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Eye of Truth, Chapter 20 and Epilogue (a free fantasy novel)

Here we go–the end is here! I’ve put the book up for pre-order on Amazon, too, in case you want to drop 99 cents for a copy for your kindle. (Non-Amazon folks can snag it early if they’re Patreon subscribers.) I’ll put the link at the end. Book 2 is coming soon too!

If you missed the earlier chapters, you can start here at Chapter 1 and work your way through.

Chapter 20

Jev paced on the perfectly manicured brick drive that led through the massive gate at Alderoth Castle. The guards watched him blandly. He’d already shown them his invitation, so they knew he wasn’t some panhandler, but one kept glancing pointedly at a clocktower inside the gate. Jev couldn’t dally much longer.

Zenia hadn’t accepted his invitation with glowing enthusiasm, and he couldn’t fault her if she didn’t come, but he would worry about her if she didn’t. She hadn’t seemed concerned by the idea of torture from the temple archmage, but she hadn’t been the one in that cell, having her mind ripped to pieces. His brain still throbbed at the memory.

He hadn’t been surprised in the least to learn the artifact belonged to the elves and that the Water Order had stolen it—attempted to steal it. But Zenia… Technically, she hadn’t seemed that surprised either. But he believed she was a good, moral person—especially after he’d watched her hand over the artifact—and he doubted she’d known anything about her Order’s history with the piece before she’d been given the assignment.

One of the guards cleared his throat. “Is that your date, Zyndar Dharrow?”

Jev had been staring down at the bricks as he paced. He jerked his head up and clapped his hand to his chest in relief when he spotted Zenia.

He started to grin and wave, but when he realized she wore a sedate beige dress instead of her blue robe, his grin faltered. Other than her brief stint with nudity, he hadn’t seen her in anything but the inquisitor garb. True, he hadn’t known her for long, but he felt certain she would wear her formal robe for a meeting with the king. If she were still an inquisitor.

She walked stiffly, but not as stiffly as the night before. He hoped the Order had let a healer work on her before kicking her out. Bleakly, he noticed that she no longer wore a chain around her neck. Had the archmage demanded she give her dragon tear back to the temple?

“Good morning, Jev,” Zenia said, her eyes grave as she nodded at him.

“Are you all right?” he asked without preamble.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her, but she didn’t look like she wanted that. Besides, the guards might snicker.

Zenia drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am no longer an inquisitor or in the employ of the Temple of the Blue Dragon.”

“Founders’ razor talons. Your archmage blamed you?”

“For not finding a way to bring in the artifact, yes. And even more for not trying in the end.”

“It didn’t belong to the Water Order. It never did.”

Zenia spread her hands. “I’d rather not talk about it. I have some money saved so I won’t be on the street. I’ll figure out something.”

“You’re welcome at my home anytime.” All the time, he added silently.

Her chin came up, some of her old fire in her eyes. “I won’t accept charity,” she said, perhaps more stiffly than she intended.

He almost joked and asked if she would accept a marriage proposal, but it was far too early for that. Besides, marrying her would have been difficult even before she broke into his family’s vault and took something from it. Father would consider her a commoner, which was almost a worse crime. Not that Jev cared a whit about bloodlines, but his head ached at the idea of dealing with his family over it. Everything was already a riotous mess after his grandmother’s revelations.

“I do thank you for the offer,” Zenia added more softly. “I didn’t say anything about your grandmother or share that part of the story with the archmage. Is she—what will you do?”

“Father, as zyndar prime, is responsible for everyone in the family and what gets reported to the watch offices. If anything. We’re outside the city limits. What happens on rural zyndar property has historically been under the jurisdiction of the individual zyndar families. I will say I was very glad not to have to be the one to make any decisions regarding her. She should be shot for what she did, but how do you shoot someone who doesn’t even grasp what’s going on half the time?”

Jev had been angry—furious—last night when everything had settled down, and he’d realized the full implications, that his grandmother had shot his mother. Even though he’d been young when she disappeared, he’d never stopped caring for her and hoping she would return one day. No chance of that now.

“I’m not sure she’s as demented as she lets on,” Zenia said.

“Perhaps not, but could you stand an eighty-year-old woman up in front of a firing squad?”

“She did attempt to drop a castle on my head.”

“Just the corner of the castle.” Jev smiled, hoping to lighten her mood.

She snorted. In amusement? He wasn’t sure.

“She will be punished. Father said so. I just don’t think it will involve dungeons and firing squads. I’m guessing he’ll exile her from the castle.”

Zenia nodded.

“Zyndar?” One of the guards pointed at the clock tower.

“Yes, we’re coming. My stomach is rumbling, and I can’t remember the last time I sat down for a meal. It was biscuits on the ship over here, I think. We sat cross-legged on the deck and played chips.” He shook his head at how much had happened in just a couple of days. That meal on the ship seemed like it had been weeks ago.

“Are your elf and dwarf friends staying around?” Zenia asked quietly as they headed into the castle.

“Lornysh is meditating in the woods somewhere, though he mentioned sneaking in later in the week to gauge the talent of the Korvann Symphony. Cutter is waiting for me to introduce him to Master Grindmor. You haven’t heard anything new from her, have you?”

“No, but I’ve been preoccupied.”

He grunted. “Me too.”

“I’ve been wondering about something. What did your elf friend—Lornysh—say last night? When he answered the princess in Elvish.”

The guards escorting them past the gardens, fountains, and statues of the grand courtyard looked curiously at Zenia. Jev waited until they’d been led inside and handed off to another set of guards to answer.

“Essentially, he said, ‘You kicked me out. You’re responsible for my actions.’”

“He worked with you in the army?”

“As a scout these last few years, yes. He’s shot many of his own people.” Jev wished their discussion had gone into more detail. He still wondered how his friend had come to be exiled.

They reached double doors leading into the great hall and were waved in. They didn’t have to take more than a few steps before someone in blue and purple rose from a chair and stepped out to greet them. A familiar someone.

“I’m already sweating through my armpit guards, I sat down and wrinkled my silk trousers, and I’m so nervous I may wet myself.”

Jev blinked at this greeting from Targyon, delivered as a sunbeam streamed through the vibrant stained-glass windows and spattered colored light onto him. Jev had been in the middle of sticking out his hand and offering congratulations.

“I hope that’s not the opening line for your speech,” he said.

Targyon grinned, though his eyes truly held a frantic—or maybe terrified—aspect, and grasped the offered hand. His palms were sweaty. Jev couldn’t blame him, but since they still had almost two hours until the ceremony, he thought the nerves were premature. Targyon should wait until no more than ten minutes beforehand to sweat profusely and wet himself.

“Do you not think such candidness will endear me to my subjects?”

“I suppose it could make you seem personable. But they might not know how to deal with a personable king after Abdor.” Jev looked over his shoulder. Zenia had walked in with him but had stopped a few steps back.

“Don’t worry. Someone wrote a speech for me. It promises a complete lack of personableness. And personality.” Targyon grimaced.

Though he probably wasn’t supposed to presume to touch his monarch-to-be, especially when six dour-faced guards lined the nearby walls, Jev risked stepping forward and clapping Targyon on the shoulder.

“Be the man you want to be,” he said, “not the man they think you should be.”

“I’m not sure that’s allowed.” Bleakness mingled with the other daunted expressions in his eyes.

Jev frowned, wondering what Targyon had endured these last couple of days. He’d been so busy with his own problems that he had no idea. He wished he’d asked his father what had gone on at the meeting between Targyon, his advisors, the Order archmages, and many of the zyndar primes. But he’d been distracted by other matters last night.

“You’re about to have power over half the kingdom,” Jev said. “You get to say what’s allowed. And you should be able to influence the other half of the kingdom too.” He flicked his fingers toward one of the stained-glass windows that showed off the founding dragons, each in the color and element of the religious Order it represented.

“In theory, but that half put this half here.” Targyon pointed at the window, then at his chest.

“Oh? Is that how it played out? Have you figured out if…” Jev hesitated, not certain he should insinuate his belief that foul play had caused the deaths of the princes.

Targyon got the gist anyway. “I’ve been trying to snoop, but I haven’t had a moment to myself. Everyone wants to trail me around and fit me for clothing while teaching me etiquette. Jev, I was never supposed to have to know etiquette. That was for my older brothers who would have zyndar duties. I was—am—I’m supposed to just be a random sixth-born child that nobody cares about.”

