Jev slowly broke the kiss. Zenia wasn’t sure she would have broken it if it had been up to her. Surely, Rhi could come back in the morning…
“Was that a yes?” he wondered.
“I would love to marry you, Jev Dharrow.”
“Good. We’ll make it work then. One way or another.” He smiled, but his eyes seemed a little grim underneath the determination.
She tried not to think about him walking away from his position as heir for her sake. But if he did, it would be his choice. She couldn’t imagine giving him up if he was offering himself to her.
“Good,” she whispered and touched his cheek.
A loud throat-clearing accompanied the second knock.
“Kings are busy,” came a dry voice through the door, “and can’t stand in hallways waiting overlong for doors to be opened.”
Jev snorted and strode to the door.
Cheeks heating, Zenia smoothed her dress and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears.
“Good evening, Sire,” Jev said, opening the door. “Nice of you to join us. Did you see my note? Or has the princess sailed off to Taziira and left you lonely and bereft, thus forcing you to seek us out for company?”
The two bodyguards standing in the hall with Targyon were remarkable in their ability not to react to such comments.
“Actually, she’s waiting for me in my dining hall where we’re going to have a last meal together before she sails back north.” Targyon smiled sadly and looked out the window. He held an envelope down by his side. Poetry for the princess?
“Oh?” Jev asked. “So soon? I thought she would wait to make sure a new embassy is successfully built.”
“That’s Lornysh’s duty now, much to my bemusement.”
“He’s agreed to the position, then?”
“He has. He told Yesleva it was only until she and her father could find someone more fitting for the position. I certainly don’t mind having an ally as the elven ambassador, but I think the idea of being committed to staying here where the Zsayon faction could easily find him again makes Lornysh nervous.”
“Understandable. Let’s hope Vornzylar was the leader of those set against him and that few others are interested in going after him.”
Targyon nodded. “We’ll see.” He looked from Jev to Zenia. “You two have my permission, of course, to go find this dragon. Though I imagine you would have gone, regardless.” He smiled.
Zenia kept her mouth shut, not willing to confirm that.
“I read your note, Jev,” Targyon said, “and spoke to Yesleva, but I’m confused about how a young imprisoned dragon came to be linked to an old dragon tear that had been in the royal vault for generations, if not centuries.” He cocked his head, regarding Zenia curiously.
She spread her hands. “I don’t know anything more than the princess told me, Sire. I regret that I didn’t figure out earlier that she—the dragon—is in trouble.”
“Maybe she’ll tell us how the link came to be,” Jev said. “When we find her. Can dragons speak?”
“Some can speak telepathically, the stories tell us. Though they rarely deign to interact with the lesser races. In recent centuries, they’ve found the world too populated and rarely come out of their hermitages.”
“Hermitages?” Jev asked. “I thought dragons lived in caves.”
“Yes, in a hermitly manner.” Targyon touched his forehead in a vague army salute and started to leave, but he looked down at the envelope and turned back. “I almost forgot. This came for you, Zenia.”
As he held it up, a feeling of dread hollowed her stomach. Now that she could see the front, she recognized the stationery and the ink and handwriting. Captain Zenia Cham.
“Another warning?” she murmured.
Targyon’s eyebrows arched. Zenia hadn’t told him about her unseen and unheard ally of a sort, and Jev must not have either.
“How did you get it, Sire?” Jev asked as Zenia accepted the envelope.
“I was out with Lornysh, the princess, and my bodyguards, examining the ruins and arranging for the area to be cleared so construction could begin. When we were on our way back, an old blind woman stepped into the path of the entourage. My guards tried to shoo her away, but she had the look of one of those religious seers.” He shrugged. “I don’t like to irk the Orders or anyone who receives visions, real or imagined. It was a simple enough matter to go and talk to her, but all she requested was that I deliver this to my Crown Agent captain.”
“Asking the king to be your messenger boy is audacious,” Jev said.
Targyon spread his hands. “The religious Orders all think they’re above us secular types.”
