Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4) Read online

  “A shadow golem! What did it look like?”

  “Shadowy.” Jev made himself head for the drawbridge as he spoke. “You couldn’t reach out and touch it, but it had powerful magic and knocked me across the room.”

  Teeks bounced at his side as they walked through the gate. “How did you defeat it?”

  Jev appreciated his nephew’s certainty that he had defeated it, even if he hadn’t done anything. “Actually, I was with a mage, and she defeated it with the help of her dragon tear.”

  “It wasn’t that inquisitor, was it?” his father asked from the side.

  Jev jumped. He had expected to have to hunt down his father out on the property where he would be repairing a fence or laying new shingles on a roof. Instead, the old man stood next to the gate guard and wore a frown like a monsoon cloud.

  “She’s one of His Majesty’s Crown Agents now,” Jev said, “and, yes, she was the one.”

  “You remember what I said, and stay away from her until after you’ve planted your seed in your new wife’s womb.”

  Teeks stared at the old man, his mouth dangling open and his sword drooping.

  Jev patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go see if Mildrey has any snacks in the kitchen.”

  “It’s lunchtime in an hour,” Jev’s father said. “Don’t encourage the boy to ruin his appetite.”

  “I see you’re in as cheerful a mood as ever, Father,” Jev said, relieved when Teeks ran off. The kid did not need to hear about seeds and wombs for a long time. “But if you’ve been grumpy because you’ve been worried about me, have no fear. None of the battles I’ve been in lately have managed to permanently damage me. Or my seed planter.” Jev quirked an eyebrow.

  Maybe he should have been polite and circumspect around the old man, as he had been in his youth, but he’d lost his stomach for it. And it wasn’t as if his father had set the tone for a friendly chat.

  “Save your clever lip for your friends,” the old man said. “We need to talk before you meet with your new lady. Follow me.”

  “Fine by me.” Jev took a deep breath and braced himself. He had to get in what he wanted to say before his father launched into a lecture, though Jev didn’t know why the old man felt compelled to do so. He was the one being an ass. First, he had promised that Jev could take the summer to find a wife, but then he’d arranged a marriage scant days later.

  The old man stopped in front of the courtyard fountain, though he eschewed the flat stone lip and the shady bench to stand in the sun. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Jev.

  “It’s bad enough I’ve got gossiping women telling me you’re cavorting around the city with that ex-inquisitor,” Father said without preamble, “but now you’ve begged the boy king to interfere with our affairs?”

  The boy king? Was that how he and his peers referred to Targyon? Damn, Targyon did have an uphill battle when it came to earning the respect of the old guard of zyndar primes.

  “We haven’t been cavorting,” Jev said coolly. “We’ve been working together on assignments. We are colleagues now, you know.”

  “Which means you walk around the city with your hand on her ass and tongue down her throat?”

  Jev frowned. “Whoever the source of your gossip is hasn’t been truthful with you. There’s nothing like that going on.” Alas. “I wouldn’t besmirch Dharrow honor by acting so, and it upsets me that you would believe such slander instead of simply coming into the city and asking me if it’s true.”

  The old man didn’t uncross his arms, but the pompous certainty on his face faded somewhat.

  “I’m also disappointed that you didn’t come to the Air Order Temple to visit me when I was injured,” Jev said. “I would have come to visit you. I almost died. Did you hear about the trolls?”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize—Wyleria made it sound like you would be fine. And I’ve been busy here. You’re never here, and your brother is gone, and all my remaining relatives are women. That doesn’t leave many people to run the estate.”

  Jev thought about pointing out that his cousins Wyleria and Neama ran half the family businesses, and could certainly be trusted to hire people to fix things around the estate. It wasn’t as if the old man had to personally oversee everything. But Jev didn’t want to divert from the subject he’d come to speak about. Even though he ached to ask when his father had spoken to Targyon and what had been said. Jev had been certain, after the meeting the day before, that Targyon wouldn’t say anything to the old man.

