Blood Ties

  16

  A month ago, if someone had told Zenia she would end up sleeping under a desk in an office, she would have laughed at the notion. She, the famous Water Order inquisitor, had climbed far too high in her career to ever suffer anything less than a comfortable bed and a private room.

  At least it was a desk in the king’s castle. And she supposed she was behind it rather than under it. Also, she was only napping there, not sleeping. A mere resting of her eyelids. She would return to work soon. Or get ready to go interview those doctors.

  After leaving the farmhouse, she’d come up here, planning to work, since she’d doubted she would sleep after the fire, and she had scribbled notes well into the night, but she had finally succumbed to weariness. It had occurred to her to wander off and find a staff person still awake, but at that late hour, she’d feared she would only find a few security guards wandering the halls. She couldn’t imagine them knowing where sleepover guests should be placed. So, she’d grabbed a couple of cloaks off the coatrack near the office door and spread them out to sleep on. One, she was fairly certain, was Jev’s, so it didn’t seem too presumptuous to borrow it.

  A clunk sounded, and the door to the office opened.

  Zenia almost lurched upright so she could scramble to her feet, but her cheeks heated with shame at the idea of being caught sleeping on the floor like a toddler. Or a homeless person. She stayed where she was, hoping it was just a roving security guard peeking in to make sure all was well. She’d checked a clock recently and knew it was still the hour before dawn. There wasn’t usually anyone in the office until after breakfast.

  “You’re here earlier than I am, you old coot,” a man said. It sounded like Brokko, the old agent that liked to ogle Zenia’s chest. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Just getting to work early,” another man replied, “to prove to that young pup up there that I’m still capable of leading this office.” That had to be Zyndar Garlok.

  Zenia grimaced, hoping this didn’t mean the men planned to sit at their desks for the next three hours. The more time that passed before she announced herself, the harder it would be to explain her presence on the floor behind the desk she and Jev shared. It would already be hard to explain. Unfortunately, judging by the sound of their footsteps, the two men continued into the office.

  “Young pup?” Brokko asked. “You mean our new king?”

  “Our new king, yes.”

  Zenia couldn’t tell if Garlok sounded found the choice of Targyon unacceptable. His tone had grown guarded.

  “Have you met with him? Did he tell you, uh, some new people are leading the office now? Complete strangers. Nobody’s happy that Targyon didn’t promote from within.”

  “There shouldn’t have been a reason to promote at all. If I hadn’t… Damn it, I know I failed with the princes, but who could have foreseen whatever that disease was?”

  Zenia wrapped her fingers around her dragon tear, tempted to poke into Garlok's thoughts to see if he was feigning distress. Did he truly know nothing about the disease? Zenia hadn’t spoken to him enough to decide if he should be a suspect, but if anyone were to have the ability to slip in close to the princes and infect them, the captain of the Crown Agents would be that person. Garlok had probably reported to Prince Dazron every morning and seen the other princes often.

  “The new captains think… Actually, I’m not sure what they think,” Brokko said. “Lunis and half the office believe one or more of the criminal guilds were responsible. I’m inclined to think Dazron and his brothers irked the Orders somehow and that they were responsible—they’re the ones who handpicked Targyon, after all. Always possible the elves could have had something to do with it, too, but you’d think they would have assassinated King Abdor if they were going to assassinate anyone.”

  Zenia lowered her fingers from her dragon tear without attempting to read Garlok’s mind. She sensed right away something she had missed the day before. He wore a dragon tear of his own on a chain with his pocket watch. She didn’t know what talents it enhanced for him, but he might sense it if someone poked into his mind.

  “The new captains.” Garlok issued a juicy growl—Zenia hoped he wasn’t planning to spit on the floor of their office. “Targyon’s lickspittles. I’m sure he put them in here because he trusts them, nothing more. Though why he’d trust some former inquisitor from the Water Order, I can’t guess. I bet Archmage Sazshen twisted the boy’s arm and forced him to take her. So she can spy on him and everything going on up here for the Order.”

