Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series

by Lindsay Buroker

  Zenia reached out for support and was glad when her hand found a strong dragon shoulder. Dear founders, was this the person who’d been sending her notes? Or—she looked at the sighted man—the people? Homeless seers who lived in the park?

  “I, uhm.” Zenia didn’t know what to say.

  “You needn’t say anything, Zenia.”

  Zenia looked toward Marity’s chest, wondering if a dragon tear hung around her neck. How else could she know Zenia’s thoughts and know where Zenia had been? But she didn’t see a chain around the woman’s neck. It was possible that she carried it elsewhere…

  “Just know that you have a friend here.” Marity extended her hand toward the fountain and the park.

  “Maybe I can speak to the king and get you better accommodations,” Zenia said, more comfortable talking about something more concrete than visions.

  “We’re comfortable here. Most of the time.” Marity looked in the direction of the nearest street as the bangs of gunfire sounded there. “And we thank you for your intervention. Be well, Zenia.”

  Marity turned, spreading her arms, and ushered her comrades off in another direction. There was nothing in the park but trees and benches, so Zenia had no idea where they would go. She was tempted to call another offer out to them, but they didn’t look back, and the dragon shifted her feet, talons scraping on the brick pavers of the square. A sense of eagerness to return to battle emanated from her.

  “Yes, all right.” Zenia was still dazed but she turned back as the dragon settled onto her haunches, using her magic to help Zenia climb onto her back again. “Let’s go, girl. We have trolls to slay.”

  The dragon sprang into the air, and they returned to driving enemies out of the city.

  Jev and Lornysh led two dozen guards through the castle, men with makeshift masks and iron stomachs. They routed the rest of the trolls, those few who hadn’t fled or died from Targyon’s smoky concoction. Jev’s group also collected people who’d been stranded in their rooms or at other stations—one poor maid had barricaded herself in a laundry closet and armed herself with a box of detergent to throw at would-be assailants. He escorted them to the relative safety of the stable out back. At the least, the stable wasn’t filled with noxious and nauseating smoke.

  Given the number of trolls they passed who’d collapsed due to their allergy, Jev couldn’t begrudge the stuff. Even if his own dried snot made his travel clothes far more disgusting than they had been an hour earlier.

  “Dragon!” someone yelled from the courtyard at the front of the castle.

  “Your lady returns,” Lornysh reported.

  Jev handed off his leadership role to one of the guards and sprinted around the castle. There hadn’t been much time to worry about Zenia, but he had feared that the dragon would continue to be mistaken for an enemy and that she might be caught in friendly fire.

  Delight and relief filled him when he rounded the last corner, and she came into view, sitting astride the dragon’s back, who was, in turn, sitting on the cobblestones with a squirming troll flattened under one taloned foot.

  Rhi and Hydal jogged out of the front of the castle, trailed by a few grim-faced guards wearing blood-spattered uniforms. One of them stomped up and shot the troll in the head, a testament to the deplorable day he’d had.

  The dragon lifted her foot, examining her talons briefly, shook them, and set her foot down to the side of the dead troll.

  “Cooties?” Rhi asked, their group gathering in front of the dragon. Some of the guards came forward with them, but others hung back uncertainly.

  “Snot, more likely,” Hydal murmured. “The trolls seem to have been even more affected by Targyon’s potion than the humans.”

  “That was the goal, right?”

  “Yes. He’s grown into a resourceful young man.”

  Jev smiled, pleased to hear Targyon get some praise for once, even if it was from a friend.

  The dragon settled onto her forelegs so that her back was lower to the ground. Zenia swung a leg over to slide off. Jev rushed forward and hugged her as she touched down.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” he whispered.

  “I’m glad you’re all right too.” Zenia squeezed him back. “I was worried about you.”

  “Me? You’re the one who was flying around on a dragon’s back hundreds of feet in the air and could have fallen off.”

  “My job was easy. I simply held on while she breathed fire on our enemies. You had to battle trolls face-to-face.” Zenia drew back slightly and touched his crusty shirt.

