Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4)

by Lindsay Buroker

  But as they burst into the sunlight, they spotted the elves right away, lying on their backs with swords pointing at their throats. The men holding the swords weren’t Dharrow guards; they wore the king’s blue, purple, and gold livery. Dozens of similar men on horseback blocked the open gate out of the castle, and several royal steam carriages were parked on the other side of the drawbridge.

  Zenia spotted Targyon mounted on a horse in the back with the princess next to him, her eyes closed and a hand outstretched toward the elves on the cobblestones. She opened her eyes and glared at them, then spoke in elven.

  Jev had stopped a few steps into the courtyard. Zenia looked to him for a translation.

  “She’s angry with their faction and calling them immature idiots for destroying her ship and her tower.”

  “Idiots? I didn’t know elves had such simple insults.”

  “It has a lot of syllables in their language and rhymes with ship, so it sounds elegant.”

  “Ah.” Zenia rubbed her face, relieved the situation was under control. She didn’t think she could have asked for more from her dragon tear.

  Heber Dharrow, his face bloody and his eyes livid, watched the goings on while the princess spoke—or maybe lectured. Zenia couldn’t tell if Heber was angry at the two elven intruders who had barged into his basement or simply angry that elves of any kind were on his land.

  Zyndari Bludnor was nowhere to be seen, but Zenia wouldn’t presume that knocking out her dragon tear would change the situation between Jev and his father—and the arranged marriage. As far as Zenia knew, that was something Heber had wanted before the zyndari woman showed up.

  “Let them rise,” Princess Yesleva said in the kingdom tongue, her voice ringing throughout the courtyard, enhanced by some magic. “But take their weapons. I will send them back to my homeland where my father will decide what their punishment will be for intruding here and destroying elven property.”

  “And killing humans,” Jev said. “We lost some of Krox’s men out there.” He pointed toward one of the castle walls.

  “Where is Vornzylar?” Yesleva asked. “He will be held accountable for the actions of those he killed who were not hyrishimo.”

  Zenia looked at Jev again.

  He sighed and quietly translated. “Traitors. She didn’t state it, but I gather that killing Lornysh would have been acceptable.” He glanced toward the fountain. Lornysh, looking tired and injured, sat on the edge closest to the wall.

  Yesleva gazed in that direction, but Zenia didn’t sense any animosity in her eyes. If anything, she appeared speculative.

  “Vornzylar is dead,” Lornysh said, then switched to elven to continue a conversation with her.

  “He’s explaining what happened out there,” Jev told Zenia.

  “What did happen? You say you didn’t know you had a portal in your basement?”

  He snorted. “No. That must have been from… I’m not even sure. From a time when Dharrows were friends with elves, and comings and goings were common.”

  “Your mother’s time?”

  “Before her, I think. If my father didn’t know about that secret passage—” Jev shrugged, looking as tired as Lornysh. Zenia had the urge to hug him, maybe give him a rubdown and a bath, like one might do with a horse. A massage, she supposed it was called for humans. She’d never massaged a man, but she wouldn’t mind trying. “I have a feeling it’s been forgotten for a long, long time,” Jev added. He explained how he and Lornysh and Cutter had been too late to stop the elves from using the communication stone but that they had run into Vornzylar and that Jev had ultimately been the one to kill him.

  “What?” Lornysh blurted.

  Jev looked back, his brows knitting, and Zenia felt bad for interrupting him and causing him to miss something. Maybe he would forgive her after that massage.

  “You seem to be the logical choice,” Targyon said dryly, speaking for the first time.

  The two elven prisoners frowned darkly at Lornysh and also at the princess, but the guards were tying them, and Zenia sensed some magic keeping them still.

  “You mean the only choice?” Lornysh asked.

  “It is true that there are few of our people interested in coming to Kor right now,” Yesleva said. “At least for peaceful purposes.”

  “Neither the king nor the elven diplomats in other nations would accept me.”

  “I am positive I can talk Father into accepting you, and there is no reason why you would have to interact with our ambassadors in other nations. You will send reports directly to Ormaleshon, and he will send his instructions directly to you. A simple chain-of-command.”