  Zenia stifled a snort. Garlok must not have heard any of the news coming out of the Water Order Temple lately. Unless he thought Zenia’s disgrace was all part of a ruse, meant to endear her to Targyon. As if Zenia would be so dishonest.

  “I suppose that’s possible,” Brokko said. “Either that, or he wants some pretty ass to look at when he comes down to visit us. Dazron always spent a few extra minutes leaning against Lunis’s desk. Always surprised me she never took him up on his offers to follow him upstairs. Scruffy street urchin that she was as a kid, you’d think she would have been delighted to screw a prince. You think the new girl will screw Targyon? Or one of us? I hope she dresses in less clothing once summer is in full swing. She’s got great tits in there and an ass that any king would want to squeeze.”

  Zenia closed her eyes, cheeks flaming with indignation. And embarrassment. She tried to focus on the vaguely relevant information about Lunis and found it heartening that she hadn’t been anyone’s mistress.

  “If Targyon wants ass, fine, give her a desk here, but don’t make her the captain. That’s my job. Yes, I made a mistake, but damn it, give me a chance to prove myself.”

  “Is he giving you that chance?” Brokko asked. “I’d heard—uh, rumors of your retirement abound.”

  “Targyon asked me to retire. I told him I wasn’t ready to sit at my brother’s castle and play chips and drink all day while his brats run around, reminding me they’re the heirs and not me.”

  “So, you’re staying?”

  “I’m staying. He said I have to be willing to work under Dharrow and the inquisitor.”

  Zenia curled a lip. Why couldn’t these people call her by name?

  “Which I will,” Garlok said. “For now. But I predict those two are gone before the year is out.”

  “Gone? You think they’ll quit? Both of them?”

  “Quit. Disappear. Whatever. It can be a dangerous job.”

  A chill ran up Zenia’s spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold floor underneath her. Was the man just throwing out words, voicing his wishes, or did he have something in mind already? Might he have been behind the fire?

  Zenia wrapped her fingers around the dragon tear again, reconsidering her decision not to pry. With the powerful gem’s help, she had convinced that elf woman to answer her questions, and she’d been able to see that she spoke the truth. Usually, her magic wouldn’t have worked on an elf or a dwarf. With such a powerful gem, maybe she could slip into Garlok’s thoughts without alerting him.

  A chair scraped. Someone preparing to sit down?

  Founders, how would she get out of here if they camped out until other people came in? Eventually, she would have to stand up and admit to eavesdropping. Or pretend she had been sleeping the whole time and come across as an imbecile. She wished they would go get coffee and oatmeal before starting work.

  “You want some coffee, Zyndar?” Brokko asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. Something to eat too.”

  The chair scraped again, and the men left the office.

  Zenia crooked her head to look down at her chest, at the faint blue glow coming from the dragon tear. She was positive it had prompted them to leave. Once again, a thought had been all it took to evoke its magic. This was nothing like with her previous gem. Before, she’d had to truly focus to channel its power.

  She let go and stared up at the ceiling. She had a long day ahead, so she had better get to work, not lie on the floor and dwe
ll on whether Garlok had odious plans for her.

  More footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she groaned to herself. They couldn’t have gone for coffee and returned already. Had one forgotten something?

  She lay still behind her desk, vowing to spring to her feet as soon as they left again. But the footsteps continued up the wide aisle between the agent desks and toward her position in the back of the office.

  When she realized whoever was coming would soon see her boots sticking out, she debated feigning sleep or simply smiling and waving and pretending she wasn’t doing something odd.

  A red-bearded face came into view, leaning over one end of the desk. Cutter. Jev leaned over the other end of the desk.

  “I told you I sensed her new dragon tear back here,” Cutter observed.

  “So you did.”

  “You didn’t believe me.”

