Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I did sense it when you were several blocks away,” Lornysh said.

  “Her chest? That’s impressive.” Jev grinned at Zenia. “Clearly, yours is more remarkable than mine.”

  She recovered her equanimity and lowered her hand. “The bartender didn’t think so.”

  “He is a man of questionable tastes. Lornysh, do you have good news for me?”

  “I have a report for you.”

  “A good one?”

  Lornysh turned a palm toward the sky. “This morning after breakfast, I knocked on the doors of the guests staying at the tower, ostensibly to introduce myself. I assumed you would prefer subtleness and for me not to allude to the fact that we know each other.”

  After having been chased out of that garden by that creature, Jev wouldn’t have minded if he’d greeted his elven neighbors with fists to the nose, but he nodded and waved for Lornysh to continue.

  “Most of them were terse with me, though that likely has more to do with me than your case. One did not answer the door, though I sensed he was inside. There are two others I didn’t get to introduce myself to because the ambassador came out and suggested that his guests prefer not to be disturbed, as it was already grueling for them to feel comfortable in a human city.”

  “More likely, it’s grueling to get past that guard creature every time they go in and out,” Jev muttered.

  “It does not attack guests,” Lornysh said mildly.

  “The person who didn’t answer the door sounds suspicious,” Zenia said.

  “Yes,” Lornysh said, “and perhaps the ambassador is too. He was courteous enough to me until I started asking questions about his guests. This afternoon, he was noticeably cooler and more reserved when we passed on the stairs.”

  “A cool and reserved elf,” Jev said. “Imagine that.”

  Lornysh arched a single eyebrow.

  “Is there any way you can get us in to speak to him?” Zenia touched her chest. “If I could question him, we could learn a lot. He must know at least something about all of his guests.”

  Lornysh hesitated. “I’m certain he does, but he also has a powerful dragon tear. I do not know if you would find it as easy to extract answers from him as from the female guard. Further, he’s three hundred years old and wise in the ways of humans. He would be difficult to tease secrets from even if he didn’t have a dragon tear.”

  “Do elves need dragon tears?” Zenia asked. “I thought you all had inherent magic.”

  “We do, to some extent. Some never learn to use it. Others obsessively study to the detriment of all other skills they might learn. The dragon tears can amplify the magic we are born with so they are useful tools. There are other tools, but as a people, we started using the dragon tears more often after humans started sneaking into our homes to steal them. We reasoned it would be easier to safeguard them if they were around our necks instead of in safe boxes under the hammock.”

  Zenia shifted her weight and looked away. Was she wondering if one of Targyon’s ancestors had once stolen the dragon tear she now wore? More likely, some adventurer seeking royal favor had done it, then given it to an old king as a gift.

  She recovered and looked back to Lornysh, lifting her chin. “I’m willing to risk dealing with this wily and powerful ambassador of yours. If he has answers that could solve our case…”

  Lornysh looked at Jev.

  Jev scratched his jaw, not liking the idea of thrusting Zenia in to question someone with inherent magic and a dragon tear.

  “I believe the zarl might appear if I attempt to bring you two into the tower,” Lornysh said. “It remembers those who’ve proven themselves unwelcome intruders before.”

  “All I did was try to knock on the door,” Jev grumbled.

  Lornysh spread his hands. “Before the ambassador grew frosty with me, I learned that your king invited the ambassador to his reception tonight.”

  “Oh? Is he coming?”

  “He is. He hasn’t yet met Targyon, he said, so it would be a dereliction of his diplomatic duty not to go and make his acquaintance. Further, it’s a foregone conclusion the Taziir king and queen will expect a full report on him.”

  “So, if we’re there,” Zenia said, meeting Jev’s eyes, “we’ll get a chance to talk to him.”

  Jev held back a grimace as he again imagined her facing off against a powerful, old elf. “Yes.”

  She would be standing at Targyon’s side when she did her questioning, Jev reminded himself. The ambassador wouldn’t want to start an international incident by attacking her with Kor’s king watching. The Taziir had to be relieved the humans had finally withdrawn from their lands. Surely, they wouldn’t want to stir up more trouble.

