Eye of Truth

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Which knee hurts?” he asked.

  “The giant swollen one.”

  He thought she might make him lift her hem to peek, but she touched her right leg. He did push her hem up, though he was careful not to intrude on her modesty. The knee was noticeably swollen and already turning blue.

  “Thank you, Jev,” she whispered as he rubbed some of the salve on it. “Is this what zyndars do if you collect them?”

  “I’ll happily rub anything you want.” He decided this wasn’t the time for a sexual leer and kept his focus on her knee.

  “Sounds stimulating.”

  “It could be.”

  The faint smile ghosted across her lips again. He decided he would order the next member of the castle staff he saw to go into town and bring out a healer, someone with a dragon tear to lend magical power.

  “Why aren’t you married, Jev?” Zenia asked.

  “There weren’t a lot of options in Taziira.” He did not allow himself to think of Naysha, though it was hard, since she had already intruded on his thoughts. Sometime, when the dust from all this settled, he would find out what had happened to her. He couldn’t help but wonder about the man she had married, the children she’d had. He hoped that once he knew she was satisfied in her new life, he could let that particular ghost settle under a funeral cairn.

  “That’s the only reason? I’ve heard zyndar marriages are often arranged when they’re young. And you…” Her eyes opened halfway, and she reached out and touched his hair. It was a whisper of a touch but enough to send a sensation of warmth through him. And enough to make him think about running his hand higher up her leg. “You’re nice,” she finished.

  “Am I?” He pulled down her hem, covering her leg again.

  “I expected you to be an arrogant ass. Because all zyndar I’ve met are.”

  “All of them? How many have you met?”

  “Dozens.”

  “Hm. How many that had been away at war for years?”

  “Only one.”

  “Maybe sleeping on your back in the mud and having elven guerrillas try to shoot you full of arrows rubs off some of the arrogance.”

  “Then your entire species should be sent off to war. Promptly. Every year.”

  “Species?” Though he was reluctant to disturb the hand that had come to rest in his hair, he rose to sit beside her on the couch again. She had mentioned other wounds. “You think we’re something other than human?”

  “Most zyndar seem to think they are. Superhuman.”

  “Hm.” He might have made more of a defense for his fellow noblemen, but he remembered the story she’d shared of her past, of how she’d come to lose her mother. He couldn’t make any excuses for that. For Zyndar Veran Morningfar. Jev would remember who had slighted her, and if he ever had the chance to pay the man a visit, he would flatten him with a punch. “Do you want me to treat the bruises on your shoulders?”

  “Yes.” Zenia shifted away from the backrest and turned sideways, pulling her hair forward over her shoulder. “It’s warm and tingly, so I hope that means it’s doing something.”

  “Me, too, but I guess if I can make a woman warm and tingly, that’s partway to being satisfying.”

  She opened her robe via the ties on the front and let it slide off her shoulders. She wore a light chemise underneath, one that left her shoulders and arms bare. Had they been less bruised, he would have found the sight stimulating, but all he wanted to do was hug her and apologize for the injuries she’d received in his castle.

  “Why aren’t you married, Zenia?” he asked. “Surely, there are more options here in the city than in enemy forests.”

  “Maybe. But I chose to focus on my career.” She bent her head forward as he gently smoothed salve on the angry lumps rising from her skin. A long moment passed before she quietly added, “And I may have, in choosing that career, become someone… I don’t know. Untouchable. Or that people don’t want to touch.”

  “Because you’re an inquisitor?”

  “Yes. People fear inquisitors. People always seem to feel guilty about things, and they hustle away from me like they think I’m going to drag them off to a dungeon for an interrogation.”

  Jev, remembering his own interrogation, could understand why people would have such notions. But she hadn’t been the one to hurt him.

  “You never feared me,” she whispered, shifting on the couch again so she could see him.