  “I was merely skeptical as it seemed an early hour for work, especially for someone who was caught in a fire last night.” Jev smiled, but concern burned in his eyes as he looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on the soot spots on her blouse. “Zenia?”

  “Yes, hello.” She sat up and pushed herself to her feet. “How did you know about the fire?”

  “I came looking for you last night.” Jev stepped around the desk, bumping his hip on the corner, and enveloped her in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck and holding her tight.

  The embrace and his obvious feelings surprised her since she hadn’t ever been in any true danger. But if he’d seen the burned farmhouse and hadn’t known she had been staying in the hayloft, she could understand why he had worried. And it touched her.

  She slipped her arms around him to return the hug. “I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt. Rhi was the one who insisted on running in and out of the burning building.”

  “Did someone tell her that pretty, shirtless men were playing ball in there?”

  Zenia snorted, remembering Rhi’s supervision of a group of such men on the beach. “No, but she has visions of heroically carrying people out of danger, and she got her chance.”

  Jev did not make any move to release her, so Zenia let herself notice the muscles of his back through his clothing. And the warm trickle of his breath against the side of her neck. The way his hand came up to the back of her head, fingers slipping through her hair as he held her gently.

  Cutter cleared his throat. “We going to have our chat about the gem, or are you two both going to lie down behind the desk?”

  Jev kissed her neck again, then pulled away, though he clasped her hands and didn’t release them. “I wanted to find you last night but didn’t know where you’d gone. Cutter and I came up here and got rooms. I had no idea until he woke me a few minutes ago, mentioning he sensed a powerful dragon tear, that you were here in the castle.”

  “Got rooms? I didn’t realize it was like a hostel and you could simply tell the staff you wanted a room.” Zenia hadn’t even seen anyone awake when she’d come in, aside from the guards at the gate and the exterior doors, all of whom had recognized her and hadn’t seemed to think it odd that she’d come in to work in the middle of the night.

  “I rousted one of the stewards from bed,” Jev said. “You know we arrogant zyndar are used to imposing on people.”

  “You do impose, though not as arrogantly as I expected when I first met you.”

  Cutter huffed and folded his arms over his chest.

  Zenia realized she was gazing into Jev’s eyes, and she looked down. They had work to do and…

  She turned curiously toward Cutter. “What chat?”

  “I know a thing or two about critter carvings in dragon tears,” Cutter said. “Figured I should warn you.”

  Jev nodded.

  “Critter?” Zenia lifted her gem, the elegantly carved dragon prominent on the flat front.

  “That’s a critter,” Cutter said. “A big, scaled critter.”

  “Give her the short version for now, please,” Jev said. “It’s getting light out. We need to visit Nhole’s list of doctors and also get ready for Targyon’s shindig. Unless you’re planning to wear that.” He extended a hand toward Zenia’s rumpled, soot-stained dress.

  “No.” She gaped down at herself in dawning horror. It hadn’t occurred to her to think of attire for the event. She was used to her inquisitor robe counting as formal wear and being acceptable for all events, public and private. All she had were shabby dresses from many seasons past. She opened her mouth to complain that she had nothing to wear, then snapped it shut, annoyed by how the words would sound. As if she were a teenage girl going to a ball at some zyndar castle and worrying obsessively about clothing possibilities.

  “Do you have a dress for such an occasion?” Jev asked, as if he could read the emotions passing across her face. Maybe they were obvious and he could.

  “No. Why don’t we have uniforms, Jev?” Every agent in the office dressed in whatever they wished, with clothing ranging from elegant and expensive suits hand-tailored for rich zyndar to extremely forgettable attire likely plucked out of bargain bins. “Like the watch. They have an everyday uniform, and then a formal one for when they go to see the king or some important person in the city.”

  Zenia tugged at her hair—it was in need of a brush—and looked bleakly at him. He, no doubt, had fancy zyndar clothes he could wear.

