Rhi’s eyes closed to slits. Did she suspect Zenia was speaking as much about herself as about her?
“I’ve also heard the watch uniforms bind and chafe when they get wet,” Zenia said. “They’re not nearly as comfortable as your oversized pajamas.”
“Ha ha.” Rhi sniffed and frowned. “I definitely smell smoke.”
“Me too. I’m going to check on it.” Zenia draped the dragon tear necklace over her head again.
Rhi grabbed her bo, and they jogged to the trapdoor. When Zenia opened it and peered into the stable below, she saw the one lantern burning in its spot by the door. Nothing appeared amiss, but the horses were agitated, whinnying and neighing and bumping against the walls of their stalls. The smell of smoke was stronger in here.
Zenia hadn’t closed the front door to the stable, since it had been open when she arrived, and the air near it was hazy. Orange light shifted and flickered somewhere outside.
Zenia skimmed down the stairs and ran up the aisle to the door. Then gasped at what she saw.
Flames licked at the walls of the old farmhouse, burning wood that had stood for countless generations. Fire lit up several rooms on the bottom floor, burning bright behind the windows.
“Help!” someone cried from the second story.
Founders, that sounded like the daughter of one of the other boarders.
Rhi cursed and rushed past Zenia and toward the back door of the house.
“Wait,” Zenia barked. She knew her friend would never stand by while people were in trouble, so all she did was wave toward the well. “Wet yourself down first!”
Rhi hesitated, then sprinted to the side. She dumped the full bucket Zenia had left there earlier over her head and sprinted into the burning house without a backward glance.
Zenia, having few delusions of carrying people out over her shoulder, ran to the well to pull up another bucket. The water inside seemed woefully inadequate given how much of the house was on fire, but what more could she do?
A vibration came from her chest, the dragon tear almost humming to her. Zenia paused, her hand on the crank. What could it do in this situation?
She imagined water flowing out of the well to douse the house but didn’t know if even that would be enough against the raging fire. Nor did she know if the dragon tear had that kind of power. She—
A thrum of energy emanated from the stone, radiating through her entire body. Then a great whooshing sound came from the well.
Zenia sprang back as water spewed out of it, arched over the yard and spread into a fan as it hit the house. She gaped as an entire river seemed to spatter the exterior of the structure.
Flames went out, but inside, the fire burned heartily. She imagined the windows flying open so the water could enter the building.
With another thrum of energy and a burst of blue light, the dragon tear caused it to happen. Shutters flew open, and windows not designed to open fell out, panes full of glass dropping softly onto the grass below.
Rhi ran out the back door, her blue gi covered in soot and smoke wafting behind her. She carried a girl in her arms, and a man and woman staggered out after her, the man almost on his knees.
Rhi gaped at the water streaming over the path as she set the girl down, and her mouth dropped even lower when she looked at Zenia. She shook her head and ran back inside.
Were there more people trapped? Zenia peered through the windows, but the water striking the fire created great plumes of smoke throughout the house, and she couldn’t see anything. Maybe the dragon tear could shield her with magical energy and she could run inside to search with Rhi?
But before she took a step toward the building, a strange awareness filled her. Just as she’d been able to sense magic when she’d carried her last dragon tear, she was now able to sense the life in and around the farmhouse.
The landlady and three other tenants had made it out the front and were yelling to neighbors, trying to elicit help. Zenia sensed Rhi running toward an upstairs bedroom where the last person inside was trapped, the landlady’s elderly father. A beam had fallen and blocked his door. He was trying to crawl under it and to shove it away so he could open the door, but it was too heavy. He yelled out for help.
Rhi reached his door and rammed her shoulder against it, trying to force it open. It only opened an inch before the beam blocked it. She snarled and shoved with her shoulder.
Zenia wrapped her fingers around the dragon tear and willed it to move that beam. Could it lift something so heavy? So wedged into that spot?
