“Not necessary,” Jev said. “We came to see how the Air Order feels about King Targyon. We heard the Earth Order was paramount in selecting him over older and wiser relatives who might have been suited to the position.”
“The Earth Order? I fear you’re mistaken, zyndar. They objected to Targyon as king. It was Water, Fire, and Air that banded together and cast their votes for him.”
“Ah, I must have heard incorrectly. Why did you support such a youthful king?”
“I had no say, you understand.” Uragran touched his chest. “I’m told the archmage received a vision from the White Dragon, and there was no doubt as to the content. Young King Targyon sat upon the throne, ushering in a peaceful and economically thriving era for Kor.”
“A vision?” Zenia couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.
Sazshen had never claimed to receive visions. The dragon founders had left the world millennia ago. Why would they be sending visions to people?
Uragran spread his arms. “I only know what I was told, though my dragon tear did not inform me of any dishonesty from the archmage. Have you not experienced visions, former inquisitor Cham?”
“No.”
“No?” He truly seemed taken aback. “Not in all your years serving the Blue Dragon?”
“You probably didn’t inhale enough of the blessed incense,” Jev muttered to her.
She might have snorted, but it was true that the incense burned in the prayer rooms tended to prompt hallucinations. Or visions, if one wanted to interpret them that way. Many of the mages and disciples did.
“I would be happy to take you to our prayer room and guide you through a cleansing if you wish to experience a vision,” Uragran told her. “And, ah, you too, Zyndar Dharrow.”
“I prefer to get cleansed with beer and wine.”
Uragran’s forehead creased.
“Old King Abdor was the same way,” Jev offered. “I’m not sure about the princes. I didn’t know them as well. Did you? Prince Dazron was born under the air sign, I understand. He must have come to the temple for guidance from time to time.”
Zenia hadn’t known that, and it occurred to her that she should have. In the past, she had never bothered reading news or gossip about the royal family, caring little for the intrigues that the royals and the zyndars always seemed to be a part of, intrigues that her fellow commoners found so fascinating. But now that she worked for the crown and her case revolved around the royal family, she should spend all her free time learning as much as possible about them. She vowed to do so.
“He was a busy man, but he came occasionally,” Uragran said.
“Did you have any trouble with him?” Zenia asked. “Did he ever butt heads with the archmage?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He was properly respectful of the archmage, despite his modest origins and Dazron’s princely status.”
Uragran spoke earnestly and didn’t ooze guile, but Zenia once again felt disadvantaged without her old dragon tear. She had no way to verify if he was telling the truth. He could have been sent out here to deal with her not because he was in charge but because he was a good liar.
“We were devastated by Prince Dazron’s abrupt passing,” Uragran added. “And that of his younger brothers. They were not of the air sign, but they were, nonetheless, good people. Any one of them would have been a good leader, I believe. Certainly less stress-inspiring than… my pardon.” He bowed his head. “It’s not appropriate to speak ill of the dead.”
“Abdor was a handful,” Jev said.
Uragran shook his head, not willing to speak further on the subject, but he didn’t deny that the old king was who he’d had in mind.
“Forgive me, but I have duties to attend,” Uragran said, lifting his head. “I must go. Do you require anything else?”
“Just to use your latrine before I leave,” Zenia said.
Uragran blinked, and his dragon tear, which lay visible over his robe, seemed to glow faintly. Zenia tried to summon a genuine need to use the facilities—maybe she should have slurped some water from the stream on the way to the temple—so Uragran wouldn’t, with his gem’s magical assistance, sense that she was lying.
“It’s back there.” He pointed to the hallway that happened to lead to the archmage’s office. “May I escort you?”
“To the latrine?” Jev raised his eyebrows. “To hold the washout paper for her? I had no idea Air inquisitors provided such an opulent experience to their guests.”
While Uragran blurted a flustered response, Zenia strode quickly away. She trusted Jev understood that she wanted to snoop, for he patted Uragran on the shoulder and asked some question meant to keep him from following her.
Zenia didn’t pretend to open the latrine door and step in. She hustled straight for the archmage’s office at the end of the corridor. She didn’t knock but tried the knob, expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t. She poked her head inside.
The archmage wasn’t there. She hadn’t truly expected him to be, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been. She had a feeling Uragran was lying or perhaps giving her half-truths. Even if she didn’t have a dragon tear and couldn’t be positive, she believed his attempt to distract her by talk of visions had been an intentional diversion.
A half-full glass of peach juice rested on a corner of the desk next to a partially eaten plate of scrambled eggs and gort leaves. The eggs did not appear to be congealed, so if the archmage had truly left town, he’d gone abruptly and less than an hour ago.
Zenia backed out, closing the door. She wished she had a half hour to snoop through the contents of the desk, but she could hear Uragran and Jev speaking in the great hall. The inquisitor would grow suspicious—more suspicious—if she was gone long.
She walked out of the hallway, collected Jev, who was discussing lemon hand lotion with Uragran, and pulled him to the door.
“Did you learn anything useful?” he murmured as they stepped outside. “In the latrine?”