Jev groped for something encouraging to say. His reaction would be similar, though, if someone thrust the position onto him. And he was older and supposedly wiser than Targyon. At the least, he had seen more battles and had more scars. But it was a different kind of battle experience that would help a man here.

“If you set your mind to doing well,” Jev said, “I’m positive you’ll be more than competent at the job. The kingdom could use someone with a logical mind who isn’t bloodthirsty. We’ve had enough war for a long time, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Orders chose you because they believe you have a kind soul and will seek to do what’s best for the people, rather than worrying about making up threats where they don’t exist and trying to foist our religiosity off on other races.”

Targyon’s mouth twisted. “I think they picked me because I’m young and they think they’ll be able to manipulate me easily.”

“If so, your awareness of that should make manipulation difficult.”

“Seeing manipulation coming doesn’t always mean you can avoid it. I don’t know if I’m smart enough to outmaneuver all of them.”

“No? You knew how to find edible and fermentable tubers in a foreign land, create a vodka still from rusty pots and pans out in the middle of a field, and make alcohol for the men. That’s the hallmark of a clever mind.”

“Knowing how to make booze?”

“Knowing that the men needed a morale booster.”

“What does it say about humanity that alcohol is all it takes to make us happy?”

“Not all. Women are important too.” Jev grinned, then looked back toward Zenia again. He lifted his hand in invitation, wanting to introduce her.

Targyon’s mouth twisted into an even wryer expression as he watched her walk over. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been so open in front of a high-ranking member of the Water Order.” He rested his hand on his stomach and bowed deeply. “Inquisitor Cham. I read about a couple of your cases in the newspaper before I was shipped off to Taziira. It’s an honor to meet someone who’s done so much good work for the kingdom.” Targyon lifted his head. “Though I must admit that when Jev checked the himself-plus-one box on his breakfast invitation, I didn’t expect him to bring an inquisitor.”

Jev grimaced, lamenting that Zenia would have to again explain how she’d lost her career.

Zenia stopped at his side. For a moment, nerves danced in her eyes—she hadn’t likely expected Targyon to recognize her. But she masked her nerves and lifted her chin.

“You needn’t worry about me sharing any of your words with others in the Order. I’m not an inquisitor any longer, Zyndar—er King—Targyon.”

“Zyndar works. Or just Targyon. I have two more hours before anyone has to call me king or sire. I’m trying to enjoy my last free morning.”

“Is that hard with soggy armpits?” Jev asked.

“It is. I should have waited until later to put on the formal clothing.” Targyon tilted his head and regarded Zenia again. “You say you’ve quit your job?”

“I was asked to resign due to a choice I made to do…” She closed her eyes, her lips flattening. She had to be wondering if she’d made the correct choice, if it had truly been worth giving up her career.

“To do the right thing,” Jev said firmly.

“I suppose,” Zenia murmured. “For the moment, I’m unemployed. I don’t know yet what I’ll do tomorrow. Or the next day. Apply to the watch, I suppose, to become one of their detectives, though I’m not looking forward to starting at the bottom of their system. I have acquaintances there who I’ve shown up over the years, and they might enjoy zyndaring it over me.”

“Zyndaring it?” Targyon asked. “I didn’t know that was an expression.”

“None of the soldiers ever used it around you?” Jev asked.

“No. They called me a librarian sometimes when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. Also, when they knew I was.”

“It’s not quite the same.”

“I’d like to hear more of this story of choices over breakfast.” Targyon waved his hand at both of them. He didn’t appear that in-the-dark about their oblique comments, and Jev wondered if he’d received some intelligence from someone about the artifact hunt. Or had the elf princess already visited him? “Will you follow me?” Targyon asked. “I can’t promise you the company will be scintillating, but I can feed you well, especially compared to army rations.”

“I’d be disappointed if the king’s castle couldn’t produce better than army rations. Who else will be at breakfast?” Jev wondered what company he referred to. The idea of having to make conversation with a bunch of Order representatives or crusty royal advisors made him grimace.

“Just me.” Targyon grinned lopsidedly over his shoulder as he led them toward a passage on the far side of the great hall.

“Ah. It’s not bad to have some self-effacing qualities, Targyon, but you may want to develop a confident kingly cloak that you can drape around yourself in public. Otherwise…” Jev didn’t want to suggest Targyon would find himself the subject of manipulation attempts, since he’d already voiced that fear—and perhaps experienced that situation—but he did think a warning might help.

“I don’t think I can get a cloak like that to fit.”

“It’s easy. Pretend you’re an actor in one of those plays you like. An arrogant actor playing an arrogant role. Give your chin an upward tilt the way Zenia does.”

Her step faltered. “I don’t do that.”

“Please, you’re doing it now.”

She adjusted her chin experimentally a couple of times, frowned thoughtfully as she considered the position, then elbowed him in the ribs.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Zyndaring.”

“Zyndaring? I suspect you do that far better than I.”

“Hm, at least some of the company should be scintillating,” Targyon said, watching their byplay over his shoulder.

A butler opened double doors for them, and Targyon led them into an alcove near the kitchen rather than to the grand dining hall Jev had been to several times for events. A table with three place settings waited next to tall windows that overlooked one of the castle’s many gardens. A servant waited nearby, but the bodyguards stayed by the door. They would be out of earshot if the trio spoke quietly around the table.

Targyon gestured for Jev and Zenia to sit. It seemed this truly would be a private breakfast. Jev was surprised. He hadn’t expected to be the sole person to have Targyon’s ear on this very important morning for him.

“I hope you’ll feel comfortable speaking here,” Targyon said, then nodded to the servant.

The man disappeared through a swinging side door, and the scents of baking biscuits and gort being sautéed in garlic wafted out of the kitchen.

“Because I’d like to hear everything that happened with this Eye of Truth,” Targyon said. “From a trusted source.”

“Have you seen it yet?” Jev asked.

“I’ve seen it and held it. Its owner too.”

“You held the elf princess?”

“No. I mean, I saw her. And held the carving. I—” His cheeks flushed, and he looked even younger than his twenty-two years.

Jev lifted an apologetic hand. He hadn’t meant to fluster Targyon.

“We’ll gladly share our version of the story.” Jev held a chair out for Zenia, then slid into one next to her. “Zenia, it all started with you. Do you want to go first?”

“It all started with me? It all started with an elf woman and your brother, didn’t it?”

“Technically, it started thousands of years ago.”

“I saw the visions.” Targyon didn’t say what his opinion of them was. He sat, propped his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. Waiting attentively for them to continue.

“I guess I’ll start,” Jev said. “And trust Zenia to elbow me and lift her chin haughtily if I go awry.”

She elbowed him, smiling slightly.

Jev and Zenia spent the next hour—and an impressive seven courses of peach-jam-slathered biscuits, eggs and gort, smoked fish, and Jev couldn’t remember what else—relaying the story.

Here and there, Targyon asked a question, but he mostly listened.

Finally, as activity picked up in the kitchen, and more people passed through the garden outside on their way to dress and prepare for the ceremony, Jev and Zenia wound down, finishing with the events of the night before. Jev was hesitant to explain his grandmother’s role in everything, but leaving it out would be to leave too many questions unanswered. He reminded himself that this wasn’t simply a friend he was talking to, not anymore. In an hour, this would be his new king, a man to whom he and hundreds of other zyndar would kneel and swear their fealty to later in the ceremony.

“Good,” Targyon said in the end. “I appreciate your thoroughness. I almost asked you to write up a report, but you aren’t my employee yet, so that seemed presumptuous.”

“I believe kings are allowed to presume much from their zyndar.” Jev licked frosting off a cinnamon bun, one of several recently delivered in a basket. He paused mid-lick. “What do you mean, employee?”

“You need a job. You’re not a captain anymore. Your company has dissolved and your men have returned to your land where they’re once again taking up plowshares.”

“Yes, but I am my father’s son. I have duties he’ll expect me to…” Jev stopped. He didn’t want to do those duties. Why was he making an excuse? “I mean, he’s gotten along well enough without me for ten years, I suppose.”

“I’m sure he’ll need you as he gets older and can’t take on as much himself, and I wouldn’t presume to send you out of the city often or keep you so busy that you’re not able to assist him.”

“Send me out of the city?” Jev looked to Zenia.