The water streaming from the well stopped. Because it had run dry? Or because the dragon tear was focusing on the beam?
A thunderous snap came from inside the house. Through her gem, Zenia sensed the beam breaking in half and both pieces flying across the room. The door opened for Rhi so abruptly she fell inside, almost landing on the man. He cried out in relief, and she dragged him to his feet. They staggered down the charred stairs and out the back door.
Zenia slumped against the well, exhausted even though the dragon tear had done all the work. She’d merely had a few thoughts to guide it in what to do. Founders, she was still floored by what all it could do. Floored and thankful. Everyone had made it out of the fire.
The house still burned in places, but the well water had doused most of the structure. Zenia had no idea if it would be livable after this.
“She’s a mage,” the girl blurted, pointing at Zenia.
Everyone in the backyard turned to stare at her.
Zenia lifted a hand, hoping that had been a thankful proclamation rather than a condemnation. Magic as a whole wasn’t trusted in the kingdom, but dragon tears had always been an exception. They were rare but still commonplace enough that most people had met someone with one and seen them at work. Granted, few of them worked quite so dramatically as this one.
A soft vibration emanated from the dragon tear. It reminded Zenia of the contentment of a purring cat.
“Maybe you’ll get reduced rent after this,” Rhi said, limping over to the well, not quite hiding a grimace of pain.
“I bet you would,” Zenia said. “If you decide you need a room. Watchmen and women aren’t provided room and board.”
“It’s a bit charred and soggy for my tastes now.” Rhi waved to the house. “Unless you’re inviting me to share the hayloft.”
Zenia opened her mouth to offer the couch, but a thought occurred to her, and the words didn’t come out. She looked over the fence to the houses on either side of this one. They hadn’t been touched by the fire, and she doubted the ones across the street had been either. So, the fire had originated here. It could have been caused by a lamp tipping over or a spark escaping a hearth, but a boulder settled in her stomach as she doubted anything so innocent had happened.
What if this had been for her? Meant to scare her off the case or even to kill her? If she hadn’t been in the stable, she might have died in the house fire just as the rest of these people almost had.
If a spy had been observing her from the street each night, watching her walk through the front gate and toward the house, he might not have realized Zenia ultimately walked around the house and back to the stable. To an observer out there, she might appear to be one of the tenants with a room inside.
She swallowed at the notion of being spied upon. Was it likely, or was she being paranoid?
Being spied upon seemed more likely. Too many people had disappeared from their offices right before she and Jev had arrived to talk to them. Someone might have been watching them, either physically or through the use of a dragon tear and magic, since they first started on this case. Someone who wanted to make sure the truth wasn’t discovered?
“Actually,” Zenia said slowly, “I might accept the king’s offer to let me stay in a room at the castle.”
Rhi looked sharply at her. “Castles aren’t overly flammable, I understand.”
“I hope that’s true.”
15
The family had already
dined when Jev arrived. As a dutiful and loyal heir, he shouldn’t be glad to have missed the event, but he’d heard from his cousin Wyleria that meals had been strained lately.
Father had exiled Grandmother Visha to a distant hut on the back half of the property with livestock, provisions, and a garden sufficient for her to sustain herself, and he’d ordered nobody but her doctor to visit her ever again. He’d also ordered the textiles she’d woven and hung around Dharrow Castle over the years folded up and locked away in a chest never to be touched again. Even though nobody condoned what Visha had done, many of their kin thought the punishments too harsh for such an old woman. Jev didn’t know how he felt, and his emotions were a tangle on the matter. He never would have wanted his grandmother harmed, physically or emotionally, but she’d shot his mother, her own daughter. It still shocked him like a bullet to the heart.
“Good evening, Jev,” Wyleria said from the doorway as he dismounted and handed the reins to the stableboy.
“How are you doing, Wy?” He stepped up to the door and gave her a hug.
