Blood Ties

by Lindsay Buroker

  He’d recovered his equanimity and merely leaned a hip against the desk and regarded her blandly.

  “I’d try the castle first, Jev,” Targyon said. “Her mother lives there and can tell you where she’s gone if she’s not there, but I believe her lab is in the basement. Since she was exiled from the university, it seems likely she is living and working out there.”

  Iridium listened intently as they spoke. Jev had deliberately not used Nhole’s name, and he noticed Targyon also left it out. However, if the person responsible for killing the princes had used a zyndari doctor, even their vagueness would be enough to light signal fires. Jev watched Iridium’s face closely.

  “Thank you for that information, Sire,” Jev said. “That’s all I needed to know. We’ll head up there soon.”

  Iridium’s expression grew more guarded. Jev couldn’t tell if she had an idea what they were talking about or not. Too bad. It would have been nice to know if the Fifth Dragon had anything to do with the deaths or if they knew who had.

  Jev wished Zenia still had a dragon tear. He would like to interrogate Iridium, if only casually. He would have to find out if others in the agents’ office had dragon tears they could use for reading minds and detecting truths.

  “I have another appointment soon, Javala,” Targyon told Iridium.

  She flinched at the name. Her real one? Judging by her reaction, she hadn’t been the one to give it to Targyon.

  “I’ll keep your words in mind,” Targyon added as he gestured toward the door.

  “And my offer, I’m certain.” Iridium glanced at his belt—no, his crotch.

  Jev didn’t roll his eyes since his father had long ago informed him that such immaturity was unbefitting a zyndar. But he couldn’t resist commenting. “An offer to make him number twenty-eight?”

  Targyon lifted his eyebrows.

  “She has notches on her bedpost,” Jev explained.

  “Were you twenty-seven?” Targyon asked.

  “I was not, due to the interruption I mentioned.”

  Iridium, perhaps irritated by them chatting about her while she stood in the room, strode toward the door. But she skewered Jev with her gaze on the way out and said, “It’s twenty-nine now, Dharrow. Don’t think you’re the only sexy zyndar I can lure to my—”

  “Lair?” he interrupted.

  She smiled again, but her eyes closed to those dangerous slits. He couldn’t bring himself to feel daunted by her, no matter how powerful and well-connected she was in the underworld. Maybe that made him a fool, but after dealing with the very magical and very deadly Taziir, she seemed a mundane threat in comparison.

  “I advise you to watch your back,” she murmured, pausing at his shoulder. “Nobody cared about you when you were some rural zyndar plumping your grapes and swilling wine, but my element doesn’t care much for agents of the Crown. If we must endure them at all, we prefer they be old, fat, and easily bribed.”

  The glare she shot over her shoulder to Targyon seemed triumphant.

  Without another word, she walked out, offering a sexy, “Hello, boys,” to the bodyguards as she passed. Someone shut the door.

  Targyon sighed. “I guess that was a confirmation that Zyndar Garlok isn’t to be trusted. He’s not exactly fat, but at sixty, Iridium might consider him old.”

  Old, fat, and easily bribed reminded Jev more of Brokko, the double-jowled agent who had leered at Zenia. He made a note to look into his past and his associations.

  “I’ll inform him of his retirement as soon as he returns from his holiday,” Targyon added.

  “I wouldn’t take anything Iridium says as confirmation of anything, Sire. I’m sure she lies more naturally than fish swim.”

  “Yes,” Targyon murmured and glanced at his chair.

  Had Iridium been lying to him about something while she’d been in the process of… How had he let himself end up with her in his lap? Jev was tempted to ask, but he reminded himself that Targyon was his king now, not his junior officer. He shouldn’t pass judgment or question him. And definitely not lecture him. He ought to go now and do his duty, nothing more.

  “Did you invite her here or did she invite herself?” Jev asked.

  So much for going.

  “I didn’t invite her, but I could have chosen not to let her in. I thought it might be educational to hear what she had to say.” Targyon rubbed a red spot on the side of his neck.