“Just that the Air archmage is likely in town and maybe even in the temple. I wish I had my dragon tear. I could have used it to guide me to other magical sources in the temple, such as the dragon tear he wears.”
“So, you think someone saw us coming and the archmage has a guilty enough conscience that he didn’t want to talk to us?”
“To me, at least.” Zenia couldn’t know if that had to do with guilt or with the fact that she was ostracized. “They thought you were just my bodyguard.”
“Did I loom effectively?”
“I’m not sure. The inquisitor didn’t whiz down his leg in unadulterated terror.”
“True. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the lotion. What now?”
They stopped outside once they were out of the blind woman’s earshot, stepping off the road and into grass growing alongside the stream. A breeze whispered up the valley, stirring the oak and cottonwood branches. A lone olive tree rose up on the opposite side, the stout tree appearing older than the city itself.
“Let’s see if any other archmages are available for a chat,” Zenia said. “After that, back to the castle, I guess.”
Jev nodded. “After I get a list of symptoms and make an appointment with a medical expert, I also want to hunt in the castle library for lineage books.”
“Yes. It would be nice to catch someone in a lie, but maybe finding out more about the disease itself will lead us to the person who created it. Or found it and knew how to put it to use.”
“Either way, I suspect it’s a small group of individuals with the knowledge to do so.”
“If we find that person or persons, they could lead us to whoever hired them,” Zenia said.
“Let’s hope so. For Targyon’s sake.”
Zenia knew it was selfish, but she wanted to solve this case as much for her own sake as for the king’s. She felt she had to prove herself all over again in this new job, and if she didn’t… if Targyon believed he’d made a mistake in hiring her, what then? It was clear none o
f the other Orders wanted her. Would the watch hire her? She had briefly thought of applying to be a detective there, but the Orders worked closely with and had sway over the watch. What if Sazshen had also forbidden them from speaking with Zenia?
If this didn’t work out, she might not be able to find a job anywhere in the city.
Zenia firmed her chin as she and Jev headed to the next temple. She would solve this crime. And, dragon tear or not, Targyon would see how valuable she was to his team.
6
Jev yawned as he entered the castle’s huge library, its book-stuffed shelves reaching from floor to high ceiling. Two stories of the north wing were devoted to the depository of knowledge. Fortunately, he was too tired to feel daunted by the size of the place and the size of his task. He’d trailed Zenia all over the city, questioning people in each of the four Orders’ temples. Not archmages since they had all been mysteriously absent when he and Zenia had arrived.
Zenia had almost seemed relieved when that happened at the Water Order Temple. Jev couldn’t imagine she wanted to come face to face with her old employer, the woman who believed she’d betrayed the temple. And her.
On the way back to the castle, Zenia had decided they should also check in with the captain of the watch. At least he’d been at his desk and hadn’t hidden himself away before they came in. Not that it had mattered. The captain had claimed he didn’t know anything about the deaths, agreeing only that they had been odd. Terrible bad luck or perhaps something more.
Jev hadn’t found any of their talks that day enlightening. He hoped Zenia had gotten more out of them, perhaps learning something from the lies that had danced with truths. Whether she had or not, she’d skipped dinner when they’d returned and gone straight down to their new office. To see what Abdor’s original agents had managed to gather since she set them on the case.
He couldn’t fault her dedication to duty, but he wondered if she was sleeping. And where she was sleeping if she was. He knew she’d been ordered out of the temple, and she’d refused his offer of a room in his father’s castle. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to go back there, but he hoped she had found a suitable place to relax.
“Lineage records, where are you?” Jev murmured, eyeing the nearby stacks and hoping a page would wander out to assist him.
He’d been in the castle library before when he’d attended balls—in the last couple of decades, it had grown trendy to host social gatherings among one’s book collection, no doubt to show off one’s supposed intelligence—but he’d never tried to do research here.
“Are you speaking to the books?” came a voice from the shadows.
The sun had set an hour earlier, leaving the library largely in the dark save for a few lit wall lanterns near the entry. Jev spotted a figure sitting cross-legged on a piano bench, ignoring the piano and looking in his direction.
“Tar—Sire? Should you be in here alone? Sitting in the dark?”
There hadn’t been guards at the door, nor did Jev see any bodyguards lurking. He grabbed one of the wall lanterns and carried it toward Targyon.
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” Targyon said.
“I was hoping a page would hear my mumbling and come help me. I didn’t expect the books to respond. Though a talking directory would be handy.”
“There is a non-talking directory if you want to try it.” Targyon pointed toward a massive card catalog. “The pages only work until dusk.”
A closed book rested next to Targyon on the piano bench along with a glass of a dark liquid. “I snuck out of my suite. Mostly to see if I could, to see how long it would take my suffocating protectors to find me.”
“A flattering term for those who have agreed to step in front of an arrow and trade their lives for yours.”
Targyon winced.
Jev lifted an apologetic hand. It wasn’t his place to lecture or act the senior officer to his junior. Not anymore. “Unless the guards sleep in the suite with you, I imagine you won’t be missed until dawn.”
