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 looking 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 som
e 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 chain 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.
No, he told himself firmly. He didn’t push her hands away, but he kept himself from letting his roam. She felt far too nice, and it was far too tempting.
“I’m going up to see my father tomorrow, and I’ll talk to him about us,” Jev said. “And about canceling that marriage acceptance. He will listen to reason.”
“Hm.” She sounded skeptical.
Jev wanted her to be confident that he could and would handle things. He wished he hadn’t told her before that he felt duty bound to do as his father desired and be a proper heir, a proper son. He would be those things, but he would also marry who he wished. Even if he had to break the zyndar class rules to do so.
“I think we should visit the elven tower first,” she said. “I walked past it on the way back to the castle this evening, but the outer gate was locked, and I thought I should get Targyon’s permission before scaling the walls and snooping in their territory.”
“Snooping?”
“To see if the elves who were snooping there first left anything snoop-worthy to discover.”
“I think they were looking for Lornysh,” Jev said, “if we’re talking about the same elves.”
Zenia hesitated. “You believe a group of them came all this way just for him?”
“I think it’s possible. He’s dangerous. They might have believed they would need a group.” He tilted his head. “Why? You have reason to believe something else is going on?”
“Possibly.” She stepped back—he told himself it was only mildly disappointing, not catastrophic, when she unlinked her arms from around his neck—and slid a hand into a pocket of her dress. “I’ve been receiving infrequent notes of warning from an anonymous source. I should have told you sooner, but this is only the third one. I barely thought anything of the first one since it came after the event. And the second one—well, we were so busy that I didn’t get around to telling you.”
She held out a small folded envelope. Jev opened it and withdrew a single piece of stationery.
“Avoid the elf,” he read, then turned it over. Nothing was on the back. “That’s it?”
Zenia pointed to her name, Captain Zenia Cham, on the front of the envelope. “It’s addressed to me and was mysteriously dropped off at the Air Order Temple while I was waiting for you to be healed. Someone knew I was there. The second one came to me here at the castle, delivered by an arrow that was shot over the wall.”
“I find the fact that someone is keeping tabs on your whereabouts more concerning than the contents of the messages.” Jev looked toward
the window, wishing Lornysh hadn’t taken off. He would have liked to ask if there was a magical way someone could be tracking Zenia. Was it possible the dragon tear gave off a powerful enough signature that some distant mage could feel it?
“I’m not tickled about it either. If the paperwork in the office and our cases thus far weren’t keeping me so busy, I would put some effort into tracking down the person, but I haven’t had much free time yet.”
Jev winced, feeling lazy because he’d spent the last week healing and rehabilitating. He hadn’t even been to the office since before they’d fought the trolls in the swamp. “I’m sorry. You’re not doing my paperwork, too, are you?”
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“Oh, Zenia.” Jev stepped close and hugged her again. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Actually, I do. Or someone does, at least. The foreign reports come in almost every day and are imperative to read right away. Some of them contain time-sensitive information.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that. I’ll find someone else to help for when I’m sick or injured or have Dharrow duties that I can’t escape. Maybe one of the other agents has good organizational skills.”
She accepted his hug and rested her hands on his hips, but she was stiffer than she had been before. “Both your work and my work, receiving and going over all the reports, were handled by one person before. Zyndar Garlok. I refuse to believe he can do more than I can.”
“He never left the office. All he did was sit at that desk all day. You’re too smart to be wasted on that. I want you going out and doing research and solving cases when we have them. I’m sure Targyon does too. We’ll find a secretary or promote—or maybe demote?—one of the agents to the job.”
Jev thought of Rhi, but he hadn’t seen her pick up a pen yet, and she didn’t seem like someone who would be good at paperwork. There was Garlok, who was experienced, but Jev didn’t want to admit to the man that he needed help. Nor did he entirely trust Garlok. Someone had been giving the town gossips a lot of fodder about him.
“We’ll find someone,” he reiterated.
Maybe he should have said that he would find someone. He didn’t want Zenia to feel she had to take on the task. She’d taken on enough.
Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4) Page 3
