The blunt talk of sex surprised Jev, perhaps because he’d grown accustomed to Zenia’s shyness on the matter. However, he was fairly certain that when he’d left for the war, zyndari women had been more circumspect in discussing such things, at least to men they didn’t know well. Sometimes, the ten years he’d been gone seemed a lifetime. He found himself uncertain how to navigate waters that had once been familiar.
“How thoughtful of her,” he murmured.
Down in the courtyard, Bashlari reached his father and laid a hand on his forearm. Jev shifted, trying to see better through the foliage. Zenia’s dragon tear often glowed blue when it was working its magic, but he hadn’t seen many others give off such telltale signs. He supposed Bashlari’s chest wouldn’t start to glow.
“I understand the Dharrows own several businesses,” Fremia said, squeezing his hand.
“Yes.”
He had the impression she was trying to draw his attention back to her. Manners drilled into him in his youth forced him to face her with an apologetic smile. But he resolved to have a chat with Zyndari Bashlari later. Maybe with Zenia and her dragon tear at his side. He hated to rely on her that way and wondered if he should have taken Targyon up on his offer of a dragon tear of his own to wield. As a boy, Jev hadn’t shown any aptitude for magic, but it was said that anyone who was willing to work at it could learn to rudimentarily access the power within the gems. Patience hadn’t been his aptitude in his youth, but perhaps now…
“Jev? Did you hear me?”
So much for his manners. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind right now.”
“Something related to the Dharrow businesses? I was wondering about your mines in the mountains. We have property up there, too—it was left in my name specifically—but we’re not sure if there’s any ore in there. Perhaps, after we’re wed, your workers could bring some exploratory mining equipment over for a while. If my land turned out to be profitable, we could both benefit.”
“You have older brothers, don’t you?” Jev asked.
“Three, yes.”
Meaning, they would inherit the majority of the family’s assets when their father passed away. Fremia’s land in the mountains might be all that had been left to her, so it made sense that she would want to see if it could be made profitable. Of course, if she married a wealthy zyndar prime—or future prime—she wouldn’t have to worry about money. But maybe she hoped to have money independent of her husband. Her husband who would not be him.
Jev took a deep breath, smiled, and returned her hand clasp. “Fremia, I would be happy to lend you some of our resources to explore your land, but I need you to know that I won’t marry you. I know our parents want this, but my heart belongs to another.” He tried to make his expression as gentle as possible. He didn’t know her well enough to guess if she would be crushed or outraged by his rejection.
“Oh, Jev. Is this about your common woman?” Fremia patted his hand and gazed up at him as if he were some wayward and mentally challenged toddler to be pitied. “My mother said you might say this but not to worry. We will be wed, Jev. You’ll soon see that I’m the best choice.”
That wasn’t the response he’d expected. A servant brought lunch then, so he wasn’t able to answer. Maybe it was for the best. It was her mother that he would have to deal with—and his own father—if he wanted to cut this weed down before it went to seed.
Jev suffered through lunch, during which Fremia chatted amiably about his mines and how she could help him find people to run his various businesses so they could travel the world together. It sounded as idealistic and unrealistic as expected from someone young, and by the end of lunch, Jev definitely had the impression that the Bludnor family was purely interested in him because he was his father’s heir. It wasn’t surprising—many zyndar marriages were arranged for financial and political gain—but it did make him long to run back to the woman who loved him, not his family or his money.
As soon as lunch was over, Jev pardoned himself and evaded an offered kiss by pretending to need to rush back to work.
His father and Bashlari were no longer in the courtyard, but when he strode to the stable for his horse, he found the old man there, directing the stacking of hay for storage, as if the hands couldn’t handle that on their own. One of the hands brought Jev his horse, and he thanked the boy.
“I’ll be bringing Zenia by to meet you soon, Father,” Jev said. “As we discussed.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, but as Zyndari Bashlari and I just discussed, we’ve planned the eighteenth for your wedding.”
