Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I’ll need to do a background investigation on you before making things official,” Zenia said, “but we will be happy to have you. I’ll start making a list of your duties right away.”

  “A background investigation?” Sevy squinted suspiciously. “Would you need to do that if some other zyndari wanted the job?”

  Confused by the question, Zenia said, “Certainly.”

  “My cousin feels that our family does not always get the respect it deserves,” Hydal explained. “Or that zyndar in general are given.”

  “Oh. I don’t know anything about your family.”

  “Therein lies the problem.” Hydal smiled, appearing more reserved than disgruntled. “Few do.”

  “I just want someone good at organizing reports,” Zenia said. “I don’t care about zyndar reputations.”

  Surprisingly, Sevy appeared mollified by the statement. “I’m excellent at organizing. I was helping Wy with the Dharrow bookkeeping before, uhm, things.”

  Odd how often that word was being used in this discussion. But Zenia didn’t care about zyndar relationships either. All she wanted was a good worker, and she nodded as she noticed that Torson’s desk was already much tidier. This might work out.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to thump her? Maybe this girl would decide you’re not worth the trouble if there was a cranky Crown Agent with a big stick around every time she showed up.”

  Jev regarded Rhi—and her big stick—as they walked down the stairs toward the office. He’d run into her as he’d been leaving the kitchen and she’d been walking into the castle, and somehow, they had ended up discussing his engagement. If this could be called a discussion. Rhi had asked if he was still engaged, he’d said unfortunately, and it had quickly elevated to threats of beatings.

  “Are you making this generous offer out of a desire to help me, a desire to see Zenia happy, or simply because you like pummeling zyndari women with your staff?” Jev asked.

  “Can the answer be yes to all those things?”

  “I suppose so. It does make you sound somewhat aggressive and belligerent.”

  “Perfect.” She grinned and thwacked her bo against the stone wall.

  They reached the office, and Jev held the door open for her, worried his shins might receive a similar treatment if he didn’t. Rhi walked in first but stopped only a few steps inside.

  A couple of agents were at their desks, Zyndar Hydal sat near the door, and Zenia was in the back, opening books and folders for a young woman Jev didn’t recognize. By the founders, had she already found and hired a secretary? He rubbed his face, pleased to have an efficient colleague but distressed that she was so much more dedicated to their duty than he was.

  The gesture brought a twinge of pain from his ribs, reminding him that he was still recovering from his injuries, but it seemed a poor excuse. He resolved to sleep less, work more, and figure out why Hydal was sitting at Agent Torson’s desk.

  Rhi looked curiously from Hydal to the new woman and back to him.

  Remembering that Jev had promised to introduce Hydal to Rhi, in the hope that a romantic connection might be made, he held up a hand when Rhi started toward her desk. Jev didn’t think Hydal was the type of man to be intimidated by a woman with a big stick. He was less certain that Rhi was the type of woman to fall for a bookish man in spectacles.

  “Rhi?” Jev said. “Allow me to introduce Zyndar Hux Hydal. He was my lieutenant in Gryphon Company and is very smart.”

  Hydal winced. Maybe that wasn’t the best accolade to convince a woman of a man’s sex appeal.

  “He’s also well-trained at hand-to-hand combat and has hidden ferocity that makes elves quake in their buckskins,” Jev added in an attempt to improve the introduction.

  Judging by the way Hydal dropped his face into his hand, it was possible Jev wasn’t successful.

  Instead of appearing intrigued, Rhi looked confused, perhaps wondering why the stranger sitting at the desk across from hers was getting a more thorough introduction than Jev had given anyone else in the office.

  “He’s a new informant,” Jev said. “I thought you should know in case he approaches you with information at some point.”

  “You thought I should know about his hidden ferocity?” Rhi asked.

  Hydal adjusted his spectacles. Un-ferociously.

  “Yes, so it won’t alarm you when it appears. Hydal, do you have information?” Since they had agreed Hydal wouldn’t report to the castle often, Jev raised his eyebrows, fearing something important had brought him.

  “Some that may catch you unaware later in the day if it’s reported to the office, yes.” Hydal summed up information he’d apparently already given to Zenia, and Jev did his best not to groan.

  “Jev?” Zenia called. “Come meet our new secretary.”

  “Zyndari secretary.” The young woman sniffed and adjusted her spectacles in a manner similar to Hydal’s frequent gesture. “I’m told I’ll be paid more than Hux.”

  “That wouldn’t take much.” As Jev headed to the back of the office, he guessed this was one of the three cousins Hydal had mentioned over the years. Jev hadn’t known Hydal or his family well before meeting him during the war and didn’t think he had met this young woman at any point. Even if he had, she would have only been ten or twelve at the time.

  Jev glanced over his shoulder to see if Rhi had stayed to talk to Hydal, but she was heading to her own desk. Hastily. So much for his attempt to play matchmaker.

  “I’m Sevy,” the young woman announced when Jev joined them. “Wy’s friend. How’s she doing? Have you seen her recently?”

  “She’s well.”

  “Well?” Sevy’s brows flew up, as if that was the last answer she’d expected.

  “Is she not perhaps pining?” Zenia suggested.

  “Pining?” It took a moment for his last conversation with Wyleria to come to mind, the one where she’d mentioned that her mother was seeking a suitable male marriage prospect for her after finding out that her interests lay with women. Was this the woman? Sevy seemed university-aged, but he supposed Wyleria was only twenty-five. She’d always been mature for her age, so he tended to think of her as older. “Yes, that’s possible. Pining.”

  “I knew it,” Sevy said.

  “Sevy is going to help with your paperwork, Jev, but she’s not sure where to file that.” Zenia pointed to a rectangular gift in brown wrapping paper with a fancy ribbon holding it together.

