Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series

by Lindsay Buroker

  Zyndari Bashlari Bludnor leaned against the back of one of the other chairs, her tight smile far less sincere. She was an attractive woman, but all Jev could think was that she might be the one manipulating his father. Possibly with the large breasts that were not simply present but pushed up with a corset and on prominent display.

  Fremia was similarly well endowed in the chest area, her dress also designed to draw attention to the fact. Her black hair hung to her shoulders in curly waves, and she had pale blue eyes that reminded Jev of the Taziir. Had some elf traveled through her bloodline in the past? Wouldn’t the old man be shocked if that were the case?

  “It’s nice to meet you again, Fremia.” Jev gave her the hand clasp she was reaching for. “What article are you referring to?”

  “The one in the Korvann Chronicle. Haven’t you seen it? It talks all about how you battled fifty trolls by yourself and stopped a huge invasion before it could start.”

  Jev tried to extricate his hands, but she gripped them more tightly and gazed raptly up at his face.

  “I always thought I’d have to marry an odious old ogre because I’m the oldest girl and am expected to marry to further our family position. I’m so delighted to get you.”

  “Er.” What was Jev supposed to say to that? All he could do was wish he were odious and ogrely so she would have objected to this marriage. “Yes. And may I say that you’ve grown into a beautiful woman?” A part of him wanted to be unpleasant—ogrely—but he couldn’t bring himself to be rude or cruel.

  “Thank you, Jev. May I call you Jev?”

  “Yes,” he said, while thinking that Zenia would squint at him if he ever complimented her beauty. She would be far more honored if he complimented her intelligence in solving a case. Had he done that? He should have, if he hadn’t. She had been the reason they’d found out about the trolls in time to do something.

  Bashlari shifted, and Jev nodded cordially to her. “And you’re also looking lovely, Zyndari.”

  “Thank you, Jev.” Bashlari smiled and looked him up and down, as if she were the one who would soon be marrying him. “I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted while I have a chat with your father.” She smiled cryptically and touched her chest.

  It was only then that Jev noticed that more than skin was on display there. On a fine gold chain, she wore a dragon tear, its oval shape almost concealed between her breasts—they were wedged together to form a deep crevice that wayward jewelry might get lost in.

  Jev couldn’t see what was carved on its front but abruptly thought of inquisitors and their gems that gave them the ability to read minds. To read and manipulate minds.

  “Of course,” Jev managed to murmur as Bashlari sashayed around the table, swinging her hips like a pendulum.

  He looked away, though he had no doubt that a lot of men didn’t. Unfortunately, looking away from Bashlari only had him looking into Fremia’s rapt face. Erg.

  “Shall we have a drink?” Jev gestured at the table.

  The staff had already filled glasses with tamarind lemonade, chunks of ice floating in it, the shards chiseled from one of the great blocks stored in the ice house behind the stable. There was also a tray of crudités with hummus and an olive dip. Appetizers. Wonderful. That meant someone had thought Jev should stay here for multiple courses.

  “Of course.” Fremia twirled, her dress floating out around her, then perched on the edge of the seat. She leaned her arms on the table, her chest thrust forward. Unintentionally? Or did she mean to flaunt her assets?

  Usually, there were four chairs at this table, but someone had decided two would do for today. And they were arranged next to each other. Jev sat and adjusted the position slightly so he could see over the balcony.

  Leaves partially blocked the view, but he spotted his father still down by the fountain. Bashlari headed straight for him, her hips still swaying. The old man watched, his gaze dipping toward her chest. Jev curled a lip. He had never known his father to fall for women’s wiles, but if those wiles were enhanced somehow with a dragon tear…

  “Your mother is still married, isn’t she?” Jev remembered Zyndar Mahk Bludnor at functions, a sturdy man with a cane and countless war stories strategically deployed to bore the youth. Jev had once been among the bored youth.

