Dragon Tear (Agents of the Crown Book 5)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Jev peered down at his boots. “They have a water-resistant coating.”

  “But are they resistant to all liquids?”

  “Rhi, can you give us a moment?” Zenia asked. “Jev wants to talk to me in private.”

  “He didn’t say that.”

  “My dragon tear allowed me to read his thoughts,” Zenia said, though her dragon tear was napping, as far as Zenia could tell. Maybe dragons didn’t like ocean waves either.

  An image popped into her head of soaring high over the ocean, the salty breezes of the Anchor Sea tickling her nostrils, the sun warming her scales. A sense of longing accompanied the vision, and Zenia silently vowed that they would find the dragon soon and free her.

  “Yes,” Jev said, going along with her ruse, “we have an important matter to discuss. Also, Rhi, I believe Hydal is composing a song for you. He learned that the captain has a violin in his cabin and asked to borrow it.”

  “Oh?” Rhi sounded surprisingly intrigued. “Hux knows how to compose music?”

  “Zyndar boys are given a broad education. It’s considered unseemly not to be able to play an instrument, and from what I heard during the war, he has a knack for songwriting too.”

  “Huh.” Rhi hopped to her feet, taking her bo with her, and left them alone in the cabin.

  “What instrument do you play?” Zenia asked, closing her eyes again. She sensed Jev sit on the edge of her bunk.

  “The piano, but I haven’t touched the keys in ten years, and I couldn’t compose anything listenable if you held a pistol to my head. I’m afraid you’ve grown attached to a disappointing zyndar.”

  “Lamentable,” she murmured.

  Jev clasped her hand. “Are you all right? You do look wan. Do you want me to see if the captain has any potions for seasickness?”

  “I was thinking of looking for a bucket, but I’d try a potion. To ensure we don’t have to test the liquid-resistance of your boots until we reach the jungle.”

  He snorted softly, patted her hand, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Zenia waited with her eyes closed and tried not to resent this weakness of her body. But what did it mean that she was already sick and their journey had just begun? After living in the city her whole life, was she truly capable enough to find a dragon deep within a hostile jungle?

  Jev returned with a bottle, a glass of something, a bucket, and a damp cloth.

  “Grodonol’s Sick-Away,” he read from the label of the bottle, the dark brown glass hiding the color of the contents. “Three glugs are guaranteed to calm your queasy belly, whether you’re sailing, riding in a carriage, or flying on a dragon’s back.”

  “Does it actually say that?”

  “It does. There’s a picture too.” Jev held up the bottle, showing her a label on the back that had a stick figure doing each of the things mentioned, including waving from the back of a plump dragon with laughably small wings. “I believe Grodonol went into medicine because his attempts to apprentice to the great artists of Kor were all turned down.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Zenia let Jev help her into a sitting position and hold the bottle to her lips so she could consume the required three glugs. The stuff was awful, and her fingers twitched toward the bucket.

  “That bad, huh?” Jev asked, watching her face and squeezing her in sympathy.

  “It tastes like rotten absinthe.”

  “It could be one of the ingredients. Do you think some mint or curry would help?”

  Zenia gave him a bewildered look as the thought of adding those flavors to the combination made her stomach twist into a knot.

  “Never mind. Lemonade?” Jev reached for the glass. “There’s a chef on board, and he had it delivered to my stateroom as we sailed out of port. It’s fresh.”

  “I’ll try it.” Anything to get the taste out of her mouth.

  Jev lifted the glass to her mouth. Though she could have managed holding it and swallowing on her own—she was seasick, not grievously wounded—she was touched by his thoughtfulness. Even if she couldn’t appreciate it as much as she would have under other circumstances, she liked having him close, gently holding her, a supportive arm around her back.

  The lemonade was tart and sweet and cold—ice cubes jangled in the glass as she sipped—and it successfully washed away the taste of the potion.

  “I’ve only had drinks with ice cubes in them a few times in my life,” Zenia murmured.

