“If you can see my thoughts, you know it was my brother who acquired it somehow,” Jev said. “I’ve only heard rumors and gossip about what he was doing before he shipped off to Taziira.”
Sazshen looked over at her colleague. The woman looked back at her, and they shared nods, then focused again on Jev. He didn’t find their mental intrusion as alarming as he would have in his youth, before he’d had countless experiences with elven magic, but he did find it disturbing. And he wasn’t surprised when the ache at the back of his skull grew more intense.
We’ll see, Sazshen spoke into his mind.
Jev tried to stare at the ceiling and appear indifferent to the pain. At first, he managed a stoic facade as they scoured his mind, their search of his thoughts feeling like fiery knives raking across his brain. He didn’t know if they needed to cause pain to search, but they were doing so, perhaps believing he would be more likely to yield what he knew if they hurt him. Maybe there was some truth to that. Maybe a man in pain would have a harder time walling off his thoughts. Or maybe they just enjoyed this excuse to hurt him. He got a sense of self-righteous satisfaction from one of them, the belief that she was right in punishing him for all the sins he’d ever committed, all the blasphemous thoughts he’d ever had toward one of the dragon founders or those who served them.
Then the pain rose in intensity, and he could no longer contemplate their motives. He couldn’t contemplate anything. It all grew to be too much, and he cried out in pain, grabbing his temples and praying this would all end soon.
14
Zenia woke with a start, her heart thundering in her chest. Her blankets lay rumpled around her, and sweat dampened her nightshirt. She felt like she’d been entrenched in the clutches of a nightmare, but she couldn’t remember anything.
That morning, she’d closed her shutters on the bright sun, taken a sleeping draught the healer Mage Heryn had brought by, and hoped she wouldn’t lie awake and dwell on Sazshen’s disappointment. She hadn’t. She’d dropped off into an exhausted slumber.
Feeling hungover and groggy, Zenia pushed herself to her feet. She stepped over the sheepskin rug to open the shutters and let in sunlight. The clock on the wall said it was a little after noon, and vendors in the temple square shouted, hawking their lunchtime offerings.
She wondered when Sazshen would come get her for the interrogation. Or if she would.
After seeing Zenia so close to Jev, Sazshen might doubt her reliability or willingness to interrogate him. Her dedication to duty. But Zenia would question him. She wouldn’t let burgeoning feelings get in the way of her duty. If she was able to clear his name, they could pursue a relationship later. If he truly wanted that. Did he? Or had he had an ulterior motive for kissing her? Almost kissing her.
A stab of disappointment went through her that they hadn’t gotten a chance to truly kiss. But perhaps this was best. He might have simply been trying to manipulate her. Suborn her somehow. Make her want to sneak down to the dungeon in the dark of night, let him go, and then turn her back so he could escape.
As if she could do that. But did she truly think he would ask? If she’d accepted him as honorable in other areas, could she truly believe he would try to manipulate her?
“I don’t know,” she muttered, donning her robe.
She plucked up her brush from the dresser and poured water into the washbasin. She did know it would be wise to wait until after Jev was cleared of doubt and this artifact had been recovered before contemplating anything romantic. It boggled her mind that she might even want to contemplate romance. She, the woman who men always considered too dedicated to her duty to approach, too frosty. Too intimidating.
Jev had never been intimidated by her. She smiled, suspecting there weren’t many people who had ever intimidated him.
But could there truly be any future for them? She had always wanted to wait for marriage to have sex, to risk having children, and he was zyndar. What zyndar, especially one from such a renowned family, would marry a commoner?
A distant scream reached her ears, and she slammed her brush down. Had that come from within the temple or from outside somewhere? The thick stone walls muffled sound and made it hard to pinpoint origins.
The scream sounded again, a male scream. Her gut sank as certainty grasped her. Jev.
Zenia spun, yanked open the door, and sprinted down the corridor of sleeping quarters and through the great hall. As she ran, she realized Mage Heryn must have brought that draught by at Sazshen’s request. To make sure Zenia slept through the morning and stayed out of the way.