The wince turned into a grimace.
“They don’t, do they? Sleep with you?”
“No. They’re not allowed to sleep on shift. And they stay outside the door. There’s a manservant who wanders in every couple of hours to see if I need help bathing. Or wiping my ass.”
“You didn’t tell him you mastered that in the field?”
“I’d like to think I mastered that by age two.”
“A precocious child, were you?”
“My mother said so.” Targyon smiled faintly and took a large swig of his drink.
Jev would have assumed it to be alcohol—even though he hadn’t known Targyon to consume the stuff often, he could see where his new duties would drive him to drink—but he caught a whiff of pomegranate and realized it was juice. Maybe it should have been alcohol.
“She’s not coming.” Targyon set his glass down. “Nor is Father.”
“To visit?” Jev thought he’d seen Targyon’s parents at the coronation.
“To live here. You remember I told you they work as professors in Rokvann?”
“I seem to recall a tale of them falling madly in love and your mother neglecting to mention she was the king’s sister until they were engaged.”
“Yes, unlike her other siblings, she always thought our government system and the notion that some people were born the superiors of others complete ludicrousness. She didn’t want to support it. Her first suggestion to me was to dissolve the monarchy and establish something democratic.”
“That would go over well with zyndar families.” Jev didn’t mind chatting with Targyon, but he did want to find those lineage books before he fell asleep. And he still needed to locate people who’d cared for the princes when they had been sick and could describe their symptoms.
“Naturally. I’d be assassinated before I could more than make a suggestion to the court.” He took another drink, a bracing one. Maybe he had dumped some alcohol into the beverage. “I’m already being pressured to sign a bunch of documents that more or less affirm that I’ll maintain the status quo. I know it would be safest for me to do so, as has been hinted at not obliquely. But… even though I wouldn’t attempt to push my mother’s suggested reforms through, I would like to make some changes. To make a difference.”
“Might I suggest that it would be best not to rock the boat in the first year of your reign? Let the Orders and your court relax a bit. Your advisors must be as edgy as you as they wonder what they’re getting. Later, you can gradually institute some changes, maybe once you’ve put more people that are going to support you into positions of power. It’s favoritism, granted, but it’s something that’s expected. You would be foolish not to make sure you have supporters around.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“Oh? You think I’m going to support you? As your former commanding officer, it’s my job to ensure that you do your morning exercise routine and clean your boots and rifle every night before you go to bed. That’s it.”
Targyon’s second smile seemed more heartfelt.
“I was hoping my parents coming to stay here would be support too,” he said softly. “They would give me advice I could trust, no ulterior motivations. And I’d have normal people to talk to at meals. I understand why they want to stay in Rokvann, as they’re both still working and have no interest in retirement. My mother’s barely turned fifty-five, and Father’s not much older. But a selfish part of me hoped they would come here for me.” Targyon ran a hand along the closed lid over the piano keys. “I thought I might find it comforting down here.”
“Among the books?” Jev knew Targyon would prefer his science texts to whatever paperwork he’d been referring to.
“Yes. And the piano. We had one in the house when I was growing up. I enjoyed playing. And…”
“And?”
“This is silly, but as a boy, I’d drape blankets over the piano and hide underneath whenever there was a thunderstorm. Or I was a
fraid of anything.”
“So, I’m lucky I didn’t find you sprawled down there among the dust balls?”
“It crossed my mind.” Targyon looked wistfully between the piano legs, but he stood up instead. “I’m sorry, Captain. I whine to you every time you show up.”
“You can whine to me.” Jev opened his palm. “Though I hope you’re less open with people you don’t know as well.”
“I clam up around most of them. Growing up in Rokvann was a blessing, but a curse, too, because I know so little about the castle and this life. The staff. I don’t know who to trust, and I’m still concerned about the possibility of…” Targyon met Jev’s gaze. “Is your case progressing at all?”
“Not as quickly as Zenia would like.” Jev smiled. “I think she expected to figure everything out the same day and have a report on your desk by dusk.”
“I would have been amenable to that.”
“We’re working hard.” Jev hoped he hadn’t implied he expected this to drag on for months. “In fact, I came down here to do some research related to you and your blood. I don’t suppose you know where books are that detail your lineage?”
“I could find them easily enough.” Targyon’s ears perked as he turned toward the card catalog.
“Er.” Jev hadn’t meant to put him to work, but he had to admit Targyon would be a better researcher than he unless they found pages that need translation. “Good. We can look together.”
“What are we looking for specifically?”
“If any of your ancestors died the same way as the princes did.”
“Oh.” Targyon paused with his hand on the cabinet of drawers and grimaced over his shoulder. “Do you think that’s likely?”
“I don’t know, but I talked to Lornysh—did you know his people have some interesting ideas about where humans, orcs, dwarves, and elves originally came from?—and he suggested we figure out if this disease had ever struck before and if there was a mention of it anywhere. It’s possible someone researching your bloodlines chanced across the information and saw an opportunity.”
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 33