  “Any chance he’s taking any guests?” Zenia asked.

  “I doubt our wall climber is anyone the ambassador wants to introduce to the king,” Jev said, imagining that the ambassador was stuck with some criminal he couldn’t turn away because he was one of his people. But maybe not. The guards had gone out of their way to protect the elf. Was it possible he was someone important? Someone visiting from the elven royal family? But if so, why would the person have felt the need to flee when Jev and Zenia arrived?

  “The ambassador did not inform me if he intends to take guests,” Lornysh said.

  Jev nodded. “All right. Thank you for risking his ire on my behalf.”

  Lornysh bowed.

  “I wish I could invite you to the reception at the castle,” Jev said. “I wouldn’t mind having you there as backup in case there’s trouble, but I wasn’t in charge of invitations. Any chance the ambassador will take you?”

  “I think not.”

  “Oh well. Stay safe, eh?”

  As Jev and Zenia left the tavern and reclaimed their horses, Zenia set a fast pace out of the city. He hoped she wasn’t worried about finding a dress for the party—or how to accessorize it with a pistol. He doubted she cared about fashion in the way some women did, but he believed she wanted to appear professional and not look out of place standing at Targyon’s shoulder as he spoke to people.

  He smiled sadly over at her as they rode, wishing she would let him buy her a dress. Or anything she wished.

  Would that ever change?

  17

  A knock sounded as Jev was dressing in the Dharrow family uniform he’d barely had the presence of mind to bring back with him from Dharrow Castle the night before. He crossed the small guestroom he’d been given and opened the door.

  “His Majesty wishes to see you as soon as you’re able, Zyndar Dharrow,” a page said.

  Jev glanced at a clock on the mantle. Less than an hour until the reception. He hoped this didn’t signify some fresh trouble.

  “I’ll be there soon,” he told the page.

  He quickly finished dressing, glad he’d already had the castle barber trim his beard and hair. Even though his father hated the pomp and pretense around zyndar social gatherings, he’d always insisted Jev look the part of their old and distinguished family when he attended them. He was going as an employee today rather than as a guest, but he couldn’t imagine looking anything but his best.

  Targyon wasn’t in his office but in his private suite, and again, Jev hoped nothing was amiss. One of the two bodyguards at the exterior door waved him in without a word.

  “Sire?” Jev found Targyon in a sitting room, standing at a window and looking out toward one of the gardens as the sky darkened. Targyon was already draped in royal blue, purple, and gold and appeared ready to walk out among his guests. “Everything all right?”

  Targyon turned to face him. He looked tired rather than energized for the evening. Had he been up nights, worrying about the case Jev hadn’t yet solved?

  I’m sorry, Sire, he thought. I’m doing my best.

  “Fine,” Targyon said. “I want your opinion on something. One of your agents came up to see me, to make sure my guards knew to watch for strangers that weren’t invited yet somehow ended up with their names on the list, as th
ey might be aligned with criminal guilds. Do you think it’s likely Iridium will show up again? And if so, should I question her—or have Zenia question her—or should I have her turned away at the door? The latter is my inclination, but if it’s possible information could be gleaned…”

  “Zenia’s having good luck talking to people now, whether they want to talk to her or not, so that might be a good idea. But…” Jev rubbed his chin. “Which agent came to you?”

  He hadn’t been in the office since returning from the interviews, but hadn’t Zenia mentioned spending the rest of the afternoon in there, reading reports? If she’d been there, any agent with a concern should have gone to her, and then she could have decided if it was worth bothering Targyon.

  “The woman. Lunis Drem is her name, I believe. She was very earnest and seemed concerned for my safety.”

  “Ah, she’s been pressing the hypothesis that the criminal guilds are behind your cousins’ deaths. I heard part of her report the other morning, but I didn’t hear much in the way of concrete evidence.”

  “Do you have any concrete evidence?”

