“So am I, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch Garlok.”
Angry raised voices drifted up the corridor from the direction of the baths. It sounded like Dominqua had found someone to rant to. Not Rhi, Zenia assumed. Rhi would have thumped her, with a bar of soap if her bo wasn’t close at hand.
“Maybe we should go to my room,” Jev said dryly.
The suggestion sounded innocent enough, but Zenia feared she would find reasons to be distracted again if they ended up sitting together on his bed. And she already worried what the backlash would be for this indiscretion. By the founders, she had finally found a man she cared for and could see marrying, and the world was determined to ensure it wasn’t a possibility. Unless he gave up everything. Her heart ached at the notion.
“How about the library?” she suggested.
Jev smiled a little sadly but said, “I’ll wash off and meet you up there.”
He jogged over, picked up her notepad, and brought it to her. The small thoughtful act made her want to kiss him again. She didn’t.
11
Jev scraped his fingers through his damp hair as he hurried into the library. He hadn’t wanted to keep Zenia waiting, but he also hadn’t wanted to plop down in one of Targyon’s padded leather chairs while sweaty and unwashed. And he thought he should smell good for Zenia, too, just in case she had the urge to lick his chest again. Founders, where would that have gone if that dreadful zyndari woman hadn’t shown up?
He wanted to solve the city’s new elf problem as quickly as possible, if only so he could set things straight with his father and get the freedom to date Zenia. One way or another.
It had crossed his mind that she might be able to use her dress-incinerating dragon tear to manipulate his father into changing his mind about her, but the idea impinged upon his sense of honor. He also couldn’t see her agreeing to it. She might not be zyndari, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have honor of her own that she held close. She had a lot more than many zyndari he’d met lately.
Zenia sat at a table near the door, her notepad and a thick book open. She’d chosen a public location rather than a private alcove. This late at night, the library was probably empty of other visitors, but it seemed a clear statement that she had work on her mind rather than anything else. Understandable, even if his chest was disappointed.
“Do you share first?” Jev sat in a chair beside her.
“Sure. As I said, I wasn’t able to find much about Vornzylar specifically—nothing, I’m afraid—but the Zsayon are mentioned so often that there’s a whole shelf devoted to them in the elven history section.”
“Did you read every book on the shelf?”
She snorted. “Not in three hours.”
“Half the books?”
“I may have skimmed half of them.”
“I thought so.” Jev smiled at her. “We had a lot of information on their current activities come through Gryphon Company but not much about historical stuff. They mostly seemed to stir up their people and incite them to attack our camps, but I’m not aware of them having stepped foot in Kor or the other human kingdoms during the war. I’m actually surprised this Vornzylar lured three other wardens to his side, as the elite warriors of the Taziir have traditionally considered Zsayon methods less than honorable.” He stopped talking and extended his hand, remembering he’d invited her to go first.
Zenia nodded. “Most of the historical texts suggest they’ve acted behind the scenes rather than on the open stage. They were supposedly considering an infiltration of Kor ten years ago, which may have prompted King Aldor to preemptively start the war. Their mission seems to be to protect their forests and their people from the other intelligent races in the world. It’s not just humans. They’ve taken actions against ogres, trolls, and orcs too. Interestingly, they don’t seem to have worried about dwarves.”
“Maybe because dwarves largely keep to themselves and don’t start wars. They’re pleased enough to finish them, but they’re not expansionists. And they tend to claim land—underground land—that other races aren’t interested in. I think it’s against elven religious beliefs to live in caves, much less underground tunnels.”
“I have more notes on them, but I spent more time perusing some of the weaponry typical of elven wardens, so we would know what we’re up against.” Zenia pushed the open book over to him, revealing a diagram of a familiar sword, the one that had sprouted vines to grab him. A paragraph of description lay under the drawing. She flipped a few pages to show him other magical swords, including one that looked a lot like Lornysh’s, with flames appearing to leap from the blade. “The swords are typically the main and often only source of ancillary magic they carry. They’re gifts granted to the elves after they complete fifty years of training to become a warden.”