  “No,” he agreed, making himself look into her eyes rather than down at her chest—the thin chemise did nothing to hide curves, and a naughty voice in the back of his mind suggested he should ask to inspect all of her for bruises. And apply salve as needed. Languidly. He shut the door firmly on that voice. “I hope it doesn’t make you feel less fearsome, but after the things I’ve seen over the years, a human representative of the Water Order doesn’t make my knees quake.”

  “Was it worth it?” she asked. “The war?”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I wish I could say it was, that it had all been worth it, that being there had meant something, but as captain of Gryphon Company, I knew a lot that went on behind the scenes. I knew we were there because of the king’s paranoia, paranoia that may or may not have been founded. Even if it was, starting a war preemptively because of something you think might or might not come to pass is morally questionable at best.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” he murmured, then opened his eyes, not wanting to dwell on a past he’d already spent far too much time dwelling on. Dwelling in. “I’m sorry my castle fell on you.”

  He smiled, hoping to change the subject. Or maybe they should finish up, and he could put some effort into finding her a real healer. Of course, he’d have to take his hand off her shoulder—odd how it had managed to stay there—and she would have to put her robe back on, the robe that pooled at her waist now. The pistol holstered in a slender feminine belt amused him, even though he’d known it was there. He wondered if she was cold with the robe halfway off. Maybe he could warm her up.

  No, this wasn’t the time. Lornysh ought to return any moment. Surely, an eighty-year-old woman couldn’t keep away from him for long.

  “You didn’t do it,” she said, lifting a hand to his face.

  She stroked his cheek, and he realized he’d been looking down at her waist. And other things.

  He lifted his gaze to meet hers, relishing her gentle touch. “Do you want me to beat up whoever did?”

  He didn’t truly think his grandmother had been responsible, but her face crinkled in a dubious expression, so maybe she did.

  “We’ll see what Rhi drags up for us to look at,” Zenia said, drawing her hand from his cheek to his lips.

  That felt nice. More than nice. Arousing. Though he’d rather have her lips on his lips. Would she be amenable to that? Probably not while she was injured. Perhaps later. He could invite her to the beach for the vacation he still hoped to have.

  “I have to take the artifact back to Sazshen,” Zenia said, apology in her tone.

  Should he admit he hadn’t been thinking of that at all and didn’t particularly care right now? He knew why she was here. Nothing had changed, at least for him. Maybe she thought he believed his family had some claim on the artifact if it had been here in the vault all this time.

  “I know,” he said. “I won’t stop you.”

  Some of the tension in her shoulders loosened. Relief. He hadn’t realized how worried she was about it.

  “Thank you.” She hesitated, looking for something in his eyes, then leaned forward.

  A testament to how out of practice he was with women, he didn’t realize what she intended until her lips touched his. Fortunately, he remembered what to do after that. He fumbled the jar over to a table, then drew her gently into his arms, not wanting to hurt her but wanting to let her know that he appreciated the kiss. That he would be happy to be her zyndar.

  Her fingers pushed through his hair and curled into the back
of his scalp. Hot energy surged through him, and his thoughts of gentleness and appreciation shifted to something more passionate.

  Until a gunshot cracked somewhere outside.

  Zenia jerked back, and Jev bolted to his feet. More shots fired. Hells, was someone shooting at Lornysh? If so, it was his fault for sending him down there.

  “I have to go,” he blurted, extending an apologetic hand in a wave as he stepped past her toward the door.

  “I’m going too.”

  “No, you should—”

  “Go with you,” she said firmly, pushing to her feet and tugging her robe over her shoulders.

  She winced in pain, but she limped toward the doorway with the same determination she applied to every task.

  Knowing the salve couldn’t have done that much to help, he offered his arm. “We’ll go together.”

  She hesitated, then relented, shifting closer to him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and slung her arm over his shoulders as they navigated toward the exit.

  More shots fired, and Jev quickened his pace. Zenia didn’t object.

  He just hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

  19

  Zenia gritted her teeth and kept up with Jev’s long strides as they ran out of the suite and into the balcony garden overlooking the main courtyard. The main courtyard full of people. She spotted Lornysh gripping Visha by the arm and taking cover behind the fountain while men with rifles raced out of a doorway and spread out. Two men with smoking weapons already stood pointing them at—

  “Rhi!” Zenia blurted.