“It’s a difficult time. To make my days more fraught, Mother has started trying to arrange a marriage for me. She’s been muttering about how Dharrow Castle is cursed now that she knows exactly what happened to her sister. I think she wants me married to some zyndar far across the land so she can follow me away from this place.” Wyleria’s mouth twisted with distaste, either at the idea of an arranged marriage or because of her mother’s superstition. Maybe both.
“Maybe you can find a willing man and arrange a marriage for yourself first.” The topic reminded Jev that he needed to talk to his father to make sure he didn’t accept any offers that drifted over from Nhole Castle or anywhere else.
“That’s not traditionally been where my tastes lie.”
“In willing men? You prefer unwilling ones?”
“I prefer… Well, it’s not important. Even though I’m not the heir to the Prime, there are expectations.” Wyleria smiled, but her eyes were sad.
He thought about prying, but if she hadn’t shared her love interests with him before, then it meant she didn’t want to. She certainly shared everyone else’s interests with him. She’d been one of his few family members to write him more than once a year when he’d been away.
“What brings you in so late?” she asked. “We’ve been speculating that the king will give you a room at the castle since you work there now. This is a long ride to make every morning and night. Jhiroth is crestfallen though. He was looking forward to hearing stories of your tales at war, and he keeps asking if you need a squire.”
“To help me and my horse into suits of armor before we ride out onto the battlefield?”
Jev might have smiled at the antiquated idea, but he felt more wistful than dismissive of it, wishing they’d faced their enemies on battlefields at agreed upon times, the way war had been conducted in past centuries. There hadn’t been any suits of armor in Jev’s war. Anything thick enough to stop a magical elven arrow—or a human bullet or cannonball—would have been too heavy to traipse through forests in. Even their chainmail vests had been cumbersome and noisy when they had been racing through the woods and crawling through undergrowth to find—or evade—their elven enemies.
“At seven, he probably couldn’t lift a helmet, but I’m sure he would help in whatever manner possible,” Wyleria said. “He’s decided that working around the castle is dreadfully boring and that your life must be fascinating in comparison.”
“It’s had its moments lately.” Jev thought of the elven guard creature. “I can ask Targyon if the castle needs any more pages, but I don’t know if Jhiroth is old enough or would find that work any more appealing in the end.” He patted her on the shoulder, then lowered his voice so the stableboy wouldn’t hear the rest. “Have you seen Lornysh around?”
Since Wyleria had supplied Lornysh with a cloak and camping gear, she was the most likely to have glimpsed him lately. Lornysh had no need to hide from her.
“Not for a couple of days. I got the impression he was moving somewhere else. He thanked me for my hospitality.” She grimaced. “All I did was give him some supplies for living in the woods. Your father’s head would have turned purple and popped off if I even suggested an elf be allowed inside the walls again. Most people wouldn’t consider that hospitality.”
“Elves aren’t most people. What about Cutter?” Jev wouldn’t mind an update on Cutter’s tool-finding quest, and he was also the most likely person around to know where Lornysh had gone.
“Oh, he’s here. He wouldn’t come to the dinner table—your father eyes him with a lot of suspicion even though he hasn’t forbidden him to stay—but he’s taken to helping Mildrey while she works. Well, talking to her and drinking ale while she works. It may or may not be helpful.”
“It’s possible Mildrey likes the company.”
“Or a chance to have fresh gossip delivered to her.”
“What kind of gossip would Cutter have that would be interesting to a cook?” Jev imagined Mildrey being confused as Cutter shared news of dwarves from his city back home.
Wyleria snorted and poked him in the ribs. “About you, of course.”
“Me?”
“Nobody knows what you were up to while you were away. And Cutter, we’ve learned, worked with you in your company—Gryphon, it was called?—these last years.”
“I had no idea I was interesting enough to warrant gossip.”
“You are the future Zyndar Prime of Dharrow Castle and the surrounding estate.”
“And that makes me interesting?”
She snorted. “That makes you everyone’s future employer. They want to know what to expect. Not that your father seems like he’ll die any time this century.”
