Eye of Truth

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Why was your butler so close to Jev’s mother?” Zenia asked.

  “He came with her from her family’s estate at the time of the marriage, and he’d known her since she’d been a girl. I’m not sure if she confided in him, but Jev’s father occasionally lost his temper and snapped at him. My mother says he was jealous even though nobody believed Jev’s mother was sleeping with the butler or anything like that. Corvel was old and stately even when I was a kid. He came that way, I’ve heard, and never seemed to age, other than his hair going from gray to white over the years.”

  Wyleria knocked again. “Grandma Visha? We have a visitor who would like to speak with you.”

  A butler who never seemed to age sounded like someone with at least a little elven blood in his veins. The distinctive pointed ears rarely appeared once the blood was diluted down to a quarter or less, so it was harder to pick out those who merely had elven ancestors. These days, the thought of intermingling was considered horrendous, by both races reputedly. In previous centuries it hadn’t been as taboo.

  The door opened, and a plump woman with white hair pulled back into a bun stood there, a shirt dangling from one hand, a needle and thread in the other.

  “My pardon,” she—Visha—said. “I was in the middle of a project and couldn’t quite find a way to set everything down without risking knots and a tangled mess. You know how frustrating that is!”

  “Of course, Grandma. This is Inquisitor Cham. She has some questions revolving around Vastiun's death and the returning of his belongings. Do you have a moment?”

  Zenia nodded to the woman, and also to Wyleria, glad she hadn’t mentioned the artifact specifically.

  “Vastiun's death? The poor boy. My grandson was such a warm, friendly lad. The founders haven’t been kind to this family this past generation, I fear. Tea?”

  Zenia started at the abrupt transition.

  Wyleria merely smiled gently and said, “Please.”

  “I just had some brought up.” Visha turned into a foyer with a fountain tinkling in the middle and doors to a bedroom, sitting room, and a lavatory leading away from it. “Come sit with me, please. What questions do you have? Oh, and there are lavender-gort thumbprints. You’ll have to share with me. We baked them earlier today, but far too many. They’re terribly delicious.”

  As Zenia and Wyleria trailed the woman into the sitting room, Zenia wondered if she would get anything useful from the woman. Visha draped the shirt she was repairing over the back of the sofa, then started to put the needle in a pin cushion but pricked her finger instead and let out a soft gasp of pain. She laid the needle on the table, sucked on her finger, then sat at the other end of the sofa in front of a tray of green-specked cookies and a pot of an aromatic floral tea. There was only one cup, but she rang a bell, and a servant soon appeared with two more.

  Zenia knew the woman was old, but she couldn’t help but shake her head at having a person employed for the sole means of fetching things. And answering to a ringing bell.

  “I didn’t know gort could be made into cookies,” Wyleria said, taking a chair and smiling as the servant stopped to add logs to a fire burning in a hearth.

  “The only way to get the little ones to eat their vegetables,” Visha proclaimed. “Dara’s boys were here earlier, you know. I do hope Jev will have some children now that he’s back from that dreadful war. I’m certainly in favor of stamping out all elves meddling in human affairs, but really. Ten years. The prime of a man’s life. So much to give up. Tea?”

  “Yes, please,” Wyleria said.

  Zenia hadn’t sat yet, but the women looked expectantly at her, so she headed toward a chair. She eyed another door that opened from the sitting room, this one off to the side of the fireplace. It was well-lit, showing all manner of weaving equipment and canvases on easels.

  Zenia wouldn’t have glanced twice at the crafts room, but she sensed magic somewhere inside of it. Something similar to her dragon tear. Maybe that was exactly what it was. It almost felt like a cluster of them. She remembered Jev’s admission that zyndar families often kept some in vaults for promising children.

  She drew upon the power of her own dragon tear, trying to augment her ability to sense the magical and to verify her suspicions. She was here looking for a magical artifact, after all. What if the butler hadn’t taken it with him when he left? What if it remained in the castle?