Supplicants, devotees, and people there to pay for their official blessed fortunes all turned at her swift passage, gaping at her as she ran, her blue robe slapping at her ankles.
She ground her teeth in anger and worry and ignored them all, racing through another corridor and to the stairs. She almost mowed over the dungeon guard as she passed, but he wisely stepped back, pressing his shoulder blades to the wall.
When Zenia rounded the corridor to sprint for Jev’s cell, she almost crashed into Sazshen and Inquisitor Marlyna.
“You started without me?” Zenia blurted, unable to keep it from sounding like an accusation.
She craned her neck to look past them, toward Jev’s cell. And her gut sank again. She could only see his arm but could tell from its position that he lay on the floor on his back. And that he wasn’t moving.
“We’ve completed the interrogation,” Sazshen said unemotionally. “He—”
Zenia pushed between them and ran to Jev’s cell. His eyes were closed, his arms and legs splayed, his face tilted toward the ceiling. Blood trickled from his nose and his left ear.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
They hadn’t relocked the cell door, so Zenia thrust it open and went in, kneeling beside him. She touched his face and drew upon her gem’s magic, though there was little she could do besides confirming he was alive but unconscious. For the first time ever, she wished she’d chosen a different career and studied the healer’s profession, learned to use her dragon tear for helping people. Then she could have helped him.
“I deemed that you were too close to him,” Sazshen said, “and might not perform an effective interrogation.”
“I can always perform an effective interrogation.” Zenia glowered at Sazshen, knowing she shouldn’t argue with her senior—the most senior person in the temple and the most powerful member of the Order of the Blue Dragon in the capital, if not the kingdom. But she couldn’t think about her career now, only her anger. Anger that Sazshen had replaced her with someone else and anger that they’d hurt Jev when it hadn’t been necessary.
She didn’t hurt people when she questioned them. Marlyna was known for having a heavy hand and dragging her long fingernails through people’s minds. Sazshen knew that. Had she chosen Marlyna on purpose? Had Sazshen, for some reason, wanted Jev hurt? But why? As far as Zenia knew, Sazshen didn’t have a grudge against the zyndar the way some did. The way Zenia did.
“I’m glad to know that,” Sazshen said, calm in the face of Zenia’s ire. “Since I would like to keep you on the assignment. He trusts you, as we learned, and that could be useful.”
Zenia took a deep breath, struggling to gather her wits—and her own calmness. Nothing could be gained by yelling at Sazshen. And much could be lost.
“He doesn’t know where it is, does he?” Zenia asked.
“No, but he had it at one point four years ago.”
“Oh?” That surprised her.
“Apparently, he didn’t know what it was or even that it was magical.” Sazshen’s lips thinned in skepticism, and she looked to Marlyna. For confirmation?
Marlyna nodded once.
“His brother had it and died wearing it. He never said anything about it, not even with his dying breath. Maybe the fool also didn’t know what it was.” Sazshen lifted her eyes toward the heavens. “Jevlain Dharrow sent it home with the rest of his brother’s personal belongings, and that wa
s the last he saw of it.”
“So… the brother was the thief?” Zenia still didn’t grasp what had happened, and that frustrated her. She wasn’t used to feeling slow. “He stole it from the temple, then sailed off to join the war to avoid our wrath?”
Zenia had worked at the temple when all this would have been happening, and she had already been an inquisitor, a trusted devotee of the Water Order. She didn’t remember any news of an artifact theft.
“From someone who was bringing it to the temple for our safekeeping, yes,” Sazshen said.
“Who?”
“One of our trusted inquisitors. It’s an elven artifact.”
“Something that had to do with the war? Or would have affected it?” Zenia hated vague answers. If she’d been questioning a criminal, she would have used her gem’s power to ensure the answers she received were specific and exactly what she wanted. But she couldn’t use her magic on Sazshen, not without her knowing it. Further, Sazshen had the power to defend herself from magical prying.