  “Why did you say yes to the Bludnor marriage proposal, Father?” Jev looked around the courtyard, aware of a couple of white-coated butlers taking trays of beverages up the stairs to his grandmother’s balcony garden. What had been her balcony garden, before she’d been sent into exile. Was that where he was to dine with Fremia?

  “It made sense—I fought with her grandfather, so I know she comes from a brave and capable warrior line—and the girl is beautiful,” his father said. “I figured she’d keep you entertained in bed so you didn’t feel the need to stray.”

  Jev grimaced. He and his father had never discussed women, and he didn’t enjoy doing so now. “The last time we spoke, out by the road fence, you agreed I could choose my own woman, and you gave me the summer to do so.” That day, he’d thought it a ridiculously short amount of time, but it had been preferable to this. “Why did you break your word?”

  He chose the blunt words on purpose and wasn’t surprised when his father’s eyes flared with indignation. The old man had grown up having the Zyndar Code of Honor drilled into him as surely as Jev had.

  “I did not break my word. I simply accepted an excellent offer on your behalf to ensure you wouldn’t do something foolish. I was acting for your own good, for the good of my future grandchildren, and for all those who will continue the Dharrow line for generations to come.”

  “You told me I could choose my own wife and gave me the summer. And now, you’ve chosen for me. How is that not breaking your word?”

  Surprisingly, the old man’s gaze flicked toward the burbling water of the fountain. “I never said I promised anything.”

  “You don’t have to use the word promise. If you say something and then don’t do it, that’s breaking your word. It’s implicit in everything you say you’ll do. You taught me that.”

  Father’s gaze snapped back to Jev’s face, and he thrust a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare lecture me, boy. I know I’m doing the right thing. Sometimes, that’s more important than words. And you forced it with your dishonorable actions with that, that common woman.”

  “Actions I’ve already informed you did not occur.” Jev shook his head in frustration. Who had told his father he and Zenia had been necking in public? Fremia? It was hard to imagine a teenage girl walking up to his father and confiding anything to him. The old man was as approachable as a rabid badger.

  Father squinted at him. “You deny kissing her?”

  Jev hesitated. “In public, yes.”

  “You think dragging her off to your room in the castle and screwing her there is any more acceptable? How many hundreds of people work in that castle? Everyone will know when she gets with child that it’s yours. And then what happens when she demands you legitimize it? Jevlain Dharrow, you will marry a zyndari woman and impregnate her with a son before you sleep with any others.”

  Jev’s fingers clenched at the crude language and the insinuation that Zenia would do any of that. “We’re not sleeping together, but I’ll tell you what, Father. I damn well intend to sleep with her. I’m not going to marry some girl who was playing with dolls when I went off to war. I don’t care how many enemies her grandfather slew fifty years ago. Zenia slew a dozen trolls last week. At my side. While protecting my back. Not that this isn’t the stupidest thing to base a marriage on, but she would make wonderful sons—and daughters. Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “She’s common.”

  “So what? I’m going to marry her.”

 
; His father froze. He truly appeared stunned, like a stiff wind could have knocked him into the fountain and he wouldn’t have noticed it.

  Jev realized they’d been yelling—several staff in the courtyard were doing an admirable job of not looking in their direction while listening intently. Belatedly, Jev regretted his raised voice, especially if Fremia had heard it from the balcony garden. Even if the girl had manipulated his father, Jev didn’t want to hurt her. He barely knew her, but the Zyndar Code made him feel he should protect women, all women, and not simply from physical enemies.

  “You will not,” Father finally managed to say. “If you do not marry that girl up there and do what’s best for Dharrow blood, I will disown you. I’ll choose another to inherit the estate.”

  “Promise?”

  Jev hadn’t meant it to come out so flippantly, but it did, and that seemed to shock his father further.