  “I’m sure we can find someone in the castle with a dress you can borrow.” Jev patted her shoulder. “Though I’m positive you would be perfectly effective at questioning people if you were completely naked.”

  “Is nudity allowed at royal parties?”

  “I haven’t seen it before, but considering how stuffy these gatherings tend to be, it could only improve the event.”

  “Somehow, I’m skeptical that King Targyon would share your opinion.”

  “He’s twenty-two and male. I promise you he wouldn’t object to female nudity.”

  “Nonetheless, I shall see if there’s someone here who can lend me a dress.”

  “Wise,” Cutter murmured.

  Zenia faced him. “You have something you want to tell me about?”

  “To warn you about.”

  Zenia’s feeling of bleakness returned. “Go ahead.”

  As Jev and Zenia rode through the city, heading back to the castle after questioning the doctors capable of, according to Zyndari Ghara Nhole, creating a protective magical casing around bacteria, he tried not to feel like they had wasted most of the day. None of the men and women had known anything about the princes’ deaths, as Zenia had confirmed with the help of her dragon tear, but three out of the four had eagerly filled their ears with far more information than they ever wanted to know about bacteria, Mountain Illness, and manipulating microscopic lifeforms with magic. The fourth man, a busy professor, had shooed them out after ten minutes, saying they could attend his lecture if they yearned for more of his wisdom.

  Jev did not yearn.

  “Why are we taking the long route back?” Zenia asked when Jev turned his horse at an intersection where going straight would have made more sense.

  “I want to go past the elven embassy.”

  “Not so you can thrust a stick through the gate and rattle the bars to irk the guard creature, I hope.”

  “I would never do something that immature. Besides, a sword would rattle far more effectively than a stick.” Jev tapped the short sword sheathed opposite his pistol.

  “What, then? It’s clear we weren’t welcome.” Zenia gazed at him with her green eyes, and Jev was reminded of the way she’d questioned people today. She’d asked the same types of questions as she might have before, but everyone, save the distracted professor who’d been looking at test tubes instead of them, had grown mesmerized, enthralled as the power of her dragon tear seeped into them.

  It had been advantageous, but Jev found it disconcerting too. He had seen dragon tears used countless times in his life, but not by someone he hoped to entice to become more
than a friend. It occurred to him that she could use that power on him if she wanted. Not that Jev thought Zenia would do that—he didn’t question her morality in the least—but he’d now listened to Cutter explain the “critter-carved” dragon tears twice, and the second time hadn’t made it seem any less dangerous. The thought that Zenia wore something around her throat that was somehow inspired by or even linked to a real dragon… He found it alarming.

  Her eyes had widened, too, as Cutter had explained, but she’d assured them she hadn’t had the urge to light anything on fire. Apparently, she—and the dragon tear—had been responsible for putting out the fire in the farmhouse the night before.

  “Jev?” Zenia prompted.

  “Sorry, I was contemplating your jewelry.”

  She grimaced, probably not wanting to discuss it again. “I’ll tell you if it compels me to do something odd, like flicking coins off the top of a treasure mound with my tail.”

  “If you grew a tail, I’d like to think I would notice the oddness without you telling me.”

  “A tail might be worth it if it came with a treasure mound.”

  “Are you… uhm, I don’t think we’ve been paid yet, have we?” Jev groped for a delicate way to ask after her financial situation. “Are you doing well? Need anything?”

  “My funds are sufficient for the summer,” she said, her back stiffening slightly.

  He lifted an apologetic hand. He’d already figured out she didn’t like to ask for anything or be perceived as needing anything. Especially not by him. He had a feeling she might share such problems with Rhi, but Rhi wasn’t a zyndari who’d never known what it was to be short on funds.

  “Good.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Sorry for snapping. I was mostly thinking that with a treasure mound, I could buy fancy clothes suitable for royal parties. I hate to waste my money on frivolous things. I’m positive that clothing appropriate for a royal reception is expensive.”