The elf woman was too far away for him to make out her face and be certain of her identity. It was unlikely this was the princess. Why would she travel in the open when she’d come in secret before?
Two male elves in the greens and browns of wardens stood behind her, and Jev shivered, having all too recently seen similar clothing. And were those swords sheathed at their sides? Swords like the magical one that had almost lopped off his head?
“I’ve never seen an elven ship before,” Zenia said. “Except for pictures in books. They’re far more impressive in person.”
“Yes.” Jev had seen their vessels before, though not often. For the most part, the war had been fought on the soil of Taziira, the elves allowing—or luring—the humans into their forests before striking.
“Do you think that’s the new ambassador?”
“Uh.” Jev hadn’t been thinking that, but Targyon had sent a request for one, so it was possible. If it was…
He grimaced and looked toward the tower. With the people in the way, he couldn’t see much of the destruction, but he had no trouble remembering that huge hole in the wall. And he remembered that Targyon had wanted, among other things, for him to spearhead a cleaning operation. Jev had definitely not done that.
“We better get back to the castle and report everything to Targyon,” he said.
And hope we’re not in trouble for knocking a hole in the wall of the elven tower, he added silently.
Zenia had to jog to keep up with Jev after they left their horses with the stablehands and headed into Alderoth Castle. The grounds were busy with other people riding into and out of the stable at top speed, and she suspected Targyon had already heard about the arrival of the elven ship.
As they ran in through their usual back entrance, the one that led to the Crown Agents’ basement office and also to the kitchen, laundry, and working area of the castle, they heard shouts and the clattering of pots and pans. Servants rushed to the kitchen, trays tucked under their arms as they adjusted their uniforms.
“Looks like an impromptu feast is being prepared,” Zenia said, as Jev charged not toward their office but toward the stairs that led up to Targyon’s office and suite.
“Elves arriving is a big deal,” Jev said over his shoulder.
They passed more servants on the stairs, butlers heading to duty stations. Here and there, maids stuck freshly cut flowers in vases and removed any that were old and withered.
“Did the dwarves get a feast and this much attention?” Zenia wondered.
“I’m not sure. I was busy being blown across the harbor at the time.”
She patted him on the back when they reached the landing, but she only had time for a few pats before he was off again, heading toward Targyon’s office.
“His Majesty is in his suite,” the secretary said as soon as they entered the outer office. “But he said he’s not to be disturbed. He’s bathing and dressing for our guest.”
“Does he know who our guest is?” Jev asked.
Zenia hadn’t been able to guess from their distant perch on top of the tavern, but she assumed the ship carried a contingent of important people. Or was it just one important person?
She thought of the warning she’d received to avoid the elf. Not elves. Elf. Which one? She couldn’t help but wonder again if it was Lornysh. Maybe he wasn’t a danger to her or Jev specifically, but what if this was another group of his kind who wanted him dead? Or what if this group had sent the other group? Simply standing next to Lornysh might be enough to get her or Jev killed by friendly—or indifferent—crossfire.
“An elven emissary,” the secretary said.
“How unspecific,” Zenia murmured.
“I bet it’s our new ambassador.” Jev grimaced. “I need to talk to Tar—the king—and warn him about the embassy’s state of disrepair. It will only take a minute.”
The secretary opened his mouth in protest, but Jev, hurrying back into the hallway, did not see it. He strode toward the door to Targyon’s suite—and toward the two bodyguards blocking it.
“You’re going to interrupt him in the bath?” Zenia whispered, trailing after him. “Surely, it can wait twenty minutes.”
“I want to report what we found and let him know, in case he intends to send the elves to their new embassy. You know what the tower looks like right now.” He faced the guards as he spoke, the words as much for them as for her.
Zenia didn’t usually ask her dragon tear to allow her to see his thoughts, but she sensed his urgency was only partially about the tower. He also wanted to report that letter they’d found about Lornysh. He believed things had gotten worse for his friend.