  “It’s a long story.” Jev noticed Targyon walking out, against the wishes of his bodyguards, judging by the way they kept getting in the way and trying to shoo him back.

  He gave a stern command, and they reluctantly gave him the room to approach the dragon.

  “Maybe Targyon will explain,” Jev said, “since he was paramount in it.”

  Targyon only gave them brief nods before focusing on their scaled ally. Maybe Zenia gave some kind of mental introduction for the dragon rose to all fours and lowered her head so that her large reptilian eyes were level with his. Jev might have quailed, especially since some of her fangs showed even when her mouth was closed, but Targyon met her gaze and kept his head up.

  “King Targyon, this is our new ally.” Jev glanced at Zenia, wondering if she had given the dragon a name yet. She must have guessed his question because she shook her head slightly. “Dragon ally, this is the King of Kor. He’s pleased to meet you.”

  Targyon gave Jev a dry look.

  The dragon extended her neck, her maw parting slightly as she scrutinized Targyon. The bodyguards shifted uneasily, their fingers tight on the triggers of their firearms.

  When the dragon seemed to be done considering him, Targyon bowed low to her. “We are greatly impressed and pleased by your timely arrival and intervention. I will see to it that heaping portions of roasted lamb are delivered to you this evening. You have the gratitude of myself and my entire kingdom.”

  Zenia always said the dragon—or at least her dragon tear—didn’t understand spoken words, but Jev was certain the dragon understood. She stood tall, her tail going up like a flag. A few admiring oohs and ahhs came from those gathered in the courtyard. After a moment, the dragon sat on her haunches and proceeded to clean her scales with her tongue, like a bird preening itself.

  Targyon smiled briefly, then took a deep breath as he looked around the courtyard. “I must oversee preparations for a funeral, I fear. But I’ll plan a ceremony too, to thank those who helped today and hopefully give those who survived a reason to celebrate.”

  Jev patted Targyon on the shoulder before he walked off, giving orders calmly and with resolution. Jev decided he’d grown into his new role as king over the last few months.

  Zenia came over and slipped an arm around Jev’s waist, which pleased him and made him want to preen something. “I saw your father while we were flying around,” she said.

  “Oh? You went to the castle?”

  “No, he was leading Dharrow troops to the city.” Zenia glanced toward the gate. “He may arrive any moment if this is his destination.”

  “So, we should kiss now, before he runs in and yells at us about how improper it is?”

  “That sounds logical to me.”

  “Does it? I’m falling more in love with you every day.”

  “Good.” She leaned against his chest, and Jev quickly decided that kissing was far better than preening.

  Epilogue

  “Jev?” a familiar voice asked as he dismounted from his horse.

  His companions for this mission—Rhi, Wyleria, and Sevy—pulled their horses up to the hitching post next to him, but instead of dismounting, they turned in their saddles to look toward the voice. Their group had arrived at the tavern across from the elven embassy compound where the rubble had been cleared and scaffolding raised around new construction. Since it was late, with the sun having set, Jev hadn’t expected anyone to be in the com
pound. For once, it was the tavern that brought him to this part of the city this evening.

  “Lornysh?” He picked out his friend’s cloaked form among the shadows.

  “Yes.”

  “Are things going well?”

  Jev hadn’t seen Lornysh since the big battle two weeks earlier. Being an elven ambassador was a demanding job, as was overseeing the construction of one’s new tower. And Jev had also been busy, helping out at Dharrow Castle—their land had been trampled and one of their villages decimated by the trolls. While he’d been there, he had been amused when he occasionally caught sight of Zenia’s dragon in the sky, flying from the mountains to the sea and back, hunting and fishing or simply enjoying her freedom. She definitely wasn’t a shy dragon.

  Jev wondered if Zenia had ridden her again since the battle. He had managed to slip away with Zenia for a dinner at a fine restaurant in town the night before, but they had flirted instead of speaking about dragons. Jev hoped it would be the first dinner of many.