  Her blue gi flashed as she kicked and punched, trading blows with—was that Heber Dharrow?

  “Father!” Jev yelled, going rigid.

  “Why are they fighting?” Zenia demanded, angling toward the steps heading down.

  “Don’t shoot,” Jev called to someone taking aim at Lornysh around the statue in the fountain. “Wait here,” he told Zenia and released her so he could sprint away at full speed.

  As if she would wait. She didn’t know why Rhi was fighting with the zyndar prime, but nothing good could come of it.

  Jev sprang down the final steps and raced through the courtyard, waving at men to lower their rifles or knocking them to the side if the owners weren’t quick enough to obey. He glanced at Lornysh but sprinted to Rhi and his father.

  As Zenia made her way down the stairs, irritated with her limp and her wounds, Heber launched a flurry of punches at Rhi that would have sent most people sprawling into the dirt. She weaved, ducked, blocked, and returned the attack with a side kick. He tried to twist away, but she caught him in the hip. He staggered back. She didn’t give him time to recover, and, an instant before Jev reached her and grabbed her from behind, she kicked his father again. Heber staggered back, bumped against the lip of the fountain, and tumbled into the water with a splash that silenced the courtyard.

  The guards stared in slack-mouthed horror at seeing their master treated so. Though worried, Zenia trusted Rhi had a good reason for her actions. Since Jev had already stopped that fight, or at least half of it, Zenia hobbled around the fountain toward the other party of interest.

  “Let me go, you pointy-eared bastard!” Jev’s grandmother cried, trying to pull away from Lornysh while she flailed wildly with her fists.

  He stood behind her, gripping her by the upper arms, and she didn’t manage to connect. He didn’t even seem troubled by her efforts. His cool gaze locked onto Zenia as she approached, and once again, she remembered the way he’d sprung from the rooftop to attack her and Rhi. And how effective he had been at that attack. Would he attempt to thwart her now?

  “You!” Visha cried, spotting Zenia.

  She stopped flailing, but she didn’t lose any of her anger or indignation. She simply redirected it at Zenia.

  “You thieving elf-kisser,” she snarled. “This is all your fault. You came here to steal what’s rightfully ours.”

  “It belongs to the Water Order,” Zenia said.

  “Actually, it does not,” Lornysh said coolly.

  Founders, Zenia had worried he would become part of the problem. She noticed that Visha had unclenched one of her fists but not the other.

  Splashes sounded as Heber crawled out of the fountain on the other side of the statue.

  “Father,” Jev said. “We need to talk.”

  “You brought that elf into my home,” his father said. “I’ll box your ears in.”

  “Yes, that’s what we need to talk about.” Jev released Rhi with a stay-back gesture and approached his dripping father.

  Rhi folded her arms over her chest but didn’t attempt to attack the man again. Or had she merely been defending herself? No, Zenia had a feeling Jev’s father had started the attack—lunging toward Lornysh, perhaps, to protect Visha. And Rhi had tried to intercept, at which point he’d turned on her.

  “Also, I’d like to know what’s happening and why there’s gunfire inside our castle,” Jev added.

  “Inside my castle,” Heber said. “You left for ten years. You came home and brought all this trouble with you. And that—” He thrust an angry arm toward Lornysh. “That.” He whirled toward his men. “I told you to shoot him.”

  “Not while my grandmother is standing next to him,” Jev growled.

  Fortunately, the men must have realized the elf had her, for none of them raised their rifles again. Heber scowled fiercely, water plastering his hair to his head.

  Zenia captured Visha’s closed fist. Belatedly, the woman tried to yank it away.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Zenia said, though she wasn’t, not when she suspected Visha of arranging to have that ceiling dropped on her. “But I was sent here to retrieve this.”

  “It belongs to my family. My grandson liberated it, and it’s ours now, right and fair.”