“Thank the founders for that.” Jev decided not to explain how his desire for his father to live to an old age had more to do with not wanting to take over the estate than any deep feelings for the old man. That wasn’t something he should admit. At the least, he wished it was something that wasn’t true. But it was hard to love someone who had never loved him.
Wyleria gestured toward the rear castle door. “I think Cutter may still be in the kitchen.”
They headed inside together, with the staff they passed giving Jev friendly greetings. He returned them, trying not to imagine them all trading gossip about him and speculating on his worth as a liege lord.
They passed another of his cousins, and she called Wyleria away, so Jev headed into the kitchen alone. The smells of baked bread and roasted pork lingered, but it looked like the cooking and cleaning had been done for the night. He didn’t hear anyone gossiping about him, and he didn’t spot Mildrey at all. He did find Cutter sitting by himself at the servants’ table, a mug of ale between his hands as he stared glumly into the foamy head.
“You look depressed.” Jev slid onto the bench opposite him. “Are you not finding the hospitality up to your standards?”
“Hospitality’s fine. The drink’s even decent, a good dwarven stout. I’m just vexed because I’ve been ramming my head against a wall.”
“I didn’t think you minded doing that.”
“Not as long as the wall falls down eventually. This one is thicker and stronger than it first appeared.”
“Are we talking about Master Grindmor’s missing tools?” Jev assumed so, but it was possible Cutter had found another irritating wall. Maybe he’d fallen in love and couldn’t get the bearded lady to send a flirtatious smile his way—whatever that would look like on a dwarf.
“Yes. We’ve hunted all over the city for a trace of their magic. Lorn’s been helping, but neither his senses for magic nor mine have located them. And Master Grindmor’s been looking, too, and it’s clear she’s getting frustrated. And I think she’s disappointed in me.” Cutter’s shoulders slumped low. “She’s been insulting my beard.”
“I’m sorry, Cutter.” And Jev was. He’d arranged for Cutter to assist the master in this matter. “As soon as Zenia and
I finish with this case, I’ll put some of the Crown Agents’ resources into helping you. We’ll capture Iridium and question her over a rack if we have to.” He snapped his fingers. “No, a rack wouldn’t be required. Zenia has a new dragon tear. It seems to be strong too. She questioned an elf with it and got what appeared to be truthful answers.”
“Oh? Elves are mostly immune to dragon tears. At least attempts at mental manipulation. If a dragon tear is magically assisting you with your sword skills, and you skewer an elf with a blade, well, they’re not immune to that.”
“Most people aren’t.”
“What’s represented on the dragon tear? I miss cutting those beauties.” Cutter tapped the jewelry kit he kept in a pouch on his belt. “Nobody’s brought me one to work on in a while, and I doubt they will in the city here, not with Master Grindmor’s services available.”
“A dragon.”
Cutter blinked a few times. “A dragon? Uhm.”
“Is that bad?” Jev was positive Targyon wouldn’t have given Zenia anything dangerous, at least not on purpose, but maybe he hadn’t known much about the dragon tear.
“It’s… rare. And it might be dangerous, depending on the soul.”
“The soul?”
“Have you ever noticed that animals don’t get carved onto dragon tears?”
“I suppose so. It’s usually a sword or book or inkwell or paint brush or something related to the wielder’s profession or passion.”
“Right, but even if the person getting the carving done was an animal trainer, you wouldn’t put a ferret on it. I’d advise against it, anyway.”
“Why?” Jev shifted uneasily on the bench, worried he would need to ride back into town that night to warn Zenia to toss her gift into the ocean.
“The magic captures the essence of the object—or animal—embodied in the carving. We make them that way on purpose to give them authentic power. If I put a ferret in a carving, I’d need to bring one in from the forest to make sure to get it right. Or—and I don’t claim to know how this works—the essence of the nearest ferret around would automatically go into it.”
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 44