeping in his bed anytime soon. Or ever.
Jev must have read her expectations—her hopes—in her gaze, because he straightened in his saddle. “You’re right. I’d planned to go to the castle anyway to talk with him. Firmly.”
“I’ll grant you my best wishes for that endeavor,” Wyleria murmured.
She tugged at the reins, as if to turn her stallion, but Jev lifted a hand.
“You may want to go up to Alderoth Castle for a visit.” Jev shifted his hand, pointing over his shoulder. “Your friend is up there.”
“Friend?”
“Zenia hired a Sevy Hydal this morning to help keep us organized. I gather you know each other.”
Wyleria’s eyebrows flew up. “Hired?” she mouthed, looking at Zenia.
Zenia shrugged. “She came in and organized a bookcase and an agent’s desk without being asked. She seemed a likely candidate.”
Wyleria’s expression shifted from surprise to genuine pleasure. “She is. She’s very smart. She’s not always the most mature young woman, but she’s been helping me with bookkeeping, and is even part of the reason a couple of the family businesses turned a handsome profit last year. That’s where I met—” Wyleria glanced at Zenia, and her cheeks grew pink. “That’s how we know each other and became friends.”
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 88