“Did blind seers deliver the other messages?” Jev asked as Zenia opened the envelope.
“No. This is the first time anyone has seen who delivered one.” That feeling of dread returned as Zenia unfolded the single page inside. She wasn’t sure why. Before, the messages had all been helpful warnings. Maybe it was that they also always heralded trouble.
Death awaits in Izstara.
Zenia swallowed. That was all it said. Wordlessly, she showed it to the men.
“Uh, whose death?” Jev asked.
Targyon, not familiar with the earlier notes, merely appeared curious, or maybe slightly confused.
“And how did he or she know where we’re going?” Jev added.
“How did they know Vornzylar was coming? Or that Lunis Drem had betrayed us?” Zenia shook her head, believing that her sensation of dread had been entirely warranted.
“Well,” Jev said. “It doesn’t change anything, right? We’re still going?”
Zenia touched her dragon tear, and a feeling of uncertainty mingled with hope emanated from it.
“Yes,” Zenia said firmly. “We’re going.”
THE END
Book 5: Dragon Tear
1
“The shop closes in five minutes,” a grumpy voice said from the counter near the door.
Judging by his tone, the clerk would have preferred to close his shop five minutes ago. Or maybe five hours ago. He kept sending baleful looks at Zenia and Rhi as they walked among the racks, pulling off oilskin jackets and other gear suitable for a trek through the jungle. Maybe he didn’t believe a pair of women would actually purchase such things.
“The sun hasn’t set yet,” Rhi called back. “It’s a beautiful summer evening. People are still wandering the street outside. If you close early, you could miss last-minute shoppers wandering in to pick up gifts of—” Rhi poked at items on a shelf, “—waterproof matches and… What is this? Some kind of foldable skewer for roasting a pig?”
The man stalked toward them, a wide-brimmed hat with shark teeth hooked into the band pulled low to mostly hide his bald head. “That’s a collapsible fishing pole. Don’t touch it if you’re not going to buy it. And people don’t come in here to last-minute shop. Safaris must be carefully planned for months in advance if they are to be successful.” He swatted her hand away from the shelf. “Don’t touch that either.”
Rhi lifted her hands innocently, though she looked like she wished she’d brought her six-foot-long bo with her so she could conk the fellow over the head. The wiry old man reminded Zenia of Jev’s father, Heber. Maybe charisma hadn’t been a trendy attribute to cultivate in that generation.
“How are people supposed to select items to purchase if they can’t touch anything?” Rhi asked.
“Zyndar,” the man said.
“What?”
“My name is Zyndar Grivon Hydal,” he said stiffly, his glare shifting to Zenia and the oilskin clothing in her arms. “I would appreciate it if you addressed me appropriately.”
She was tempted to take her krons elsewhere, but the ship left in the morning, and she didn’t know of any other shops that specialized in gear and clothing suitable for jungle climates. She selected the waterproof matches and added them to her stack.
“Hydal?” Rhi blinked and looked at Zenia.
“Z
yndar Hydal,” the man said.
“Yeah, I heard that part, Zyndar. I was curious about your surname. You’re not related to Hux Hydal, are you?”
His eyes narrowed. “He’s one of my nephews, yes.”
Zenia hadn’t seen the Hydal name on the shop sign outside—it read only Korvann’s Finest Safari Supplies—and was surprised a zyndar worked as a sales clerk in his own business. But she knew from Hux’s cousin Sevy that their family wasn’t as wealthy as many zyndar families.
She hoped Grivon would be more personable once he knew they were associates of his nephew. The last Zenia had heard, Rhi and Hux Hydal were slightly more than associates.
“We know Hux.” Rhi pulled a gilded compass off a shelf. “Is this a family business? Can we get a discount?”
“Certainly not.” Grivon snatched the compass from her hands and returned it to the shelf. “What could two common women possibly need with safari gear?”
Zenia ignored the question and did her best not to let the conversation distract her from acquiring the gear she needed. She didn’t want the grouch to kick them out before she purchased everything on her list.