“Something that would have affected it greatly, yes. Something that could have caused riots in the streets here at home. In the entire kingdom. We couldn’t have allowed that, not with our forces split between Kor and Taziira. We needed to keep the artifact safe. That it was stolen was horrific, a terrible failing on our part. It’s only the founders’ luck that it hasn’t been used in the past four years.”
Sazshen shook her head, and even though Zenia didn’t draw upon her magic, she sensed the archmage was telling the truth, even if she was still being irritatingly vague about it.
“And would it have value now?” Zenia asked. “The potential to cause riots?”
Sazshen’s gaze sharpened. “It has great value. And the potential to change the course of history. We must have it back.” Sazshen extended her hand toward Zenia, not looking at the unconscious Jev beside her. “I know you’re frustrated and want better answers, Zenia. Because I know you. But some secrets must be kept to a select few, to those who have been chosen to protect all that we believe and hold dear. Some secrets are too dangerous for the general populace to know.”
Zenia kept her face from scrunching up with skepticism—and being considered part of the “general populace.” Barely.
“One day, I will share all of my secrets with my successor.” Sazshen spread her palm toward Zenia. “With you, I hope.”
Behind her, Marlyna stirred, but she did not say anything.
“But you must do one more task for me, Zenia. Get the artifact and bring it home. Where it’ll be safe, and where its secrets won’t cause riots. It is up to us to protect the kingdom from further trouble. From future follies.”
Future follies? Did she speak of the potential for another war? Or reference the last one?
Zenia knew that only one of the elemental Orders had sided openly with the king in his decision to take forces to Taziira, but she hadn’t heard Sazshen speak against the war or the old king. None of the archmages had. Because they hadn’t dared? Zenia didn’t know, but she did know that King Abdor had been rumored to command numerous assassins and that people who vocally opposed his rule had occasionally disappeared.
“How do I find it?” Zenia laid a hand on Jev’s chest. He still hadn’t stirred.
“Go with him, and I think he’ll lead you to it. He believes he can piece together clues from questioning people within Dharrow Castle. And if he can’t, I’m sure you can.”
Dharrow Castle. Zenia stared bleakly at Sazshen. Jev had wanted to go back there the night before. No, he’d never wanted to leave. But Zenia had finagled him into coming to the temple. If he had stayed at his home, he might have already located the gem. Zenia could have walked up this morning, explained that it was stolen, and taken it from him.
All this pain and effort had been for naught. She gazed down at him, at the blood dried on his face.
“Find it and bring it back to the temple,” Sazshen ordered. “He shouldn’t have any need for it, and he understands that it’s not his to keep.”
Zenia kept her face toward Jev instead of looking at Sazshen, but frustration welled inside of her. Not only had all this pain been for naught, but if someone from the Water Order had simply walked up and explained everything to Jev when he stepped off his ship, he likely would have cooperated. All this secrecy and suspicion had only made everything worse.
“I understand,” she forced herself to say as she looked up. “I’ll go with him, and we’ll find it.”
“Then bring it back to me. The new king will be crowned tomorrow. We must have this artifact in our safekeeping so it can’t be used to cause trouble during or after the ceremony. The kingdom is already in an upheaval over the deaths of Abdor and the princes. It can’t take more upheaval right now.”
Zenia thought it was interesting that Sazshen mentioned keeping the artifact safe during the coronation, not sharing it or information about it with the new king. Would he ever be informed? This Eye of Truth sounded like something he should know about if it could possibly affect all of Kor someday.
Sensing Sazshen wouldn’t answer any more questions if she asked, Zenia nodded and said, “I’ll find it.”
“And bring it back,” Sazshen repeated, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes, of course, Archmage,” Zenia said, stung that her superior might doubt her after all these years. And doubt that she would do everything she could to ensure Sazshen had good reason to name Zenia as her successor.
Zenia wanted that position more than ever now. So there would be no more secrets that were inaccessible to her. She wanted all the knowledge and to understand everything going on in the city and the world around her.
“I’ll bring it back.”
