Duty Bound (Agents of the Crown Book 3)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Dust coated the woman’s robe and face, but Jev recognized her. His other tormentor and the person who had treated Zenia so poorly. Archmage Sazshen.

  “Was anyone else in there?” one of the mages asked as his comrade floated more rubble out of the building.

  The clanging of one of the Fire Order steam vehicles sounded in the distance. Nothing appeared to be burning, so they were making the trip for nothing.

  “I don’t sense anyone else under the rubble,” Inquisitor Marlyna said. “Those are the archmage’s quarters. Someone knew just where to strike.”

  “Who?” someone shouted. “Who knew where to strike?”

  “I didn’t see anyone,” a mage said.

  “Neither did I,” another said.

  Jev thought of Iridium and looked around for signs that those kegs had been used. It was possible someone else might have been responsible for the explosion. Maybe she’d had nothing to do with this.

  Archmage Sazshen groaned, her eyes squinted shut, her face twisted with pain.

  “Someone get a healer,” one of the mages ordered.

  Jev spotted a few slivers of wood in the rubble. Might they have come from those kegs? It would be impossible to prove unless someone had seen a known Fifth Dragon operative placing the explosives, but Jev’s gut told him the guild had been responsible. Ballsy of Iridium to order this attack during daylight. Why hadn’t she done it at night when the explosion would have been more likely to find the archmage asleep in bed, and it would have been easier to plant the kegs without being noticed? Maybe Iridium had worried Jev would tell the watch about her plans. Or maybe she had a spy in the temple, someone who could tell her when the archmage went to her quarters.

  Nurses with stretchers arrived, and the monks placed Sazshen on one. She groaned again. Bloodied and in pain but alive. That was good. Jev didn’t like any of these people, but he would have felt even more guilt if someone had died after he chose not to destroy those kegs.

  “You know,” Marlyna growled from his side, disbelief and suspicion in her voice.

  “What?” Jev asked.

  “You know who did this.”

  “It’s just a guess. I don’t know how we would prove it.”

  “The Fifth Dragon,” Marlyna said, peering into his eyes.

  An uncomfortably familiar scraping sensation raked down the back of his brain. He recognized her icy probe right away and knew she was reading his thoughts. Painfully.

  He winced and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes flared with indignation.

  “I am not your prisoner now,” Jev said, squeezing her wrist just enough to distract her from hurting him. “Stay out of my mind.”

  “You cavort with the criminal guilds.” The sneer returned, conveying righteousness along with her distaste and indignation. “You knew this would happen, and you let it.”

  “I did not know. If you saw my thoughts, you know that’s the truth.” At least, he hoped she could discern the truth. Since he’d been thinking about those kegs, maybe that was all she’d seen in his mind. Or maybe she would see what she wanted to see, no matter what the truth was.

  “You cavort with criminals,” Marlyna repeated. “And they say you control the king.”

  She tried to jerk her arm away from him. Surprised by the accusation, Jev loosened his grip and let her step back. He didn’t know why he was surprised. If the zyndar could come up with that idea, there was no reason the Orders couldn’t.

  For a bleak, distressed moment, he wished he was back on the front, back fighting elves in Taziira. He didn’t believe he’d been doing the right thing then, but life had been much simpler.

  “I don’t control anyone,” he said firmly and willed her to see the truth.

  But she took another step back, still sneering. “Leave this place, Zyndar Dharrow. You are not welcome here. You may control the king, but you do not control the Water Order. Or any of the other Orders, and we have religious sway over the people. Never forget that.”

  Jev shook his head in disgust. He couldn’t reason with her. There was no point in staying, so he headed to the elven embassy.

  11

  Twilight shadowed the streets by the time Zenia stepped out of the property office on Abacus Street. She yawned ferociously, and her stomach growled like a dragon fresh out of hibernation. She vowed to eat something, then sleep for a very long time.