“Is that all? Such a short time.”
“They study swordsmanship, wildcraft, and magic during those years, and they’re not given swords and granted the title of warden unless they can pass tests on all three.”
Jev had heard of the extensive training before, so he merely nodded. “Any tips in there for how to defeat the swords?”
“A few dragon tears over the years have been powerful enough to permanently nullify the power in them.”
“Break them, essentially?”
“Destroy their magic. The blades themselves weren’t necessarily broken. Each one is created by a dwarven master and then infused with elven magic.”
Maybe that was why the Zsayon had never picked on dwarves. Elves and dwarves had been allies for so long that it would be foolish to do so. Had either of those races had the expansionist tendencies of humans, they could have worked together to take over the entire world millennia ago.
“Do you think your dragon tear can break them?” Jev had never met anyone with a more powerful gem.
“Possibly? It sounds like it takes an hour of intense and uninterrupted focus to do so.” She pointed to text on a page that showed a sword and an oval gem. “So, you’d have to disarm the elf and then steal the sword away for me so I could spend some quality time with it.”
“I would?” Jev touched his chest.
“You’ve built a rapport with the wardens. You could slip in close.”
“They tried to kill me. That’s not as rapport-building as you would think.”
She smiled, but only briefly before frowning thoughtfully at the page.
“I’ll do my best to steal this Vornzylar’s sword so you can tote it off to your room to commune with it. Violently.” Jev ran his fingers over the sword in the picture. “Though it would be a shame to break such beautiful weapons. I suppose there’s no chance any humans have successfully wielded them?”
“There was a chapter early on about that. A prince of Kor managed to acquire one in noble battle once—I read between the lines that he stole it—and it lay dormant for him. Apparently, humans can use them as regular swords, but the magic won’t come to life for us. It’s tied to elven blood, which is inherently magical.” Her eyebrow twitched.
He didn’t know if that signified skepticism or envy. Or distaste.
“Here’s what Hydal remembered about Vornzylar.” Jev withdrew a folded paper with sweat stains on it. He and Hydal had decided to spar in the gym while they spoke since Zyndar Garlok had been in the Crown Agents office, and Jev didn’t want the man knowing Hydal was working for them now. Just in case Garlok was doing worse than gossiping about Jev. Who knew if he was feeding important information to some outside source?
“Sorry my notes aren’t as neat as yours.” He pressed the paper on the table, doing his best to smooth it so it lay flat. “At first, I wasn’t going to write anything down, since my memory is as powerful as those elven blades. Then I realized I was asking Hydal for information because I’d forgotten it, and I grabbed the closest pen and paper I could find.”
Zenia turned the page over and saw a gymnasium equipment repair diagram on the back. “I see.” She scrutinized Jev’s notes on th
e front. “He’s only been prominent in the Zsayon faction for five years?”
“As far as Hydal learned from our intelligence operatives. Vornzylar was on a mission on Taziira’s northern shoreline, defending the villages up there from frost orcs, and making quite a name for himself as a warrior of renown. Then some family matter drew him back to their capital. Shortly after, he joined the faction and soon became one of their leaders. Interestingly, and I remembered this after Hydal brought it up, an assassin tried to get to Lornysh about a year ago when he was in our camp. Someone reported seeing a glowing white sword—Vornzylar has a magical ice blade—so it’s possible he was the would-be assassin. Of course, Lornysh was tight-lipped about everything. As usual.”
“Is he just a private person or is he ashamed about something in his past?” Zenia asked.
“More bitter than ashamed is the sense I’ve always gotten.”
“Hm.” Did she disagree?
“Have you ever tried to read him with your dragon tear?” Jev asked.
“No. I haven’t spoken directly to him that many times.” Zenia tapped her chin thoughtfully. “A glowing white sword like one of the elves we faced in the tower had? Was that Vornzylar?”
