“Uh, Lornysh is imprisoned, I believe,” Jev said.
“I know the elves would prefer to go back inside and let us handle this.” Once again, she drew upon the dragon tear to add power to the words, trying to influence the guards and the ambassador all at once. She never could have affected more than one person at a time before, but she thought it might be possible now.
The two elven guards said something in their language, then slowly turned and walked toward the front door. They took Lornysh’s bow but did not drag him along with them.
“Ambassador?” Zenia looked at him, knowing she would have to make eye contact. She remembered their battle of wills in the ballroom and knew it had only been the fact that her dragon tear was stronger than his that had allowed her to extract information from his mind. “Go inside. You are defending a criminal. A murderer. Do not sully your reputation this way.”
The ambassador’s dragon tear glowed on his chest, and Zenia sensed him wrestling, not with her this time, but with himself. Did he continue to defend someone who’d committed a crime he didn’t approve of? Simply because he was an elf and they were from the same homeland?
A branch snapped in the garden, reminding her that a creature guarded the compound. Unless her friends had slain it? She looked at Jev, hoping he would say she had nothing to worry about, but he eyed the foliage with concern. Could the ambassador telepathically call the creature forth?
“Do not fight us further, Ambassador,” Zenia said.
Rhi fingered her bo and stared into the garden as the leaves rustled. Garlok gripped a pistol.
Yilnesh surprised her by speaking to the ambassador. She couldn’t understand any of the words, but they sounded defeated. Or so she hoped. If the elf begged the ambassador for help, would he sic the creature on them?
The ambassador arched his silver eyebrows and asked a question in Elvish. It sounded like, “Are you sure?”
A single-word response.
The two elves locked gazes, and for a moment, the only sounds came from the crackling of the fires in the garden. Finally, the ambassador turned away from them and walked up the path toward the tower. The rustling in the foliage stilled.
Zenia let out a slow breath and focused on her prisoner again. “Continue. Your people would thank you when what?”
“When Abdor was dead.” The elf wasn’t fighting her anymore. He responded promptly, his shoulders slumped. “Even if it meant being an outcast, I vowed to help my people, to defend them against humanity’s tide.”
“Abdor. Why did you kill the princes if he was your target?”
“I had to make sure it would work. They shared their father’s blood.”
“Why infect all three of them?”
The elf’s shoulder twitched with indifference. “Had to make sure it worked and didn’t want to leave angry kin alive to come after me, wanting to avenge their brother’s death.” He sneered again. “I didn’t think whatever cursed cousin your people picked would care about hunting down the one responsible. He ought to be delighted to have the throne handed to him by an elf.”
Zenia shivered, remembering that Lunis had said almost the same thing. Did everyone think being a king was such a wonderful thing? She couldn’t imagine wanting the responsibility.
“Why did you come to the castle today?” she asked. “To target Targyon?”
“Yes. He kept meddling. Kept sending you to meddle.” He glared at her and flicked his fingers toward Jev, as much as he could while he was held captive. “Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone and be glad he was king and he was safe?”
“He didn’t know he was safe,” Jev growled. “How could he?”
“I would have been content to leave him on the throne if he hadn’t meddled. It was far more than he deserved, the elf killer. I know he was in Taziira. That he fought with your army. He’s not the one I thought your people would choose to lead them, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Humans love elf killers, don’t they?”
“What’s the difference between a human that kills elves and an elf that kills humans?” Zenia asked.
Yilnesh curled his lip and gazed past her shoulder and into the distance. As if to say the interrogation was over.
Not yet it wasn’t.
“You poisoned him today,” Zenia said. “How do we kill your enhanced bacteria and heal him?”
The elf’s brow furrowed as he looked back to her. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s sick. We know you poisoned him.”
“I did not. Your agent chased me off before I could.”
“He’s sick,” Zenia repeated.
“Not by my hand.”