  Targyon’s tone was curious, not condemning, but Jev winced anyway.

  “I wish I did. I’ve encountered some oddness in dealing with the elven embassy, but we haven’t been able to pull anyone aside for questioning yet. I’m hoping the ambassador will be here tonight and that he won’t run off if I try to corner him.”

  “Please don’t corner anyone violently. Unless you’re certain they’re a criminal. Even then, if it’s an ambassador…”

  “I don’t plan to use violence. I want to plant Zenia and her new rock in front of him.”

  Targyon smiled faintly.

  Jev opened his mouth to ask how much Targyon knew about the dragon tear, aside from what he’d told them, but he noticed a gleam of sweat on Targyon’s forehead. Uneasiness squirmed its way into Jev’s belly.

  “Are you feeling well, Sire?”

  Targyon hesitated. Damn it, why did he hesitate?

  “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a stressful couple of weeks. And I’m nervous about tonight. I know I arranged this, so I have nobody to blame but myself, but my guts are tying my stomach in knots over the idea of confronting people, of bothering everyone and casting blame and then not finding a culprit. Or of finding a culprit and not wanting to. Whoever did this, when we find them… I’ll have to order them executed. I—” Targyon swallowed. “I never wanted that responsibility.”

  “You’ll do fine, Sire. And just worry about the reception for now, eh? You can be charming and personable and let us—let Zenia—do the questioning.” Jev felt bad suggesting that Zenia should be the one out there making enemies, but that was the new job they had both signed up for. He would stand at her side if she found any trouble. Or even if she didn’t.

  “Charming and personable? Me?”

  “You weren’t bad with your coronation speech,” Jev offered.

  Even if Targyon had been reading prompts someone had written for him, he’d smiled and seemed genuine and warm and approachable. A monarch who cared.

  “I wasn’t talking to people then. Not people who would talk back. I was looking at the heads of a crowd in an unfocused manner.” Targyon took a few steps to a chair, gripping the armrest for support before sitting down.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Jev eyed his forehead again.

  Targyon must have noticed the look, for he wiped his brow. “Fine. I’ll be fine. I’m just hot from all these layers of royal formality.” He waved at his attire. “Thank you for coming up, Jev. If I see Iridium, I’ll have the guards let her in, but send her straight to you and Zenia before she can cause trouble.”

  “Or get in your lap and kiss your neck?”

  Targyon blushed. “I definitely won’t allow that to happen.”

  Jev wanted to linger and make sure Targyon truly felt well, but Targyon shooed him toward the door. Reluctantly, Jev left, but he vowed to stay close to him tonight.

  Zenia tugged at the tight collar of the dress she’d been stuffed into like sausage going into a particularly vicious and vengeful casing. She wondered if the uptight maid attempting to wrangle her hair into something in line with current fashions would protest if Zenia added a belt and pistol to the ensemble. Maybe a pistol was redundant when she had a dragon tear that could protect her, but she was accustomed to wearing one inside her robe when she worked.

  She supposed, if Jev was right and there was a rule against agents being armed in the king’s presence, she shouldn’t tempt castle law. She wished she knew the law for certain. She should. She needed to find that Crown Agents handbook. One of the agents in the office had promised there was such a thing but hadn’t known where it had gone.

  That afternoon, while a steward had been hunting around for a dress that would fit her, Zenia had spent a few minutes searching for the handbook, but she’d also been busy going over the files of her fellow agents, something she’d been meaning to do for days. She didn’t trust Garlok or Brokko, but she hadn’t found anything condemning in their files. She almost wished she had. It might have led her to suspecting—suspecting and proving—that one of them had been the insider.

  A pinch at Zenia’s back made her curse. “Does it have to be so tight?”

  The maid cinched the straps tighter. “Yes, ma’am. It’ll show off the curve of your bosom, making the men see what an appealing lady you are.”

  “I don’t want to be appealing. I want to blend in. I’ll be there to spy, not get my chest gawked at.”

