“No, that’s Cutter. He cheats terribly at chips.” Jev smiled, but a twinge of nostalgia and worry tainted the gesture as he remembered the last time they had played, on the ship sailing back home to Kor. He realized that if there was anything to Zenia’s musings, if someone wanted to ensure the dwarven nation remained indifferent to Kor—or even declared Kor to be an enemy—then what he’d assumed had been a kidnapping might have been a murder. What if they found Grindmor and Cutter but too late? What if only their bodies remained? Murdered in a ghastly way to ensure dwarven hatred.
“Jev?”
He shook his head, pushing away the grisly thoughts. “If I don’t make any headway with him, I’ll come back and get you, but I think you should follow your hunch and finish your list for Targyon.”
“All right.” She sounded reluctant to let him go off on his own. Was she worried about him or just didn’t think he could get answers without her dragon tear? Maybe she just liked his company, and that was why she wanted to go with him.
Wishful thinking, Jev, he told himself. “Whatever the ambassador knows, I don’t think it’s going to have anything to do with who took Grindmor. It sounds like it’s more important than ever that we find her.”
Grimly, he realized that finding her wouldn’t stop an invasion if one was coming. All it would do was keep relations between Preskabroto and Kor from deteriorating. That was a good thing, but he didn’t see how it could stop a war if one had already been set in motion.
“All right,” Zenia said. “I’ll finish my list and head to the property office.”
“Good. I’ll forgo the nap I was fantasizing about and visit the embassy.”
“Change your clothes first, Jev. You smell like a swamp.”
Jev plucked at his still-damp garb from the night before. “Technically, it was a river, but I see your point. One shouldn’t look overly bedraggled when calling upon a foreign dignitary.”
He took a step but paused when Zenia spoke again.
“Did you learn anything from Iridium?” she asked casually. She’d picked up her pen and was once again bent over the newspaper.
His heart gave a guilty lurch. He hadn’t told her where he’d gone, and while she hadn’t attempted to forbid him from visiting Iridium, he knew she’d been against it.
“Only that she originally took the master’s tools and doesn’t know where they are now. She punished someone in her organization who leaked the information about their location but doesn’t know who all the information went to. She says she doesn’t know where Grindmor or the tools are now.”
“Ah.”
“I also suspect she wants to add Lornysh to her bedpost notch collection.”
“I didn’t think elves could be zyndar,” Zenia said, not looking up. She didn’t sound fazed by any of the information, but Jev couldn’t tell if she was irked with him for going to see Iridium.
“Lornysh definitely is not zyndar, but she could be expanding her tastes. Let me know if you find anything at the property office, will you?”
“Of course. Let me know if you need help with the ambassador.”
Jev hesitated before heading off, feeling he should say something more, some apology for running off to have adventures without her, or seeing a woman she disliked. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to leave her for the day.
Clingy, Jev, he admonished himself. Time to get over her and move on.
Still, he spoke again, having the urge to tease a smile out of her. “Thank you, again, for doing my paperwork.” Maybe, once he found Cutter, he would take Cutter up on his offer to help him make Zenia a gift. Even if they weren’t dating, one could give a thank-you gift to a colleague, right? “I’m incredibly relieved that you’re my co-captain instead of Garlok.”
Zenia lifted her head and gave him a semblance of an army salute. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re relieved I’m your co-captain, too, right?”
“Of course. If I didn’t have a co-captain, all the reports would get stacked on a single desk, and it would collapse under the weight. That would be burdensome.” Her eyes twinkled.
It wasn’t quite a smile, but it would do.
Jev bowed low. “I’m pleased that my desk and I are here to accept some of your burden.”
He headed off to change clothes and plan what he would say to the elven ambassador—or the minions who guarded the door.
10
Zenia made it all the way out to the bright sunlight of the castle gardens before she realized she was wearing shoes that didn’t match. She only had three pairs of shoes. How, when she’d gone up to wash and change her clothes, had she managed to leave with two distinctly different shades of brown?