Certain the elf was lying, Zenia channeled the power of the dragon tear into scouring Yilnesh’s memories of the day. Of how he’d prepared a new vial in his room. Of how he’d gone over one of the castle walls, slipping through the shadows as guards were distracted by arriving guests. Of how he’d slunk through the halls of the castle, avoiding notice until he tried to slip into the ballroom. Then Lunis had spotted him and given chase, ruining it all.
Zenia frowned, going over his memories twice to be sure he wasn’t evading her somehow, keeping her from seeing a moment when he’d slipped the contents of his vial into Targyon’s drink. But it wasn’t there.
“Zenia?” Jev asked quietly.
“He’s telling the truth.”
“Then… Did someone else poison Targyon?” Jev shifted his focus to the tower, the fires burnishing its stone walls. Did he think the ambassador might have been responsible?
Zenia shook her head slowly, believing she would have seen that in the ambassador’s mind when she had confronted him.
“Could he just be sick?” she wondered. “From a normal virus?”
She looked at Yilnesh, but he only shrugged.
“I guess we can go back to the castle and check him for pustules,” Jev said.
“Gross,” Rhi said. “I volunteer not to do that.”
Garlok frowned at her.
Zenia lowered her hand from her dragon tear. “We can take the prisoner back and question him again if we find out the king’s illness isn’t natural.”
“I’ll take him,” Garlok growled. “He’s going in a dungeon for what he’s done. And then, once we know the king is well, to an executioner.”
Surprisingly, the elf didn’t balk when Garlok approached. Zenia didn’t know what Targyon would decide about Yilnesh’s fate, but she couldn’t argue for leniency for someone who had so blithely taken the lives of three men.
“Rhi?” Jev asked after Garlok gripped the elf and marched him away. “Go with the zyndar, will you? In case he needs help.” Jev narrowed his eyes, giving that word special emphasis.
Zenia figured he didn’t trust Garlok either and was loath to let the zyndar take their prisoner off by himself.
“As long as it doesn’t involve a pustule check,” Rhi said with a shrug and headed after Garlok.
“You there,” Jev said to a soot-faced man carrying what looked to be a piece of a chair. He dug into his purse and dumped a few coins into the man’s hand. “See to it that everyone who helped gets a drink.”
“Yes, Zyndar,” the man said brightly. “To the pub, everyone!”
The crowd cheered and quickly funneled out of the compound, leaving Jev, Zenia, and Lornysh alone.
“Thank you for your help, my friend.” Jev patted Lornysh on the shoulder. “I know you would have preferred not to fight the ambassador.”
Lornysh hitched a shoulder. His face was a mask when he said, “He’s not the first of my people I’ve fought.”
“I know that well,” Jev said quietly, then lifted his eyebrows, as if inviting his friend to explain further.
“You had better go check on Targyon,” was all Lornysh said. “I helped keep him alive in Taziira. It would be irritating if he got himself killed in his own castle.”
“Indeed.”
Lornysh lifted a hand and walked off, muttering something about finding his bow.
br /> “Shall we?” Jev touched the small of Zenia’s back and extended his other hand toward the street and the way back to the castle.
“Definitely.” Even though she believed Yilnesh had told the truth, she wouldn’t breathe a deep sigh of relief until she saw Targyon healthy and happy. Though he didn’t seem to know how to be the latter. Poor kid. “What did he say? Yilnesh. When he sent the ambassador away.”
“That it was over and not to make it worse. That there was no place left for him in the world. He apologized for bringing trouble to the ambassador’s doorstep.”
“Ah.” Zenia didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t condone anything the elf had done, but she did understand why his people, at least some of them, hated humans right now. A part of her wondered if maybe things would have been better if Targyon hadn’t ordered her and Jev to investigate. But no, the elf had committed a crime, and even if his hatred was understandable, his choice to kill—to murder—was not. She couldn’t regret finding him and bringing him in. She did regret that Lunis would lose her career, if not her life, for the role she had played in all this.
“I’m glad you followed me down,” Jev said as they headed off to find their horses. “I’m ashamed to admit that he would have gotten away.”
“Did you get stuck fighting that monster?”