  She looked at the bench outside the office, wondering if Rhi was waiting there—she’d grown bored and gone outside hours earlier. To her surprise, Jev sat slumped on it, staring toward an intersection where a pair of marble combatants poured water into the fountain at their feet.

  “Jev?” Zenia asked uncertainly.

  She headed toward him, wondering if she’d mistaken someone else for him. It was dark, and his usually tidy hair was tousled.

  “Yes.” He turned, offering her a quick smile, but it didn’t last. “Good evening, my lady Captain.”

  The shadows hid his eyes, so it was likely only her imagination that he seemed haunted. He was just tired, she decided. The same as she.

  “How long have you been here?” Zenia stopped beside his bench. “Why didn’t you come in?”

  He hesitated but soon flashed his smile again. “I was afraid you’d put me to work. I thought I’d wait out here and take a nap.”

  “Does napping upright with your eyes open work well?”

  “Not as well as in bed with a friendly woman snuggled in your arms.” He grimaced, seeming to find the words a mistake. “If memory serves. It’s been a long time since I experienced that.”

  Zenia thought of Naysha’s memories, wishing again that she could un-see them. “Iridium wasn’t willing?”

  “She doesn’t seem like a snuggler. More like someone you wouldn’t want to turn your back to.” His voice lowered almost to a mumble. “I’m tired of always having to watch my back.”

  Maybe her first instinct had been right, and more than weariness plagued him.

  She moved around to sit on the bench beside him. “Did something happen today?”

  “Someone blew a hole in the Water Order Temple—nobody was killed, but your old archmage was injured. I don’t have proof, but I think it might have been Iridium. That dragons-cursed inquisitor Marlyna scraped through my thoughts and saw me thinking that. She accused me of colluding with the criminal guilds and promised she’d be watching me. She also believes I’m controlling Targyon. That’s a common belief, apparently, with lots of zyndar thinking it too. It seems that because we served together, people think I somehow made the Orders pick Targyon for the throne and then set myself up in an office in the castle so I could pull his strings. Oh, some women are apparently thinking of telling my father that you and I have been having a torrid relationship, too, no doubt so the old man will put an end to it by swiftly arranging my marriage to an appropriate zyndari woman. One of them, no doubt.”

  Jev rubbed his face, let his head drop back, almost clunking it on the bench, and stared up at the darkening sky. The street was quiet, with the offices closed for the day, and there wasn’t anyone except Zenia around to hear his words. She didn’t know what to think of everything, but he sounded so weary and distressed that she wanted to hug him. Badly.

  “I’m sorry.” He looked at her and smiled again—it was definitely a forced smile. “I didn’t mean to blurt all that out. It’s been a trying day. I’m feeling ganged up on and pitying myself. I’ll deal with it. Sleep will help.”

  Zenia shifted closer, wrapped her arms around him, and rested her face against his shoulder.

  “That might help too,” he said. It didn’t sound like as much of a joke as he might have meant it to be.

  “I’m sorry the world is bullying you,” Zenia said. “Especially my former colleagues.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist and returned the hug, dropping his forehead to the top of her head. She closed her eyes, wishing she could use her dragon tear’s magic to make him feel better. But she didn’t think magic worked t
hat way. She also doubted she could use it to brainwash all those idiots who were making accusations into shutting their maws.

  What could they stand to gain from slandering him? Well, marriage, she supposed, in the case of whatever women wanted to talk to his father. Idiots. As if they would enjoy being a part of a marriage they maneuvered the man into joining.

  “Thanks,” Jev murmured. He kissed the top of her head, then withdrew his arm.

  Zenia missed it immediately. With reluctance, she withdrew her own arms and lifted her face from his shoulder, though she gazed at his profile for a few seconds before shifting to look at the dark street. She didn’t know who had started rumors about them having torrid relationships, but she thought of their hug that morning in the office. She couldn’t imagine having rejected it, but maybe she should have. They should be careful not to give the appearance of impropriety. The last thing she wanted was for Jev’s father to be pressured into making a swift decision regarding his son’s marital future. Even if she and Jev could never be more than friends, she wanted to see her friends happy, not manipulated into misery.