  Jev grinned. “We have an ice house at Dharrow Castle. In the winter, there’s a villager who takes a big wagon insulated with sawdust up to a mountain lake my family owns and brings back slabs of frozen water. They get buried in the ground in the ice house and smothered with more sawdust, so the ice stays cold all the way into the summer. Nobody’s ever gotten sick from the ice shaved off the blocks, so I assume our lake is free of that bacteria that waylaid the princes. Our cook makes lemonade just as good as this. Mildrey. Have you met her?”

  “I think so.”

  “Ice cubes and lemonade are luxuries you can expect from life if you marry me.” Jev wriggled his eyebrows at her.

  “That might make it worth dealing with the zyndar class.” Zenia smiled, though she remembered her encounter with the dreadful Fremia and her friend, and would rather live a life without ice cubes if she could avoid interacting with such people. Would anything change once she married Jev? Or would the zyndar and zyndari forever treat her as some vile commoner who’d presumed to step out of her place?

  “I wish you’d sounded more convinced when you said that.” Jev’s smirk was a touch sad as he reached for the damp cloth. He touched it to her brow. “Does that feel better? Do you want to lie back down?”

  Zenia did lie back, but she gripped his arm so he would leave it around her back and settle down next to her. Again, his thoughtful solicitude touched her.

  “The ice cubes might not be worth it,” she whispered, “but you are.”

  “Even if I can’t compose you a song?”

  “Yes. Did you actually have anything you came to discuss with me or did I make that up?”

  “I came to see if you want lamb or pork for dinner tonight. The chef was asking.”

  “An important matter to discuss in private,” Zenia said. “It’s a good thing I sent Rhi away.”

  Jev arched his eyebrows.

  Zenia flicked her fingers. “I just needed a break from her sarcasm. And talk of rat races.”

  “Rat what?”

  “Never mind. Lamb or pork, you say? I never thought to have meal options on a sea voyage. I expected those hard biscuits and canned fish you hear the sailors complain about.”

  “That’s how my trip to and from Taziira was. I had a hammock in a cabin with five other men rather than a stateroom with only one snoring dwarf. Not only is this the king’s ship, but it’s staffed by people accustomed to serving royalty. I gathered from the eagerness of the chef that it’s been a while since he had anyone to cook for. I hope Lornysh isn’t right.”

  “About what?” Zenia took another sip of the lemonade. She wasn’t sure if the potion was helping or if the sweet tartness of the beverage was appealing to even a nauseated stomach, but she felt a little better.

  “He thinks we’ll be targeted if we arrive in a ship like this. I’m encouraged that it has ample weapons and crew dedicated to the guns, but we would be less conspicuous if we arrived in a leaking dinghy.”

  “Everyone I’ve talked to has warned me that we’ll find trouble in Izstara,” Zenia admitted. “Are you worried that…” She bit her lip. It was early to doubt whether they had sufficient manpower and aptitude for this quest. They hadn’t even arrived yet.

  “We’ll be careful dealing with the natives, and I’m confident that your dragon tear will lead us right to the dragon. And once we reach it, we should have no trouble dealing with a band of orcs.”

  “A band of orcs that’s somehow powerful enough to keep a dragon prisoner?” Zenia lifted her hand to her dragon tear, wonderi
ng how close they would have to be before it could direct her to the right location.

  “The idea of orcs capable of overtaking a dragon is surprising, I’ll admit. Did you say the dragon is young?”

  “I believe so.”

  “It may have been injured when they originally captured it, and if they have it in some clever cage that somehow keeps it from using its magic…”

  “Her,” Zenia said.

  “What?”

  “Princess Yesleva said she was a she. The dragon, I mean.” Zenia had read a book on dragons in the library before leaving, hoping for further enlightenment or even a list of names, so she might guess what hers was called. Everything she’d read said dragons were extremely rare these days. After the founders—the four most powerful dragons that had ever lived—had created the world and moved on, their offspring had ruled for a time before their population had gone into decline. There was speculation that the dragons existing today had lost the ability to produce young and that the species would eventually go extinct. Which made her young dragon unique and unprecedented, at least according to the literature.