Jev rocked back on his heels. “That’s less than two weeks away.”
Didn’t women need longer than that to prepare for a wedding? For that matter, didn’t all those who helped with the ceremony and inviting guests need longer?
“Bashlari offered to handle all the planning.”
Jev had no doubt she had.
“All you need to do is get an appropriate suit for the ceremony and show up. I trust you can manage that, but if not, I’ll send Wyleria or one of your aunts to help.”
“I’m not marrying her, Father,” Jev said, forcing himself to meet the old man’s eyes and look as stern and determined as he could.
He was surprised to realize he was a couple of inches taller than his father. How had it taken him so many years to realize that? The old man had always seemed to tower over him, but maybe that was a mental illusion.
“You will—”
“Further,” Jev interrupted, not caring that it was rude and the Zyndar Code ordered children to be respectful and obedient to their elders, “I believe Zyndari Bludnor is using a dragon tear to manipulate you into doing her bidding.”
Fury flared in his father’s eyes like an inferno. “I’m not some weak-minded child that can be manipulated by a mage.”
“You’re not acting like yourself. Anyone can be manipulated by a mage. I’ll have Zenia check when she meets with you.”
The old man clenched his hands. “You keep that inquisitor witch out of my mind.”
“All she’ll do is fix things if someone’s controlling you.”
“Dragon shit, she will. If she shows up here, I’ll—”
“Talk to her.” Jev fought the urge to clench his own fists. “You gave your word. Or are you going to break it again because that manipulative woman is diddling your head?”
“Damn you, Jev. You show respect for me and your elders or I’ll—”
“Are you sleeping with her? Because she’s married, I understand. Where’s your vaunted honor, Father?”
Caught up in his anger, Jev almost didn’t see the punch coming. Instinctively, he whipped a hand up and blocked it.
His father, blood rushing to his face, threw a second punch. This time, Jev caught it out of the air, his fingers wrapping around the old man’s fist. It surprised him that he’d been able to do so, to thwart the attack.
Father snarled and jerked his hand away. “You get out of my castle. You’re not welcome until you can show me the respect I deserve.”
“Fine by me, but you better stay away from Bashlari when she’s wearing her dragon tear. She’s controlling you like a puppet.”
“Get out!” Father roared and looked around the stable, like he was thinking of grabbing a rake and beating Jev with it.
He could try, but Jev wasn’t the boy he’d once been, and he wouldn’t stand still for a beating.
Maybe his father realized that. The old man stomped out of the stable without another word.
Jev noticed the stablehands had disappeared during their argument. A black gelding stood blandly, chewing on a piece of hay. The king’s carriage hadn’t waited after dropping Jev off, so he saddled up the horse to ride back to Alderoth Castle.
As much as he didn’t want to ask Zenia to use her dragon tear to help him—or to ever speak with his dyspeptic father again—he didn’t have time to learn to use one of his own. And he feared that confronting Zyndari Bashlari on his own
might only end up with him also under her spell.
9
A crowd milled in the street outside the walled compound of what had been the elven embassy. Zenia, riding side by side with Rhi, arrived before the king’s carriage and his entourage, and it was clear from several blocks away that the tower wasn’t just damaged. It was completely gone. Whatever remained wasn’t visible above the wall.
The wrought-iron gate was closed when they arrived, as if nobody had been inside the compound since Zenia and Jev left. But the devastation inside promised otherwise.
Zenia and Rhi struggled to guide their horses to the gate due to the density of the crowd.
“Step aside,” Zenia called to the people gawking while they elbowed each other and whispered with speculation. “We are agents on the king’s business.”
She knew the crowd would disperse instantly when Targyon’s carriage and platoon of bodyguards came into sight, but she wanted to get a look before he arrived. More specifically, before the princess arrived. She doubted Yesleva had ordered her own people’s tower destroyed, especially less than a day after she’d arrived, but Zenia wasn’t sure if she could count the elf as an ally or not. It continued to unnerve her that Targyon was so clearly smitten with her.