  “I am prepared to do my duty and manage the estate to the best of my abilities when you pass on,” Jev explained, “and to marry a woman and give you grandchildren, hopefully even the grandson that you want, but do not think that I want to be zyndar prime or have the sole responsibility over all of this.” Jev waved to include not only the castle but the lands and the villages of tenant farmers and craftsmen that needed to be managed and protected. “It is only my honor that keeps me here.”

  “You would be penniless and have nothing from me,” Father said, though he had lost all his certainty. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that those things mattered to Jev.

  “I am perfectly capable of working a job and earning a salary.” Jev thought about pointing out that he was friends with the ‘boy king,’ as his father had dismissively called Targyon, but he didn’t want to bring Targyon back into this, nor did he want to imply that he needed someone else’s help to get by. “And you have nothing I truly want, Father.”

  This time, Jev crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for an answer.

  As he’d said, he wouldn’t walk away from his family—his honor would not allow that, even for Zenia—but if his father disowned him… by the founders, it would be such a burden lifted. Opening the door to his bird cage and letting him fly free.

  The old man looked toward the balcony garden. The bushes and vines and dwarf fruit trees up there almost obscured the woman standing at the railing and looking down at them. It wasn’t Fremia, as Jev had expected, but someone in her mid-forties. She had a large chest and wore a dress that revealed much of it. It took him a moment to place Fremia’s mother, Zyndari Bashlari Bludnor. Before the war, Jev had seen her numerous times at the social functions he’d attended on behalf of the Dharrow family.

  “Listen Jev,” his father said, drawing his attention back to him. “I spoke hastily. You know I don’t want to choose another heir. You vex me at times, as youth is meant to vex those older in age, but I do believe you are honorable and do what’s right.” His lined forehead creased more deeply than usual.

  Jev couldn’t read the thoughts behind the creases. One minute, his father was accusing him of acting dishonorably by kissing Zenia in public, and now, he agreed Jev was honorable? Jev was confused. His father was always obstinate and pigheaded, but one knew what to expect in dealing with him. Right now, he almost seemed wishy washy.

  “Let’s make a deal,” the old man said. “Go up and have lunch with the girl. Talk with her. Tell me she doesn’t stir your loins.”

  “Uh.”

  Loins? Dear founders, Jev had been less disturbed by this conversation when his father had been yelling.

  “Give her a chance,” his father went on. “Like I said before, you can take the other girl for a mistress later if you must, after you’ve given me a son from a zyndari woman. We cannot set ourselves up to be mocked or ridiculed or turned into the butts of jokes. We are Dharrows. We are not the type of men to be gossiped about at gatherings.” His lips thinned, and Jev wondered again who had been feeding him all this gossip. Oh, he was aware it existed, thanks to Hydal, but it startled him that his father was aware. Usually, the old man stayed on the estate as much as possible and ignored the nattering of hens, as he called women and men who engaged in such behavior. Was young Fremia truly behind his current level of knowledge? Or…

  Jev looked toward the balcony again. Bashlari was still there, blatantly looking down at them. He didn’t believe she was close enough to hear them now that they were speaking in a normal tone, but she certainly was watching intently. Was she the one behind everything? That would make more sense than imagining a teenage girl having the gumption to speak with his father.

  “Father,” Jev said quietly. “Not her. Zenia has become a good friend. We are not—despite what the town gossips say—lovers, but I would like for us to be, and more. I don’t want her to be my mistress. Even if that’s considered acceptable, I’ve never found it to be honorable. I want Zenia to be my wife. I love her.”

  Father winced. “She’s a manipulative witch with a dragon tear. She wants to get her clutches into you and our family—”

  “She does not. I have no doubt she would marry me even if I were not zyndar. In fact, I’m positive she would prefer it if I weren’t.”

  The wince turned into an expression that managed to be both confused and flabbergasted.

  “Just talk to the girl, Jev. She’s waiting patiently for you.”