  “Sufficiently,” Lornysh said. “You’re grinning goofily. Are you thinking of Zenia?” He looked toward the ladies now dismounting nearby. “Or are you beaming in pride because a harem of women is trailing you?”

  “A harem?” Rhi blurted.

  Sevy spun toward Lornysh, her fists finding her hips. “What a ridiculous thing to say. As if I would ever have any interest in bedding Jev. And she’s his cousin.” Sevy jabbed a finger at Wyleria. “That would be completely inappropriate.”

  “And disgusting,” Wyleria said.

  Jev snorted.

  Lornysh gazed blandly at this combined feminine disapproval, decided not to respond, and faced Jev again.

  “I was thinking of Zenia,” Jev admitted. “She’s going to get an award and, uhm, something else, at Targyon’s recognition ceremony tomorrow.”

  “Something else?” Sevy forgot her indignation and lowered her hands. “What something else? I didn’t know about a something else, and I’m secretary of the king’s Crown Agents now.”

  “Jev is aware of your position,” Wyleria murmured. “He and Zenia hired you, you may remember.”

  “Please, Jev wasn’t there for that, and he’s still never there. Zenia hired me. She has excellent taste and knows how to pick personnel.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Jev said, then asked Lornysh, “Will you be at the ceremony?”

  Lornysh sighed. “As commensurate with my duties as the Taziir ambassador, I’m expected to be at all royal ceremonies now.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to spy effectively on Targyon if you weren’t,” Jev said.

  “Some ceremonies aren’t worth spying on, especially the ludicrous ones his brothers’ wives have been arranging. Jev, your zyndari women need jobs. Real jobs. Otherwise, they create silly missions for themselves.”

  “Oh? Are there some particularly odious autumn ceremonies lined up?” Jev assumed Lornysh wasn’t complaining about recognizing soldiers who had fought heroically during the invasion.

  “A garlic festival, an apple-cider tasting festival, and a ceremony to honor the city’s cheesemakers. Targyon will be appearing at all of them, and thus the city’s ambassadors are expected to attend.” Even with his cowl up, the thinning of his lips was obvious.

  “If it helps,” Jev said, “some of the cider at the apple one is usually alcoholic.”

  “I’m not Cutter.”

  “No, he would be excited about cheese and alcohol. I’m less certain of his stance on garlic.” Jev pointed toward the compound’s gate. “Is the construction progressing well?”

  “Adequately. Or it was until the trolls stormed into the city and ransacked the place. Now it’s hard to get workers. At least the trolls avoided my compound.”

  “I’ve heard it’s hard to ransack something that’s already been blown up,” Rhi said.

  Lornysh gave her a flat look.

  “We have business in the tavern. Do you want to join us?” Jev tilted his head toward the building as the door opened and two drunk men stumbled out laughing raucously. Someone pounded drums inside. It wasn’t clear from the beats if a troupe had been hired for entertainment or if the patrons had started something more impromptu.

  “No,” Lornysh said without hesitation.

  Jev grinned. “Why don’t you and Cutter and I get together for dinner one night then? We’ll catch up. You can practice your spy reports on us.”

  “You want me to share the secret report I’ll send to my king that details all that’s going on here with you?”

  “Someone needs to check for spelling errors, don’t they?”

  “That should be my job,” Sevy said.

  “Humans are odd,” Lornysh announced, then headed down the street, apparently done in the compound for the night.

  “Dinner?” Jev called after him.

  Lornysh flicked his fingers without looking back. “Yes.”

  “Are all of your conversations with him so warm?” Wyleria asked.

  “I don’t know about temperatures, but that was pretty typical.”

  “He seems a strange friend.”

  “Yes, I have a lot of those.” He grinned and patted Sevy and Rhi on the shoulders before heading for the front door.

  “Were we just insulted?” Sevy asked.

  “I think so,” Rhi said, “but not as much as when it was suggested we were his harem. That was truly offensive.”

  “Agreed,” Wyleria said.