She lifted the cinnamon bun she’d claimed in a don’t-look-at-me manner. She’d been doing more than licking the baked good for she had a smudge of frosting on her nose.

Since Targyon was watching them, Jev resisted the urge to wipe it off for her, especially since his napkin wasn’t the implement he would prefer to use.

“Your title will be Captain of the Crown Agents, and my world-traveling spies will report to you and bring back any missives or information they intercept. With your linguistics and intelligence-analyzing background, you should be ideal. And I can’t think of anyone I would trust more to be in charge of that half of my spy network.”

“You have a spy network?” Jev leaned back in his seat, trying to remember if he’d been aware of Abdor having such an organization. He supposed it was logical to assume the king had people independent of the army’s intelligence gatherers.

“I’ve inherited one, yes. But Zyndar Garlok, the current captain, seems shifty and possibly blackmail-able by the criminal guilds. I’m told it’s within my prerogative to hire new people.”

“And promote them directly to the top?”

“Absolutely. But you won’t be alone at the top. I believe it makes sense to have two captains, one in charge of foreign affairs and one to oversee domestic issues. Since you’ve been out of the city for ten years, you wouldn’t be as qualified for that as someone who is currently and intimately acquainted with Korvann and its various organizations, legal and otherwise.” Targyon smiled and looked at Zenia.

Her lips parted, and she lowered her bun to the plate. Except she missed the plate and dropped it on the lacy tablecloth beside it. She didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re offering to hire me, Sire?” Zenia must have decided they were close enough to the hour of the coronation to start using a majestic honorific.

“You did mention you’re without employment. I would like to swoop you up before some other agency bids for your talents.”

“Other agency? I can’t imagine anyone would be eager to hire an inquisitor. I—”

Jev leaned over and poked her in the shoulder. “Don’t tell him that or he won’t offer much of a salary. Tell him that numerous agencies, including the Fifth Dragon, have already made offers and eagerly await confirmation that you’ll work for them.”

He didn’t think she had a mouthful of cinnamon bun, but she managed to almost choke regardless. She looked incredulously at him. “You want me to lie to our new monarch?”

“He won’t be crowned for another hour. It’s perfectly acceptable to fudge the truth with some random zyndar kid who’s barely in his twenties.”

“Really,” Targyon murmured.

Jev winked at him, then whispered, not quietly, to Zenia. “You want him to realize how valuable and desirable you are so he’ll offer you a high salary.”

“I had no idea zyndar were so schooled in the ways of job interviews,” she said back.

“I’m a wise and worldly zyndar.”

She flicked a few fingers at him and turned her attention to Targyon. “Sire, are you saying that you would like me to lead—co-lead—your intelligence network?”

“I am,” Targyon said gravely.

It did not seem to be an off-the-cuff offer. Jev wondered if Targyon had known the full story, at least a version of it, before they showed up that morning. If so, he hadn’t shown his chips beforehand. Jev had a feeling Targyon would be better at this new job than he thought.

“I believe you have the intelligence and integrity for the position, and I need people I can trust.” Targyon nodded to Jev and lowered his voice. “Desperately.”

“I’m honored,” Zenia said. “And I accept.”

“Excellent. Zyndar Dharrow?” Again, Targyon seemed grave. Formal.

Jev steepled his fingers. “As you point out, I am zyndar, so I don’t think it’s allowed for me to do anything other than accept.”

“True, but I would prefer that you want the position, not that I strong-arm you into it.”

“Strong-arm?” Jev waved at Targyon’s sleeves. They both knew he was on the wiry side. He’d been downright scrawny when he first entered into service. Now he could pass as lean, but he would never beat Jev in an arm-wrestling contest.

“As a monarch, it would be within my right to use both of my arms against your one.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Privileges of rank.”

“Huh.”

Targyon continued to gaze at him intently.

“I had planned to get terribly drunk and lounge around on the beach when I got back,” Jev said. “Only a certain inquisitor’s attempt to arrest me interrupted that noble dream.”

“Attempt?” Zenia said. “I most certainly arrested you.”

“True. It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that your grasp on me grew tenuous.”

“Only because you had superhuman help.”

“Lornysh will be pleased you used that adjective on him.”

Jev scratched his jaw. He would take the position, as he’d said, simply because he was zyndar and Targyon was soon to be his monarch. And also because Targyon had turned into a friend out in the field. But did he truly want the job? Was he qualified for the job? After being out of the city—the entire country and continent—for so long?

Of course, he would have Zenia to lean on. The idea of working side by side with her pleased him. And maybe even titillated him. He supposed he shouldn’t fantasize about them locking themselves in an office deep within the castle and joining forces to do untoward things on a stout desk. It would have been scandalous when she’d been his arresting officer, but now…

He scratched his jaw again. Now, what? They would be colleagues working in the same office every day. Would having a relationship be problematic? Potentially fraught? Then there was still the matter of social rank. If their relationship worked out and he wanted to marry her, what then? He was his father’s only surviving son. As much as he would prefer to eschew all zyndar marriage traditions, his whole family would fight him if he proposed to a commoner.

“Are you hesitating because you truly don’t want to do it?” Targyon said softly. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to make you. I thought you were good at your job in the military and might enjoy having a civilian equivalent. Technically, a government equivalent, I suppose, since this wouldn’t be working in the private sector.”

“No, I was hesitating because I was fantasizing about my future colleague.” Jev decided not to mention the rest. It was something he and Zenia could figure out later. After they’d known each other for more than three days and been on a date.

“Zyndar Garlok?”

“No.” Jev leered over at Zenia, though he was positive Targyon had only been teasing.

She arched her eyebrows. Whatever she’d been contemplating, it probably hadn’t involved desks.

“That’s good,” Targyon said. “Garlok is old, pock-marked, and usually smells of that oddly-flavored chicle he chews. I assumed you could do better.”

“I certainly hope so. I accept the job, Targyon. Sire.” Jev offered his hand as he nodded.

“Excellent. And you can keep calling me Targyon. Except when I’m wearing the crown and holding the scepter and tilting my chin up officiously.”

“Arrogantly.” Jev smirked at Zenia.

“You’re about to get another elbow in the side,” she whispered.

“So long as you don’t get the frosting that’s all over your nose on me. I suspect professional dress and bathing will be required for this new job.”

Zenia jerked a hand up to her nose, found the crusty now-dried frosting, and scraped furiously as she glared at him. He smiled innocently. It wasn’t as if he had put it there.

“So long as you don’t stink as much as you did when I met you, I’m sure normal dress will suffice,” Zenia said.

“I’ll endeavor to smell delightful.”

Targyon leaned back in his chair as a servant appeared to clear the dishes and wordlessly offer Zenia a damp napkin. She scowled but accepted it.

“I suspect the Crown Agents Office is going to be a more interesting place to visit once you two are instated,” Targyon said.

“It doesn’t sound like Zyndar Garlok sets high standards to meet.”

“No, I almost look forward to letting him go. Or suggesting his retirement, as I intend to put it. When will you two be ready to start? Tomorrow?”

“So soon?” Jev hadn’t gotten his beach vacation yet. His chance to drunkenly do nothing while letting the sun scorch the skin that had grown pasty while traipsing through those sunless elven forests. And then having a beautiful woman rub aloe vera gel all over him. Would Zenia be amenable to that? Or would she call him a fool for sunburning himself? He would allow that if she did it while rubbing aloe vera gel on him.

“The day after tomorrow? Normally, I would be happy to give you a week or two to settle affairs and relax, but…” Targyon lowered his voice and made sure the servant had left and none of the bodyguards had strolled away from their posts by the far door. “I don’t want to assume my position is approved by all. The first thing I’d like you two to research is what happened to my cousins. For that matter, was my uncle’s death truly a battlefield accident in which the enemy overcame him, or was it planned?” Targyon’s face grew grimmer than an elven funeral cairn.

“Ah.” Jev had already wondered about the three cousins and heirs succumbing to the same disease of the blood in the same month, but he hadn’t considered that foul play might have been involved in the king’s death. Should he have? He hadn’t been on the front lines for that battle, so he hadn’t witnessed the man’s fall.

He grimaced at all the work, all the interviews they would have to do, both of people in the city and also of soldiers in the army, to research that. But he caught Zenia’s expression, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, and decided the work wouldn’t be so bad. Especially since it wouldn’t involve investigating his own family. It wouldn’t be so personal, so uncomfortable. At least to him. It would be very personal and uncomfortable for Targyon, who must even now be wondering if he would go the way of his uncle and cousins if he didn’t please the right people.