  But why would this old woman have such an item? It made much more sense that she, perhaps the oldest person living here, might guard the family’s dragon tears.

  “Cookies, dear?” Visha held the tray toward Zenia, frowning briefly toward the crafts room, but then smiling when Zenia met her eyes. “I’ll be happy to show you some of my projects. Do you enjoy tapestries?”

  “I like the ones in the temple,” Zenia said, though she’d never looked closely at most of them. Aside from the one outside the lavatory that showed a dragon waist-deep in a lake and washing his armpits with some kind of mushroom sponge. Zenia was fairly certain dragons had neither waists nor armpits that stank, but she’d appreciated the humor of the art.

  “Which temple are you from, dear?”

  “The Temple of the Blue Dragon. I’m an inquisitor, and the archmage sent me to ask a few questions.”

  “Ah, the Water Order Temple. I did three tapestries for them several years ago. Do they still hang there? One is a playful one of a dragon. That’s my favorite.”

  Even though Zenia wanted to get on with her questioning, she smiled, glad she could truthfully say, “I’ve seen that one. And I enjoy it.”

  “Is it hanging somewhere suitable to its majesty?” Visha asked, and Zenia couldn’t tell if it was a joke. Maybe they were thinking of different tapestries.

  “If it’s the one I’m thinking of, it’s on the wall between the men’s and women’s lavatories. Above the sign instructing the penitent to wash their feet before supper.”

  “That seems an appropriate place then.” Visha’s eyes twinkled.

  Wyleria looked puzzled, and she sipped from her tea.

  “I just have a few questions for you, Zyndari. Do you know anything about the relationship between the butler Corvel and your missing daughter? It seems he was quite loyal to her.”

  Wyleria’s puzzled look did not fade—clearly, she didn’t understand this line of questioning. Perhaps her puzzlement was founded. Maybe it led nowhere.

  “The butler? Oh, I barely knew him.”

  Wyleria’s brow furrowed more deeply. Zenia’s might have furrowed too. Had Wyleria gotten her story wrong? If Corvel had come with Jev’s mother when she’d married Heber, wouldn’t that mean the butler had lived in her home—and in Visha’s home—before then? Even if Visha had lived elsewhere, she’d been here since her daughter’s marriage. Surely long enough to get to know a butler.

  Frowning, Zenia opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but Visha spoke again first.

  “I’ve not had any luck at all getting my tapestries into the Fire Temple. The archmage there told me that whimsy is completely inappropriate for his people. As if the Fire Dragon himself wasn’t known to inhale beer and play chips with dwarves.”

  “Uhm, yes, Zyndari,” Zenia said. “That’s unfortunate. May I ask a question about—”

  “Do you have any idea how I might sway him? I’ve sent cookies.”

  “Gort cookies?" Wyleria asked. “Perhaps there’s a reason that didn’t work.”

  “No, lemon-lavender cookies. They were delightful.” Visha looked earnestly at Zenia. “I even have a tapestry on display in Alderoth Castle. My daughter’s husband Heber arranged for it. Have you spoken to him yet about your questions?”

  “No, but I will as soon as he returns. I was told he was meeting with the new king.”

  “Yes, I do hope the new king will follow in his uncle’s footsteps in laying down the law against those pesky elves and keeping them out of our country. You can’t trust anyone with points on his head. They tell our people nothing but lies. Acc
use us of thieving. As if humans would want anything they have. What audacity. Do you like the cookies? The secret ingredient is almond extract.”

  Zenia drew upon her power and tried to gauge if the woman was deliberately trying to misdirect her, or if this was an example of the simpleness Wyleria had mentioned.

  Visha’s mind seemed scattered, and even with magic, Zenia struggled to grasp her motivations. There was a child-like quality to the thoughts that did come through, a concern about her tapestries, a determination to finish repairing that shirt, an eagerness to see Jev married with children, and—oh—should she try to guide Heber into arranging that?

  Feeling her cheeks warm, Zenia leaned back in her seat and withdrew her mental probe. She told herself not to be distracted by thoughts of an arranged marriage for Jev, that it had nothing to do with her mission here.