“We’re going to a jungle and heard it would be wet,” Rhi said. “Would you be harassing us if we were zyndari women?”
“No.”
“Because they’re more likely to go on safaris and hunt down lions and wyverns and mammoths?”
“Because they’re more likely to purchase items for their husbands who go hunt such animals. Further, they do not ask about discounts.”
Zenia plucked a lantern with an extra-durable casing off a rack and headed to the counter with her armload of gear. She knew Jev had gathered some supplies already and that there would be a town where they could purchase necessities before heading into the jungle, but she wagered humans would pay a large tax at any shop in Izstara.
“We’re not going on a safari,” Rhi said. “We’re going to Izstara to trek through the jungle and look for a dragon.”
“So, you’re common and daft. Another good reason for me to kick you out of my store.” The man walked up to the counter, eyeing the items Zenia had laid down as he glanced at a clock on the wall.
Zenia tensed, worried he would tell them closing time had come and he couldn’t help them. But surely he wouldn’t want to miss out on a substantial sale? Unless poor business sense was the reason the Hydals weren’t well off.
He gritted his teeth, read the price tags, and punched them into the large cash register. It made a loud ker-chunk sound with each key pressed.
“If you’re truly planning to go to Izstara,” he said, “you’re insane as well as daft. Humans are usually shot or eaten there. Or shot and eaten. Trolls, orcs, and ogres have towns all over the place, and they’re not diplomatic toward visitors. You’d be better off heading to Taktak or Delarus. Everybody goes to those islands to hunt the big game since they’re largely neutral territories. The self-appointed unicorn wardens don’t allow permanent settlement. You just have to worry about them helping the creatures you’re hunting. They have strange senses of humor.”
“Thank you for the advice.” Zenia withdrew her purse, having no intention of explaining her quest to find the dragon that was linked to her dragon tear and, from what she’d recently learned, was being held prisoner by a tribe of orcs deep in the Izstara jungle. Her dreams—nightmares—had been trying to tell her that for weeks, but it had been the elven princess Yesleva who’d said it bluntly enough for her to grasp.
“Two hundred and twenty krons.” Grivon crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Do you have that much?”
Zenia lifted her chin. “I am not a pauper, nor do I go shopping if I can’t afford to buy what I find.”
Her oval-shaped dragon tear, which currently lay under her blouse on its silver-and-gold necklace—warmed against her skin, and she sensed indignation from it. And a faint question. Did she want it to deal with this buffoon standing in her way?
No, she thought silently.
She was grateful for the offer of assistance, but the dragon tear tended to deal with people by incinerating their clothing or tossing rotten banana peels in their paths. It was a mostly innocuous way to handle trouble, but Zenia didn’t want to make trouble. All she wanted was to finish shopping and pack for the trip. She quickly counted out bills to pay for her purchase.
“I must say I’m glad you’re nothing like your nephew,” Rhi observed, coming to stand beside Zenia.
The man scowled down at her hands, no doubt checking to make sure she hadn’t taken anything else off his shelves.
“He reads me poetry and recites historical tales,” Rhi added.
The man only scowled more deeply. “If you see him, tell him to send his cousin by. She’s supposed to help with the books but she didn’t come by this week.”
“Sevy?” Zenia asked. “She’s working at the castle now. For me, actually. I’m afraid I’ve given her a lot of work to handle while Zyndar Dharrow and I are gone. I can let her know you’re looking for her though.”
The man’s lips thinned. “She’s working for a commoner?”
“At the castle doing the king’s work,” Zenia said.
“But under a commoner? That’s intolerable.”
“If things keep progressing, Hux will be under me soon.” Rhi grinned wickedly.
Thankfully, Grivon didn’t seem to grasp the innuendo.
“Sevy doesn’t seem to mind.” Tired of the exchange, Zenia laid her money on the table, making sure it was exact so she wouldn’t have to stand around while he counted change. Or didn’t. “May I have a bag?” She waved to the large pile of clothing and gear she’d accumulated and nodded to a stack of canvas totes behind the counter.
