Eye of Truth

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Just me.” Targyon grinned lopsidedly over his shoulder as he led them toward a passage on the far side of the great hall.

  “Ah. It’s not bad to have some self-effacing qualities, Targyon, but you may want to develop a confident kingly cloak that you can drape around yourself in public. Otherwise…” Jev didn’t want to suggest Targyon would find himself the subject of manipulation attempts, since he’d already voiced that fear—and perhaps experienced that situation—but he did think a warning might help.

  “I don’t think I can get a cloak like that to fit.”

  “It’s easy. Pretend you’re an actor in one of those plays you like. An arrogant actor playing an arrogant role. Give your chin an upward tilt the way Zenia does.”

  Her step faltered. “I don’t do that.”

  “Please, you’re doing it now.”

  She adjusted her chin experimentally a couple of times, frowned thoughtfully as she considered the position, then elbowed him in the ribs.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Zyndaring.”

  “Zyndaring? I suspect you do that far better than I.”

  “Hm, at least some of the company should be scintillating,” Targyon said, watching their byplay over his shoulder.

  A butler opened double doors for them, and Targyon led them into an alcove near the kitchen rather than to the grand dining hall Jev had been to several times for events. A table with three place settings waited next to tall windows that overlooked one of the castle’s many gardens. A servant waited nearby, but the bodyguards stayed by the door. They would be out of earshot if the trio spoke quietly around the table.

  Targyon gestured for Jev and Zenia to sit. It seemed this truly would be a private breakfast. Jev was surprised. He hadn’t expected to be the sole person to have Targyon’s ear on this very important morning for him.

  “I hope you’ll feel comfortable speaking here,” Targyon said, then nodded to the servant.

  The man disappeared through a swinging side door, and the scents of baking biscuits and gort being sautéed in garlic wafted out of the kitchen.

  “Because I’d like to hear everything that happened with this Eye of Truth,” Targyon said. “From a trusted source.”

  “Have you seen it yet?” Jev asked.

  “I’ve seen it and held it. Its owner too.”

  “You held the elf princess?”

  “No. I mean, I saw her. And held the carving. I—” His cheeks flushed, and he looked even younger than his twenty-two years.

  Jev lifted an apologetic hand. He hadn’t meant to fluster Targyon.

  “We’ll gladly share our version of the story.” Jev held a chair out for Zenia, then slid into one next to her. “Zenia, it all started with you. Do you want to go first?”

  “It all started with me? It all started with an elf woman and your brother, didn’t it?”

  “Technically, it started thousands of years ago.”

  “I saw the visions.” Targyon didn’t say what his opinion of them was. He sat, propped his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. Waiting attentively for them to continue.

  “I guess I’ll start,” Jev said. “And trust Zenia to elbow me and lift her chin haughtily if I go awry.”

  She elbowed him, smiling slightly.

  Jev and Zenia spent the next hour—and an impressive seven courses of peach-jam-slathered biscuits, eggs and gort, smoked fish, and Jev couldn’t remember what else—relaying the story.

  Here and there, Targyon asked a question, but he mostly listened.

  Finally, as activity picked up in the kitchen, and more people passed through the garden outside on their way to dress and prepare for the ceremony, Jev and Zenia wound down, finishing with the events of the night before. Jev was hesitant to explain his grandmother’s role in everything, but leaving it out would be to leave too many questions unanswered. He reminded himself that this wasn’t simply a friend he was talking to, not anymore. In an hour, this would be his new king, a man to whom he and hundreds of other zyndar would kneel and swear their fealty to later in the ceremony.

  “Good,” Targyon said in the end. “I appreciate your thoroughness. I almost asked you to write up a report, but you aren’t my employee yet, so that seemed presumptuous.”

  “I believe kings are allowed to presume much from their zyndar.” Jev licked frosting off a cinnamon bun, one of several recently delivered in a basket. He paused mid-lick. “What do you mean, employee?”