“Zyndar Dharrow,” one of the guards said respectfully but also warily. He doubtless hoped Jev wasn’t going to demand to be let in.
“I need to report to the king,” Jev said. “He sent me on a mission, and I have the results. He’ll want them before he goes to see the elves.”
The guards looked at each other, neither moving from in front of the door.
“He said he wasn’t to be disturbed, that he was in a hurry,” the more talkative one said. “If you wish to wait—” he gestured to a table and a couple of chairs in an alcove a short ways down the hall, “—I’m certain you can speak to him when he comes out.”
Jev frowned and looked at Zenia. Would he ask her to manipulate the guards into letting him in? She had used her dragon tear to do that once before and hadn’t felt comfortable about it then or now. Since this dragon tear was so powerful, it was a little too tempting to use it to wave away problems. An image of Heber Dharrow popped into her mind, reminding her of one of the problems she wanted to wave away—or manipulate into getting out of the way.
“Fine,” Jev said, stepping toward the chairs. “We’ll wait—”
The door opened, and Targyon came out in socks and trousers with his shirt half-buttoned. He waved a silk cravat in one hand and a jacket in the other. They were of slightly different shades of green.
“Marea,” he called down the hallway, not seeming to notice Zenia and Jev. “Marea, I need more color options. Do you know where the cravats are?” He noticed Jev, and his cheeks colored for some reason. “There has to be more contrast. Or no contrast. These are too similar. But not similar enough.” He stared down at the items, then rushed inside.
One of the guards scratched his head. He’d stepped aside when Targyon burst out, leaving the doorway somewhat accessible.
Jev headed for it. The guard lifted his hand.
“He invited me in,” Jev said.
“What? He called for the maid.”
“In what was a clear cry for fashion help.” Jev pushed the hand away. “This is a job for a zyndar.”
The guard wasn’t determined enough, and Jev pushed past. Zenia slipped through after him.
“Aren’t you colorblind?” she whispered.
“Yes, so?”
“How are you going to help him pick a cravat?”
“I’m not. I’m going to tell him to relax and put on something regal.”
Targyon, who had disappeared into his bedroom, rushed back out again, heading toward the parlor, as if he’d left something in there, or was simply looking all over in a mad dash.
Jev stepped forward to intercept him, gripping him by the shoulders. “Sire.”
“Jev!” Targyon said. Zenia expected to hear exasperation in his voice or maybe even a threat, but Targyon gripped him back. “She’s here. She came back!”
“Uh, who did?” Jev asked.
“Yesleva. The elven princess.”
“The one who came for the…” Jev glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “The Eye of Truth?”
“Yes. I don’t know what she wants yet, but what if she’s the new diplomat? I suppose that’s unlikely given her societal rank and importance to her people, but what if she is? Did you know she’s an artist? I asked to see her work someday. Maybe she brought some pieces along. She’s a scholar, too, you know. She can read al
l four of the First Races’ ancient languages.”
“You can, too, can’t you?” Jev released Targyon, looking like he might also want to scratch his head.
Zenia found herself less puzzled.
“Yes, but she’s a woman,” Targyon said.
A plump gray-haired maid rushed in with no fewer than eight cravats, all in shades of green.
“Marea,” Targyon blurted, abandoning Jev. “That’s perfect. Will you help me choose one?”
“Of course, Sire.”
“I’m confused,” Jev murmured to Zenia.
“His Majesty has a crush on the elven princess,” she responded equally quietly.
“Oh.” Jev brought his fingers to his mouth. “Oh dear.”
Zenia only nodded. It seemed to be the month of marriages—or desires for marriages—that society, or parents, would never allow to happen.
“Is the tower all right, Jev?” Targyon selected an attractive pale-green cravat. “Did you get any information you needed out? I ordered a cleaning team to be sent down right away.”
“Ah.” Jev lowered his hand. “I’m afraid you’ll need to send a construction crew.”
