“It’s just different,” she said. “I was confident as an inquisitor because I’d been doing the same thing for ten years on my own and five years before that as an apprentice.”
“You’ll get used to everything. It’s not like it’s a whole new trade, really. You’re just working for a different boss and operating out of a different location.”
A neigh came from one of the horses below.
Rhi smirked. “And living in a different place.”
“True.”
Rhi’s smirk faded, and she looked earnestly at Zenia, making Zenia take a moment to consider the words. It truly was a similar job, wasn’t it? She’d hunted down criminals before, using clues to find them, and then sought out evidence or a confession to condemn them. Why was she finding this new mission so different? Because Targyon’s life might be at stake? Because she had to prove herself to someone new?
“You may be right,” Zenia allowed.
“Of course I am. Monks are wise.”
“Would a wise monk consider a career change over one snotty colleague?”
Rhi sighed deeply. “I could survive her, I think, if nothing else was different, but when Sazshen kicked you out and railed over losing something that never belonged to the temple in the first place, it got me thinking. About leaving. It’s not the first time. I’ve occasionally thought that I’d like to marry and have children one day before my mostly celibate ovaries wither up and die from boredom.”
“I don’t think that can happen.” Zenia, certain Rhi wasn’t all that celibate now, wondered just how much sex she wanted to have.
“Who can know? But seriously, especially now that I’m teamed up with Marlyna, I can’t help but sometimes feel… that we’re not the heroes. The valiant storybook orphans following the Zyndar Code of Honor and saving people’s lives until they’re noticed by the king and made zyndar—or zyndari—themselves.”
“You aspire to be made zyndari?” Zenia hadn’t heard of that happening to anyone in her lifetime. Most of, if not all of, the land out there was carved up between the king and the existing zyndar families. She didn’t know if there was room for more zyndar even if someone did noble enough deeds to come to the king’s attention and earn his good favor.
“No. I don’t know—I wouldn’t reject it, I suppose—but I do aspire to be a hero, damn it. Not some bitchy inquisitor’s henchman.”
Another neigh came from below, followed by a whinny. Maybe the horses were listening to the conversation and adding their agreement.
“What would you do if you quit?” Zenia asked.
“Work for the watch, I guess. They’re always happy to hire someone with a monk’s training. Oddo joined up with them last year, remember? They promoted him straight to sergeant.”
“I remember.” A hint of smoke reached Zenia’s nose and she glanced around, making sure none of the lamps were sending black clouds into the air.
“I know the watch has its politics, too, and there are probably some people being paid off by the criminal guilds, but at least their goal is first and foremost to defend the people of the city from danger. They’re not defending a religion or some vague ideal that the Blue Dragon founder may or may not have espoused when he lived tens of millennia ago.”
“You certainly have my support if you want to join the watch—maybe they wouldn’t throw a fit if you were friends with me.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Rhi smirked. “I know plenty of detectives who always hated how you showed them up.”
Unfortunately, Zenia had shown up a lot of people in her life. If she was to have a chance at making a few more friends—true friends—going forward, she might have to work on being humbler. She thought of the earnest young Lunis Drem and decided to invite the woman out to lunch once the case had been solved.
“I’m glad I have your support though,” Rhi said more soberly. “I don’t think it was until you left that I realized… your opinion means something to me.”
“Until I left or until you got stuck working for someone odious?”
Rhi laughed shortly. “Yes, both.”
She wrinkled her nose and glanced toward the closest lamp.
Zenia decided to check downstairs and make sure a lantern hadn’t tipped over. It was probably just that the wind was blowing the hearth smoke from the house toward the loft, but it would only take a moment to make sure.
She patted Rhi’s arm before standing. “Think about it for a while before you do anything you might regret later. There’s nothing wrong with the watch, but you may find that you miss—” she waved at Rhi’s blue gi, “—being a monk working for one of the temples—and the degree of prestige that comes with that. The average subject knows how much training monks get, and they’re quick to step out of the way and respect the uniform.”
Rhi’s eyes closed to slits. Did she suspect Zenia was speaking as much about herself as about her?
“I’ve also heard the watch uniforms bind and chafe when they get wet,” Zenia said. “They’re not nearly as comfortable as your oversized pajamas.”
“Ha ha.” Rhi sniffed and frowned. “I definitely smell smoke.”
“Me too. I’m going to check on it.” Zenia draped the dragon tear necklace over her head again.
Rhi grabbed her bo, and they jogged to the trapdoor. When Zenia opened it and peered into the stable below, she saw the one lantern burning in its spot by the door. Nothing appeared amiss, but the horses were agitated, whinnying and neighing and bumping against the walls of their stalls. The smell of smoke was stronger in here.
Zenia hadn’t closed the front door to the stable, since it had been open when she arrived, and the air near it was hazy. Orange light shifted and flickered somewhere outside.
Zenia skimmed down the stairs and ran up the aisle to the door. Then gasped at what she saw.