  “You need a job. You’re not a captain anymore. Your company has dissolved and your men have returned to your land where they’re once again taking up plowshares.”

  “Yes, but I am my father’s son. I have duties he’ll expect me to…” Jev stopped. He didn’t want to do those duties. Why was he making an excuse? “I mean, he’s gotten along well enough without me for ten years, I suppose.”

  “I’m sure he’ll need you as he gets older and can’t take on as much himself, and I wouldn’t presume to send you out of the city often or keep you so busy that you’re not able to assist him.”

  “Send me out of the city?” Jev looked to Zenia.

  She lifted the cinnamon bun she’d claimed in a don’t-look-at-me manner. She’d been doing more than licking the baked good for she had a smudge of frosting on her nose.

  Since Targyon was watching them, Jev resisted the urge to wipe it off for her, especially since his napkin wasn’t the implement he would prefer to use.

  “Your title will be Captain of the Crown Agents, and my world-traveling spies will report to you and bring back any missives or information they intercept. With your linguistics and intelligence-analyzing background, you should be ideal. And I can’t think of anyone I would trust more to be in charge of that half of my spy network.”

  “You have a spy network?” Jev leaned back in his seat, trying to remember if he’d been aware of Abdor having such an organization. He supposed it was logical to assume the king had people independent of the army’s intelligence gatherers.

  “I’ve inherited one, yes. But Zyndar Garlok, the current captain, seems shifty and possibly blackmail-able by the criminal guilds. I’m told it’s within my prerogative to hire new people.”

  “And promote them directly to the top?”

  “Absolutely. But you won’t be alone at the top. I believe it makes sense to have two captains, one in charge of foreign affairs and one to oversee domestic issues. Since you’ve been out of the city for ten years, you wouldn’t be as qualified for that as someone who is currently and intimately acquainted with Korvann and its various organizations, legal and otherwise.” Targyon smiled and looked at Zenia.

  Her lips parted, and she lowered her bun to the plate. Except she missed the plate and dropped it on the lacy tablecloth beside it. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “You’re offering to hire me, Sire?” Zenia must have decided they were close enough to the hour of the coronation to start using a majestic honorific.

  “You did mention you’re without employment. I would like to swoop you up before some other agency bids for your talents.”

  “Other agency? I can’t imagine anyone would be eager to hire an inquisitor. I—”

  Jev leaned over and poked her in the shoulder. “Don’t tell him that or he won’t offer much of a salary. Tell him that numerous agencies, including the Fifth Dragon, have already made offers and eagerly await confirmation that you’ll work for them.”

  He didn’t think she had a mouthful of cinnamon bun, but she managed to almost choke regardless. She looked incredulously at him. “You want me to lie to our new monarch?”

  “He won’t be crowned for another hour. It’s perfectly acceptable to fudge the truth with some random zyndar kid who’s barely in his twenties.”

  “Really,” Targyon murmured.

  Jev winked at him, then whispered, not quietly, to Zenia. “You want him to realize how valuable and desirable you are so he’ll offer you a high salary.”

/>   “I had no idea zyndar were so schooled in the ways of job interviews,” she said back.

  “I’m a wise and worldly zyndar.”

  She flicked a few fingers at him and turned her attention to Targyon. “Sire, are you saying that you would like me to lead—co-lead—your intelligence network?”

  “I am,” Targyon said gravely.

  It did not seem to be an off-the-cuff offer. Jev wondered if Targyon had known the full story, at least a version of it, before they showed up that morning. If so, he hadn’t shown his chips beforehand. Jev had a feeling Targyon would be better at this new job than he thought.

  “I believe you have the intelligence and integrity for the position, and I need people I can trust.” Targyon nodded to Jev and lowered his voice. “Desperately.”

  “I’m honored,” Zenia said. “And I accept.”

  “Excellent. Zyndar Dharrow?” Again, Targyon seemed grave. Formal.

  Jev steepled his fingers. “As you point out, I am zyndar, so I don’t think it’s allowed for me to do anything other than accept.”