  “Ah, right.” Jev picked it up but felt self-conscious about opening it in front of everyone in the office.

  Zenia sat down and pointedly opened a folder. Rhi, Sevy, Hydal, and the other three agents in the office were not so discreet. They watched curiously.

  The door opened, and one of the castle pages jogged in. Young Tamordon.

  “Zyndar Captain Dharrow?” Tamordon asked. “His Majesty requests you join him for a meeting.”

  “Just me?” Jev glanced at Zenia.

  Since they were equal rank, he felt they should both be brought in for meetings with Targyon. He could relay information, but he wouldn’t want her to feel she was being left out because she wasn’t zyndar or simply because she didn’t have a past friendship with Targyon. Though it was possible this was about Jev and his family and had nothing to do with work matters. He grimaced at the thought, wishing the entire zyndar world would leave him alone.

  “He only asked for you, Zyndar,” the page said.

  “All right. Thank you.” Jev plucked up the gift, glad for an excuse to open it somewhere else without looking like he was embarrassed to do it in front of witnesses.

  “Aren’t you going to open that before you go?” Rhi asked as Jev walked toward her desk on the way to the door.

  “No.”

  “He’s probably afraid she sent him lacy underwear,” Rhi said loudly, apparently believing the notion should be shared with the whole office.

  “Men don’t get lacy underwear,” Jev stated firmly.

  �
��What about that stuff the king wears that caresses his nether regions?” Rhi asked.

  “Those are his pajamas. And they’re not lacy.”

  “You’ve checked.”

  “I have to go.” Jev picked up his pace, now relieved that Rhi and Hydal hadn’t hit it off immediately. Hydal deserved a kind, supportive, and polite woman who didn’t enjoy thumping people.

  “Jev?” Zenia called as he reached for the doorknob.

  “Yes?” He turned a little warily. He didn’t think Zenia would bring up the king’s nether regions in public—or at all—but he couldn’t be positive.

  “After your meeting, will you be ready to go to the tower?” Her expression was pensive. She must still think those elves were worth investigating.

  “Unless Targyon has a new assignment for us, I’ll be ready.”

  Zenia nodded and went back to instructing Sevy.

  The page glanced at the gift a few times as he led Jev up multiple sets of stairs and to Targyon’s office. Jev tucked it under his arm, determined that he wouldn’t open it in front of anyone else. He was positive Naysha hadn’t given him lacy underwear, but he wasn’t positive it wouldn’t be embarrassing. Just knowing she had brought a gift for him made him feel uncomfortable.

  “Go right in,” the king’s secretary said as Jev entered the outer office, shedding the page at the door.

  Targyon was alone inside, thankfully dressed in trousers and a tunic and not his pajamas. It was early enough that the latter would have been understandable, but after Rhi’s comments, Jev didn’t want to see them.

  “Yes, Sire?”

  “Have a seat, Jev. I want to talk to you about…” Targyon trailed off when he noticed the gift.

  “Sorry, it’s nothing.” Jev resisted the urge to stuff it behind his back. He didn’t think Targyon would believe Jev had brought him a gift, but it was an admittedly odd thing to carry into a meeting with one’s monarch. The pale blue ribbon was crimped into little feminine bows at the ends. “Naysha brought it to my office a while ago, and I didn’t want to open it in front of everyone,” he added, somehow feeling it needed an explanation.

  “That’s your ex-fiancé?”

  “Yes.”

  “One wonders what your new fiancé will give you.”

  “Fremia? Nothing, I hope. I intend to get the old man to rescind that marriage acceptance as soon as I can.” Jev grimaced, worried this opening suggested the meeting would indeed revolve around him and his personal life rather than kingdom matters. Oh, how he would prefer to talk about a new case. Or even the trollish invasion. He made a mental note to ask Zenia if any of the reports that had come in that week had expounded on that.

  “Will that be as difficult as I suspect?” Targyon asked.

  “I see you’ve met my father.”

  “I’ve had two meetings with the zyndar primes since taking over the throne.”

  “Was he equally charming at both of them?”

  “Obstinate and set in the old ways would be the way I’d put it.”

  “So, you didn’t find him charming? He’ll be crestfallen when I tell him.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Jev sighed. Targyon had definitely gotten a read on the old man. Sometimes, Jev felt him more like a grandfather than a father, though grandfathers were reputed to be jolly and spoil their grandchildren.

  “I suppose that means you won’t order him to cancel my engagement,” Jev said. “He agreed to it without asking me. It’s rather unseemly.”

  He’d meant it as a joke, but as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Jev wondered if Targyon could do something. He was the king. King Abdor would have left his zyndar to figure out their own affairs—and the affairs of their children—but Targyon was progressive. Surely, his poetic soul railed at the idea of arranged marriages.

  “Quite frankly, I doubt your father would listen to me if I suggested it,” Targyon said. “And if I ordered it… It’s distressing coming up against the limits of my power and influence. I’ve already found the older generation of zyndar are less inclined to listen to me. Kingly status or not.” His lips twisted with bitterness.

  Jev wondered how those meetings with the primes had gone. Most of them were over seventy. He didn’t envy Targyon his position. When he’d been Targyon’s age, he hadn’t even liked talking to people who were forty. Odd how that didn’t seem so old anymore.

  “If I see an opportunity to talk to him about it…” Targyon started, then ended with a grimace.

  Jev could tell the last thing Targyon wanted to do was to talk to the old man about Jev’s love life. He held up a hand. “Never mind. I’ll deal with it. It’s my family.”

  “Yes, very good.” Poor Targyon. He looked so relieved. “What I called you up here about is the Taziir.”

  Jev straightened, thoughts of marriage dashed from his mind. “You heard about Lornysh? And his problems?”

  Targyon blinked. “No.”

  “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.