Flames licked at the walls of the old farmhouse, burning wood that had stood for countless generations. Fire lit up several rooms on the bottom floor, burning bright behind the windows.
“Help!” someone cried from the second story.
Founders, that sounded like the daughter of one of the other boarders.
Rhi cursed and rushed past Zenia and toward the back door of the house.
“Wait,” Zenia barked. She knew her friend would never stand by while people were in trouble, so all she did was wave toward the well. “Wet yourself down first!”
Rhi hesitated, then sprinted to the side. She dumped the full bucket Zenia had left there earlier over her head and sprinted into the burning house without a backward glance.
Zenia, having few delusions of carrying people out over her shoulder, ran to the well to pull up another bucket. The water inside seemed woefully inadequate given how much of the house was on fire, but what more could she do?
A vibration came from her chest, the dragon tear almost humming to her. Zenia paused, her hand on the crank. What could it do in this situation?
She imagined water flowing out of the well to douse the house but didn’t know if even that would be enough against the raging fire. Nor did she know if the dragon tear had that kind of power. She—
A thrum of energy emanated from the stone, radiating through her entire body. Then a great whooshing sound came from the well.
Zenia sprang back as water spewed out of it, arched over the yard and spread into a fan as it hit the house. She gaped as an entire river seemed to spatter the exterior of the structure.
Flames went out, but inside, the fire burned heartily. She imagined the windows flying open so the water could enter the building.
With another thrum of energy and a burst of blue light, the dragon tear caused it to happen. Shutters flew open, and windows not designed to open fell out, panes full of glass dropping softly onto the grass below.
Rhi ran out the back door, her blue gi covered in soot and smoke wafting behind her. She carried a girl in her arms, and a man and woman staggered out after her, the man almost on his knees.
Rhi gaped at
the water streaming over the path as she set the girl down, and her mouth dropped even lower when she looked at Zenia. She shook her head and ran back inside.
Were there more people trapped? Zenia peered through the windows, but the water striking the fire created great plumes of smoke throughout the house, and she couldn’t see anything. Maybe the dragon tear could shield her with magical energy and she could run inside to search with Rhi?
But before she took a step toward the building, a strange awareness filled her. Just as she’d been able to sense magic when she’d carried her last dragon tear, she was now able to sense the life in and around the farmhouse.
The landlady and three other tenants had made it out the front and were yelling to neighbors, trying to elicit help. Zenia sensed Rhi running toward an upstairs bedroom where the last person inside was trapped, the landlady’s elderly father. A beam had fallen and blocked his door. He was trying to crawl under it and to shove it away so he could open the door, but it was too heavy. He yelled out for help.
Rhi reached his door and rammed her shoulder against it, trying to force it open. It only opened an inch before the beam blocked it. She snarled and shoved with her shoulder.
Zenia wrapped her fingers around the dragon tear and willed it to move that beam. Could it lift something so heavy? So wedged into that spot?
The water streaming from the well stopped. Because it had run dry? Or because the dragon tear was focusing on the beam?
A thunderous snap came from inside the house. Through her gem, Zenia sensed the beam breaking in half and both pieces flying across the room. The door opened for Rhi so abruptly she fell inside, almost landing on the man. He cried out in relief, and she dragged him to his feet. They staggered down the charred stairs and out the back door.
Zenia slumped against the well, exhausted even though the dragon tear had done all the work. She’d merely had a few thoughts to guide it in what to do. Founders, she was still floored by what all it could do. Floored and thankful. Everyone had made it out of the fire.
The house still burned in places, but the well water had doused most of the structure. Zenia had no idea if it would be livable after this.
“She’s a mage,” the girl blurted, pointing at Zenia.
Everyone in the backyard turned to stare at her.
Zenia lifted a hand, hoping that had been a thankful proclamation rather than a condemnation. Magic as a whole wasn’t trusted in the kingdom, but dragon tears had always been an exception. They were rare but still commonplace enough that most people had met someone with one and seen them at work. Granted, few of them worked quite so dramatically as this one.
A soft vibration emanated from the dragon tear. It reminded Zenia of the contentment of a purring cat.
“Maybe you’ll get reduced rent after this,” Rhi said, limping over to the well, not quite hiding a grimace of pain.
“I bet you would,” Zenia said. “If you decide you need a room. Watchmen and women aren’t provided room and board.”
“It’s a bit charred and soggy for my tastes now.” Rhi waved to the house. “Unless you’re inviting me to share the hayloft.”
Zenia opened her mouth to offer the couch, but a thought occurred to her, and the words didn’t come out. She looked over the fence to the houses on either side of this one. They hadn’t been touched by the fire, and she doubted the ones across the street had been either. So, the fire had originated here. It could have been caused by a lamp tipping over or a spark escaping a hearth, but a boulder settled in her stomach as she doubted anything so innocent had happened.
What if this had been for her? Meant to scare her off the case or even to kill her? If she hadn’t been in the stable, she might have died in the house fire just as the rest of these people almost had.