  Iridium hadn’t bitten him, had she? Or sucked overly enthusiastically…

  “I’ll bet,” Jev said.

  “It’s occurred to me that she or one of the guild leaders might have been behind my cousins’ deaths—I understand Prince Dazron was attempting to stamp them out this past year, since their influence had grown in the city, as had the murder rate.”

  “Huh.” Jev wished he had something more articulate to say. He shouldn’t need to get his intelligence from Targyon. Wasn’t it his job to dig everything up? “Some agents in the office do believe the criminal organizations may have played a role—or dictated a role. Zenia suspects the Orders since they specifically chose you. Also, we found all the archmages suspiciously out of town when we went by to interview them yesterday. They seem to have something to hide.”

  “Very possibly. Any other suspects?”

  “Other than the research doctor you’re sending me off to question?”

  “Mm, she’s not a suspect, I don’t think, so much as a means to the end for a suspect.” Targyon lifted his shoulders. “Iridium didn’t react when we brought her up.”

  “No, but I think she could hide a reaction easily enough.”

  “Yes.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and the secretary opened it a crack. “Your next meeting is here, Sire.”

  “Thank you, Nutch.”

  “Nobody else who’s going to try to seduce you, I hope.” Jev headed for the door.

  “If Zyndar Gaminrokdor does, it’ll prove far less effective.”

  Jev paused with his hand on the knob. “Would Iridium’s attempts have been effective if I hadn’t butted in?”

  “No. I was about to dump her on the floor. It did occur to me that maybe I could try to seduce her…” Targyon’s gaze dipped to the sheepskin rug at his feet, his cheeks turning faintly pink. “You know, to get information. But I knew she was a master, and my attempts would be bumbling and laughable.”

  Jev didn’t want to insult his monarch by agreeing, so he simply offered a sympathetic wave of his hand. “We can find you someone less masterful to practice on if you wish.”

  “No, no. I am a believer in the zyndar code and chivalrous love. It was just nice to imagine for a moment that she—a pretty woman—found me desirable as a person. I suppose I’ll never know that now. It’ll always be political. Maybe I should just ask my mother to arrange me a marriage before the advisors I inherited suggest it.”

  “Would she?” Jev thought of Targyon’s description of his mother as particularly un-zyndarly.

  “Maybe not. She’s said that only dogs should be penned together for breeding purposes and only if they’re from a particularly fine hunting line. She might set me up on dates. That would probably be worse.”

  Jev thought of his own upcoming date, glad it had been secured but sad a night had not been set. Alas, it sounded like Zenia wouldn’t be game until they finished the case. What were the odds that all their answers would be at Nhole Castle and they could resolve everything by nightfall?

  He smiled wistfully at the thought.

  The door opened, and Jev stepped aside. A stocky, bald zyndar prime wearing fur-trimmed silk robes walked into the office.

  “Zyndar Dharrow,” he rumbled, nodding to Jev, though he appeared surprised to see him.

  Jev nodded back. “Zyndar Gaminrokdor. I’m on my way out.”

  “Excellent.”

  Jev tried to decide if there was anything suspicious about the way the man said that but decided not. Gaminrokdor strode to Targyon and bowed low.

  “I�
�d definitely get him his own chair,” Jev whispered, drawing a snort from Targyon and a confused frown from Gaminrokdor.

  Jev bowed himself out, thinking again of how lovely it would be to get to the bottom of everything by the end of the day.

  The steam carriage came with a driver and also a fireman, someone who shoveled coal into the firebox as needed to keep the water in the boiler hot enough to power the engine. The Water Order kept horses and horse-drawn carriages and did not have any steam-powered vehicles, perhaps because monks and mages who walked around the city in garments that had changed little in a thousand years would look odd in such modern contraptions. Or maybe Archmage Sazshen simply hadn’t wanted to pay for drivers and engineers capable of operating the vehicles.