Jev leaned over and gripped his shoulder. “I understand. We’ll get on it right away. Zenia is an expert at interrogating people, you know.”

When he smiled over at her, he caught a wistful expression on her face. Was she thinking of the dragon tear she’d been forced to give back? And whether she would still be an expert on interrogating people without it?

Maybe so, but she lifted her chin and said, “Yes, I am.”

“Excellent,” Targyon said.

A door opened, and a castle steward leaned in. “King Targyon? If you’ve completed your meal, it’s time to prepare for the coronation.”

“I’m ready, Dodd.” Targyon pushed himself to his feet, waving back the servant who rushed forward to pull out his chair. “As ready as is possible, I guess,” he muttered, then gave Jev an army salute, open palm to the side of his forehead. He bowed to Zenia and headed off.

Not like a man going to the gallows, Jev told himself sturdily, but like a noble zyndar ready to serve his country and embark on a new career that would benefit the entire kingdom.

Epilogue

“You only get one day off?” Rhi asked as she and Zenia picked their way down the path leading to a beach at the east end of the city and the docks.

Rafts and fishing boats floated in the delta nearby, and farther inland, the mangrove branches waved in the sea breeze. A white-tailed eagle sailed over the river, and Zenia took the lucky bird as a good sign for her new career.

“Isn’t one day enough?” she asked. “It’s not like I had other plans.”

She did not admit it, but she would have preferred to start her job today and get to work on the king’s problem. She was also eager to meet her new colleagues and see her office in the castle. In the castle! She had never expected to be invited up there, much less to be able to list it as her place of employment. As much as she would miss the familiarity of the Water Order Temple, and the tinkle of the great fountain in the square outside, she looked forward to this new challenge in her life.

“Some people would enjoy the time and celebrate the new job by taking their families out for a meal. I suppose you don’t have much family, but you could take a lover out to dinner.” Rhi wriggled her eyebrows at her.

She wore her typical blue gi since she hadn’t been dismissed from the Order’s service. Zenia hoped Rhi wouldn’t get in trouble if she was seen walking with her. Strange to think that she might be considered a bad influence now, at least by some.

“I don’t have a lover, so that would be difficult.” Zenia searched the beach for Jev, wondering if he might one day be interested in assuming that position. There hadn’t been much time for exploring romantic relationships yet, but he had kissed her… and nibbled her earlobe. Those seemed like the types of things a lover would do. But since she would only be interested in a lover who wanted to marry her, was there any point in speculating?

Zenia had seen far too many bastard children abandoned at the temple gates by unwed mothers who couldn’t care for them to contemplate a simple fling. Even when people took precautions, children often came out of flings. Admittedly, she wouldn’t exist if her mother hadn’t slept with a zyndar man, but her childhood hadn’t been the easiest. She wouldn’t wish that on any children of her own.

“I suspect you could get one more easily now that you’re not wearing that shield of a blue robe that terrifies men at a hundred paces.”

Zenia looked down at her clothing, clothing that felt strange. She’d been so accustomed to wearing her robe that she’d usually even worn it on her days off. When she’d moved out of her room at the temple, leaving the handful of inquisitor robes behind, she’d found precious little casual clothing in the drawers. Today, she wore loose cotton trousers and a long-sleeved tunic with ties on the front, the garments flapping in the breeze as she and Rhi left the boardwalk and ventured onto the beach itself.

Warm sand slid between her feet and her sandals, making her wonder why Jev had dreamed of getting drunk down here. All manner of waterfront pubs with chairs and tables lined the boardwalk. Albeit, they were extremely crowded and noisy now. The first of the three days of holiday following the coronation were upon Korvann, and the whole city was celebrating. People’s boisterousness might be as much due to the end of the war as the crowning of a new king.

“Ah, there’s one now.” Rhi pointed down the beach, past numerous people lounging in bathing clothing to a shirtless figure with a hat pulled over his face. Two brown ceramic jugs—empty or full?—of beer were stuck in the sand beside him, and the sun had already turned his chest pink.

From this distance, Zenia couldn’t see the scars, but she knew they were there. They didn’t detract from the fact that he had a very nice chest. She imagined running her fingers along its muscular contours, and her cheeks flushed as she reminded herself that she wasn’t interested in flings. Besides, if his chest turned any redder, he wouldn’t want it touched for days.

“One what?” Zenia asked.

“Lover. Potential lover. At the least, you can ask him to dinner.”

“He doesn’t appear to be conscious.”

“This is true. Are you sure he invited you to come join him here?”

“Well, he told me where he’d be today.” Zenia had not known if it had been an invitation or if he’d merely offered the information in case she needed to talk to him before they officially started their jobs.

Zenia’s mind still boggled that she’d been hired by the king, that she’d sat down with him for a private breakfast in the castle. She’d always looked down her nose at zyndar and had thought herself indifferent to the pomp around royal celebrations and the royal family, but it had been surreal, nonetheless.

“He shouldn’t mind when we plop down next to him then,” Rhi said. “I’m invited, too, right?”

“I’m not positive I’m invited.”

“You are. Trust me.” Rhi grinned as they picked their way past families having picnics and swimmers drying off on towels. “If he didn’t want you to come see him, he would have said he was busy doing zyndar things at his castle. He’s probably dreaming of you coming up and kissing him right now. Well, perhaps not right now. His flag isn’t at mast.”

“Rhi!”

“What? You lie on your back on the beach in nothing but shorts, and people can see these things.”

“Only people who look at other people’s… special areas.”

“Special areas? I’ll tell him you think that part of him is special. I assure you, he’ll be delighted.”

Founders’ horned heads, how had Zenia ever thought coming to the beach with Rhi would be a good idea?

Since Jev had that broad-brimmed floppy hat pulled over his face, he didn’t see Zenia and Rhi approach. Zenia stopped in the sand beside him, letting herself look him over more openly than she had during that embarrassing search in front of Iridium. She couldn’t lie. Even sunburned with empty beer jugs next to his hand, he looked…

“Scrumptious.” Rhi slapped the end of her bo against one of his bare feet. “I approve of this man for you, former Inquisitor Cham.”

Jev jerked, yanking his hat off and peering up at them. He looked like he’d been startled awake, and Zenia slapped Rhi on the arm. After so many years in Taziira, he probably envisioned elven attackers invading camp whenever he woke with a start.

“Sorry about that, Jev,” Zenia said. “That’s how monks greet people. By beating them with a big stick.”

Jev recovered his equilibrium, set the hat aside, and propped himself on his elbows. “Oh?”

“Yes, I believe it’s in the Old Codex of the Monk.”

“Nah, weapons handling is covered in the New Codex,” Rhi said.

“What is covered in the Old Codex?” Zenia tried to remember if Rhi or any other monk she’d worked with had referenced it.

“Being pious and celibate so best to serve the founders. Also, the importance of knowing your daily fortune and acting according to it so as best to ensure success.”

“That’s it?”

“Just about. The Old Codex was more of a pamphlet carved onto stone tablets than a book. There were a lot of pictures. People didn’t read that well back then, and paper hadn’t gotten trendy yet.”

People still didn’t read well, at least when it came to the general population. Those who worked for the Orders were all educated. It occurred to Zenia that, even though she hadn’t gotten the position of archmage and influencer over the way of the Water Order that she’d hoped for, she might one day come to know the king well enough to have some influence on him. The rumors said Targyon loved science and books of all kinds. Maybe a simple suggestion would be all it took for him to render education mandatory in the kingdom.

“You’re celibate?” Jev asked Rhi.

They hadn’t conversed often but apparently often enough for him to guess that Rhi’s midnight poetry-reading activities weren’t as sedate as she suggested.

“She’s as celibate as she is pious,” Zenia offered.

Rhi smiled. Piously.

“I’m going to go establish law and order among those shirtless gentlemen playing with the ball down by the water.” Rhi pointed at two teams of bare-chested brawny young men whose physiques suggested they worked hard at jobs involving intense labor. They played hard too. Rhi wasn’t the only woman gazing in their direction.

“Are they being disorderly?” Jev asked.

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I may have to beat one of them with my bo.” She winked at them and wandered off.

“To think, I was the one kicked out of the temple,” Zenia said.