“What happened?”
“It was already in some disarray…” Jev looked to Zenia, as if for confirmation.
“Broken vases on the floor and a dagger in a pillow qualify as disarray, yes,” she said.
“And then there were two elven wardens there, who conjured up a shadow golem to try to kill us. While taking swings at us with glowing magical swords.” Jev rubbed his shoulder. “We did find out that the ambassador wrote a letter to tell his king that Lornysh was here in the city. He didn’t send it, but… it does seem that his people are aiming for Lornysh. And these elven wardens could be trouble for more than just him. They threatened us simply because we showed up at the tower.”
Targyon, busy buttoning his shirt, didn’t look up. “I can ask her if she knows anything about it. She’s on her way up. I wish I’d had more notice. Do you think she’ll like a feast of human food? I’m having the chef cook gort three ways. Elves like greens, right? And berries. We’re doing a berry compote for dessert. Am I forgetting anything?”
Targyon looked earnestly at Jev, frowned, then turned his earnest expression on Zenia. Craving a woman’s opinion? Marea had, perhaps wisely, fled after delivering the clothing accessories.
Zenia stood taller and tried to appear worldly about such matters. “I know little of elven culinary preferences, I’m afraid, but perhaps a gift would impress her with your thoughtfulness?”
“A gift.” Targyon whirled and peered around his suite. “Of course. I should have thought of that. What would she like? I have… a castle. Do you think there’s anything good enough in it for an elven princess?”
“Maybe some flowers from the garden?” Zenia had been touched when Jev picked flowers for her.
“Elves consider it gauche to cut plants if it’s not for medicine or sustenance,” Targyon said.
“Didn’t you write some poems when we were in the field?” Jev asked.
Targyon frowned. “The stuff I wrote during the war was moribund and overly flowery and verbose.”
“Perfect.”
Zenia couldn’t tell if he was teasing Targyon. She hoped not.
“Have a scribe copy one for her,” Jev said, sounding sincere in his suggestion. “In pretty letters and on nice paper.”
“A scribe? I’ll do it myself. You two—” Targyon waved at Zenia and Jev, “—had a big battle, you said? Take the rest of the day off. I’ll let you know if she needs anything from my agents. Thanks for the help!” Targyon sprinted out of the room.
Zenia wondered if she should have pointed out that he was only wearing socks on his feet.
Jev stared at the empty doorway. “I didn’t mean for him to leave. Or dismiss us. You’d think he would want one of his spy captains with him at a dinner with a foreign dignitary.”
“Perhaps not if he plans to read poetry to a lady.”
A lady who was probably a couple of hundred years older than Targyon. Zenia feared nothing would come of their king’s infatuation.
“I had intended to make a more thorough report,” Jev said.
“Maybe it would be within the realm of our duties to arrange a construction crew so Targyon doesn’t have to worry about it?” Zenia suggested.
“And send him the bill afterward?”
“There may be skilled laborers here who are already on the payroll and can do the job.” Zenia had seen workmen on scaffolding around the castle a couple of times since she’d started her job.
“I’ll check into it,” Jev said. “You should obey our monarch and take the rest of the day off.”
“What would I do? It’s not even dark yet.”
“Relax. Read a book. A book of poems, perhaps. Though I can’t recommend elven poetry. Or you could come with me to look for Lornysh if you’re bored. We could get dinner somewhere in town on the way. But…” Jev shifted his focus from the doorway to her. “I suppose someone might misconstrue that as a date if they saw us. I hate that I have to care about what people think. I will talk to my father tomorrow. And put an end to his meddling.”
Zenia didn’t think that would be as easy as Jev thought, but she tried to give him an encouraging smile. She would have loved to go with him to find his friend—and enjoy a dinner. It was the time of year when people ate on the patios outdoors, enjoying the sea breeze and the view of the harbor. And holding hands as they walked along the boardwalk afterward, the sun burnishing the waves as it set.