  They were still sitting close enough for Jev to nudge her shoulder with his. “Were you in that office all afternoon? Did you learn anything helpful?”

  She made herself shift her focus from wanting to comfort him back to their work, though she was aware of the warmth of his shoulder against hers and let herself lean against him. “Not what I expected.”

  “But something you didn’t expect?”

  “Yes. I wanted to know if anyone had tried to buy desirable land in the city and been denied. What I found is that someone very recently purchased a huge swath of land five miles up the Jade River.”

  “Isn’t that the area that’s so swampy and wet that all past attempts to drain it and turn it to farmland failed?”

  Zenia nodded. “That’s most of the Jade River near the city. It’s nothing but swamp and mangroves. Most places, those trees grow about a half mile inland from the river, but three streams drain into the Jade in this section of land, so the mangroves extend almost ten miles inland there. Previously, the Nhole family owned it.” Zenia had been surprised to find the transaction involved someone she’d met, though she assumed the zyndar prime—Dr. Ghara Nhole’s father—had been the one responsible, not Ghara or her mother. Their estate had been old and rundown when Zenia and Jev visited—especially that dilapidated leaky cottage—so maybe it made sense that they would accept an offer to sell relatively useless land.

  “Previously? Who owns it now?”

  “A man named Tildar Braksnoth. He’s on the list I made of wealthy commoners. I haven’t had a chance to research him extensively yet, but from what I’ve heard of the man, he grew up poor and on the streets and built his fortune from scratch.”

  “Fortune in what?” Jev asked. “Logging?”

  Zenia had wondered that same thing when she’d been reading about the transaction, since cutting down the mangrove trees for lumber was the only use she could imagine for that land. “He manufactures steam carriages and wagons, and he’s funding experiments on a steam vehicle that would run on rails. I don’t remember what it’s called. One of the newspapers spoke of it and him, but as I said, I’ll have to do more research.”

  “Unless he wants to drive his vehicles through a swamp, I’m puzzled as to why he would want that land. Did he spend a lot?”

  “Yes. The Nholes refused his first two offers.”

  “Were those offers all this year?”

  “All in the last month.”

  “Interesting,” Jev said.

  “I thought so. I got his address from the clerk. He rents a townhouse in the city in an exclusive neighborhood. It’s on the other side of town, and I’m exhausted, so I think we should wait until tomorrow to visit him, but we should definitely visit him.”

  “Most definitely,” Jev said. “He rents it, you say? He doesn’t own it?”

  “A zyndar family owns that whole strip of town. Your people own most of the city.”

  “I feel I should be offended every time you call the zyndar my people.” His tone sounded more dry than offended.

  Zenia considered her use of the term. She hadn’t consciously thought about it—hadn’t even been aware she was doing so—and she realized her prejudices were showing. She was thinking of the zyndar as if they were some alien race, something inhuman. Which—she remembered her run-in with the dunderheads that morning—maybe some of them were. But Jev wasn’t. He never had been.

  “Those people,” she corrected, hoping he found it amusing. She made a note to try to stop segregating them into some special category. Not all of them were awful and inhuman.

  Jev chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Apology accepted, the gesture seemed to say.

  She knew she shouldn’t, but she hoped he would leave his arm there this time. She leaned a little more against his side. “Did you learn anything from the elven ambassador?” she asked. “Or did he refuse to see you?”

  “He wasn’t there, and neither were those two guards who stopped me last time.”

  “Oh? What about their creatures?”

  “I didn’t see them. I walked up to the front door and knocked, preparing my speech about offering to help the elves rebuild their garden.”

  “And?” she prompted when he paused.

  “Lornysh answered.”

  “Did he have an opinion on the gardens?”

  Jev snorted. “No. Maybe because he’s recovering from injuries he received fighting a water golem last night.”

  “A water golem? Where?”

  “Under the city. Guarding Iridium’s lair.”