  “Yes, of course. She and my father have been together for almost twenty-five years.” Fremia clasped Jev’s hand under the table. “I know you must think I’m young, but I’ll be a good wife, Jev. My mother insisted I remain a virgin for my future husband—” her lips wrinkled in distaste, “—but she also approved of me receiving suitable instruction on how to please a man.”

  The blunt talk of sex surprised Jev, perhaps because he’d grown accustomed to Zenia’s shyness on the matter. However, he was fairly certain that when he’d left for the war, zyndari women had been more circumspect in discussing such things, at least to men they didn’t know well. Sometimes, the ten years he’d been gone seemed a lifetime. He found himself uncertain how to navigate waters that had once been familiar.

  “How thoughtful of her,” he murmured.

  Down in the courtyard, Bashlari reached his father and laid a hand on his forearm. Jev shifted, trying to see better through the foliage. Zenia’s dragon tear often glowed blue when it was working its magic, but he hadn’t seen many others give off such telltale signs. He supposed Bashlari’s chest wouldn’t start to glow.

  “I understand the Dharrows own several businesses,” Fremia said, squeezing his hand.

  “Yes.”

  He had the impression she was trying to draw his attention back to her. Manners drilled into him in his youth forced him to face her with an apologetic smile. But he resolved to have a chat with Zyndari Bashlari later. Maybe with Zenia and her dragon tear at his side. He hated to rely on her that way and wondered if he should have taken Targyon up on his offer of a dragon tear of his own to wield. As a boy, Jev hadn’t shown any aptitude for magic, but it was said that anyone who was willing to work at it could learn to rudimentarily access the power within the gems. Patience hadn’t been his aptitude in his youth, but perhaps now…

  “Jev? Did you hear me?”

  So much for his manners. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind right now.”

  “Something related to the Dharrow businesses? I was wondering about your mines in the mountains. We have property up there, too—it was left in my name specifically—but we’re not sure if there’s any ore in there. Perhaps, after we’re wed, your workers could bring some exploratory mining equipment over for a while. If my land turned out to be profitable, we could both benefit.”

  “You have older brothers, don’t you?” Jev asked.

  “Three, yes.”

  Meaning, they would inherit the majority of the family’s assets when their father passed away. Fremia’s land in the mountains might be all that had been left to her, so it made sense that she would want to see if it could be made profitable. Of course, if she married a wealthy zyndar prime—or future prime—she wouldn’t have to worry about money. But maybe she hoped to have money independent of her husband. Her husband who would not be him.

  Jev took a deep breath, smiled, and returned her hand clasp. “Fremia, I would be happy to lend you some of our resources to explore your land, but I need you to know that I won’t marry you. I know our parents want this, but my heart belongs to another.” He tried to make his expression as gentle as possible. He didn’t know her well enough to guess if she would be crushed or outraged by his rejection.

  “Oh, Jev. Is this about your common woman?” Fremia patted his hand and gazed up at him as if he were some wayward and mentally challenged toddler to be pitied. “My mother said you might say this but not to worry. We will be wed, Jev. You’ll soon see that I’m the best choice.”

  That wasn’t the response he’d expected. A servant brought lunch then, so he wasn’t able to answer. Maybe it was for the best. It was her mother that he would have to deal with—and his own father—if he wanted
to cut this weed down before it went to seed.

  Jev suffered through lunch, during which Fremia chatted amiably about his mines and how she could help him find people to run his various businesses so they could travel the world together. It sounded as idealistic and unrealistic as expected from someone young, and by the end of lunch, Jev definitely had the impression that the Bludnor family was purely interested in him because he was his father’s heir. It wasn’t surprising—many zyndar marriages were arranged for financial and political gain—but it did make him long to run back to the woman who loved him, not his family or his money.

  As soon as lunch was over, Jev pardoned himself and evaded an offered kiss by pretending to need to rush back to work.

  His father and Bashlari were no longer in the courtyard, but when he strode to the stable for his horse, he found the old man there, directing the stacking of hay for storage, as if the hands couldn’t handle that on their own. One of the hands brought Jev his horse, and he thanked the boy.