Jev scooted over on the blanket he’d brought out and patted the spot next to him. “Will your new position take the sting out of that? I know you lost more than just a job.”

Zenia settled cross-legged next to him. She noticed a couple of young women on nearby towels scowling at her. Had they been ogling Jev with speculation? She would think the ball-playing men more entertaining subjects, at least at the moment, but if one wanted someone more mature, someone a little scarred, Jev did have appeal.

“It’ll take a while to get used to it,” Zenia said, “but I’m looking forward to it. And I’m eager to start on our first case.”

“I am too. I’m worried about Targyon, and I’m glad we’ll be close in case he needs advice. Or a protector.” His eyes grew steely with determination. He was quick to grin and make sarcastic comments, but he clearly had a serious side.

Zenia looked forward to seeing more of his sides.

“But I’m determined to enjoy my day off first.” Jev smiled, the steeliness fading. He pulled one of the jugs out of the sand and offered it to her. “Drink?”

“Inquisitors don’t dull their senses by imbibing alcohol.”

“But you’re not an inquisitor anymore.”

“I wouldn’t think crown agents should dull their senses either.”

“Are you sure? I haven’t seen the handbook yet.”

“Is there a handbook?” Zenia asked.

“I don’t know.”

“If there’s not, we could write one. A collaborative project.”

Jev wrinkled his nose. “Will you be offended if I hope there’s already one in the office?”

“I’m amenable to following an existing handbook, so long as it’s cohesive and well-organized.”

“I can see working with you will be a wild experience.”

“I doubt the new king wants wildness in his spy network. He seems like the type to approve of organization and handbooks.”

“I know that’s true.”

“Excellent.” Zenia beamed approval at him.

Jev shook his head and tilted the jug back for a drink. But he paused before it touched his lips, his eyebrows arching as he looked past Zenia’s shoulder.

A sturdy bearded figure in coveralls, boots, and a leather apron strode across the beach. A few other sets of eyebrows rose as Master Arkura Grindmor approached Jev and Zenia with a determined set to her jaw.

“She doesn’t look like she found her tools, does she?” Zenia asked, disappointed. She’d hoped she might have helped the dwarf—and also cleverly deduced Iridium’s hiding spot.

“She looks like she ate a tool for lunch and has indigestion.”

Zenia rose to her feet, dusting off sand, so she could bow her head respectfully.

“Look at this.” Arkura said without preamble, pulling a hammer out of her belt, the shaft made from some black material and the head glinting in the sunlight like a jewel. Or a diamond?

“You found them?” Jev sounded surprised.

“One of them.” Arkura jammed the hammer back through her belt. “Lying in saltwater like a discarded sardine tin. If my tools could rust, they’d be covered in the stuff. I’m going to knock that woman’s head off the next time I see her.”

“Iridium?” Zenia asked.

“Yes. After I get the location of the rest of my tools from her. I only found the hammer because some clod let it fall out, then didn’t notice.”

“Was it in one of the pumping stations?”

“Yes, you guessed right. And I’d thank you for that, but I’m so frustrated I could shave a bearded dragon. The tools had been there. You could tell. There was a rusty mark on the ground in the shape of my toolbox. It’s not made of diamond, you see. It can rust. Now, I’ll have to build a new one. When I get the rest of my tools back.” She glowered at Zenia, then propped her fists on her hips and shifted the glower to Jev.

“You’re saying I should send my friend Cutter to your workshop to start searching for them?” Jev asked mildly.

“I’m appalled he’s not already there.” Arkura looked at the position of the sun in the sky. She didn’t point out that Jev—and Zenia—owed her a favor, but she didn’t need to.

“I’ll go look for him now.” Jev stood so he could shake sand off his blanket and fold it up. “And if he has any trouble with the quest, I should be able to help from my new position.”

“I don’t care what position you assume, but I want my tools back.” Arkura whirled and stomped back the way she had come.

“Since she was kind enough to rescue us, I’m not going to point out what a grump she is,” Jev said.

“Or that she didn’t address you as Zyndar Dharrow and bow obsequiously?”

“I’m just happy she didn’t point out that my beard is even farther from my balls now than it was when she first met me.”

A young woman who happened to be walking past as he made that comment threw Jev a startled look.

“If I were still an inquisitor, I could fine you for talking about your reproductive anatomy in public,” Zenia said.

“I know there’s not a law about that.”

“You’ve been gone for ten years. The law evolves over time.”

He squinted at her. “I haven’t yet learned how to tell when you’re joking and when you’re being serious.”

“Working together should be interesting then.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

THE END

If you want a copy for your e-reader, you can pre-order Eye of Truth for 99 cents at Amazon. It’ll come out late next week with Book 2 to follow shortly after: https://amzn.to/2L1h0BG

Eye of Truth, Chapter 19 (a free fantasy novel)

I have new art for Rhi! This is by Catur, who has a page here on DeviantArt.

Oh, and I also have a new chapter for you. (Start with Chapter 1 if you stumbled onto this new.)

Chapter 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.

“So that its message may be hidden away once more?” the elf princess asked. “Your people should be, now more than ever, ready to hear the truth. Perhaps then they will not be so quick to embroil themselves—and my kind—in another war, a war where there was never anything to gain.”

“Its message?” Jev asked.

The elf flicked a couple of fingers toward Zenia’s clenched fist. The artifact grew warmer against her palm, and white light crept into her vision again.

Cursing, she dropped the artifact. She didn’t want to, but she also didn’t want to be knocked unconscious, not when the situation was tense and volatile.

But the vision found her, regardless.

 

“I thank you for guiding me through your countryside, friend human,” the elf princess said, smiling at the man riding the horse beside hers. From a mountain perch miles inland, they looked out toward the sea and Korvann sprawling along the shore.

The human, a handsome man who looked a lot like Jev, grinned roguishly at her. “Friend human? Is that all I am to you?”

The princess’s cheeks grew a shade pink. “I have enjoyed our journey to this point with you. Before I left the heartwoods, I hadn’t realized humans were so vigorous.”

The roguish grin grew broader. “Just some. When properly inspired.”

“It’s a shame I must return after I deliver this message.” She looked down at her palm, at a familiar ivory tree-shaped artifact resting there.

“I suppose I wouldn’t be welcome to visit.”

“Not with your people currently invading the heartwoods, trying to kill mine. But perhaps if the message is heard and understood to be true…” She curled her fingers around the artifact and firmed her jaw. “It will be. I will not fail my father in this.”

“I believe you.” The man—Jev’s brother?—leaned over and gripped her forearm. “Put up your hood. I can get you into the castle to see Prince Dazron—he’ll have to do since the king is leading the war himself and since he wouldn’t care anyway. Dazron is our main hope. The archmages of the Orders…”

“I’m told Earth and Air may be trusted and that they opposed the war, but that we must avoid Water and Fire.”

“I’d prefer to avoid them all. The prince is known to be reasonable.”

“Yes,” the princess agreed, “and though he supports his father in public, he’s privately spoken against the war and the way it is depleting your people’s resources.”

“Should I find it alarming that you know more about what the prince does privately than I do?”

“My people have ways.” She smiled cryptically at him.

“Just so long as you haven’t been investigating his vigor. He’s married, you know.”

“Really, Vastiun. You humans are so…”

“Appealingly unique and quirky?”

“You are quirky. Come.” She nudged her horse into motion and raised the hood of her green cloak over her blonde hair. “We are not far now.”

But as they rode down the hill, the road passed near a stand of trees. Dozens of men raced out from within, firing muskets and rifles. They were a ragtag bunch, appearing at first as bandits, but then two figures in blue rode out of the shadows on white horses. One wore the robe of an inquisitor and the other the attire of a monk. They sat astride the horses and watched as the bandits attacked the pair on the road.

The elf raised her hands, bringing some magic to bear, even as a dragon tear about her throat glowed a fierce golden. Jev’s brother fired at the bandits, taking down several, but the inquisitor shouted something, and the men did not falter in their attack. They rushed at the elf. Vastiun jumped down from his horse, drawing a short sword and attacking in close quarters. A crude explosive went off, the force hurling Vastiun into the brush at the side of the road. The attackers focused on the elf princess instead of him. She realized she wouldn’t drive back so many and whispered an enchantment, then hurled the artifact off the side of the mountain.