  Maybe so, but the mother was the one up there glaring down at them. Maybe she could hear their conversation.

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Father. I’ll have lunch with Fremia if you agree to have a chat with Zenia.”

  “We’ve already chatted.” Father flung his hand toward the fountain.

  “I believe you’re thinking of the chat you had with her assistant, Rhi. Zenia isn’t an inquisitor anymore. She works for Targyon, the same as I do. There’s no reason to feel distaste for her.”

  “Except that she had her nose up in the air the whole time she was here, as if she was equal to us. Or better.”

  “Do you accept my deal or not? I’m prepared to leave you here to have lunch with them yourself.”

  “You wouldn’t walk out on a woman expecting to meet you. I’ve taught you better than that.”

  “You made the date, not me.”

  “Don’t be flippant with me,” his father snapped.

  Jev raised his eyebrows, not willing to budge. Maybe a part of him hoped his father would set him free of his obligations and that he could escape his duty. His destiny.

  The old man sighed. “Fine. I’ll speak with her.”

  Jev almost blurted a surprised, “Really?” But he didn’t. He nodded once. “Your word on it?”

  That indignation flared in his father’s eyes again. He had to hate the insinuation that his implied word wasn’t good enough, but he’d brought this doubt upon himself.

  “My word. Send her up to speak with me when you wish.” The old man didn’t mention the possibility of a lunch.

  Oh well. Zenia would probably find it torture to spend more than ten minutes with him.

  “And now, your new lady is waiting for you.” Father gestured toward the stairs leading up to the balcony.

  The mother was gone.

  8

  Zenia sat down at a table in the library with a stack of books.

  That morning, she’d sent an agent to get reports from her half-elf informant as well as the informant who worked in the port authority office. She wanted information on the elven princess and her ship—she was concerned Yesleva wasn’t all that she seemed and might be an intentional or unintentional threat to the kingdom—but Zenia didn’t feel she could walk up and interview her. Earlier that morning, Zenia had glimpsed Yesleva with Targyon, who had been giving her a tour of the gardens, a huge entourage of castle guards and elven bodyguards trailing them. No, Zenia couldn’t simply walk up and ask questions.

  While she waited for the reports, she was trying to find something that could help her with her dragon-tear problem. The books she’d se
lected from the shelves discussed dwarven and elven magic. Her earlier research on dragon tears hadn’t been fruitful, but perhaps one of these more general texts would hold useful information. The others had all been from human points of view, but a couple of these had been translated from books originally written in Dwarfish or Elvish.

  Less than a half hour into Zenia’s reading, Rhi ambled in and found her.

  Zenia had been distracted from her original research by a chapter about the magical swords that elven wardens were given and how the custom-forged gifts reflected the personalities of their owners. She stuck a bookmark in the book so she could come back to it. Since she and Jev kept getting attacked by wardens, it would be good to know as much as possible about them—and their glowing swords.

  “You have reports for me?” Zenia asked.

  Rhi wasn’t the agent she had sent to gather information, but someone might have volunteered her to find Zenia in the library.

  “As it happens, I do.” Rhi plopped down in a chair and laid scraps of paper on the table. “Garlok was blustering about how things were done in his day, so I took these from Agent Yu and fled. Eventually, I found my way here.”

  “Eventually? I told Sevy to let people know I was in the library if they needed me.”

  “I might have taken the circuitous route through the stables.”

  “The stables aren’t on the way up here.”

  “That’s why it was a circuitous route. Have you ever chatted with that handsome young man with the floppy hair that works down there? He has lovely forearm muscles. I got him to agree to spar with me later. I must keep in tiptop form in case my boss decides to take me with her the next time she assaults an elven stronghold.”

  “Assaults? Jev and I went to snoop in desk drawers.” Zenia picked up the scraps of paper.

  “Do you deny assaulting happened?”

  “I deny that we did it.”

  “Exactly why you should have had me along.”