Zenia skimmed the message on the first piece of paper. “Jia reports that Yesleva is the fourth daughter and seventh child of the Taziir king Yvelon. She’s held many positions in her two hundred years and often runs diplomatic errands for her father, but she’s never been stationed long-term in another nation.” Zenia turned over the note. “That’s it. Nothing more than is publicly known, I’m afraid. I suppose you wouldn’t expect a half-elf who has lived here her whole life to be an expert on the Taziir nation.” It would have been convenient if she had more information, but Jia was still a good resource.
Rhi shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe you’ll find the next note more enlightening.”
Zenia picked it up, but it was nonsense.
“It’s in code.” Rhi smirked. “It’s possible your port authority buddy has a lot of time on his hands.”
“Maybe it’s just so juicy that he feared it would be intercepted by unfriendly eyes.”
“Uh huh. Ten krons says he’s waxing nostalgic about some of the collections he started in his youth. Or enthusiastically talking about pressed leaves.”
“I shouldn’t have introduced you to him.”
“Definitely not,” Rhi said.
“Did he send a key along?”
“Not that I heard. This is all Yu gave me. Maybe he expects that you, in your crime-solving brilliance, will be able to decrypt it with one eye covered.” Rhi leaned back in her chair and propped her sandaled feet on the table.
Zenia frowned, tempted to give it to Frankell, who handled secret communications, but Rhi’s comment sounded like a challenge. Besides, the lengths of the words were normal, even if the letter combinations were gobbledegook. It was probably a simple substitution cipher. With an introduction at the top and a capitalized four-letter word? Her name? Cham?
Going on that assumption, she found the pattern quickly and created a key by shifting letters three places to the right in the alphabet. She grabbed a pen.
“That’s it,” she said as she started writing the shifted letters atop the originals.
“You already figured it out?” Rhi set her feet back on the floor and leaned forward.
“You doubted my crime-solving brilliance?”
“I didn’t know it would help with decoding messages from loons.”
“He’s not a loon. He’s a valuable informant.”
“He’s a loony valuable informant. What does it say?”
A lot. He was more verbose than their half-elf informant. “He describes the elven ship and mentions that they didn’t send word ahead, that it was a surprise when it arrived. Two dozen watchmen and dock security officers ran out as the ship glided into the harbor because there was concern that it was a warship, here to start a fight.”
“A warship? If you flicked a match at that thing, it would burn to a crisp.”
“I’m sure magic protects it from that fate.” Zenia held up a hand so Rhi would let her finish. “All two dozen of the men stopped and lined up, not reaching for their weapons. They stared with blank expressions on their faces as the elves—Princess Yesleva and several bodyguards—walked past them. Our informant didn’t hear what was said to his boss, but carriages soon arrived to take the elves to the castle. He notes that magic was definitely used to placate everyone, because people were suspicious of the ship’s arrival.”
“Comforting to know elves can use magic to stroll through the city and up to the castle any time they want,” Rhi said. “You think she magicked Targyon too?”
“I’m not sure. He was smitten before she arrived at the castle.”
“Smitten? Does that mean she magicked him last time she was here? This is the same elf that you gave that artifact to, right?”
“Yes. And I believe she did have a long chat with Targyon that night.”
“A chat? Or a chat?” Rhi wriggled her eyebrows.
“I didn’t ask.”
“It’s a little hard to imagine Targyon attracting a gorgeous elf princess, but maybe she has ulterior motives.”
“Targyon is handsome. He’s just young.” Zenia, fearing her friend was about to comment on asses and stallions, held up her hand again.
Which was fortunate, because the main library doors opened and voices flowed inside. Zenia leaned out of the alcove that held her table to see Targyon stroll in at the princess’s side with elven and human guards flanking them. Yesleva and Targyon weren’t holding hands or walking arm-in-arm, but judging from the way he kept smiling at her, he would like them to be.
“Maybe you should hide,” Rhi whispered to Zenia.