“After a detour through the tower, yes.”
They passed under the light of a streetlamp, and Jev paused, frowning at her cheek—was it already swelling?—and then down at her side. He grasped her arm lightly and held up her hand. Zenia grimaced as he looked at her bruised knuckles, now visibly swollen and discolored.
“You did beat him up,” Jev said.
Zenia couldn’t tell if he sounded awed or concerned. Maybe both.
“The dragon tear helped. I’ve boxed and wrestled with the monks in the temple, especially when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have bested an elf without magical help.” She lowered her voice to add, “More than help.”
That was definitely a concerned wrinkle to his brow, but all he said was, “We’ll find you a healer.”
He let her arm go, and they resumed walking, but he glanced at her chest, and she knew it wasn’t to ogle her curves. He was worried about the gem. Maybe she was a little worried about it, too, but for now, she just wanted to check on Targyon and make sure he would be all right.
After being waved in by one of the bodyguards, Jev led the way into Targyon’s sitting room and then bedroom. Zenia and Rhi followed, though the guards stopped Zyndar Garlok. Jev didn’t know if Targyon had put him on a list of suspicious persons, but the sound of the man’s pompous indignation trailed them inside. Rhi shut the bedroom door firmly on it.
Targyon lay in his great canopied bed, a sheet draped across his form, and cups of water and juice on the table beside him. They didn’t appear to have been touched. Maybe he feared another dose of some bacteria or poison?
“Drink up, Sire,” Jev said, stopping beside the bed and bowing. “You’ll need liquids to feel better. And grapefruit. My grandmother swore by juice made from the stuff. And then there’s gort. Nothing like a steaming pile of green vegetables to get some nutrients in you.”
Targyon, looking particularly wan, turned his head toward Jev, just enough to display the disgusted expression on his face. “I don’t think it’s within your right as a zyndar to make me throw up.”
“What? You don’t want steaming piles of green mushy things?”
Targyon’s gaze shifted toward Rhi and Zenia. They had both stopped inside the door but curtsied when he looked at them. Rhi’s bo clunked on the base of the wall. There was something odd about seeing a monk curtsying, even a female one, and she clearly wasn’t practiced at it.
Jev smiled, remembering Rhi’s brief conversation with a bodyguard who’d insisted she not take a weapon into the king’s presence. She’d demonstrated how she needed it as a walking stick, accidentally dropping the butt on his boot in the process. Jev had waved for it—and Rhi—to be allowed in and had been somewhat surprised when the bodyguards listened.
“Did you find the ambassador?” Targyon asked.
“Yes, but he wasn’t the one who tampered with some lake bacteria to deliver those deadly infections to your cousins,” Jev said. “It was an elven scientist who was on the outs with his people, the majority of his people, that is. It’s possible the Xilarshyar approved his tactics.”
“Did you find him?” An exasperated, or maybe that was impatient, note colored his voice. More softly, he asked, “Did he have a cure?”
“To the common flu? No, I don’t think so, Sire.” Jev smiled, waiting for Targyon to catch on.
He must have felt a touch addled by the illness because it took a few seconds for Targyon’s forehead to unfurl.
“Are you saying…?”
“I questioned him, Sire,” Zenia said, speaking for the first time. “With the help of the dragon tear you gave me.” She touched her chest where the gem lay. “He did intend to slip one of his vials into your drink tonight, using magic to manage the task unnoticed, but one of our agents spotted him before he got close to you.” Zenia hesitated. “Lunis Drem. She scared the elf into running, getting stabbed in the process. The rest of us—” Zenia waved to include Rhi and Jev, “—chased him back to the embassy where we finally caught up with him.”
Jev waited to see if Zenia would explain what else Lunis had done in recent weeks. On the way back to the castle, she’d explained that Lunis had been the unwilling but effective insider. He hated the idea of her being punished, but he couldn’t condone a coverup. Targyon would have to be told the truth. Lunis couldn’t be allowed to keep working here. By kingdom law, she ought to be put to death for her role in killing the princes, but Jev couldn’t argue for that, not knowing she had been blackmailed.