  “We’ll rebuild your tower, of course, Lornysh.” Targyon smiled.

  “It’s not my tower. I haven’t said yes to this craziness.”

  Targyon’s smile faded, his eyes growing serious. “I would be happy to see you there rather than some old elf I’m not familiar with and can’t trust.”

  “You would ask me to act in your favor over that of my people?” Lornysh arched his eyebrows.

  “I would ask you to help me maintain a diplomatic relationship with the Taziir, one I hope we can improve over time. To establish trade and invite elves back into the kingdom… I know it’s early, but I hope this can be done.”

  “You’re an optimist.”

  “What hope is there for a nation whose ruler isn’t?”

  Lornysh shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.

  Zenia had no idea if he would accept the position.

  Jev scratched his jaw and mumbled a, “Huh.”

  Maybe he had no idea either.

  Someone cleared a throat behind them. Rhi.

  Zenia spun, chagrinned she’d momentarily forgotten about her friend. Bruised, scraped, and with bumps starting to swell, Rhi leaned against the doorjamb and peered blearily at them.

  “Usually,” she said, wincing at the effort to speak or maybe the brightness of the sunlight, “injured people get deposited on beds with handsome male nurses there to sponge their grimy bodies and smear healing potions on their wounds. They’re not dumped into alcoves next to a dusty urn with oddly long hairs zigzagging through the glaze.”

  “That’s horsehair,” Jev said, “and it was quite fashionable to include it in pottery a while back. My grandmother made a number of urns like that.”

  “It’s gross.”

  “I always thought so too. Here, I’ll carry you to a bed. I don’t think we have any male nurses though.” Jev looked around the courtyard, as if making sure nobody was going to start shooting in the next thirty seconds, and stepped toward her, holding out his arms.

  Zenia thought her proud friend would object, but it did look like the doorjamb was the only thing keeping Rhi from falling back behind the urn.

  “No male nurses with sponges? You’re certain?” Rhi slumped into his arms when Jev came close.

  He swept her up and headed into the castle. “I think Mildrey, our cook, has some sponges. One of her assistants is male.”

  “Aren’t those sponges for washing dishes?”

  “Likely so. Are you going to be fussy?”

  “Is this assistant cook handsome?” Rhi asked. “Is he married?”

  “No and yes. He has seven kids that live down in Red Hat Village.”

  “Maybe I’ll see if Hydal is available to recite stories to me again.”

  “That does sound more promising than being sponged like a soup pot.”

  “You’re a strange man, Dharrow. I’m not sure what Zenia sees in you.”

  Zenia smiled as she trailed after them, not wanting to risk being drawn into another conversation with Heber. She hoped the brief one they’d had earlier would suffice for Jev. He’d wanted her to remove the manipulation, and she had. Zenia doubted it was within her power to convince Heber that she was a well-mannered woman who would make a lovely daughter-in-law.

  “Nor am I,” Jev said, turning toward a wing of guest rooms. “It’s a good thing her taste is
questionable.”

  He spoke quietly to one of the staff he passed, eliciting a promise that the woman would find the healer to look in on Rhi as soon as possible, and then took her into a room. Zenia sat on a chair while he went to fetch water and some pain potions himself.

  “He’s a strange man but a good one,” Rhi said, settling her head back on a pillow and closing her eyes. “You should have wild and passionate sex with him tonight and forget about what the gossiping ninnies in the castle say.”

  “I was thinking of offering him a massage.”

  “Do that. And then have sex with him. He’ll thank you profusely.”

  Jev returned in time to hear her words, and his eyebrows rose. After the day she’d had, Zenia shouldn’t have blushed at such silly talk, but she felt her cheeks grow hot.

  “She’s not wrong.” Jev touched her shoulder on his way to Rhi’s bed. “But we could start with dinner.”

  “I’d like that,” Zenia said.

  “After I have a long frank talk with my father. Did you, ah—” He waved to her dragon tear.

  “Yes. I believe the link is broken, at least for now. It’s possible the whole dragon tear is broken. If so, I may have to apologize, as destroying a priceless magical gem may go beyond my authority as an Agent of the Crown.”