  “Do have some tea, dear,” Visha said, sipping from her own cup. “It goes so well with the cookies. I had a dragon tear of my own many years ago, and I used it to guide me in baking. Sadly, it was given to my cousin when he went off to fight in the war. He’s a cook too. He can make breads that increase a man’s stamina and strength for a time. I can’t say my cookies do that. They can increase the size of your waist if you’re not careful.” She chuckled at the joke.

  Zenia forced herself to smile. It wasn’t often that the inquisitor was the one thrown off in a questioning session, but she did feel that way. She decided to speak more with Wyleria and the servants around the castle for now. When Jev returned, she would ask him for permission to spend the night. She had a feeling it would be easier to sneak up here and search for clues—and take a look at the source of the magic she sensed—once Visha and the rest of the castle had gone to sleep.

  Sneaking about like a burglar wasn’t how she preferred to gather evidence, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had done things that way.

  Still, as they finished the evening snacks, and Wyleria led Zenia out of Visha’s suite, Zenia couldn’t help but look back over her shoulder and wonder if she’d been outmaneuvered by a senile old lady.

  The six-foot-long and three-foot-high rock arrangement was far more artistically laid than Jev had imagined when Cutter called it a cairn. He could see it well since they hadn’t had to travel far and the silver glow of the meeting stone still lit the area.

  The granite stones had been cut and elaborately placed, each one fitting together like a piece in a puzzle. Nothing that he could see adhered them to each other, but they had not tumbled to the grass below, despite the age of the collection.

  Oh, he wouldn’t have been able to guess at the age based on the stones themselves, but they had been there long enough for moss to grow thickly on the north side, and dirt had gathered in the crevices on the top via the winds from numerous monsoon seasons. A few tufts of grass and a lone flower grew from between the stones. The cairn could have been built decades ago or centuries ago, but he agreed with Lornysh’s assessment that it had been done before Corvel had left the castle.

  “It is the grave of a friend,” Lornysh said. “Not an enemy. You can see that more care was put into the placement of the stones than might otherwise have been done.”

  “Not bad stone-laying for an elf,” Cutter said.

  “There are rumors that long ago, elves were the ones to teach dwarves to work stone,” Lornysh said.

  “There are rumors that you wear your grammy’s panties, too, but we don’t put much stock in those.”

  Jev walked around the cairn. Even though the others had warned him there were no markers, he had to see for himself. All these revelations of elven meeting stones that were apparently monitored, along with the very existence of this place, had him questioning what he thought he’d known about his family history and this land.

  He didn’t spot any markings on the cairn, but by accident, he stepped on something in the grass, something solid enough that he felt it through the sole of his boot. He bent down and pushed the grass aside. The silver light glinted off something dull but something that definitely wasn’t stone or earth.

  He had to dig to pry it out of the dirt, then squatted down to stare at his finding. And to rub the dirt off it. A feeling of numbness crept over him. Another bullet.

  “What did you find?” Lornysh walked over and squatted next to him.

  Jev held it up toward the light. “It’s the same make as the one that was in that skull. It looks older. Or at least like it’s been out here longer.”

  “Yes.”

  “There are scratch marks. Almost like someone was trying to cut it?” Jev handed it to Lornysh, curious to get his opinion. He was good at tracking and finding clues that eluded others.

  Cutter came over for a look, though Rhi merely folded her arms and hitched her hip against the cairn. Lornysh glared balefully at her for disturbing the resting place. She looked back toward the trail they’d blazed and didn’t seem to notice the glare.

  “Cut it out, I’d guess,” Lornysh said.

  “Er, out of a body?” Jev looked toward the cairn, but he also looked toward the trees in the area. Maybe someone had pried it out of a trunk after missing a shot? But only to cast it to the ground? Why bother?

  “One of my people might have removed the item that killed a person if the person was a friend.” Lornysh tilted his head toward the cairn.