“My captain said step aside,” Rhi roared when nobody moved or did more than glance at their horses.
Rhi poked people in the backs with her bo to achieve compliance. People glowered but backed away, clearing a path.
“I knew there was a reason I hired you,” Zenia said.
“For my wit and my charm and my big stick, eh?”
“At least one of those things.”
The hint of a feeling came from Zenia’s dragon tear. Indignation? Had the gem wanted her to use it to clear the crowd?
Her old dragon tear wouldn’t have been able to manipulate numerous minds at once, but this one definitely had greater range. How great? Zenia wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. She was glad Rhi was able to do the job with her bo.
When they reached the gate, Zenia joined the crowd in gawking at the pile of rubble inside the courtyard. What had been a tower of more than ten stories was now a two-story rock heap. Chunks larger than horses had tumbled all the way to the courtyard wall. What kind of explosion could have so completely obliterated the structure? It seemed strange that they hadn’t heard anything up in the castle. It was a couple of miles away, but sound traveled up the hill, and she’d often heard foghorns from ships approaching the harbor as she prepared for bed.
“Did someone set explosives?” she wondered aloud. “Or is it possible magic did this?” After her experience with those two elf wardens, she had no problem imagining their shadow golem tearing down the walls.
“We could take a look, but someone left the gate locked.” Rhi pointed her bo at the padlock, which had been secured again since Zenia opened it the day before. “It wasn’t noticeably effective at securing the compound.”
“Someone from the watch might have come by and relocked it to make sure people don’t snoop before an official investigation can be put together.”
“But we’re going to snoop, right?” Rhi raised her eyebrows.
“We’re His Majesty’s officially appointed Crown Agents. We don’t snoop, we investigate.” Zenia chose not to remember that she’d used the word to describe her activities with Jev the day before.
“Wouldn’t official investigators have a key?”
“It’s not necessary.” Zenia touched her dragon tear and envisioned the padlock snapping open. She might not like the idea of manipulating masses of people, but iron and steel were different matters.
The lock opened promptly and tumbled to the cobblestones. A smug sensation came from her dragon tear.
More and more, Zenia had the feeling that the soul linked to her gem was young. But how some young dragon had come to be tied to a dragon tear that had been in the royal family’s possession for centuries, she could not guess. She knew dragons were reputed to live for centuries and maybe even millennia, but after living for a few hundred years, surely even a dragon wouldn’t be considered youthful.
“I’ll take that as an invitation.” Rhi used her foot to push open the gate, then guided her horse through.
A couple of teenagers in the crowd looked like they wanted to head in—maybe these people had looting on their minds?—but Rhi glowered at them and waved her bo. The young men backed off. Sometimes, Rhi could be as menacing as a guard dog.
Zenia followed her in, closing the gate behind them, and dismounted. They found a few skeletal trees with charred trunks that were still sturdy enough for them to tie their horses to.
“It’s the king,” someone outside blurted.
“Come on.” Zenia picked a quick pace through the rubble, hoping to investigate before Targyon and the princess arrived. “Let’s see if we can figure out if magic or black powder was responsible.”
“How would we know the difference?” Rhi asked.
“When the Fifth Dragon Guild blew up a corner of the Water Order Temple, Jev said he saw the remains of the kegs that had been holding the black powder.”
Zenia peered through the wreckage, but she realized it would be hard to pick out wood from kegs. All manner of furnishings had been in the tower, and the floors themselves had been wooden. Everywhere she looked, smashed tables and beds and snapped floorboards lay among the rubble.
“Would Iridium have done this?” Rhi asked. “I can’t imagine why the guilds would pick a fight with the elves.”
“Nor can I.”