  Jev pushed his way into the busy tavern, tossing a few elbows and trying to look zyndarly so people would make room for the women to come in. Wyleria was the only one he’d asked to come along with him to find Borti, who’d recently returned to the city on the king’s steamer, but he wasn’t surprised that Sevy had shown up at the Alderoth Castle stable with her. Rhi had been there for another reason. Jev had caught the end of her apologetically informing the head stable boy that she could no longer enjoy a carnal relationship with him because she’d found another. Jev had expected her to shy away from the idea of visiting Borti, since she hadn’t seemed that delighted by the twins, but she had invited herself along to Jev’s party.

  “There he is,” Jev said, relieved when he spotted Borti in a dark nook under the stairs that led to the rooftop deck.

  Jev almost didn’t recognize him. Borti sat alone with an uncharacteristic slump, his shoulders hunched, and a quarter inch of fuzz covering his usually bald pate. A barely-touched mug of beer rested between his hands.

  Jev made his way back, plucking up a couple of empty chairs along the way. He’d set them down at the table before Borti lifted his gaze, recognition flickering in his eyes.

  “Zyndar Dharrow,” Borti said gravely, his expression so different from the enthusiastic one he’d displayed in the past as he and his brother discussed rat racing and breeding.

  “Borti,” Jev said, sliding into a seat and waving for the women to join them.

  “You didn’t get me a seat?” Rhi asked.

  “Actually, I got you one and Sevy one. Wyleria took yours.”

  Wyleria arched her eyebrows.

  “Cousins don’t have to be polite to each other,” Jev said. “They’re supposed to bicker and squabble.”

  “You’re thinking of siblings.”

  “Am I? Oops.” Jev vacated his seat and gestured for Rhi to take it.

  Borti watched the exchange without humor. Jev had hoped a little lightness would cheer him up, but he wasn’t surprised that it didn’t, so he decided to get to the point.

  “Borti,” Jev said, “when we returned, I gave the king a thorough report on the mission and explained how helpful you and your brother had been. I remember you mentioning that was a concern, that this was a trial of sorts, and you hadn’t been confirmed yet as an employee of the Crown.”

  Borti nodded warily.

  “I was told that you received a message informing you that you were officially hired but then refused the job.”

  Borti looked down into his beer. “I did. I just…
Look, I appreciate you doing that, Zyndar, but I need… I don’t know what. I can’t start working like usual, like nothing’s changed. Like Horti’s not gone and our dreams haven’t been destroyed.”

  Jev had expected that answer, and he knew Targyon would still give Borti the job even if he needed to take some time off first. But Jev felt he should make another offer, in case Borti was interested. The brothers had been paramount in helping him and Zenia along their journey, and he didn’t think they had been on anyone’s payroll. They’d risked their lives—and Horti had lost his life—for so little. At least little to them.

  He opened his mouth to make his offer, but Rhi leaned across the table and gripped Borti’s arm. “You can’t give up your dreams. You know your brother would want you to carry on and do all the things you talked about.”

  Borti shook his head and drew back. “I can’t.”

  “Did you bring your rats back?” Rhi asked.

  “What?”

  “The rats you caught and caged up in Izstara. Did you pick them up from whatever troll was feeding them and not eating them while we dealt with the orcs?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Jev leaned back, bemused that Rhi was the one trying to draw Borti out of his funk. Across the table, Wyleria raised her eyebrows. Jev shook his head. They could let Rhi finish before making their offer. Sevy waved for a waitress to come over with drinks.

  “Then you’re still interested,” Rhi said. “And you still care about rats.”

  “Maybe,” Borti allowed.

  “And you know you’re good enough to breed them and race them on your own, right? Your brother was moral support and a good friend, but you can do this, can’t you?”

  “I mean, I guess I could. But I don’t have the funds to turn it into a real business like we talked about. We won some money in the races, but we were always so busy with our other work that we couldn’t devote that much time to it, and nobody wanted to finance a couple of monks. They thought the founders might frown on gambling.”