“Then perhaps I should give her a raise,” Targyon murmured. “Or a promotion.”
“I don’t think so, Sire.” Zenia took a deep breath, then told Targyon everything she had told Jev.
Targyon’s already pale face grew paler.
“I liked her,” he whispered. “I mean, I thought she really enjoyed the job and could be trusted. I… if she’d wanted to come into my office and talk to me, I would have allowed it.” He eyed the untouched glasses sitting on his bedside table.
“Fortunately, she refused to be used that way again,” Zenia said. “Tricked that way.”
“When you’re feeling better, Sire, you’ll have to decide what punishment is fitting,” Jev said.
“Founders.” Targyon looked bleakly up at the canopy. “I knew the time would come when I would have to make life or death decisions for people. I just thought I’d have more time to get used to all this. I’m not even used to the pajamas yet.” He lifted an arm covered in a silken crimson sleeve with a gold hem.
“They look soft and comfortable,” Jev offered, even as he imagined his father rolling his eyes at the notion of wearing such garments.
“They’re weird. All cool and silky. They feel funny against my—” Targyon glanced at Rhi and Zenia. “Never mind.”
Jev smirked. “There are worse materials to have rubbing your balls when you walk.”
Targyon groaned and dropped a hand over his face, but not before Jev caught his cheeks growing pink.
“Perhaps,” Zenia told Jev, “you would like to inform the king how we know he hasn’t been infected with any magical lake bacteria.”
“I’ll let you do that since you and your dragon tear interrogated the elf. My job as zyndar is to make the king uncomfortable in front of women.”
“I had no idea the nobility had such expansive duties.”
“The job is an honor and a burden.”
Targyon lowered the hand covering his face, squinted at Jev, then looked at Zenia with hope in his eyes.
“Sire.” Zenia stepped forward. “We captured the elf, and I questioned him. Since Lunis refused to do his bidding again, he was denied the help of an insider, and he wasn’t able to ge
t in to see you easily. He never touched any of your beverages. So, unless you believe someone else might have felt the urge to poison you, it’s likely you have a simple virus.”
“An inconveniently timed one, then.” Targyon touched his forehead.
“Might I suggest that the stress and worry you’ve been feeling the last few days may have weakened your immune system?” Zenia asked.
Targyon grimaced. “If so, it’s not heartening to know I have the immune system of a doddering geriatric.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Zenia murmured.
“I might.” Jev winked and thumped Targyon’s shoulder. He firmly felt that humor was the way to deal with the night, at least around Targyon. If he had spent the day believing himself poisoned and dying, a laugh was exactly what he needed. Now, if he would simply cooperate and let out a little chuckle…
He looked more like he was once again contemplating vomiting. Maybe they ought to leave him alone until he felt better.
“You should try meditating, Sire,” Rhi offered. “To calm and center yourself. I meditate, and I never get sick.”
“I’ve seen you meditate,” Zenia murmured. “You sing to yourself and sway while tapping out beats on the tile floor with the butt of your bo.”
“So? The Codices of the Monk only say you have to meditate, not that you can’t sing while doing so.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing about silence?” Zenia asked.
“Absolutely.”
Targyon was gazing at the canopy again, his eyes sad and distressed. Since humor wasn’t working, Jev asked more seriously, “Will you be all right, Sire? If it’s the flu—and we’ve got a doctor coming up to make sure—you should feel better in a couple of days.”
“Yes. I was more concerned about… I’ll have to consider what to do about Agent Drem. And I guess I’d like Agent Cham to interview the rest of the Crown Agents to make sure they’re all loyal and ask them about their backgrounds too. See if anyone has any levers that can be pushed using friends or family. We can’t fire people if they do, but it would be good to be aware of it.”
“We can do that, Sire,” Zenia said gravely.
“We might need to hire some more people too. Trustworthy people. I’ll put you two in charge of finding and training new agents.”