  “I’ll be bringing Zenia by to meet you soon, Father,” Jev said. “As we discussed.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, but as Zyndari Bashlari and I just discussed, we’ve planned the eighteenth for your wedding.”

  Jev rocked back on his heels. “That’s less than two weeks away.”

  Didn’t women need longer than that to prepare for a wedding? For that matter, didn’t all those who helped with the ceremony and inviting guests need longer?

  “Bashlari offered to handle all the planning.”

  Jev had no doubt she had.

  “All you need to do is get an appropriate suit for the ceremony and show up. I trust you can manage that, but if not, I’ll send Wyleria or one of your aunts to help.”

  “I’m not marrying her, Father,” Jev said, forcing himself to meet the old man’s eyes and look as stern and determined as he could.

  He was surprised to realize he was a couple of inches taller than his father. How had it taken him so many years to realize that? The old man had always seemed to tower over him, but maybe that was a mental illusion.

  “You will—”

  “Further,” Jev interrupted, not caring that it was rude and the Zyndar Code ordered children to be respectful and obedient to their elders, “I believe Zyndari Bludnor is using a dragon tear to manipulate you into doing her bidding.”

  Fury flared in his father’s eyes like an inferno. “I’m not some weak-minded child that can be manipulated by a mage.”

  “You’re not acting like yourself. Anyone can be manipulated by a mage. I’ll have Zenia check when she meets with you.”

  The old man clenched his hands. “You keep that inquisitor witch out of my mind.”

  “All she’ll do is fix things if someone’s controlling you.”

  “Dragon shit, she will. If she shows up here, I’ll—”

  “Talk to her.” Jev fought the urge to clench his own fists. “You gave your word. Or are you going to break it again because that manipulative woman is diddling your head?”

  “Damn you, Jev. You show respect for me and your elders or I’ll—”

  “Are you sleeping with her? Because she’s married, I understand. Where’s your vaunted honor, Father?”

  Caught up in his anger, Jev almost didn’t see the punch coming. Instinctively, he whipped a hand up and blocked it.

  His father, blood rushing to his face, threw a second punch. This time, Jev caught it out of the air, his fingers wrapping around the old man’s fist. It surprised him that he’d been able to do so, to thwart the attack.

  Father snarled and jerked his hand away. “You get out of my castle. You’re not welcome until you can show me the respect I deserve.”

  “Fine by me, but you better stay away from Bashlari when she’s wearing her dragon tear. She’s controlling you like a puppet.”

  “Get out!” Father roared and looked around the stable, like he was thinking of grabbing a rake and beating Jev with it.

  He could try, but Jev wasn’t the boy he’d once been, and he wouldn’t stand still for a beating.

  Maybe his father realized that. The old man stomped out of the stable without another word.

  Jev noticed the stablehands had disappeared during their argument. A black gelding stood blandly, chewing on a piece of hay. The king’s carriage hadn’t waited after dropping Jev off, so he saddled up the horse to ride back to Alderoth Castle.

  As much as he didn’t want to ask Zenia to use her dragon tear to help him—or to ever speak with his dyspeptic father again—he didn’t have time to learn to use one of his own. And he feared that confronting Zyndari Bashlari on his own might only end up with him also under her spell.

  9

  A crowd milled in the street outside the walled compound of what had been the elven embassy. Zenia, riding side by side with Rhi, arrived before the king’s carriage and his entourage, and it was clear from several blocks away that the tower wasn’t just damaged. It was completely gone. Whatever remained wasn’t visible above the wall.

  The wrought-iron gate was closed when they arrived, as if nobody had been inside the compound since Zenia and Jev left. But the devastation inside promised otherwise.

  Zenia and Rhi struggled to guide their horses to the gate due to the density of the crowd.

  “Step aside,” Zenia called to the people gawking while they elbowed each other and whispered with speculation. “We are agents on the king’s business.”