If a spy had been observing her from the street each night, watching her walk through the front gate and toward the house, he might not have realized Zenia ultimately walked around the house and back to the stable. To an observer out there, she might appear to be one of the tenants with a room inside.
She swallowed at the notion of being spied upon. Was it likely, or was she being paranoid?
Being spied upon seemed more likely. Too many people had disappeared from their offices right before she and Jev had arrived to talk to them. Someone might have been watching them, either physically or through the use of a dragon tear and magic, since they first started on this case. Someone who wanted to make sure the truth wasn’t discovered?
“Actually,” Zenia said slowly, “I might accept the king’s offer to let me stay in a room at the castle.”
Rhi looked sharply at her. “Castles aren’t overly flammable, I understand.”
“I hope that’s true.”
15
The family had already dined when Jev arrived. As a dutiful and loyal heir, he shouldn’t be glad to have missed the event, but he’d heard from his cousin Wyleria that meals had been strained lately.
Father had exiled Grandmother Visha to a distant hut on the back half of the property with livestock, provisions, and a garden sufficient for her to sustain herself, and he’d ordered nobody but her doctor to visit her ever again. He’d also ordered the textiles she’d woven and hung around Dharrow Castle over the years folded up and locked away in a chest never to be touched again. Even though nobody condoned what Visha had done, many of their kin thought the punishments too harsh for such an old woman. Jev didn’t know how he felt, and his emotions were a tangle on the matter. He never would have wanted his grandmother harmed, physically or emotionally, but she’d shot his mother, her own daughter. It still shocked him like a bullet to the heart.
“Good evening, Jev,” Wyleria said from the doorway as he dismounted and handed the reins to the stableboy.
“How are you doing, Wy?” He stepped up to the door and gave her a hug.
“It’s a difficult time. To make my days more fraught, Mother has started trying to arrange a marriage for me. She’s been muttering about how Dharrow Castle is cursed now that she knows exactly what happened to her sister. I think she wants me married to some zyndar far across the land so she can follow me away from this place.” Wyleria’s mouth twisted with distaste, either at the idea of an arranged marriage or because of her mother’s superstition. Maybe both.
“Maybe you can find a willing man and arrange a marriage for yourself first.” The topic reminded Jev that he needed to talk to his father to make sure he didn’t accept any offers that drifted over from Nhole Castle or anywhere else.
“That’s not traditionally been where my tastes lie.”
“In willing men? You prefer unwilling ones?”
“I prefer… Well, it’s not important. Even though I’m not the heir to the Prime, there are expectations.” Wyleria smiled, but her eyes were sad.
He thought about prying, but if she hadn’t shared her love interests with him before, then it meant she didn’t want to. She certainly shared everyone else’s interests with him. She’d been one of his few family members to write him more than once a year when he’d been away.
“What brings you in so late?” she asked. “We’ve been speculating that the king will give you a room at the castle since you work there now. This is a long ride to make every morning and night. Jhiroth is crestfallen though. He was looking forward to hearing stories of your tales at war, and he keeps asking if you need a squire.”
“To help me and my horse into suits of armor before we ride out onto the battlefield?”
Jev might have smiled at the antiquated idea, but he felt more wistful than dismissive of it, wishing they’d faced their enemies on battlefields at agreed upon times, the way war had been conducted in past centuries. There hadn’t been any suits of armor in Jev’s war. Anything thick enough to stop a magical elven arrow—or a human bullet or cannonball—would have been too heavy to traipse through forests in. Even their chainmail vests had been cumbersome and noisy when they had been racing through the woods and crawling through undergrowth
to find—or evade—their elven enemies.
“At seven, he probably couldn’t lift a helmet, but I’m sure he would help in whatever manner possible,” Wyleria said. “He’s decided that working around the castle is dreadfully boring and that your life must be fascinating in comparison.”
“It’s had its moments lately.” Jev thought of the elven guard creature. “I can ask Targyon if the castle needs any more pages, but I don’t know if Jhiroth is old enough or would find that work any more appealing in the end.” He patted her on the shoulder, then lowered his voice so the stableboy wouldn’t hear the rest. “Have you seen Lornysh around?”
Since Wyleria had supplied Lornysh with a cloak and camping gear, she was the most likely to have glimpsed him lately. Lornysh had no need to hide from her.
“Not for a couple of days. I got the impression he was moving somewhere else. He thanked me for my hospitality.” She grimaced. “All I did was give him some supplies for living in the woods. Your father’s head would have turned purple and popped off if I even suggested an elf be allowed inside the walls again. Most people wouldn’t consider that hospitality.”
“Elves aren’t most people. What about Cutter?” Jev wouldn’t mind an update on Cutter’s tool-finding quest, and he was also the most likely person around to know where Lornysh had gone.
“Oh, he’s here. He wouldn’t come to the dinner table—your father eyes him with a lot of suspicion even though he hasn’t forbidden him to stay—but he’s taken to helping Mildrey while she works. Well, talking to her and drinking ale while she works. It may or may not be helpful.”