Grivon squinted suspiciously at Rhi. Maybe he was piecing together that innuendo.
Zenia sighed, wondering if she would have to carry everything back to the castle in her arms. She should have arranged for one of the king’s steam carriages to pick her up, but she would have felt uncomfortable using Targyon’s resources and people for her personal quest.
One of the canvas bags unfolded of its own accord and floated to the counter. Grivon’s eyes widened, and he jumped to the side.
Zenia shared a feeling of appreciation with her dragon tear as she folded the clothing and tucked it into the bag.
“Commoners shouldn’t be allowed to purchase dragon tears,” Grivon growled. “Where’d you get the money for it, anyway?” His eyes closed to a suspicious squint again.
Zenia hefted her bag and headed for the door without answering, feeling a twinge of nostalgia for the days when she’d worn a blue robe that proclaimed her an inquisitor for the Water Order. Nobody had dared question her then, even zyndar.
“Don’t bring your ill-gotten money back to my store again,” Grivon said as they walked out.
Zenia glanced back and caught him frowning at the stack of bills she’d left, as if he worried she’d acquired it from the gangs or perhaps by selling troll hash or some other forbidden compound.
“He’s definitely nothing like his nephew,” Rhi said once they were out in the street, seagulls wheeling overhead and flying toward the harbor as the sun set.
“How is your relationship with Hydal—Hux—progressing?” Zenia asked as they strode out of the shopping district, passing well-dressed zyndari women with servants trailing behind and carrying their purchases. As Rhi had pointed out, the long days of the solstice were keeping people out later than usual.
“He brought me books while I was recuperating from my injuries. A lot of books. Also, three different puzzles. He said he thought I might be bored while I was resting in bed and need ways to stimulate my mind. Zenia, I’m a simple ex-monk. My mind doesn’t need a lot of stimulation.”
“I suspect his does, and he’s assuming you’re the same.”
Rhi scratched her jaw as they walked around a fountain in an intersection. “I’m still hoping he’ll scratch my itches for me. I’m getting antsy now that I�
��ve recovered and am fit and filled with vigor again. We’re leaving for your quest in the morning, and it’ll have been more than two weeks since I’ve had sex.”
“Your lady parts will probably shrivel up from disuse and fall out.”
Rhi snorted. “That can’t happen.” She lowered her hand, a concerned look entering her eyes. “It can’t, right?”
Zenia hoped not, since she’d never had sex, thanks to the vow she’d long ago made not to have relations with a man until she was married. She hadn’t wanted to risk getting pregnant and having a child who, like she, would be born without a father. Until she met Jev, she’d never considered breaking her vow. He hadn’t asked her to—he was too honorable for that—but she enjoyed spending time with him, and now that he wasn’t engaged to another woman, there was nothing untoward about them being together. Further, a couple of evenings earlier, he had brought up the subject of them getting married, asking if she might be interested in the notion. If he could get his crusty old father to agree to it, she definitely would be.
Rhi elbowed her. “Are you listening?”
Er, had she said something else?
“I asked if you had any suggestions,” Rhi said. “I’m not used to having to pursue men. They usually pursue me. And since he’s zyndar, well. You know how it is. I wouldn’t want him or anyone else thinking I cared about that and just wanted him for his title. I want him because…” She trailed off as if she wasn’t sure how to articulate it.
“Because you saw him sparring shirtless with Jev and realized he does indeed have hidden ferocity?”
Rhi shook her head, but she also blushed. Zenia hadn’t seen her embarrassed often, and it amused her, but she straightened her face and groped for something helpful to say to her friend.
“Maybe you can—”
“That’s her,” a young woman whispered loudly from the walkway in front of Zenia and Rhi.
“Which one? That one?”
Zenia looked up and spotted a pouty teenage girl with an ample chest pointing straight at her. A second girl with artistically styled hair that must have taken an hour to make up stood close, her head tilted toward the first. A blank-faced servant behind them carried their shopping bags and boxes.
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 109