  She knew the crowd would disperse instantly when Targyon’s carriage and platoon of bodyguards came into sight, but she wanted to get a look before he arrived. More specifically, before the princess arrived. She doubted Yesleva had ordered her own people’s tower destroyed, especially less than a day after she’d arrived, but Zenia wasn’t sure if she could count the elf as an ally or not. It continued to unnerve her that Targyon was so clearly smitten with her.

  “My captain said step aside,” Rhi roared when nobody moved or did more than glance at their horses.

  Rhi poked people in the backs with her bo to achieve compliance. People glowered but backed away, clearing a path.

  “I knew there was a reason I hired you,” Zenia said.

  “For my wit and my charm and my big stick, eh?”

  “At least one of those things.”

  The hint of a feeling came from Zenia’s dragon tear. Indignation? Had the gem wanted her to use it to clear the crowd?

  Her old dragon tear wouldn’t have been able to manipulate numerous minds at once, but this one definitely had greater range. How great? Zenia wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. She was glad Rhi was able to do the job with her bo.

  When they reached the gate, Zenia joined the crowd in gawking at the pile of rubble inside the courtyard. What had been a tower of more than ten stories was now a two-story rock heap. Chunks larger than horses had tumbled all the way to the courtyard wall. What kind of explosion could have so completely obliterated the structure? It seemed strange that they hadn’t heard anything up in the castle. It was a couple of miles away, but sound traveled up the hill, and she’d often heard foghorns from ships approaching the harbor as she prepared for bed.

  “Did someone set explosives?” she wondered aloud. “Or is it possible magic did this?” After her experience with those two elf wardens, she had no problem imagining their shadow golem tearing down the walls.

  “We could take a look, but someone left the gate locked.” Rhi pointed her bo at the padlock, which had been secured again since Zenia opened it the day before. “It wasn’t noticeably effective at securing the compound.”

  “Someone from the watch might have come by and relocked it to make sure people don’t snoop before an official investigation can be put together.”

  “But we’re going to snoop, right?” Rhi raised her eyebrows.

  “We’re His Majesty’s officially appointed Crown Agents. We don’t snoop, we investigate.” Zenia chose not to remember that she’d used the word to describe her activities with Jev
the day before.

  “Wouldn’t official investigators have a key?”

  “It’s not necessary.” Zenia touched her dragon tear and envisioned the padlock snapping open. She might not like the idea of manipulating masses of people, but iron and steel were different matters.

  The lock opened promptly and tumbled to the cobblestones. A smug sensation came from her dragon tear.

  More and more, Zenia had the feeling that the soul linked to her gem was young. But how some young dragon had come to be tied to a dragon tear that had been in the royal family’s possession for centuries, she could not guess. She knew dragons were reputed to live for centuries and maybe even millennia, but after living for a few hundred years, surely even a dragon wouldn’t be considered youthful.

  “I’ll take that as an invitation.” Rhi used her foot to push open the gate, then guided her horse through.

  A couple of teenagers in the crowd looked like they wanted to head in—maybe these people had looting on their minds?—but Rhi glowered at them and waved her bo. The young men backed off. Sometimes, Rhi could be as menacing as a guard dog.

  Zenia followed her in, closing the gate behind them, and dismounted. They found a few skeletal trees with charred trunks that were still sturdy enough for them to tie their horses to.

  “It’s the king,” someone outside blurted.

  “Come on.” Zenia picked a quick pace through the rubble, hoping to investigate before Targyon and the princess arrived. “Let’s see if we can figure out if magic or black powder was responsible.”

  “How would we know the difference?” Rhi asked.

  “When the Fifth Dragon Guild blew up a corner of the Water Order Temple, Jev said he saw the remains of the kegs that had been holding the black powder.”

  Zenia peered through the wreckage, but she realized it would be hard to pick out wood from kegs. All manner of furnishings had been in the tower, and the floors themselves had been wooden. Everywhere she looked, smashed tables and beds and snapped floorboards lay among the rubble.