But not Zenia and Jev. Not tonight.
“Go find Lornysh,” she said. “I’ll figure out how to send a construction crew to the tower.”
Jev hesitated. “I don’t want you stuck with all the grunt work while I wander around the city.”
“If it makes you feel better, you can grunt while you wander.”
“Would you find that sexy?”
“Grunting?”
“Yes, in a manly and somewhat savage manner. It would be very un-zyndar-like.”
“Then it would have to be sexy, yes. I hope you’ll show me after you find Lornysh.” She waved for him to go.
“Zenia, I’ll—”
“Go.” She rested a hand on his chest. “Your friend needs you.”
He hesitated a little longer, then clasped her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.”
As he jogged out of the suite, Zenia tried not to think about the tingle she’d felt at the brush of his lips and how nice it would be if they could have that dinner out together. With or without grunting.
6
Clangs emanated from Arkura Grindmor’s jewelry shop, along with a grinding noise, the sounds promising the master crafter had not gone home for the night. Jev hoped Cutter hadn’t either.
Jev hadn’t seen Lornysh since the night before, and after seeing the aftermath of the fight in the tower, he was worried. He didn’t know where to look to check up on him. Despite all his mentions of symphonies, museums, and theaters, Lornysh never spoke of going to them, only of having been. If he was smart, he was lying low, or he’d left the city altogether. The idea made Jev sad. He at least wanted a chance to say goodbye to his friend.
Hoping Cutter would know where Lornysh had gone, Jev headed into the shop.
Heat blasted his face when he opened the front door, reminding him of that smithy and being attacked by that elf. A different elf from the two who’d ambushed Jev and Zenia in the tower. How many wardens were in the city? Lornysh had said at least four.
“Jev?” The grinding stopped, and Cutter looked up from a machine in the corner of the front room. A loupe and several blue gems lay in front of him.
“Are you allowed to talk?”
Jev peered around for Master Grindmor. Every time he’d spoken with the bearded dwarf female, she had been brusque. He had no trouble envisioning her cracking a whip to keep her new apprentice at work.
“I’m a grown dwarf, Jev.
I can talk whenever I want.”
“Why don’t I hear the sounds of sapphires being cut?” a bellow came through the door behind the display counter.
“And as a grown dwarf, I like to work while I talk.” Cutter turned the machine back on and held a gem attached to the end of a stick to the grinding tool.
Jev grimaced, approaching warily as blue dust flew. “Have you seen Lornysh lately? Since yesterday?”
“No, but I heard there are elf wardens all over the city like ants on a honeyed rock tart.”
“Have you ever noticed that all of your baked goods have the word rock in them?”
“Because they’re hefty. Like all good pastries are.” Cutter cut off the machine again, his face grave as he met Jev’s eyes. “They’re after Lornysh, aren’t they?”
“Yes. And they’re happy to kill any war veterans they happen to chance across on the way.” Jev touched his bruised shoulder. “One would have killed me today if Zenia and her dragon tear hadn’t been nearby to help.”
Cutter frowned. “Wanton killing isn’t very elf-like. Didn’t your people sign a treaty with the Taziir before leaving?”
“Of a sort. It was more of a promise that we were done infiltrating their continent and wouldn’t bother them again unless provoked.”
“Coming to your city and killing people isn’t provoking?”
“I don’t think they’ve killed anyone yet. Just issued threats. Painfully.” Jev thought that warden would have killed him, if he’d been able. “Zenia and I were in the elven embassy, so we were technically trespassing.”
“Hm.”
“Lornysh came to see me last night and said he might have to leave.”
Cutter’s bushy eyebrows rose. “You didn’t offer to help him with these elves?”
“I did. He said he doesn’t want us to risk our lives on his behalf.”
“What? There aren’t many elves in the world that I like. If you can’t take such risks on behalf of one who you do, what’s the point in befriending someone with pointy ears?”
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 91