“Because you’re tired and need a nap,” she grumbled to herself, stepping off the main path to sit on a stone bench nestled between two small lemon trees.
A fountain gurgled nearby, the same one Lunis Drem had lain slumped against the night she’d tangled with the rogue elven scientist. Lunis had become involved with that fiasco before Zenia ever met her, but Zenia felt she’d failed the younger woman somehow. That she should have been able to help her and prevent her from being exiled.
Zenia sat on the bench, pondering her shoes and whether she had the energy to go all the way back up to her room to change. Would whatever clerk worked in the kingdom property office care about her footwear? Or even notice?
She drew out the list of twelve names she’d made from select newspaper articles and journals printed in the last few years. After staying up all night, she was so tired she doubted whether any of her hypotheses about Grindmor’s kidnapping made sense. Was it truly likely some wealthy commoner would be behind the event?
She remembered the note she’d received a couple of days earlier, the warning to ’ware the wealthy. She wished she could question the person who’d sent it, especially since he or she had also sent a warning about Drem. The person clearly had some knowledge of what was going on in the castle and the city. If Zenia took the warning as credible, she might be on the right path.
A noisy yawn escaped her mouth. As tired as she was, would she learn anything from visiting the property office now? Maybe she should wait until tomorrow. But, no. Jev hadn’t slept the night before, either, and he’d gone off to question the ambassador. She could make it through another day and wait to sleep that night. She refused to let him work harder or longer hours than she.
As she pushed herself to her feet, voices kept her from stepping straight out onto the main walkway.
“I don’t care if it’s uncouth to talk about,” a woman said, coming up the broad walkway toward the castle. “The whole situation is absolutely ridiculous. That the Orders would have chosen him over my Rolgon. He’s barely out of his teenage years.”
Another woman issued a delicate snort. “You’re just irked that you’re not queen right now.”
“Ladies,” another female voice said. “While I understand being upset over the dubious choice of Targyon, I don’t think you should speak of it here. There are certainly spies in the castle, and you know how such people like to jump on anything that might be considered treasonous and make accusations.”
The three women came into sight, ladies in their twenties and thirties, their dark hair bound back in sophisticated twists and braids that must have taken an hour each to construct. They wore flowing, pale blue, lavender, and yellow dresses, all trimmed with elegant silver or gold embroidery. Their soft slippers were wholly inappropriate for walking, and Zenia assumed the women had been dropped off by carriages rather than having strolled up the long road to the castle on foot.
Zenia sat back down on the bench, hoping they would pass by without noticing her. She had no interest in their conversation, nor would she waste one of her agents on following them around. Spies, please.
“I don’t care who hears me talking,” the first one said. “They all know it’s true. Rolgon is more experienced in politics. Why, Targyon didn’t even grow up in the capital. His parents teac
h grubby commoners at some university in another city.”
One of the women looked toward the fountain, then started when she noticed Zenia. She paused, and the others did too.
Zenia groaned inwardly, anticipating some snide remark about her mismatched shoes if nothing else. She stood up, hoping she could slip past them without incident and return to her errand.
“Is that a gardener?” one asked. “Girl, should you be sitting down instead of working?”
Girl? Zenia lifted her chin. “I’m one of the king’s Crown Agents. It’s my job to sit in the garden and spy on the conversations of frilly zyndari women with nothing better to do with their lives than complain.”
Perhaps that hadn’t been the most tactful opening, especially for someone who didn’t want to start an incident, but their talk of Targyon being a poor choice irked her.
“A spy?” the youngest woman whispered, eyes widening.
The oldest—this Rolgon's wife, presumably—sniffed derisively. “She’s nothing but some common worker. Girl, do you not know you’re supposed to curtsy for your superiors? And address us as zyndari or my lady? Your manner is entirely inexcusable.”
“I’m sure it is.” Zenia walked toward them since they’d stopped in the way, but she intended to continue right past. She doubted any of them would try to grab her—they might break a nail—but she kept an eye on them.
“What is your name, girl? I will surely report your impudence. Don’t think my husband won’t see to it you’re flogged.”