Zenia circled the main mass of rubble, what had been the location of the tower, and spotted a bunch of greenery on the far side of the pile. The remains of some garden? No, the foliage was on top of the rubble, not buried under it.
“What is that?” she murmured, climbing over slabs of rock for a better view.
Finally, she stopped atop a pile and faced the greenery. Dozens and dozens of vines were woven together in a flowing pattern that lay atop the rubble. Whatever they were, they had definitely been placed after the tower fell. And, assuming people’s reports of the explosion had reached the castle promptly, this had been done under the bright, revealing light of day. Who would have taken the time for this elaborate setup after blowing up the tower?
“Are those words?” Zenia asked as Rhi scrambled to the top of the pile with her.
“You’re asking me? To my eyes, it looks like an infestation of weeds.”
“A very ordered one in a sweeping pattern.” The vines themselves seemed to shift and flex slightly as Zenia looked upon them. They reminded her of the sword that warden had used, the one that had grown vines to wrap around Jev’s limbs. She took a couple of steps back. “Unfortunately, we need someone who can read elven.”
“That can be arranged,” a woman said from the other side of the courtyard. Princess Yesleva.
She and Targyon walked in, bodyguards trailing them. Two of the bodyguards started toward Zenia and Rhi, wearing the determined expressions of bouncers, but Targyon said something quietly and waved them toward the main gate.
Zenia lifted her head, mollified. She was one of Targyon’s agents. It was her place to be here, investigating a crime.
“May I offer you a hand, Highness?” Targyon asked when the princess came around the pile and looked like she would climb up beside Zenia and Rhi for a better look.
Zenia scooted to the side to make room, and Rhi hopped down.
Yesleva smiled at Targyon but jumped lightly from perch to perch on her own. She gripped her chin and gazed at the vines.
“It is a warning,” she said.
“I had a feeling it wasn’t a dinner invitation,” Rhi grumbled.
Targyon frowned at her.
“Your Highness,” Rhi added.
“It says that there can be no peace between the Taziir and the savage humans of this kingdom. Any elves who attempt to make overtures will be considered traitors and punished accordingly.” She clenched her jaw, her eyes blaz
ed with indignation, and she spat a stream of words in her own language.
Zenia had no idea what they meant, but they did not sound ladylike.
Targyon blinked a few times. Maybe he understood some of them.
“I think if it had been a dinner invitation,” Rhi whispered, “she would have rejected it.”
Zenia held a finger to her lips. She didn’t want to be ordered to leave because Rhi was irking people.
But Yesleva paid her no heed. She finished her tirade and looked at Targyon.
“King Targyon,” she said formally, “I wish to have this facility rebuilt. One of my attendants has architectural experience.” She waved in the direction of the harbor and her ship. “I will have him draw up blueprints. Do you have someone who can assist me in overseeing the construction? I will, of course, pay for the labor.”
“I can provide numerous assistants, Your Highness,” Targyon said. “But I refuse to let you pay for anything. It is my fault this happened.”
“It is not. My people are responsible for this sabotage.” She thrust a hand toward the vines. “They used elven magic to destroy an elven structure. This is unforgivable.”
Zenia felt a warning tingle from her dragon tear, and a second later, the foliage spelling out the warning withered and turned brown, then turned to dust. An unnatural breeze kicked up, smelling of earth and rich foliage rather than of the sea and the city, as one would expect. It blasted the dust into oblivion.
Zenia stirred uneasily, not heartened by Yesleva’s display of power. It meant the princess, should she ever turn against them, had strong magic of her own to call upon. Maybe she could also conjure up golems from the bowels of the earth.
“I am my father’s chosen representative in this matter,” Yesleva said. “I will not be scared away by unprincipled rogues who work at odds with the king’s will and take the law into their own hands.”
Zenia was a little encouraged to hear that those wardens hadn’t been sent by the king, but she didn’t know if it mattered. They were here, and the elven king was a continent away. Did his daughter have the power to stop them?
Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4) Page 14