It floated out of sight and landed—the inquisitor did not see where. Vastiun, halfway to his feet again, gasped and grabbed the side of his head. As he bent over—in pain?—an arrow thudded into the princess’s heart. Vastiun cried out in rage and swung his sword at the thugs, but there were too many. She crumpled to the road and died, the arrow protruding from her chest. The men beat Vastiun senseless, then, under the inquisitor’s orders, ran down into the brush to hunt for the thrown artifact.

But they did not find it. Magic had hurled it farther than physical strength could.

When Vastiun woke, a vision burned in his mind, the resting place of the artifact. It was the last thing the princess had given him before dying.

With shaky limbs, he buried her in a cairn beside the road, then walked down the mountainside, magic drawing him to a place the others hadn’t found. He picked up the artifact and stared at it, experiencing the vision it had been crafted to show.

It sprang back in time thousands of years and showed human after human sneaking into the Taziira heartwoods and stealing dragon tears, occasionally from the hordes of slumbering dragons, as so many of the stories told, but more often from the homes of peaceful elves. Sometimes, they murdered those inhabitants to ensure nobody followed them back to their homeland across the sea.

These adventurers all returned sharing tales of how they’d bravely won the dragon tears or had stolen them from unsuspecting dragons, none of them mentioning the truth. Eventually, the elves took to the trees and made their homes difficult to find. Some of them sought revenge, leading humans to learn to fear their kind, but by the time the Era of Discovery came to a close, thousands of dragon tears had shifted into human hands. And as generations passed, humans forgot how they had come to have them and told stories of how the founders themselves had gifted them to the various human kingdoms.

Only the elves remembered the truth.

 

The vision faded, and Zenia lurched upright with a gasp. She had fallen to the cobblestones. Had someone snatched the artifact while she was knocked out? No, she was lying right on top of it, the ivory carving digging into her hip. She pulled it out as she looked around for the elves or other threats.

Everyone in the courtyard lay crumpled on the cobblestones except for Lornysh and the elf princess. Or the woman Zenia had assumed was the elf princess from the original vision. The blonde female who’d died in the vision had looked so much like this person standing in front of her and looking at her.

“My twin sister,” the elf said quietly, holding Zenia’s gaze.

Zenia swallowed. With every human in the courtyard unconscious, the elf could have walked over and taken the artifact at any time.

“I wish to finish what she started, to make sure your people know the truth, that we are only your enemies because your people made us so. Humans coveted our magic, since they had none of their own, and took it by force. And the dragon tears were not even ours to give. We promised long ago to keep them for the dwarves who originally mined them from a rare vein imbued with magic. They used the gems against each other in a civil war that lasted centuries. Finally, their leaders rounded them all up and gave them to us so they could no longer use them against each other. They have been a mixed blessing for our people to say the least.”

“Why should I believe you?” Zenia asked. “Or this.” She thrust out the artifact.

On the cobblestones beside her, Jev groaned faintly. Elsewhere, a few other people also stirred.

“It is your choice to believe as you wish,” the elf said, “but you should sense the truth in the Eye of Truth. It was given that name for a reason. It was created to show only truths and for those who partake in its visions to understand that.”

“Magic could make me believe anything, I suppose.” Unfortunately, Zenia found that she did believe the story. Sazshen herself was as much to blame as a carved piece of ivory. She’d been so evasive. Had she known exactly how the Order had acquired—no, attempted to acquire—the artifact? “Basically, your people want our people to know that we originally stole the dragon tears?”

“We do. My father believed that if you all knew, or at least if your leaders knew, then perhaps you would realize…”

“We should be asking forgiveness rather than trying to take over your continent and suborn your kind?” Jev asked, grimacing as he rose to his knees.

Had he heard the whole conversation?

Zenia touched his shoulder, wanting to know what he believed. His family was so tied up in all this. What did he think should be done?

“We do not require your contrition,” the princess said.

Lornysh grunted. In disagreement? It was the first noise he’d made since Zenia woke. Visha lay crumpled next to him on the lip of the fountain, and she hadn’t stirred yet.

The princess smiled knowingly at him but did not otherwise respond to him.

“And we do not ask that you return all the dragon tears, though there are some among us who have argued for that, yes. Argued that we take the war to your shores and recover all of them we can. They were only ever a small faction among us, but I believe your spies learned of their wishes and shared their words with your King Abdor. And that was all it took.” The princess shook her head, her eyes holding an eternal sorrow that made her seem far older than she appeared. “All we hope for is a more restful peace going forward. If your leaders know the truth, perhaps it will ensure that.”

As more people stirred in the courtyard, all seeming to have seen the vision and to understand the conversation going on, Zenia stared down at her fist, at her fingers closed around the artifact. It was still slightly warm, but it didn’t seem to be oozing any magic now. No visions. No attempts to manipulate her.

“I think if you took it to our soon-to-be-king, Targyon, he would be willing to listen,” Jev said, then lowered his voice. “If the Water Order allows it. It was clear to me—” he touched his temple, “—that they didn’t want it to reach Prince Dazron five years ago. They may have decided humanity was better off not knowing its past. For their own good. Or for the status quo. I don’t know.”

Jev didn’t look at Zenia, and she was glad. She did not want to see an accusation in his eyes. She hadn’t known about any of this, but here she stood in her blue robe, clearly a representative of the Water Order.

“Your own family seems to have made a similar decision,” Lornysh said, coming around the fountain and leaving Visha.

She was stirring now, frowning and lifting her head, and that made Zenia uneasy. Heber, too, had his eyes open, though he lay on his stomach, simply watching for now. Biding his time?

“To keep the truth hidden,” Lornysh added.

Jev frowned. “Vastiun must have fled—joined the army and sailed overseas—to avoid the wrath of the Water Order. Maybe he feared he would never be able to get close to the prince once they realized he’d recovered the artifact. He told me none of this, not even when he lay dying in my arms. He simply mentioned the girl that he regretted losing.” Jev lifted his eyebrows toward the elf princess.

“My sister was a lovely person.”

“And then I, knowing nothing of the importance of the artifact, bundled it up with the rest of Vastiun’s belongings and sent it home.” Jev turned toward his father and also looked toward his grandmother. “What happened after that? Somebody knows. And was that Corvel’s skeleton we found in the woods? Someone shot him. On our land.”

Zenia expected the father to flinch or give away knowledge of the event, but it was Visha who clenched her jaw and glared defiantly over at Jev.

“I never saw his belongings, and I’ve no idea where your mother’s butler went,” Jev’s father said.

Zenia almost nudged Jev to get him to look over at his grandmother, but his head turned in that direction without assistance. Her defiance didn’t change. There was no shame in her eyes. She almost looked proud. By the founders, she hadn’t trekked out to the meeting stone and shot the butler, had she? And if she had, why would she be proud of that?

“Grandmother?” Jev prompted.

“He was going to take it back to them.” Visha pointed at Lornysh and also at the princess. “To some stinking elves. While we were at war with them. It was a betrayal. He betrayed his own people, and that’s a crime deserving of a hanging or a shooting. The law says so. Kingdom and Order.” She turned her defiant stare on Zenia, but only for a moment.

“You didn’t do it,” Jev said. “Follow him out there and shoot him? Surely not…”

If anything, Visha’s expression grew more defiant. “You think I can’t defend what’s right? Boy, I fired at Ska invaders that came onto our property and thieved our horses during the Border Wars. You think I can’t shoot when the law demands it? Or just when it’s right? When people run off and become damn elf sympathizers? I did it before. I did it to my own blood.” For the first time, her defiance slackened, and her voice developed a quaver. “You can’t let your own blood betray the kingdom, betray you. No matter how much… I didn’t mean to kill her though. Just a warning. She was going to leave her own boys to run off with them. It’s not right. Not right. I didn’t raise her like that. I didn’t.”

Zenia watched Jev’s face as the words tumbled out, as the woman’s self-righteous proclamations turned into a confession.

“The cairn,” Jev said numbly, looking to Lornysh.

Though puzzled, Zenia didn’t say anything. She had her own dilemma to consider.

But before she could return to pondering the carving in her hand, Visha faced her. “You going to arrest me for it, girl?”

Founders, was she supposed to? The woman had just confessed to not one but two murders. It was technically a kingdom matter, nothing to do with the Orders, but had she attempted a third murder?

“Did you try to crush me in that rockfall?” Zenia asked.

Jev winced. The accusation wasn’t for him, but this was his grandmother. Would he try to take some of the blame? It wasn’t his fault.