  Zenia rubbed her dragon tear with her thumb, more out of habit than because she thought it would respond to her thought about locating the dragon.

  A feeling of unease emanated from the gem, startling her. There seemed to be a touch of uncertainty too.

  Did it sense some threat?

  “Sorry, I’d forgotten,” Jev said. “She. You don’t want to offend a dragon by assigning it the wrong sex. They probably club you with their tails if you do that.”

  The dragon tear didn’t share a vision, merely that feeling of discomfort. Zenia groped for a way to frame her question as an image that the gem might understand. She envisioned a storm heading toward the ship. With the way they were rising and falling on the waves, she had no trouble imagining that fate coming at them.

  But when the dragon tear finally shared an image, it wasn’t of clouds or rough seas. A hooded figure stood in the shadows, his or her face indistinguishable from the dark. It reminded her of Lornysh with his dark cloak and hood, but she didn’t think it was an elf, nor did the figure stand in the bright sun of Kor. Wherever it was, it was dark and misty.

  Zenia didn’t know why the dragon tear was showing her this figure, but through the vision, she had the distinct impression the being was watching her.

  She released the gem, reminded of how Lornysh’s elven enemies had been able to sense her and even see her when she’d attempted to spy on them with her magic. Whoever this was, she didn’t want him or her to sense her in any way. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.

  “Zenia?” Jev touched her cheek gently. “Are you lost in a vision, thinking of getting sick, or just trying to ignore my jokes? Lornysh informed me today that they’re dreadfully immature. He didn’t say that in as many words, but I could tell from the way he kept looking toward the heavens and sighing.”

  The vision faded as Jev spoke.

  “I think I received a warning,” Zenia said slowly.

  Jev looked down at her dragon tear. It was glowing a faint blue on her chest.

  “Someone else is giving warnings?” Jev shook his head. “I think I better find Cutter and those monks and practice using this new sword of mine.”

  Zenia wanted him to stay there and hold her and stroke her face, but she made herself nod. “It might be a good idea.”

  4

  As the steamer neared the northern coast of Izstara, black clouds roiled in the sky overhead, and branches of lightning flashed in the distance. Wind gusted, blowing rain sideways into Jev’s face.

  Heeding Zenia’s warning from the first day of the voyage, he had been sparring with Cutter frequently, and they were on the open upper deck now. The twins were also out, throwing punches and kicks at each other. But the waves had grown choppier, the steamer rising up and then slamming down with such force that Jev thanked Targyon for sending them in an iron ship rather than a wooden one.

  As the fury of the storm increased, the sparring matches stopped, and everyone fled below to escape it or ran to a railing to watch. Perhaps unwisely, Jev was in the latter group, gripping the railing tightly as he gazed toward the darkening sky.

  Was this the warning Zenia’s dragon tear had given her? She hadn’t gone into detail, so Jev didn’t know what she’d seen in her vision. She hadn’t brought it up again in the past week, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t experienced the warning again. She’d had those nightmares for weeks before confiding in him.

  “Captain,” Jev called as Yug strode past, a toolbox in his hand. “Do you need any help with anything?”

  The captain threw him a startled look. “No, Zyndar. You should go below where you’ll be safe.”

  As if to emphasize the need for safety, the ship thumped down into the hollow of a wave so hard Jev’s feet rose off the deck. He gripped the railing tighter, an image of being thrown overboard popping into his mind. The seas were as dark as the clouds, and with the rain, the visibility was poor. If anyone went over the side, they wouldn’t likely be found.

  The captain paused, looking like he might insist that Jev heed his advice.

  Jev waved. “I will.”

  He hated being useless but admitted that the crew had a lot more experience than he did. He would be in their way if he attempted to help.

  “Land ahead!” someone yelled from the observation station.

  Yug nodded. “Good. We might make it before the storm gets much worse. Zyndar Dharrow, I’ll let you know when we’re close to the harbor in Tika.” He pointed to the hatch leading belowdecks, another hint that his zyndar passenger should get out of the rain.

  “Thank you.”