  Jev didn’t seem to think anything of riding inside the velvet-lined carriage while others sat on a bench up front and did the work of driving it, but Zenia wondered if they should have borrowed a couple of the king’s horses instead. Thirty miles was a long ride on horseback, however, and they wouldn’t have arrived until well after dark. The steam carriage, she was told, could travel up to twenty miles an hour on level roads.

  “Did you see Iridium?” Zenia hadn’t wanted to ask at the vehicle house, since it and the nearby stable had been filled with workers. “Anything to worry about?”

  “Yes, and probably yes,” Jev said, “but Targyon is smart enough to avoid any entanglements.”

  “Are you sure? She’s sexy and knows how to use her body.”

  “I noticed that when she was sitting on the edge of her bed and stroking her nearly bare breasts. It was a very revealing blouse.”

  Since Jev had already admitted he hadn’t had sex with Iridium, Zenia kept herself from imagining them in bed together with their limbs entwined. Mostly.

  “Is that what she was wearing for Targyon?”

  “No, but today’s attire was also sexy and slinky. Zyndari women would call it scandalous to dress so revealingly in the king’s court. Or at all. And Targyon… I’m sure it didn’t escape his notice that she’s pretty, but he has nearly limitless options now that he’s king. He could take six pretty courtesans to bed at once, if he wished, none of whom lead criminal organizations that want to use him as a figurehead.”

  The idea of bookish Targyon in bed with six women was almost as alarming as that of Jev entwined with Iridium.

  “Something all young kings should aspire to do, I’m sure,” Zenia murmured.

  Jev flashed her a grin. “Do you know anything of Zyndari Dr. Ghara Nhole?”

  “I hadn’t heard of her until you gave me her name this morning.”

  “I only know what Targyon told me, but I’ll share it with you. Or do I need to?” Jev tilted his head curiously. “I heard from Lunis Drem in the office that you went up to the library while I was seeing Targyon. Was it to pick out our future picnic spot, or were you researching the doctor?”

  “I did look her up.” Zenia was surprised that Jev already knew her well enough to guess, though she supposed it hadn’t been a stretch. Still, it pleased her that he paid attention. “It was hard to find much since she’s a contemporary of ours rather than a historical figure who’s been written up in books, but I did find a textbook for Trakmeer University that she co-authored and also a dozen papers she’s published.”

  “In other words, you know more about her than I do.”

  “Maybe not. I don’t know anything about her, just about the work she’s done. Her interests do seem to be widespread, and three of her papers were on diseases in humans. The only one that was in the castle library discussed a disease that is rampant in pigs and can be transferred to humans and infect them. Apparently, it’s rare for the same viruses to affect multiple species.”

  “Was it scintillating reading?” Jev asked.

  “It wasn’t uninteresting, even if it’s not my field. I do feel I’ve gotten to know the woman a little through her work. She taught at the university for a few years before leaving her job and the city.”

  “Because she wanted to jump into a career of creating custom diseases to infect the royal family?” Jev asked, though Targyon had already told him about the riots and Nhole being asked to leave.

  Zenia wrinkled her nose skeptically. “Do you really think she has anything to do with it?”

  Jev shrugged. It seemed unlikely that the first person they went to talk to—the first living person—would be the culprit behind everything.

  “Targyon suggested it as a possibility, but not, I don’t think, because he suspected her of having a motive. It was more that she might be capable of finding or altering a pathogen that could selectively kill. I gather from talking to Targyon—and he’s far more aware of science research and those doing it than we are—and also Lornysh that there aren’t many people who could do what we think happened.” Jev waved a finger and said something in Elvish. It had the cadence of some oft quoted maxim.

  “What was that?”

  “A fenced garden does nothing but reveal the cleverest animals in the forest.”

  “Hm.” Zenia leaned back in her padded seat, the ride thus far surprisingly smooth as they wound into the foothills outside the city. A wide glass window that could be cranked open allowed her to see the distant green mountains ahead of them. “How did you learn to speak Elvish? And a number of human languages? I don’t think you’ve told me.”

  “You never asked.”