“Me? Why?”
“Didn’t you blow a hole in the elven tower? What if she’s planning to move in there?”
Zenia shook her head.
“This is my favorite room,” Targyon said, gesturing expansively to the library. “I adore books of all kinds. I lament that my new job—life—doesn’t leave me much time for reading for pure enjoyment. I get to read a lot of reports, but they’re incredibly dry. I’ve been trying to decide if my uncle Abdor inculcated that tendency or merely chose extremely humorless men to serve under him.”
Yesleva smiled. Zenia couldn’t tell if she truly enjoyed Targyon’s burbling or if she was being indulgent and diplomatic.
Zenia almost reached for her dragon tear, wanting a better read on her, but she paused, reminding herself that such tactics were for enemies, not guests of the king. Also, she suspected the princess would sense any such intrusion. She surely had magic of her own and wasn’t like the simple elven embassy guards Zenia had once manipulated into answering questions.
As if sensing her thoughts, Yesleva looked over at her and raised her delicate blonde eyebrows.
Zenia lifted her chin. She had every right to be here and to want to protect her king and her kingdom.
One of Targyon’s bodyguards veered toward them. “Captain Cham? You’ll have to move your work elsewhere.”
“Of course,” Zenia said, though she wanted to object to moving all her stuff—or missing out on her chance to spy firsthand on the princess. This wasn’t, however, a public or university library. Everything in this castle belonged to the king, and she worked here at his whim.
But as she reached for her books, Yesleva headed toward her.
“We don’t need to interrupt Inquisitor Cham’s research, do we?” Yesleva asked Targyon. “I’d hate for my presence to disrupt those working in your castle, Your Majesty.”
Zenia was relieved she called him by title and not Targyon. Or Targy or some such. She didn’t truly want Yesleva to be here for ulterior motives or to manipulate anyone. When she’d come to get the Eye of Truth, she’d seemed to have the good of humanity in mind. If not for that anonymous note, Zenia didn’t know if she would suspect the princess.
“I’m honored that you remember me, Your Highness,” Zenia said, hoping that was the appropriate honorific for an elven princess. She knew it worked for human princesses in this and two other kingdoms, but who knew what was proper in Taziira? “It’s Captain Cham. I work for the king now instead of the Water Order Temple.”
“Ah? That’s good for him certainly.” Yesleva turned her smile toward Rhi. “I also remember your comrade. And how effectively she knocks men into fountains.”
“Yes,” Rhi said. “Yes, I do.” She curtsied.
“Were you able to return that artifact to a safe place?” Zenia asked.
Targyon stood back and clasped his hands behind his back, appearing content to let them have their reunion.
“It is in a safe place, yes,” Yesleva said. “I’ve returned on an unrelated matter. Ambassador Shoyalusa no longer wishes to hold a position here. Even though you vanquished a number of troll scouts, he believes your kingdom may still be in danger and that our people should stay out of a potential war between humanity and the trolls and their allies.”
Zenia grimaced, wishing humanity had more allies.
“Unfortunately, that war is still a valid concern,” Targyon said. “We drove the trolls from our nearby s
wamps, but we’re not certain if that alone will deter them from attacking our kingdom.”
“It is true that once a troll gets a burr in his hide,” Yesleva said, “he’s disinclined to do anything except work it out.”
Zenia thought that would be true for most species but suspected Yesleva was quoting some elven saying.
“Apparently, we need to figure out how to be less burry,” Targyon said, smiling.
Zenia expected the princess to rejoin him—she and Rhi couldn’t be that interesting to royalty—but Yesleva glanced toward Zenia’s chest. The dragon tear was tucked under the yellow linen shirt Zenia wore today, but she had no doubt the elf sensed it.
“My father is working on convincing a new ambassador to volunteer for this assignment, but nothing happens quickly in Taziira.” Yesleva smiled. “We are a slow and deliberate people when it comes to politics. I volunteered to come temporarily to your kingdom so there would be an elven presence in the city.”