“Neither of them introduced themselves.”
“Rude.”
“I thought so.”
A breeze touched Jev’s cheek, and he frowned and looked around. Maybe someone had left a window open.
The shadows stirred down a dark aisle, and Jev sprang to his feet, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t at his waist.
“It’s me,” came a soft voice in elven.
“Lornysh?”
He walked out of the shadows, his hood down and his silver hair spilling around his shoulders and his backpack. He carried his blade, his bow and quiver of arrows, and everything he’d brought with him after the war.
“You’re leaving,” Jev said with certainty. He couldn’t be surprised. Maybe he ought to simply be pleased Lornysh had come to say goodbye. He must not have wanted to earlier with the other elves watching.
“Yes.” Lornysh stopped and looked at Zenia.
She was still sitting at the table, but she gazed back at him, not looking like she intended to leave. Jev didn’t want to have to ask her to, but if Lornysh wanted to speak in private…
“If I tell you something in Elvish, will you simply tell her everything later?” Lornysh asked.
“It depends on if it has something to do with her or our case.” Jev rested a hand on Zenia’s shoulder, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable that they were talking about her, though he wasn’t sure how to include her.
“Your case.” Lornysh sighed and closed his eyes. “That is what I wish to warn you about before I go. It is my hope that Vornzylar will leave you and Princess Yesleva and all other elves in the city alone after I go, but it’s possible he won’t. He seems particularly upset that the Taziir king is making this overture toward Kor. Given all that’s happened between our two peoples, it does seem premature.”
“Maybe your king sees Targyon as a more reasonable ruler than Abdor and hopes he can avoid further hostilities with humanity by forging a peace with him.”
“Perhaps.” Lornysh looked toward the double doors of the library.
Zenia and Jev had left them open. A breeze stirred again, and the doors closed with soft thumps.
“Have you spoken to this Vornzylar?” Jev thought it sounded like Lornysh had.
“I’ve done my best to avoid him since I can’t kill him.”
“Care to explain that? I’ve never noticed you hesitating to kill people who try to kill you.”
“It is difficult to explain him without explaining everything.” Lornysh smiled sadly.
“Which you won’t do?” Jev had asked a few times over the years about why his friend had left his people, but Lornysh had always refused to answer or pretended he hadn’t heard the question.
Lornysh clasped his hands behind his back. “It has nothing to do with you or your people. He—”
He spun toward the far wall of the library, squinting in the direction he had come from.
Jev frowned, turning an ear that way to listen, but he knew Lornysh had superior hearing. He glanced at Zenia, wondering if she had detected anything. She touched her dragon tear and closed her eyes. Asking it, perhaps.
“I heard—” Lornysh started, but then he grabbed his chest and gasped.
Startled, Jev reached for him.
Lornysh’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the tile floor, his face contorting with pain. Jev gripped his shoulder, alternately glancing at his friend and at the shadows in the aisles. Nothing stirred except for that faint breeze from the window Lornysh must have left open. Or had he left it open?
Zenia’s chair scraped on the tiles as she stood. Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement.
“What is it, Lornysh?” Jev whispered. “Some kind of magical assault?” He had a hard time believing his hale elven friend was having a heart attack.
Lornysh nodded his head jerkily. “Get out of here,” he gasped. “He only wants me. Don’t… put yourself… risk.”
“Well, he doesn’t get you.” Jev released Lornysh and looked at Zenia again. “Can you detect someone using magic? Tell if Lornysh’s attacker is in here?”
Her dragon tear glowed a soft blue, the light leaking between her fingers as she gripped it.
“He’s not in here,” she whispered, her eyes distant. “He’s crouching on the wall surrounding the castle. The guards don’t see him. Them. There are two.”
Jev grimaced, remembering the battle in the tower.
“Wait, the guards are unconscious.” She grimaced. “Or dead. I can’t—”
A clink, clink, clank came from deep within the library. Jev snatched a lamp off a wall and ran down an aisle of books toward the noise. The lamplight barely pushed back the deep night shadows.