  “A spy with a good chest gets plenty of information, ma’am. Just ask those guests a few questions while they’re half drunk and admiring your assets. They’ll be too distracted to do anything but answer truthfully. Or at least, they’ll let their guard down. There. Done with your dress and your hair. We’ll do makeup next, but go look at yourself in the mirror there. What do you think? You’re a fine catch, ma’am. How come you’re not married?”

  “I’ve been busy with my career.” Zenia lifted her chin.

  As if marriage was important to contemplate right now.

  “Are you at least seeing a handsome man? You can’t be nothing but your work. Where’s the fun in that? Life’s to be lived wild and hard, so you’ve no regrets.” The maid winked and pushed Zenia toward the mirror, then veered toward a vanity full of makeup tins and brushes.

  Zenia doubted she could do anything wild or hard in the sausage dress. If she had to run or fight tonight, she would be in serious trouble.

  She stepped in front of the mirror and grimaced. The dress did not display much skin, but it definitely showed off her figure, there was no doubt about that. Unfortunately, she looked more like a high-profile prostitute than one of the king’s secret agents. Her boobs, thrust north all the way to the Anchor Sea, had never appeared so large and prominent. She hoped the maid was right, that men would be distracted by them, and she could more easily pluck thoughts from their minds.

  A contented vibration of energy came from the dragon tear.

  She thought of Cutter’s warning, about it possibly having the personality of a real dragon, but he had to be mistaken. It did have a personality, maybe even a degree of intelligence, but it reminded her more of a faithful dog than a savage predator.

  “Here we go, ma’am.” The maid approached with a huge tin containing enough rouge to paint a house.

  Zenia, realizing she’d been a grump—somewhat justifiable, given that she couldn’t take deep breaths right now—forced herself to say, “Thank you for your assistance this evening.” What was her name? She’d introduced herself. “Hava.”

  The maid smiled. Zenia must have gotten the name right.

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

  Zenia endured a few more minutes of primping before being let free into the wilds of the third floor of the castle. She passed guards, butlers, stewards, and other people whose jobs she did not yet know on her way down to the first floor. The reception was being held in one
of three ballrooms, so she assumed people would dance after they stuffed themselves with food and wine. She hoped the dancing wouldn’t get in the way of the questioning. Not only would Jev’s elven ambassador be here, but the archmages of the four Orders would be here. Zenia would finally have her chance to speak with them. They wouldn’t be able to evade her easily here.

  Several of the guards checked her out as she passed, though they were quick and subtle with their interest, since they were professionals on duty. As much as she would have preferred her form-hiding, faithful blue robe, she admitted it was a little flattering to have so many gazes following her. That robe had done more than hide her form, and after having men avoid her—inquisitor her—on a regular basis, she had let herself believe she had grown too old to attract a man.

  What would Jev think of her in this dress? Her body warmed a few degrees as she imagined his gaze following her.

  He hadn’t spoken of their date since coming back from the Nhole estate, since their kiss in front of that crackling hearth. Since he’d hinted that the woman he married would have plenty of help with childrearing and could continue to work at her career. That was something Zenia had never considered, since it certainly did not apply to commoners, but she’d found herself wondering if it might be a possibility. If she and Jev were to marry…

  But she didn’t truly think he had been implying that they might marry one day. Even though he hadn’t bluntly said it, she’d gotten the impression that to marry some commoner, he would have to give up his position as his father’s heir. He might even be ostracized from his family. Even if he was crazy enough to be willing, she could never ask him.

  As she descended the wide stairs to the first floor of the castle, and the murmurs of dozens of conversations from the nearby ballroom came to her ears, a dashing figure stepped away from the wall and bowed to her. Jev. She’d been so distracted by thinking about him that she hadn’t noticed him waiting there.

  He wore his green-and-silver Dharrow house uniform, which had a quasi-military aspect to it, but he looked nothing like the scruffy soldier she’d tried to arrest when they met. His hair and beard were trimmed, he was impeccably pressed and tidy, and his boots gleamed under the light of dozens of candelabras and wall sconces brightening the hall.