Jev woke with a throbbing headache and squinted at the light coming through the window. It was too bright. Too irritating.
A hand touched his face, surprising him. He turned toward it, even though his eyes couldn’t deal with the light yet, and he couldn’t see the owner. Immediately, he sensed that it wasn’t either of those two shrews who’d tortured him.
“Zenia?” he guessed.
“Yes.” Her thumb brushed his cheek.
That was promising. He realized he was lying on the floor of his cell. That was less promising.
“You’ll have a headache for a while, I’m afraid, as I can’t do anything about mental pain, but I’ve applied a healing salve to your bullet wound. And, uhm, also to your eardrum and the membrane in the nostril that split open.”
“Membrane?” Jev touched his nose.
He remembered a warm trickle of blood coming from his ear earlier, but he’d been in so much pain from whatever those women had done inside his skull, he’d barely noticed it. He didn’t remember a nosebleed at all, but it didn’t surprise him.
“Yes, up in your nose. I couldn’t find anything to more easily slide the salve up there, so I used my finger. Sorry about that.”
“You stuck your finger up my nose? Huh. You’re a good woman.”
She snorted. “Yes, I am.”
Her humor didn’t last long. She laid a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry they hurt you. That wasn’t necessary. I was—I still am—angry that I wasn’t allowed to handle it. I know it doesn’t make any difference to you now, but I don’t hurt people when I question them.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m also angry that Archmage Sazshen had someone bring me a sleeping potion so I didn’t know any of this was happening. I thought she was being considerate. She just wanted me out of the way because she thought I was biased.”
“Are you?” Jev remembered the almost kiss and managed a roguish smile for her. Or maybe it was a wan smile. That light was still bright, and his eyes were watering.
“Perhaps a little.”
“Does that mean you’ll quit your job in an indignant huff and flee the harsh ways of your temple?”
“Actually, I’m trying to get a promotion.”
He managed a short, hoarse laugh. But she wasn’t laughing. He pried hi
s eyes open, looking for humor on her face, only to see that she was utterly serious.
“If I were archmage, I could do much to effect change in the temple, and it’s what I’ve worked for my whole life.”
“Your whole life? You can’t even be that old. Thirty?” He felt like a hypocrite after the words came out. He was only thirty-three. When had that started seeming old? After five or six years of fighting in Taziira, he supposed.
“I’m thirty-two. I became an inquisitor at twenty-two, the youngest ever in the history of the Water Order. I’d been apprenticed to another inquisitor—he has since retired—for more than five years before that. And for the five before that, I was in school here in the temple, being taught everything. I didn’t know how to read and had no education at all before I was orphaned, before they took me in. I owe the temple a lot.”
“I… see.” Jev had been joking when he’d suggested she quit—sort of—but he wouldn’t have made the joke if he’d known all that. He had no trouble grasping loyalty and why it was important. Raised on the Zyndar Code of Honor, he understood it perhaps more than most. He just wished she didn’t feel it toward the people who had tortured him.
“Who was—is?—your father?” Jev asked, remembering Iridium’s words about Zenia’s heritage.
If her father was zyndar, why would she have been orphaned? Jev knew about bastard children that randy zyndar men had out of wedlock, and that such a child would be denied any inheritance and might not be acknowledged, but most men quietly gave the mother some money and saw to it the child could go to school and have opportunities.
Zenia leaned back, looking toward the high window. Deciding whether to answer? Maybe she didn’t want him knowing that much about her, or feared he would use the knowledge against her somehow.
“Zyndar Veran Morningfar,” she said quietly.
“Oh?” Jev knew the name. He was familiar with people from most of the zyndar families in the kingdom since his father had often sent him to social gatherings in the city and dinners at Alderoth Castle—his father hated such things and had been glad when Jev had turned sixteen, the age one was allowed to be named heir and sent off to represent the family. “He’s zyndar prime and owner of all the Morningfar land, isn’t he? It’s a small estate, and the Morningfars aren’t the oldest and most prosperous family, but he should have had enough money to send any offspring to school.”