  “I know. That was an oversight on my part, to be honest. I should have tried to learn as much about you as possible when I was sent to arrest you. Had you been some odious mastermind villain, I would have researched you heavily on the way to the docks, but I wasn’t given much time. Also, I assumed you’d be…” She eyed him as she considered her words.

  “An idiot?”

  “Fluffy.”

  Jev lifted his tunic and looked at his flat stomach.

  “I said fluffy, not flabby or fat. Decorative. Like most other zyndar I’ve met.”

  The carriage wobbled, and Zenia gripped her seat and glanced out the window. Had they hit a pothole? So far, the road—one of the king’s highways that eventually crossed the mountains and stretched to the towns on the desert border—had been without bumps.

  The wobble came again as tall grasses alongside the road whipped in the wind. It had to be gusting impressively to affect the large steam carriage.

  “I’ll have to introduce you to some of the other zyndar who went to war and led companies. If we were fluffy or flabby before, the years in those elven jungles honed us.” Jev lowered his shirt—too bad since it had been a nice view. “I can’t say we always acted honorably though. In the beginning, we did. We had these noble ideals about striding out onto battlefields and facing the enemy in combat with arranged rules. The Taziir didn’t show up at the battlefields. They shot at us from the trees, then raced off. Sneaked into our camps at night and lit tents on fire. They destroyed our food rations, slit a few throats, and disappeared into the night.” He looked out the window on his side of the carriage, his eyes taking on a distant aspect.

  He hadn’t answered her question, but she wouldn’t push him. Maybe it was too hard for him to talk about any part of the war without growing mired helplessly in a painful past. Sometimes, she was surprised he was so affable after all the time spent over there, living on the edge.

  “It was frustrating after a while, and it turned some of us into monsters,” Jev said. “I found myself yelling curses and firing into the forest one evening, hoping I’d randomly hit one of them and do some good. I heard words coming out of my mouth that—well, I sounded like my father. That was sobering. I decided that I wasn’t doing any good just lining up and shooting into the woods. There had to be a better way. Maybe if we understood our enemy a little more, it would be easier to defeat them.”

  Jev smiled slightly, though his gaze remained locked on the window, on the increasingly rural landscape outside.

  “I didn’t realize knowing them better would result in understanding th
em better and seeing the world, at least a little bit, through their eyes. At the time, we had captured a young elf woman. Nobody wanted to shoot a woman, even if she’d proven she would shoot us with that bow of hers, so she was just tied up. Now and then, someone tried to get her to answer questions. I’d been keeping an eye on her, so none of my men—this was when I still led Dharrow Company and they truly were my men from my land—would harass her.

  “I started bringing her food and lured her into speaking with me. I’d like to say I charmed her into teaching me her language, but I think she was smarter than that and decided it might be good for her people to have someone fluent in Elvish on the other side, so they could negotiate more easily with us. It was more difficult to learn than the human languages I’d picked up in school and when we had foreign guests one summer. Much more so. No common roots like with so many of our languages. But we had her as a guest in camp for a while since a huge snow came, and not freezing became more of a priority than battling the enemy. Eventually, she escaped—I almost had the feeling she could have all along and she’d simply been waiting to teach me her language first. Later, I got better at it when I had Lornysh to practice on, and I picked up dwarven from Cutter. He’s tried to teach me to cut gems, too, but my natural aptitudes end at languages and lawn darts.”

  “Lawn darts?”

  “Yes, you’ll have to come out to the castle this summer. I can impress you with my uncanny skill.” Jev smiled at her, but his gaze was drawn back to the window. “Those are some dark clouds out there. It looks like we’re heading toward a storm.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t grab horses instead of the carriage.”

  “Were you contemplating that? For a thirty-mile ride?”

  “I felt guilty making those two men out there toil so we could ride in comfort in this gilded box.”

  “They do get paid,” Jev said dryly.

  “Spoken like a zyndar.”

  “I’m guessing they get paid well to work for the king. There’s nothing demeaning about the work. Didn’t you have people at the temple who did the necessary physical labor while you inquisitors basked in the life of luxury?”