  “Liberated it? More likely stole it,” Lornysh said. “Or was handed it to hold temporarily.”

  “What do you know, Lorn?” Jev called over, frowning, a hand up toward his father, who looked like he wanted to plow through Jev, grab someone’s rifle, and shoot Lornysh whether Visha stood next to him or not.

  “Let’s all calm down,” Zenia said, willing her dragon tear to lend power to her words. “And figure out how exactly this artifact came to be here.”

  Zenia gazed into Visha’s eyes, wanting the woman to let go so she wouldn’t have to pry her fingers open.

  Affected by the gem’s power, Visha let her grip slacken. It was enough. Zenia extracted the ivory carving from her grasp.

  She fought down a surge of triumph and the urge to grab the nearest horse and race back to the temple with it. She couldn’t leave Jev with this mess, nor could she run off without Rhi. Jev had released her, but two of the castle guards had their rifles pointed in her direction, no doubt because she had been pummeling their master.

  The artifact hummed with power in Zenia’s hand, and white flashed around the edges of her vision. Did it want to foist another vision on her? Or a continuation of the last one?

  “Not now,” she whispered to it, willing it to understand. She dearly wanted to grasp all it had to offer her, but this wasn’t the place to pass out. Last time, that hadn’t gone well. She was lucky Visha hadn’t smothered her with a tapestry while she’d been unconscious.

  “Take whatever that thing is and get off my property,” Heber ordered.

  “No,” Visha said, shaking her head and shaking off Zenia’s influence. “That’s the relic I told you about. It’s ours.”

  “The Water Order is taking it into custody,” Zenia said.

  “But it belongs to neither of you,” a new voice said from the castle entrance.

  The guards whirled toward the speaker, a woman with long blonde hair in a dozen braids. Zenia gasped, for she recognized the woman—the elf princess?—from the vision the artifact had given her.

  The elf lifted a hand, and the men with rifles lowered them again. Judging by the pained expressions on their faces, it was against their will.
>
  Zenia shivered at the display of magic. She stepped back, tempted to hide the ivory carving behind her back, as if the elf wouldn’t notice it then. But she could feel Lornysh looking at her, and the princess’s gaze also turned in her direction.

  Zenia walked around the fountain to stand by Jev, wanting his support and also not wanting to be close enough for Lornysh or the grandmother to reach her—and the artifact. Neither moved to follow her.

  “What brings you to our fair castle?” Jev bowed toward the elf woman. “If it’s word of my grandmother’s cookies, we’ll have to check the kitchen to see if there are any left. Also to make sure they aren’t smothered with rock dust, as we’ve recently had an incident, and the kitchen isn’t that far from the location.”

  The elf woman’s gaze shifted toward him, her expression hard to scrutinize. Zenia doubted elves shared humans’ senses of humor.

  Jev spoke again, but this time, in one of the elven dialects. Zenia didn’t know any of the words, only that the language had a beautiful lyrical quality unlike any of the human tongues and far different from the dwarven language.

  The elf nodded slowly and replied in the same language.

  Jev’s father glowered, his fingers tightened in fists and his shoulders hunched. There weren’t many kingdom subjects now with a reason to adore elves, but why did he have such distaste? Because he’d lost a son in the war against them? Was that Visha’s reason for loathing them too? Or did it have to do with Jev’s mother’s disappearance?

  “Interesting,” Jev finally said after they had conversed for several moments.

  He surveyed the people standing in the courtyard—more had filtered in through other doorways—and once again made a patting weapons-down motion toward the tense riflemen. Then he pointed to Zenia and told the princess, “It’s not mine to give.”

  The elf’s gaze returned to Zenia.

  She lifted her chin. “It’s not mine to give either. I was ordered to retrieve it and return it to the temple of the Water Order.” She almost added that it rightfully belonged to the Water Order and had been stolen from a temple inquisitor years ago, but she wasn’t certain of that anymore. She also hadn’t figured out why Jev’s younger brother would have taken it in the first place.