Visha glanced over at one of the armed guards, a man who pointedly did not look back. He studied the cobblestones at his feet and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“I arranged it,” Visha said. “You had no right to be here, no right to thieve what rightfully belongs to our family now. What’s been locked up for five years and should stay locked up for five hundred. But I saw you looking. I knew what you were thinking and that you felt it with your own magic. I never thought an inquisitor would want to let out those elf lies, but they’ve got sympathizers everywhere. You never know.”

Visha didn’t realize that she and Zenia—or at least she and Sazshen—had been on the same side. They had both wanted to keep the truth locked away.

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Visha added. “First chance you got, you ran up there and stole it.”

“I had orders from the archmage to retrieve it.” Zenia couldn’t help but feel guilty at having done exactly what the woman accused, but this was her mission, and her crimes were nothing compared to the ones Visha had perpetrated.

Jev stood still, his lips parted, looking as stunned as if someone had slammed a sledgehammer into his chest. Surprisingly, his father wore a similar expression. Zenia guessed he knew something about the artifact, but she wagered this was the first time he’d heard his wife had been murdered.

“Inquisitor Cham,” the elf princess said. “The crimes that have occurred here have been human and are in your domain, save for one.” She extended a slender finger, pointing at Zenia’s fist. “Will you return the Eye of Truth to me? To my family? I will show it to your new king, and then I will take it to the other kingdoms and share this knowledge there, as well. If you relinquish the artifact. It was carved long ago by a relative of our family, so it is rightfully ours.”

“Can’t you just tell the king the truth?” Jev recovered from his shock enough to give Zenia a concerned look. Of all the people here, only he knew how much this mission meant to her. What she could potentially gain if she returned victorious and handed the artifact over to Sazshen.

“Not many humans are inclined to believe my people, especially right now,” the princess said. “But the Eye of Truth was made long ago by a talented half-elf mage, a distant relative of mine, as I said. He lived as a hermit, trying to be neither a part of your world nor ours. Because of his neutrality and the power of truth he imbued in the carving, your leaders will be more inclined to believe the artifact than my lips. Inquisitor Cham?”

“Will you take it by force if I don’t give it to you?” Zenia asked.

She rubbed her thumb over the artifact. If she believed all that had been shown to her today, she had to accept that returning it to the elves was the right thing to do. But if she did so—if she handed it over willingly—would Sazshen forgive her? Would she still consider Zenia as her successor? As the next archmage to lead the temple into the future?

No, not that last. If Zenia handed over the artifact to an elf, it would be more than failing to complete a mission. It would be choosing a side. Not the side Sazshen and the temple were currently allied with.

“I will not,” the elf princess said. “I am a diplomat, not a warrior.”

“I wish you’d said yes,” Zenia said bleakly.

The elf tilted her head, curious. Jev shared Zenia’s bleak expression. Yes, he understood. If she did her best to succeed but failed her mission, perhaps… perhaps that would be forgivable. But to turn her back on her mission…

“Maybe you can say you weren’t given a choice,” Jev murmured. “Would that be better?”

“Maybe. If it were true. But even if I were inclined to lie to the archmage… Well, you can’t lie to an inquisitor.”

“Ah.”

Zenia opened her palm, offering the artifact to the princess. She wouldn’t toss it or walk it over there. She couldn’t go that far.

The elf lifted her hand, and the ivory carving floated away from Zenia, coming to rest in her palm.

Tears threatened, more of frustration than loss. Why couldn’t the elf have taken the damn thing from her while she’d been unconscious? Why had she forced Zenia to choose? To make the choice that betrayed her mentor and everything she’d been for the last twenty years?

“I thank you, Inquisitor Cham.” The princess shifted toward the fountain. “And I thank you—Lornysh is the name you’re going by now?”

“Yes,” he said, nothing inviting in his tone.

“I thank you for activating the meeting stone. We never expected a favor from you, not after the choices that were made.”

“The choices that were forced to be made,” Lornysh growled.

“You didn’t have to join the humans and take up arms against us.”

Lornysh switched to the elven language to give his angry retort. Jev must have understood, for his eyebrows twitched minutely, but he did not translate.

“Then why this help now?” the princess asked, still speaking in the kingdom tongue.

“In the end, peace is more desirable for all,” Lornysh said.

“Said the mighty blood-letting warrior.” The elf’s expression grew bemused. “You are a puzzling rysheria.”

“Yes.”

The elves said nothing more to each other. The princess inclined her head toward Jev and Zenia, then turned and walked out into the night. She seemed to disappear before she passed over the drawbridge.

“Are you all right?” Jev whispered.

Zenia shook her head. “No.”

He hesitated, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and closed her eyes, not wanting to deal with the world. Or the repercussions of her choice.

Hoofbeats sounded on the drawbridge, and she opened her eyes again. A rider in the king’s blue, purple, and gold livery entered the courtyard.

“Zyndar Prime,” he said, bowing from his horse to address Heber before turning his focus to Jev. “Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow?”

“Yes?” Jev asked, not lowering his arm from Zenia’s shoulders.

“Excellent. I’ve been searching for you. You were last seen… many other places.”

“Imagine that.”

The rider slid off his horse and jogged over, pulling out a scroll with a purple seal on it. “Soon-to-be-crowned King Targyon requests you join him for breakfast tomorrow before the coronation.”

“I would be happy to,” Jev said.

The man offered the scroll and pulled out a compact writing kit. He unrolled it, unstoppered an ink bottle, slid a quill into it, and offered the implement to Jev.

“Signature required?”

“To make it official, Zyndar.”

Jev signed for himself and added a plus one to the end.

“You’re invited,” he told Zenia as the rider accepted the scroll back, blowing gently on the ink.

“Is that allowed?” Zenia couldn’t imagine being invited to the castle to have breakfast with the king, even the new king, who sounded less intimidating than the old one. Nor could she imagine cavalierly adding a guest to an invitation that hadn’t offered the option.

“Absolutely. He owes me a few favors.”

“The king owes you favors?”

“Lieutenant Targyon certainly does. I doubt being turned into a king will make him forget them.”

Zenia wondered if she could find a healer and deliver her report to Sazshen in time for a breakfast meeting. Oh, how she dreaded making that report.

“It’ll be fine,” Jev said, watching her face. He lowered his voice to a murmur. “And it’ll give you a reason to leave early tomorrow morning. In case reporting in to your superiors doesn’t go well.”

When had he learned how to read her face so well?

“They can’t torture you if you’re having breakfast with the king,” he added.

Zenia sighed. Torture wasn’t what she worried about. The future? That was another matter.

~

Chapter 20 and the epilogue: Coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 16 (a free fantasy novel)

Hey, folks! Here’s a new installment for the weekend. Thanks for reading! (Chapter 1 is here if you’re new.)

Chapter 16

“Zyndar Prime Dharrow isn’t here?” Zenia asked.

“That’s right, ma’am, and I don’t have the authority to let you in.” The guard glanced into the courtyard behind him, as if he was hoping someone would come over to back him up—or maybe take over the job of speaking to an inquisitor—but Zenia didn’t see anyone walking through the area at the moment.

“You don’t have the authority to keep me out, rather,” she said. “I am here in the name of Archmage Sazshen, leader of the Order of the Blue Dragon temple in the capital. I am here to question the Dharrow family and its staff on her behalf.”

“I…”

She could tell he didn’t want to let her in but also that he worried about the ramifications of refusing her. Finally, he leaned into the small guard station built into the stone archway and rang a bell.

“Someone should come to speak with you,” he said.

Should? They had better.

“Where is Zyndar Dharrow?” Even though she hadn’t enjoyed chatting with the crusty man the day before—damn, had it only been a day?—he was a likely source of information. With the help of her dragon tear, she ought to be able to pry out his secrets.

“He was summoned early this morning to a meeting at Alderoth Castle and hasn’t returned. Something about the coronation, we figured. Heard a lot of the zyndar primes were called. We expect him back any time though.” The guard looked toward the dark sky. “Rumor has it the new king isn’t much for drinking parties and orgies. I suppose he could grow into them. He’s young, they say. I heard Jev served with him. I can’t wait to talk to him, ask him all about Targyon. The whole castle and all the villagers are downright perplexed about him being named Abdor’s heir.”

If Zenia had wanted gossip on their new king, this man would have been easy to obtain answers from, even without magical influence, but that wasn’t why she had come.

