Dragon Tear
Agents of the Crown, Book 5
Lindsay Buroker
Copyright © 2018 by Lindsay Buroker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Author’s Note
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.
“Zyndar 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.
“That looks like trouble,” Rhi said, as the pointing teenage girl stalked toward Zenia. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone shopping without my bo.”
“You would have had a hard time fondling all the wares in that shop if you’d been holding a weapon at the time.”
“I barely got to fondle any as it was. That old coot kept yanking things out of my hands. I hope Hux knows it’s wise to let a woman fondle his wares.”
The teenagers must have heard that as they approached. They wrinkled their noses and exchanged disgusted looks. The one who had initially pointed seemed familiar, but Zenia couldn’t place her.
Zenia tried to walk around the pair without engaging them in conversation, knowing nothing good could come out of whatever gossip or complaints were on their lips, but they planted themselves in front of her.
“You’re Jev Dharrow’s mistress,” the first speaker stated, propping her fists on her hips. The flowing green silk she wore almost hid those fists within the loose folds. Her friend assumed a similarly accusatory stance.
“Jev isn’t married.” Zenia looked past their shoulders to the man carrying their belongings, hoping an older adult might pull the teenagers away with a few stern words, but he only sighed and gazed blankly toward the fountain.
“He was supposed to be. To me.” The teenager stabbed a thumb at her chest.
Ah, that was why Zenia somewhat recognized her. She’d met the mother, and their facial features and body types were similar.
“Are you even old enough to know what to do with a man?” Rhi asked.
Zenia grabbed Rhi’s arm, hoping to guide her away. The last thing she wanted was to engage in a dung-flinging contest with a zyndari girl.
“I am well-schooled in the ways of pleasuring my future husband,” the girl—Fremia, that was her name—said, her chin up. “As I informed Jevlain when we met.”
“And he wasn’t intrigued?” Rhi smiled as she allowed Zenia to guide her into the street. “You poor thing. How disappointing.”
“How dare you speak to us like that, you common filth.” Fremia's friend spat toward Rhi’s sandaled feet, then shook a fist at Zenia. “You think you’ll be permitted to marry a zyndar? A Dharrow? It’ll never happen.”
“Never,” Fremia added, then whirled toward her friend. “Ca
n you believe what bitches they are? Why are they shopping up here? They can’t possibly afford anything. I hope—”
Flames and smoke appeared around the two girls.
Rhi stumbled, almost tripping on the cobblestones. Zenia, having seen such a display before, was less startled, but she winced and pulled her dragon tear out from under her blouse.
Not now, she thought silently, but it was too late.
The two girls’ expensive silks were incinerated, piles of ashes wafting down around their feet as they shrieked and flailed their arms. They now stood wearing nothing but their small clothes. Everyone who was walking along the shopping boulevard stopped and stared. A steam carriage driver slowed his vehicle to gawk. The girls’ servant appeared too stunned to say anything or even move.
“You,” Fremia whirled, thrusting a finger toward Zenia. “You dare!”
“Captain of the watch,” the second girl hollered, running toward an intersection.
A uniformed man down there turned at the call.
“Let’s go,” Zenia said, continuing down the street in the opposite direction at a brisk pace. She doubted she, as captain of His Majesty’s Crown Agents, had to worry about being arrested for magically assaulting zyndari girls, but… she could imagine being detained and having to wait in a cell as someone was brought down from the castle to vouch for her. Dear founders, she hoped it wouldn’t be Targyon himself. Whatever would she say? She didn’t think he fully grasped that her dragon tear had a mind of its own—it wasn’t as if normal dragon tears did such things—and he might believe she’d been the one petty enough to do that.
Rhi hurried along at her side but not without a lot of chortling.
“Stop laughing,” Zenia whispered.
“If you didn’t want me to laugh, you shouldn’t have incinerated those girls’ clothing.”
Dragon Tear (Agents of the Crown Book 5) Page 1