  “Maybe so, but accidents happen.” Jev sat next to Rhi and measured a dose of Grodonol’s Pain-No-More.

  “Jev,” Zenia protested at his cavalier attitude.

  He twitched a shoulder. “She was using it to further personal gain at the risk of ruining others’ lives. She deserves to lose it. The Orders would agree.”

  Two dour-faced guards from Alderoth Castle walked in, and Zenia stood uncertainly. After talking about her dragon tear’s deed, she half-expected them to tell her she was to be arrested.

  “Captain Cham?” a feminine voice came from the hall outside. Princess Yesleva.

  “I’m in here.” Zenia faced the door as the guards stepped aside politely for the princess to enter. She didn’t see Targyon in the hall. Maybe he was monitoring the situation in the courtyard. Zenia supposed it was too much to hope that Targyon was talking to Heber and informing him that arranged marriages were soon to be outlawed.

  “I meant to speak with you earlier about your dragon tear,” Yesleva said.

  Zenia swallowed, nerves springing to life in her gut. Had someone finally figured out she was too ignorant and unworthy to wield such powerful magic? Had the elves lost it long ago and come to reclaim it?

  The idea of losing the dragon tear—and the quirky personality it had shared with her—distressed her, and she had to resist the urge to wrap her fingers around it and sprint away before the princess could deliver any ultimatums.

  “Oh?” she asked carefully.

  “It is not my place to judge, but the soul linked to your dragon tear is in pain. Do you know this? It is unfair of you to use her so when she is not free.”

  Zenia swayed, the backs of her knees bumping her chair. “You know about him? Er, her?”

  “I can sense her through your dragon tear, and I sense her pain.” Yesleva frowned sternly.

  Zenia almost blurted that it wasn’t her fault, but she had a resource here who knew more than she did. She had to question Yesleva for all her knowledge while she had a chance.

  “Where is she? Do you know? What do you mean she’s not free? Why not?” Zenia thought of all the nightmares she’d had, of herself—or what had seemed like herself—chained in a cave with an orc sword-wielder approaching. “Is she truly a dragon?”

  “Yes, she’s a dragon. I’m not sure how her soul came to be linked to that dragon tear, as she seems quite young.”

  Zenia nodded vigorously in agreement. She’d always sensed a youthful enthusiasm and even playfulness from the dragon tear.

  “It’s possible that after she was imprisoned, she used her magic to siphon a portion of her soul into the gem in the hope that someone would find her and help her.” Yesleva stepped forward and lifted a hand toward Zenia’s chest. “May I?”

  Zenia held the dragon tear out on its chain so the princess could touch it. It glowed a faint blue and emanated a sense of uncertainty tinged with wonder. Could Yesleva feel that?

  Yesleva wrapped her fingers around the gem and closed her eyes. “Her physical body is far from here. Perhaps where she is, she could find nobody willing to help her, to defy those who hold her captive. And she thought a human could help her.” Yesleva opened her eyes and tilted her head, as if puzzled by the idea. “I would like to think an elf would have helped, though I suppose our people rarely travel to Izstara. They are loathed by the orcs, trolls, and ogres that live there, ever since the Race Wars. It’s also possible she has never seen an elf. But humans are more likely to be tolerated there if they offer some value. There are traders that travel the world and venture into those jungles.”

  “Izstara?” Zenia whispered.

  Yesleva lowered her hand. “You should go there and free her. It is unfair of you to use her magic while she is in pain and a prisoner.”

  “Where on the continent is she?” Jev asked, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

  “The northern end, I believe.”

  “That narrows it down to a couple thousand square miles,” Jev said.

  Yesleva spread her hands. “A dragon tear is not a homing beacon. If I were to go along, perhaps I could help, but I have much to do. A new ambassador to train and prisoners to take back to my father for punishment.”

  “Lornysh hasn’t said yes, has he?” Jev asked.

  “He will.” Yesleva smiled cryptically and walked out the door.