  Zenia digested that, shocked that such a creature could exist so close to the city. And that Iridium knew someone who could conjure up such a powerful magical monster. That woman was definitely dangerous. Zenia hoped Jev wouldn’t feel compelled to visit her again. Nothing good could come out of dealing with her, as Marlyna’s accusations surely proved.

  “Lornysh said the ambassador’s dresser is empty and his bags are gone. There are only a couple of elves left in the tower, none of the original staff.”

  “Should we find it ominous that they all felt compelled to leave the city?”

  “Probably.” Jev squeezed her shoulders and released her. He leaned forward and pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s go back and get some rest. We’ll visit this Braksnoth’s house in the morning and hope the solutions to our problems lie with him.”

  Zenia found it unlikely that one wealthy businessman could solve all their problems, unfortunately, but she would hope for a lead. Jev offered her a hand up, and she accepted it, heading into the night with him. Her head ached, and her eyes had sand in them. She definitely needed rest.

  His comment about resting in bed snuggled up with a woman came to mind, and as they headed back, she let herself imagine being that woman. Just daydreaming about such a thing couldn’t hurt. Though would she be able to have such dreams once he married someone else? She shouldn’t. She would have to find someone else to dream about. That notion made her heart ache.

  The next morning, Jev woke from a concupiscent dream so full of vigorous activity that he was shocked he wasn’t more exhausted than when he’d gone to bed. But he was more stimulated than exhausted, distressingly so. He hoped Zenia’s dragon tear didn’t tell her about his wayward mind. A man couldn’t be held responsible for his dreams, surely.

  Besides, she was the one who had hugged him the night before. The warmth of her touch had to be what had primed his mind for a night of lurid dreaming. And the fact that someone he hadn’t expected to offer condolences or empathy had done so. Granted, she wasn’t as hard and aloof as she’d been as an inquisitor. Like him, Zenia seemed to be off kilter as she struggled to find her footing in this new role.

  Jev rubbed his face and sat on the edge of his bed. He hadn’t meant to blurt out all his problems to her—his father would spit with disgust and tell him real men didn’t whine to wo
men—but if he’d known it could elicit hugs, he might have been tempted to try before.

  “No,” he grumbled. “No eliciting hugs.”

  He needed to focus on finding Cutter and Grindmor and what was increasingly looking like a threat to the entire city, if not the entire kingdom. And yet…

  He looked toward the window. Dawn had come, but he still had an hour until he was due to meet Zenia in the kitchen for breakfast. From there, they would head to the mangrove-buying man’s townhouse. Tildar. That was his name.

  Jev wondered if he had time to pick flowers or do something nice for Zenia. Hugs and dreams aside, he felt he should give her a thank-you gift for staying up the previous night to do his paperwork. Or he should make her a gift. That was what Cutter had suggested.

  The fact that he wasn’t here to help with that, as he’d offered to do, filled Jev with sadness. So far, he’d tried to keep himself from worrying too much or from dwelling on the idea that the dwarves might have been killed instead of kidnapped, but it was hard not to let such thoughts creep into his mind.

  Jev washed and dressed and headed down to the gardens. He still wanted to create a gold or silver chain for Zenia’s dragon tear, but he wouldn’t know how to do such a thing, so he would wait until he had Cutter’s help. For now…

  As he strolled the pathways, the flowers and grass damp with morning dew, he considered which ones she might like. Or would she like any of them? She was a practical woman. Maybe she would be puzzled by such a frivolous offering.

  Jev grumbled an order to stop doubting himself and plucked a couple of stalks full of elegant floral bells rising to a tapered point. He had no idea what they were called, but they had an appealing smell that reminded him of the shampoo Zenia favored. He was fairly certain they were purple and not gray—someone had once told him there weren’t any gray flowers—but he’d never seen purple well. Should he attempt to match them to something or simply take her these two stalks? Or just one? There was no way he could create a whole bouquet, not with colors that went together, so maybe he should choose a single offering. But he’d already removed two from the garden, and it seemed wasteful to discard one.