  “True, but I would prefer that you want the position, not that I strong-arm you into it.”

  “Strong-arm?” Jev waved at Targyon’s sleeves. They both knew he was on the wiry side. He’d been downright scrawny when he first entered into service. Now he could pass as lean, but he would never beat Jev in an arm-wrestling contest.

  “As a monarch, it would be within my right to use both of my arms against your one.”

  “Is that how it works?”

  “Privileges of rank.”

  “Huh.”

  Targyon continued to gaze at him intently.

  “I had planned to get terribly drunk and lounge around on the beach when I got back,” Jev said. “Only a certain inquisitor’s attempt to arrest me interrupted that noble dream.”

  “Attempt?” Zenia said. “I most certainly arrested you.”

  “True. It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that your grasp on me grew tenuous.”

  “Only because you had superhuman help.”

  “Lornysh will be pleased you used that adjective on him.”

  Jev scratched his jaw. He would take the position, as he’d said, simply because he was zyndar and Targyon was soon to be his monarch. And also because Targyon had turned into a friend out in the field. But did he truly want the job? Was he qualified for the job? After being out of the city—the entire country and continent—for so long?

  Of course, he would have Zenia to lean on. The idea of working side by side with her pleased him. And maybe even titillated him. He supposed he shouldn’t fantasize about them locking themselves in an office deep within the castle and joining forces to do untoward things on a stout desk. It would have been scandalous when she’d been his arresting officer, but now…

  He scratched his jaw again. Now, what? They would be colleagues working in the same office every day. Would having a relationship be problematic? Potentially fraught? Then there was still the matter of social rank. If their relationship worked out and he wanted to marry her, what then? He was his father’s only surviving son. As much as he would prefer to eschew all zyndar marriage traditions, his whole family would fight him if he proposed to a commoner.

  “Are you hesitating because you truly don’t want to do it?” Targyon said softly. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to make you. I thought you were good at your job in the military and might enjoy having a civilian equivalent. Technically, a government equivalent, I suppose, since this wouldn’t be working in the private sector.”

  “No, I was hesitating because I was fantasizing about my future colleague.” Jev decided not to mention the rest. It was something he and Zenia could figure out later. After they’d known each other for more than three days and been on a date.

  “Zyndar Garlok?”

  “No.” Jev leered over at Zenia, though he was positive Targyon had only been teasing.

  She arched her eyebrows. Whatever she’d been contemplating, it probably hadn’t involved desks.

  “That’s good,” Targyon said. “Garlok is old, pock-marked, and usually smells of that oddly-flavored chicle he chews. I assumed you could do better.”

  “I certainly hope so. I accept the job, Targyon. Sire.” Jev offered his hand as he nodded.

  “Excellent. And you can keep calling me Targyon. Except when I’m wearing the crown and holding the scepter and tilting my chin up officiously.”

  “Arrogantly.” Jev smirked at Zenia.

  “You’re about to get another elbow in the side,” she whispered.

  “So long as you don’t get the frosting that’s all over your nose on me. I suspect professional dress and bathing will be required for this new job.”

  Zenia jerked a hand up to her nose, found the crusty now-dried frosting, and scraped furiously as she glared at him. He smiled innocently. It wasn’t as if he had put it there.

  “So long as you don’t stink as much as you did when I met you, I’m sure normal dress will suffice,” Zenia said.

  “I’ll endeavor to smell delightful.”

  Targyon leaned back in his chair as a servant appeared to clear the dishes and wordlessly offer Zenia a damp napkin. She scowled but accepted it.

  “I suspect the Crown Agents Office is going to be a more interesting place to visit once you two are instated,” Targyon said.

  “It doesn’t sound like Zyndar Garlok sets high standards to meet.”

  “No, I almost look forward to letting him go. Or suggesting his retirement, as I intend to put it. When will you two be ready to start? Tomorrow?”