  Zenia grasped her dragon tear, distressed anew to learn that the soul linked to it truly was in pain in a cave somewhere deep in the Izstara jungles. She felt like a dunce for not having realized earlier, for not having grasped that those dreams had been an attempt to communicate.

  “You don’t look surprised,” Jev said quietly, stepping over and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  “I should have understood earlier. I have to find a way to free her.” Zenia quailed inside at the idea of traveling to some distant and dangerous continent when she’d never been more than fifty miles away from Korvann. But the dragon tear—the dragon—had done so much to help her. She doubted she would even be alive if not for its assistance. Jev might not be either. All those dwarves she’d pulled off that ship before it exploded wouldn’t have made it… “I have to free her,” she repeated, lifting her chin.

  Jev smiled and rested his forehead against her temple. “I know.”

  Epilogue

  As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Jev walked out to the valley where he’d battled the elves that morning.

  His aunt had said Father was out there, and even though Jev was eager to return to Alderoth Castle and pack and recruit help for a journey to Izstara, he knew he needed to talk to the old man. Jev hoped the destruction of Zyndari Bludnor’s dragon tear—she’d been ranting earlier that it had burned out somehow—meant her clutches had loosened on his father, but he couldn’t be certain anything would truly change. In the old man’s eyes, Fremia was the perfect daughter-in-law, zyndari, young, a descendant of great warriors… all the things he valued.

  Jev spotted his father standing atop the valley wall where Cutter had stood to hurl his hammer. His arms were folded, and he gazed downward, toward the trickle of water that was all that remained of the flood the elves had conjured up. Somewhere in the mountains upstream, a lake had probably been emptied. Jev shuddered at the memory of that power.

  He’d given the sword he’d claimed to Cutter, who was already on his way back to the capital, having promised to speak with Master Grindmor about attuning the magic to a human. To Jev.

  Since he fully planned to go with Zenia to rescue her dragon, he wouldn’t object to gaining ownership of a magical sword, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Cutter was asking his mentor for the impossible. Jev couldn’t remember hearing of an
y humans wielding elven blades in the legends. Even if it was possible—Grindmor was legendary among the dwarves, after all—it would likely take more than a day. Jev suspected Zenia wanted to set sail as soon as possible, as soon as Targyon gave them permission to take a leave of absence. And likely even if he didn’t. She owed that dragon tear a lot. So did Jev.

  Several men walked into view, striding out of the log-littered valley with bodies on stretchers. Jev grimaced, recognizing soldiers he had lost to the flood or the elven arrows. Lieutenant Cark was among the seven dead. Captain Krox would have words, maybe accusations, for Jev for losing the officer. And he wouldn’t be able to shrug them off, for this had happened on his land in a battle to save his friend. In all, how many had been lost so Lornysh could live?

  Not that Lornysh had asked for help. No, he hadn’t wanted this. Jev had made the choice to assist his friend.

  He hoped Lornysh took the job of ambassador and was able to act as a good liaison between Kor and Taziira. After so many deaths, it seemed he needed to ensure his life was for more than assassinating people.

  “Burn that one,” Father called down to the men at the end of the grim caravan.

  They carried the body of one of the elves. The one Cutter had hit with his hammer, Jev thought. He hadn’t believed the elf had been killed at the time, but maybe Cark’s men had finished him off before coming to the castle.

  Jev didn’t see the bodies of Vornzylar or the elf who had committed suicide, so they were probably still up in the brush. He supposed he should direct some of the men that way so the dead could be collected and wouldn’t be torn to pieces by wild animals, though elves wouldn’t likely mind. They did burial cairns for those they loved and respected, but they always considered it proper that bodies eventually go back to nature in one way or another.

  Father turned as Jev approached.

  Jev had heard from Zenia and Rhi, before they had headed back to the city with Targyon and his entourage, that his father had been at the forefront, battling the elves that came through the portal. Jev wasn’t surprised, though the old man was lucky to come out of that alive. He wore a gash across one cheek that would leave a scar, one that would only add to his naturally surly mien, and his clothes were ripped, hinting of injuries underneath. Jev wasn’t that surprised that he hadn’t waited for someone to tend his wounds before coming out to see what had happened to his land.