  Jev hunched against the rain and swayed and wobbled as he released the railing to cross the deck. A couple of crew members emerged from the hatchway and headed toward the bridge, navigating the treacherous footing more easily than Jev. They were likely glad there weren’t masts to climb and sails to adjust. Even though a steamship wasn’t impervious to storms, it had to be less stressful to navigate through one in the sturdy vessel.

  Jev opened the hatch and headed down the steps, a few glassed-in lanterns swinging on beams overhead. It was dark inside, as if it were night instead of late afternoon.

  When Jev reached the passageway, he almost tripped over someone running out of the stairwell that led down to the furnaces and boiler room. A small, furry creature darted ahead of the man, and even though the rain pounding on the hull was thunderous, Jev heard a faint squeak. The creature—a mouse?—flattened and somehow disappeared under a bulkhead. The man drew up, slapping a fist into his palm in frustration.

  “Uhm, Horti?” Jev asked, recognizing one of his burly warriors.

  The man’s eyebrows rose when he saw Jev, and his expression of frustration turned into a sheepish shrug.

  “Is the chef not feeding you enough?” Jev was certain Horti had been chasing that mouse.

  Horti smiled, nodded, then pointed in the direction the creature had gone and cupped his hands in the air. To indicate its size? It hadn’t been that large. Horti wiggled two fingers in the air, as if to show a man walking, then shrugged again and headed back down the steps toward the boiler room.

  Jev couldn’t guess what Horti was up to. Maybe it seemed a safe place to wait out the storm.

  Jev passed his stateroom and headed for Zenia’s. She’d spent so much of the trip feeling sick that he worried the storm would make it worse. He looked forward to landing, even if it meant dealing with hostile animals and enemies, so she would feel better. He almost laughed at the way he had, when he’d been packing for the expedition, imagined them cuddling and having romantic moments together while sailing off toward adventure.

  “Maybe later,” he mumbled.

  When he knocked, Rhi was the one to answer, with her usual bellow of invitation. Jev poked his head in and found her reading aloud from a book. Zenia was curled on her side on her bunk, looking miserable. Jev almost offered t
o find her some more of Grodonol’s potion, but he spotted the capped bottle sticking out from under her pillow.

  “Are you two all right?” Jev asked as the deck heaved again. Even his own stomach, which was usually ironclad at sea, protested this treatment. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No,” Rhi said. “You’re interrupting the good part in my reading.”

  Zenia’s eyes were closed, and if her face had been slack, Jev would have thought her asleep, but she didn’t appear relaxed enough for it.

  “Forgive me.” He went in and sat on the edge of Zenia’s bed, gripping the side, so he wouldn’t be pitched to the deck. Distant shouts drifted down from above, but he couldn’t make out the words. Maybe that was for the best. If they were about to crash into the coastline, he didn’t want to know. “Carry on.” He waved to her book.

  Rhi sat cross-legged on her bunk, swaying with the motion of the ship. Jev couldn’t see the title of the book spread open in her lap. He imagined she was reading some mystery or love story to help Zenia relax.

  “The giant Izstara vine toad,” Rhi read, “perches in branches and shoots a milky white toxin from the venom glands behind its bulbous eyes. It acts similarly to an acid when it strikes human skin, and if it lands on a susceptible membrane such as in the nose or on the eye, it can cause permanent damage. If the venom reaches the bloodstream, it can even cause death. The Morkrash orcs of the Dorklath River Region kill the giant toads and use the venom on the tips of their arrows. Enemies shot with such an arrow frequently die from the venom, if not the wound itself.”

  “That was the good part?” Jev asked.

  So much for a love story.

  “I’m finding it surprisingly scintillating to read about all the creatures large and small that can kill us where we’re going,” Rhi said. “Zenia is trying not to throw up. I’m not sure she’s enjoying the reading as much, though these are her books, so you’d expect her to like them.”

  “They’re from the library,” Zenia murmured, speaking for the first time. “Don’t get them wet.”

  She reached out and laid a hand on Jev’s thigh, though she didn’t seem to have the energy to smile or do much more.