  “So soon?” Jev hadn’t gotten his beach vacation yet. His chance to drunkenly do nothing while letting the sun scorch the skin that had grown pasty while traipsing through those sunless elven forests. And then having a beautiful woman rub aloe vera gel all over him. Would Zenia be amenable to that? Or would she call him a fool for sunburning himself? He would allow that if she did it while rubbing aloe vera gel on him.

  “The day after tomorrow? Normally, I would be happy to give you a week or two to settle affairs and relax, but…” Targyon lowered his voice and made sure the servant had left and none of the bodyguards had strolled away from their posts by the far door. “I don’t want to assume my position is approved by all. The first thing I’d like you two to research is what happened to my cousins. For that matter, was my uncle’s death truly a battlefield accident in which the enemy overcame him, or was it planned?” Targyon’s face grew grimmer than an elven funeral cairn.

  “Ah.” Jev had already wondered about the three cousins and heirs succumbing to the same disease of the blood in the same month, but he hadn’t considered that foul play might have been involved in the king’s death. Should he have? He hadn’t been on the front lines for that battle, so he hadn’t witnessed the man’s fall.

  He grimaced at all the work, all the interviews they would have to do, both of people in the city and also of soldiers in the army, to research that. But he caught Zenia’s expression, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, and decided the work wouldn’t be so bad. Especially since it wouldn’t involve investigating his own family. It wouldn’t be so personal, so uncomfortable. At least to him. It would be very personal and uncomfortable for Targyon, who must even now be wondering if he would go the way of his uncle and cousins if he didn’t please the right people.

  Jev leaned over and gripped his shoulder. “I understand. We’ll get on it right away. Zenia is an expert at interrogating people, you know.”

  When he smiled over at her, he caught a wistful expression on her face. Was she thinking of the dragon tear she’d been forced to give back? And whether she would still be an expert on interrogating people without it?

  Maybe so, but she lifted her chin and said, “Yes, I am.”

  “Excellent,” Targyon said.

  A door opened, and a castle steward leaned in. “King Targyon? If you’ve completed your meal, it’s time to prepare for the coronation.”


  “I’m ready, Dodd.” Targyon pushed himself to his feet, waving back the servant who rushed forward to pull out his chair. “As ready as is possible, I guess,” he muttered, then gave Jev an army salute, open palm to the side of his forehead. He bowed to Zenia and headed off.

  Not like a man going to the gallows, Jev told himself sturdily, but like a noble zyndar ready to serve his country and embark on a new career that would benefit the entire kingdom.

  Epilogue

  “You only get one day off?” Rhi asked as she and Zenia picked their way down the path leading to a beach at the east end of the city and the docks.

  Rafts and fishing boats floated in the delta nearby, and farther inland, the mangrove branches waved in the sea breeze. A white-tailed eagle sailed over the river, and Zenia took the lucky bird as a good sign for her new career.

  “Isn’t one day enough?” she asked. “It’s not like I had other plans.”

  She did not admit it, but she would have preferred to start her job today and get to work on the king’s problem. She was also eager to meet her new colleagues and see her office in the castle. In the castle! She had never expected to be invited up there, much less to be able to list it as her place of employment. As much as she would miss the familiarity of the Water Order Temple, and the tinkle of the great fountain in the square outside, she looked forward to this new challenge in her life.

  “Some people would enjoy the time and celebrate the new job by taking their families out for a meal. I suppose you don’t have much family, but you could take a lover out to dinner.” Rhi wriggled her eyebrows at her.

  She wore her typical blue gi since she hadn’t been dismissed from the Order’s service. Zenia hoped Rhi wouldn’t get in trouble if she was seen walking with her. Strange to think that she might be considered a bad influence now, at least by some.

  “I don’t have a lover, so that would be difficult.” Zenia searched the beach for Jev, wondering if he might one day be interested in assuming that position. There hadn’t been much time for exploring romantic relationships yet, but he had kissed her… and nibbled her earlobe. Those seemed like the types of things a lover would do. But since she would only be interested in a lover who wanted to marry her, was there any point in speculating?