“To keep an eye on us?” Rhi arched her eyebrows.
Targyon cleared his throat and shot her a warning squint.
Yesleva’s smile only widened. She did not appear offended, but Zenia suspected a two-hundred-year-old world-traveling elf would be experienced at wearing a diplomatic face.
“I believe the true reason she’s visiting,” Targyon said, “must be to hear me read my poetry.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” Rhi said in a very bland tone.
Zenia took that to mean Targyon had taken Jev’s suggestion about sharing a poem. Had it been well received?
“Had I known about the poetry, I would have been here weeks ago.” Yesleva’s green eyes twinkled.
If Zenia hadn’t been looking at the king of Kor and a princess of Taziira, she would have been positive they were flirting with each other. Targyon, she believed, was genuinely flirting, but Zenia had a hard time believing the elf wasn’t up to more.
“Are you wearing a different dragon tear from the last time I saw you, Captain Cham?” Yesleva tilted her head. “What are you a captain of now? It’s my understanding that most human nations do not allow women in their military organizations.”
“I’m one of the heads of His Majesty’s Crown Agents.” Realizing she shouldn’t allude to Kor having a spy network, especially when they spied on elves as well as every other people in the world, Zenia gestured at Rhi and added, “We solve crimes.”
“Actually, she solves them,” Rhi said. “I just thump people.”
“Your Highness,” Targyon murmured to her.
“I thump people, Your Highness,” Rhi corrected.
Targyon sighed. Maybe thumping wasn’t appropriate language to use with royalty. Zenia could think of worse.
Yesleva arched her eyebrows, not at Rhi’s language but at Zenia. And her dragon tear.
Zenia had been thinking of asking the princess if she knew anything about it, but the fact that Yesleva had shown interest in it before Zenia had withdrawn it made her uneasy.
“The king lent it to me to use in his service,” she said simply.
Yesleva opened her mouth, but a page burst into the library before she spoke.
“Sire,” he blurted. “It’s the elven embassy. Someone blew it up.”
“Another hole?” Rhi asked.
“It’s been completely annihilated.” The page waved his hands expansively. “There’s nothing but rubble left.”
Targyon cursed, using far worse words than thump. He had the grace to look abashed when he recovered and glanced at the princess.
Yesleva didn’t look surprised by the page’s announcement. Had she already known? Or was she simply accustomed to masking her features? Right now, her face was impossible to read.
“My sincerest apologies.” Targyon bowed to her. “I’ll look into this right away. I assure you that you won’t be in danger here in the castle.”
“I’ll come with you,” Yesleva said as Targyon started for the door.
“Of course,” he said, waiting so she could walk at his side. Their pace was far more rushed than it had been on their way into the library. The guards swept after them, their faces also masked.
“Why do people keep blowing up that tower?” Rhi asked when they were alone again.
“It wasn’t blown up before,” Zenia said. “The completely repairable hole in the outer wall was an inadvertent result of battling a golem.”
“So… it was blown out?”
“Your wit will surely win that stablehand to your bedroom soon.”
“It’s not my wit he was looking at when I bent over.” Rhi winked.
Zenia tidied her stack of books and swept them up to take to her room for further perusal, but that would wait for later. She wanted to see the tower for herself. If someone had truly blown it up, she was likely about to have a new case to solve.
Jev stepped onto the large balcony and did his best to smile at the young woman sitting at the decorative wrought-iron table in a cleared area surrounded by potted plants and small trees. Birds chirped from feeders dangling from branches, the feathered creatures too fat and indolent to flap away at his approach. Someone must have been refilling the seed since his grandmother left the castle.
“Jev Dharrow?” Fremia stood and stepped forward, reaching for his hands as she smiled at him. “You’re even more handsome than the picture in that article I saw. I remember you from when I was a little girl, but that was a long time ago, and I wasn’t sure…” She glanced aside to the other person on the balcony with them.
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.”
Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4) Page 13