“I’m trembling.” Zenia made it past them and strode toward the front gate. She grimaced at the sight of another woman in elegant clothing walking toward the group. A reinforcement?
“If you won’t give your name,” Rolgon’s wife called, “I’ll simply provide a description. I’m certain others have noticed your drab dress and mismatched shoes. If you were truly one of the king’s spies, you could afford to dress yourself fittingly for the job.”
Zenia kept walking, though heat warmed her cheeks. Nobody had questioned her attire when she’d worn her blue inquisitor robe, and even zyndari had shied away from drawing her attention. Worse, she recognized the woman walking toward her. Naysha. What was Jev’s ex-fiancée doing up here for a second day in a row? Had she come to see him? If so, why?
The woman was carrying something, a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper and a curly blue ribbon. A gift?
“Whatever are you yelling about, Zyndari Dominqua?” Naysha asked, looking curiously at Zenia, but directing the words to the woman behind her.
The shrill one—Dominqua?—had followed her down the walkway, as if she had intended to flog Zenia herself. Or harass her until she got a name.
“That gardener or whatever she is,” Dominqua said with another sniff. “She doesn’t show proper respect for zyndari. I don’t know what she’s doing in the castle. The staff wear uniforms and don’t look so scruffy.”
“She claimed to be a spy,” the youngest one said.
“No spy so disheveled has ever existed, I’m certain,” Dominqua said. “She needs to be punished for her impudence.”
Zenia wanted to continue to the gate, to bypass all of them, but Naysha stopped directly in front of her. Zenia could have stepped onto the grass to get around her, but she had a feeling Naysha recognized her and might think it odd if a Crown Agent fled ignominiously from some self-important noblewomen.
“This woman is one of King Targyon’s agents.” Naysha extended a hand toward Zenia. “I imagine she dresses like a commoner so she can go out among them and not attract notice.”
Zenia clenched her teeth and didn’t point out that she was a commoner, that most of the agents were. She didn’t want to deal with these people, but since they were all looking at her, she made herself turn enough to face them. That damned Dominqua had stalked right up behind her like a dog on the trail of a rabbit.
“Yes,” Zenia said. “As I would have told you if you hadn’t jumped to conclusions, I’m Captain Cham of the king’s Crown Agents.”
“She works with Jev,” Naysha added, as if they all knew who “Jev” was. Maybe they did. All zyndar seemed to know each other. “I met her yesterday.”
“Even if she is a legitimate spy, that doesn’t excuse her behavior,” Dominqua said. “She walked right past us without curtsying and refused to call us by title.”
“I’m sure that made your already taxing day terribly stressful,” Naysha said.
Dominqua’s brow creased. “Zyndari Naysha, you mock me. That’s inappropriate.”
“Maybe you can have her flogged too,” one of Dominqua’s buddies said.
Zenia had no idea if it was a joke or not. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a notepad, seeking to end this idiocy.
“Dominqua… what’s her last name?” she asked Naysha.
“Tollestin,” Naysha supplied, though she tilted her head curiously.
“Wife of Rolgon Alderoth, one of Targyon’s brothers?”
“His oldest brother, yes.”
“What are you doing?” Dominqua asked as Zenia wrote down her name.
“Just making a note,” Zenia said. “I’ll inform the king of your seditious words from earlier.”
“Seditious! I was merely saying what everybody knows, that the crown should have gone to one of Abdor’s more experienced and older nephews.”
“You also spoke poorly of the Orders for their decision.” Zenia scribbled another line. “I’ll have words with the archmages to let them know you could cause trouble. I used to be an inquisitor, you know. I’m close to the archmages.” She almost laughed at her own audacity for making such a claim, but she was positive the foppish women wouldn’t know who she was or that she’d been ostracized.
“Why, I—are you threatening me?” Dominqua spun to her friends. “Is she threatening me?”
“I have to go,” the youngest blurted, the one who’d first warned Dominqua about the potential for spies.
“I should too,” the other one said, following her young friend toward the castle as fast as her slippered feet would take her.