  Jev scraped his fingers through his beard again. He found this mystery, as Lornysh had called it, intriguing, and he would have loved to research more, but he feared nothing here would lead him to the artifact Zenia sought. And until he found that, or she did, the Water Order would dog his every step. He might not have objected to Zenia trailing him around indefinitely, but some lesser minion of the Order might be given the task if they didn’t find the artifact soon. It was also possible the Order had the power to keep him from going about his duties, from restarting his life, until this was resolved.

  “Maybe one day, I’ll come back to this place and figure it all out,” Jev said, “but for now, let’s see if Zenia has learned anything back at the castle.”

  “You don’t think the more recent death is important to all this?” Lornysh pointed toward the skeletal remains.

  “It may very well be. I just don’t know what it’s telling us right now. Do you?”

  Lornysh gave the cairn a long look, then said, “No.”

  “Are you sure?” Jev asked quietly, turning his back to Rhi.

  Lornysh hesitated. “At this point, I have only guesses.”

  17

  As Zenia trailed Wyleria through the castle, stopping to talk to anyone who remembered Corvel, she couldn’t stop thinking of the magic she’d felt in Visha’s suite. Had she made a mistake in giving up on her questions so early? Maybe she should have demanded to see the crafts room and whatever cubby or vault hid the magical items within. Except that it wasn’t within her right as an inquisitor to demand to see a family’s heirloom dragon tears.

  A clatter of hooves drifted through a window that opened out onto the courtyard. Zenia paused to jog to it and peer out. Had Jev and the others returned? Had they found anything interesting?

  From the third-story window, she spotted Heber riding in with two attendants.

  “I need to talk to him,” Zenia said, turning back toward Wyleria.

  She waited in the hall and managed a smile, though she’d been yawning a moment ago. Growing weary of playing tour guide? As soon as Jev returned, Zenia would foist the duty onto him. And maybe they could check and see if Visha had gone to sleep and her crafts room might be investigated…

  “We can meet him at the stable,” Wyleria said. “This way.”

  The woman led the way down narrow interior stairs that Zenia hadn’t seen before, but as soon as the scent of horses and straw wafted up from below, she trusted this was the right direction.

  For some reason, the lanterns, which had been lit everywhere else around the castle, were out. She silently commanded her dragon tear to glow.

  Wyleria glanced ba
ck as they descended from the third to the second floor. “That’s handy.”

  “At times.”

  They reached a landing, and someone young called, “Wyleria?” from a side passage. A boy of seven or eight poked his head out, holding a lantern aloft. “Do you have a minute? Grammy Visha said I could ask you about lizards.”

  “Uhm.” Wyleria paused, glanced at Zenia, then said, “I’m actually showing our guest around. I—”

  “Go ahead,” Zenia interrupted. She might have better luck questioning Heber without Wyleria watching. She anticipated having to be firm with him and that he might not have told his son everything. What if everything with the butler had been a misdirection and Jev’s father had been the one to open that package years ago?

  “All right,” Wyleria said. “Thanks. The stable is down the stairs, around that bend, and through the door.”

  A whinny drifted to them from that direction.

  “I think I can find it.” Zenia waved and strode off as Wyleria followed the boy through the other exit.

  Once again, the way was not lit. Zenia reached the bottom of the stairs, rounded the bend, and spotted light ahead through an open door. The stable scent, much stronger now, drifted to her nose.

  Abruptly, the door ahead slammed shut, and a lock snicked. If not for her glowing gem, she would have been enclosed in darkness again.

  Had Heber done that? Somehow anticipating her and not wanting to talk to her?

  Well, it would take more than a closed door to stop her.

  But before she reached it, a boom sounded, followed by a great cracking of stone. The noise came from all around her. The ground lurched, and she was pitched against a wall.

  Rocks tumbled from the ceiling, one slamming into her shoulder. She cried out in pain, and fear surged through her limbs as more rocks clattered to the floor. There was nothing here to hide under.

  Zenia whirled and sprinted back toward the stairs and the landing as more rocks pelted her. She hoped the whole castle wasn’t coming down.