A sweet and acrid scent tickled his nostrils. It reminded him of his aunt grilling limes for her honey-lime shrimp recipe. He held his breath, worried it was something far more nefarious than citrus.
At the end of the aisle, Jev spotted one of the tall windows standing open to the night. A faint smoke hazed the air in front of it, the grilled lime scent growing stronger. Something glinted on the floor, reflecting his lamplight. An odd eight-sided canister with rounded corners. It was the source of the haze—a steady stream of blue smoke wafted from a small aperture.
Jev snatched it up, the sides icy cold in his hand, and ran to the window. As he drew his arm back to throw it, he spotted a figure crouched atop the wall on the far side of the courtyard. A figure with a bow drawn and aimed in his direction.
“Intruder!” Jev yelled as he threw the strange canister toward the archer.
Hoping enough guards were awake to hear the cry and investigate, he leaped aside. An arrow blurred past, almost shaving his jaw. It thudded into a bookcase, the fletching quivering.
Jev put his back to the solid stone wall between two windows and did his best to shout again from behind cover. “Intruder in the castle!”
His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt. He realized he’d released his breath to yell, and that smoke still hung in the air.
“Zenia, Lornysh,” he called. “Are you all right?”
He was surprised Zenia hadn’t followed him, but maybe she’d wanted to stay with Lornysh since he was defenseless as long as that magic gripped him. Jev slammed the window shut—not that the glass would stop an arrow—and ran back toward them.
“Here,” came Zenia’s voice from the table where he’d left her. It was strained. And hoarse.
Worrying the smoke had also reached them, Jev tried to sprint the rest of the way back, but his legs felt oddly rubbery. He stumbled, his feet numb, and his shoulder smashed against shelves. The case shuddered, and several books fell to the floor.
He growled, shaking off the strange ennui, and stumbled the rest of the way down the aisle. He passed another wide open window, but that was
the least of his problems. An elf in green and brown leathers and a dark green cloak faced Zenia, a glowing silver sword held aloft.
Jev almost barked a warning, but Zenia already faced the elf, her hand raised, blue tendrils of light emanating from her dragon tear. The magic curled up her arm and spread from her fingers toward her adversary. The elf himself was frozen in tableau.
Lornysh was on his hands and knees on the floor between them, struggling to rise. The elf warden was poised, not to attack Zenia but to cleave him in half.
Jev threw his knife at the intruder’s back.
He expected some magical shield to appear around the elf and deflect the blade, but Zenia must have commanded his full attention. The knife landed point first and sank into the back of his shoulder.
The elf screamed in surprise and pain, almost dropping his sword.
As if the knife attack had broken some spell, Lornysh sprang to his feet, yanking his own sword free of its sheath. He barked a word in Elvish, and magical flames sprang to life along the blade.
The intruder snarled, reached over his shoulder, and managed to grab Jev’s knife and yank it free. He threw it at Zenia.
“No,” Jev shouted and sprang at the elf.
The bloody knife hurtled toward Zenia’s chest, and at that range, she didn’t have time to dodge. But a shimmering blue shield flashed in the air all around her. The blade bounced off instead of hitting her.
That didn’t keep Jev, fury flushing his body with strength, from slamming into the elf and taking him to the floor. He slammed a fist into his foe’s jaw before an icy cold power wrapped around his heart, and pain sprang from his chest.
Jev gripped the elf and tried to stay on top of him, tried to smash him against the floor and knock him out, but the pain was too much. Numbness flooded his body, and his grip loosened. It felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.
The elf flung Jev off and rolled to the side an instant before Lornysh came in, aiming his sword at their foe’s head. Though Jev was in too much pain to help, he noticed Lornysh used the flat of his blade. As if he didn’t truly want to hurt the elf. What in the founders’ hells was stopping him? This elf wanted to hurt him.
Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4) Page 17