Zenia spotted Rhi walking out of the castle, whistling as she strolled in their direction, her bo balanced on her shoulder. She gave the frilly women a lazy, half-hearted curtsy as they hustled past her.
“What was her name, Zyndari Naysha?” Dominqua asked, sadly not so easy to scare off. “Captain Something?”
“Captain Zenia Cham,” Zenia said, indifferent to the woman reporting her. Maybe it was a cavalier attitude, but she doubted Targyon would care if some gossiping zyndari reported her for a lack of decorum. She might be his brother’s wife, but Zenia doubted Dominqua bothered playing the role of staunch supporter even in Targyon’s presence.
“I shall remember that, Commoner Cham,” Dominqua said.
“Give your tongue a rest, Dominqua.” Naysha made a shooing motion with her hand.
Dominqua squinted at her. “I will remember your impudence, too, Naysha. Your family isn’t that important, and you married well beneath your station. You should have been loyal to Jevlain Dharrow.” She whirled, her dress flapping around her legs, and stalked toward the castle.
“It must be nice not to have children or a job and simply eat, breathe, and take up space all day,” Naysha said, speaking loudly enough for the departing Dominqua to hear.
Zenia didn’t know what to say. The reference to Jev surprised her, mostly because she wouldn’t have assumed it common knowledge that he’d been engaged and Naysha had broken it off. Maybe ten years ago it would have been, but how odd that someone outside of their families would remember it.
Rhi must have been close enough to hear the last few sentences. She was still whistling, but she had lowered her bo and was using it as a walking stick. She made a deeper, more elaborate curtsy as Dominqua passed her and, seemingly accidentally, stuck her bo out and almost tripped the woman. Sadly, Dominqua jumped over it and didn’t fall.
“Oh, terribly sorry, Zyndari. Forgive my clumsiness
.”
Dominqua threw an exasperated look over her shoulder but must have been too flustered to issue more threats of flogging.
“Don’t worry,” Naysha said quietly to Zenia. “Nobody likes her. Even if I don’t quite understand why the Orders chose Targyon, I can understand why they didn’t choose his brother. Rolgon left home young to attend school in the capital and spent ten years currying favor and trying to get an important position in the castle. The rest of Targyon’s brothers are far more palatable.”
“Thank you,” Zenia said, feeling she should express some gratitude toward Naysha for coming to her defense. There was something surreal about thanking the woman who’d abandoned Jev all those years ago, who hadn’t waited for him. Even though Zenia didn’t want him to be married, she felt indignation on his behalf.
“Do you know if Jev is in your office today?” Naysha asked Zenia as Rhi stopped near them.
When Naysha looked at her, Rhi curtsied—without whacking her with her bo—and offered a polite, “Zyndari,” though she also glanced at Zenia as if to ask if she should go on the attack. The day before, Rhi had seemed more offended than Zenia at seeing Naysha holding Jev’s hands.
Zenia shook her head slightly, then answered Naysha. “I believe he already left on an errand. I’m not sure how long it will take.”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate. I wished to give him something.” Naysha lifted the wrapped box Zenia had noticed before. “I suppose there’s no need for me to see him in person. I’m certain Grift would find it improper if I did so two days in a row.”
Naysha’s mouth twisted with an emotion Zenia struggled to identify. She almost called upon her dragon tear but reminded herself that Naysha wasn’t a suspect to be questioned. Besides, if she was having… feelings toward Jev, Zenia didn’t want to know about—
Thoughts flooded her mind, a scattering of memories involving a younger version of Jev, his form rangier, his face without the beard. With a woman—Naysha—at his side. In a room full of laughing people in a castle. At a garden party with candles floating on lily pads in a pool. On a moonlit beach by the sea, where they walked hand in hand and shared a kiss. A sense of regret and sadness tinged all the memories. Questions of what might have been if she had merely waited, if she hadn’t felt so lonely when he’d gone, if she hadn’t needed someone else to make her feel happy, to give her life purpose. Naysha’s life.
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