A dark-haired woman in her twenties appeared in the courtyard and waved for Zenia to enter. Zenia had seen her the day before. Jev’s cousin, Wyleria. The same cousin Lornysh had apparently spoken with. She ought to be a decent resource and perhaps guide around the castle.

Zenia briefly reintroduced herself, then said, “What can you tell me of Jev’s mother?”

She’d planned to ask first about the butler, but maybe she could surprise an answer out of the woman before she realized she was part of the investigation.

“Er, it’s been a long time since she disappeared. She can’t be suspected of any crime, surely.”

“No, but your former butler is the last one believed to have seen the artifact stolen from the Water Order Temple.” Zenia hoped it had been stolen. Sazshen had been vague about it. Vague about everything. “He seems to have been loyal to Jev’s mother. Was she your aunt, or were you only related through marriage?”

A furrow creased Wyleria’s forehead. “Yes, she was my aunt. Or is. We’re not sure what happened to her. She may still be alive. Jev’s mother is my mother’s older sister, one of three. If you want information on her, our grandmother—her mother—might be the person to ask.”

“Is that Visha?” Zenia remembered the babbling woman who had tried to foist that basket of sweets on Jev. He’d suggested she might be a good resource.

“Yes. She’s lived here since before Jev was born. She makes clothes and creates all manner of tapestries. Many are hanging around the castle.”

Zenia nodded, though she didn’t care about the woman’s artistic endeavors. “Where is she?”

“Usually in her rooms by evening. I can take you to her, but she’s not… I mean, she’s very sweet, but she’s gotten to be simple, and she might not remember the significance of an inquisitor. Please be understanding with her.”

“Of course.” Zenia followed Wyleria across the courtyard and toward a set of exterior stairs that led to a well-lit balcony garden. The oak doors on either end of it had been painted blue with elaborate stencil art running up and down the planks. “Was she always that way?”

“No, only since she lost her daughter. Most of us believe Jev’s mother went off to be with another man or maybe—” Wyleria lowered her voice and glanced around to ensure nobody was on the balcony with them, “—an elf prince. But Grandma Visha always seemed to believe her daughter had died. Maybe she’s right and we’re all wrong. It has been… golly, almost twenty years now? I was just a girl when it happened. One does suspect Jev’s mother would have at least sent a letter if she were alive and well.”

“Why do people think she ran off with an elf?” Zenia had heard plenty of stories revolving around that, perhaps because “elf princes” tended to be handsome. No matter how much humans in general had come to loathe the Taziir, it was impossible to deny their elegance and beauty as individuals.

“Oh, long ago, Dharrow Castle was known as a safe respite for elves. This was centuries ago, before the elves withdrew from our lands and before we decided starting wars with them was a good idea. Jev’s mother read all the stories about them as a girl, I’ve heard. And people who are old enough to remember it say she wasn’t pleased when her family arranged a marriage to Jev’s father. Apparently, she’d had her heart set on finding a handsome elf. But I don’t think anyone has any proof that she had one out there somewhere. It’s just speculation. An explanation, I guess.”

Wyleria shrugged, then knocked on one of the brightly stenciled doors.

“Why was your butler so close to Jev’s mother?” Zenia asked.

“He came with her from her family’s estate at the time of the marriage, and he’d known her since she’d been a girl. I’m not sure if she confided in him, but Jev’s father occasionally lost his temper and snapped at him. My mother says he was jealous even though nobody believed Jev’s mother was sleeping with the butler or anything like that. Corvel was old and stately even when I was a kid. He came that way, I’ve heard, and never seemed to age, other than his hair going from gray to white over the years.”

Wyleria knocked again. “Grandma Visha? We have a visitor who would like to speak with you.”

A butler who never seemed to age sounded like someone with at least a little elven blood in his veins. The distinctive pointed ears rarely appeared once the blood was diluted down to a quarter or less, so it was harder to pick out those who merely had elven ancestors. These days, the thought of intermingling was considered horrendous, by both races reputedly. In previous centuries it hadn’t been as taboo.

The door opened, and a plump woman with white hair pulled back into a bun stood there, a shirt dangling from one hand, a needle and thread in the other.

“My pardon,” she—Visha—said. “I was in the middle of a project and couldn’t quite find a way to set everything down without risking knots and a tangled mess. You know how frustrating that is!”

“Of course, Grandma. This is Inquisitor Cham. She has some questions revolving around Vastiun’s death and the returning of his belongings. Do you have a moment?”

Zenia nodded to the woman, and also to Wyleria, glad she hadn’t mentioned the artifact specifically.

“Vastiun’s death? The poor boy. My grandson was such a warm, friendly lad. The founders haven’t been kind to this family this past generation, I fear. Tea?”

Zenia started at the abrupt transition.

Wyleria merely smiled gently and said, “Please.”

“I just had some brought up.” Visha turned into a foyer with a fountain tinkling in the middle and doors to a bedroom, sitting room, and a lavatory leading away from it. “Come sit with me, please. What questions do you have? Oh, and there are lavender-gort thumbprints. You’ll have to share with me. We baked them earlier today, but far too many. They’re terribly delicious.”

As Zenia and Wyleria trailed the woman into the sitting room, Zenia wondered if she would get anything useful from the woman. Visha draped the shirt she was repairing over the back of the sofa, then started to put the needle in a pin cushion but pricked her finger instead and let out a soft gasp of pain. She laid the needle on the table, sucked on her finger, then sat at the other end of the sofa in front of a tray of green-specked cookies and a pot of an aromatic floral tea. There was only one cup, but she rang a bell, and a servant soon appeared with two more.

Zenia knew the woman was old, but she couldn’t help but shake her head at having a person employed for the sole means of fetching things. And answering to a ringing bell.

“I didn’t know gort could be made into cookies,” Wyleria said, taking a chair and smiling as the servant stopped to add logs to a fire burning in a hearth.

“The only way to get the little ones to eat their vegetables,” Visha proclaimed. “Dara’s boys were here earlier, you know. I do hope Jev will have some children now that he’s back from that dreadful war. I’m certainly in favor of stamping out all elves meddling in human affairs, but really. Ten years. The prime of a man’s life. So much to give up. Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Wyleria said.

Zenia hadn’t sat yet, but the women looked expectantly at her, so she headed toward a chair. She eyed another door that opened from the sitting room, this one off to the side of the fireplace. It was well-lit, showing all manner of weaving equipment and canvases on easels.

Zenia wouldn’t have glanced twice at the crafts room, but she sensed magic somewhere inside of it. Something similar to her dragon tear. Maybe that was exactly what it was. It almost felt like a cluster of them. She remembered Jev’s admission that zyndar families often kept some in vaults for promising children.

She drew upon the power of her own dragon tear, trying to augment her ability to sense the magical and to verify her suspicions. She was here looking for a magical artifact, after all. What if the butler hadn’t taken it with him when he left? What if it remained in the castle?

But why would this old woman have such an item? It made much more sense that she, perhaps the oldest person living here, might guard the family’s dragon tears.

“Cookies, dear?” Visha held the tray toward Zenia, frowning briefly toward the crafts room, but then smiling when Zenia met her eyes. “I’ll be happy to show you some of my projects. Do you enjoy tapestries?”

“I like the ones in the temple,” Zenia said, though she’d never looked closely at most of them. Aside from the one outside the lavatory that showed a dragon waist-deep in a lake and washing his armpits with some kind of mushroom sponge. Zenia was fairly certain dragons had neither waists nor armpits that stank, but she’d appreciated the humor of the art.

“Which temple are you from, dear?”

“The Temple of the Blue Dragon. I’m an inquisitor, and the archmage sent me to ask a few questions.”

“Ah, the Water Order Temple. I did three tapestries for them several years ago. Do they still hang there? One is a playful one of a dragon. That’s my favorite.”

Even though Zenia wanted to get on with her questioning, she smiled, glad she could truthfully say, “I’ve seen that one. And I enjoy it.”

“Is it hanging somewhere suitable to its majesty?” Visha asked, and Zenia couldn’t tell if it was a joke. Maybe they were thinking of different tapestries.

“If it’s the one I’m thinking of, it’s on the wall between the men’s and women’s lavatories. Above the sign instructing the penitent to wash their feet before supper.”

“That seems an appropriate place then.” Visha’s eyes twinkled.

Wyleria looked puzzled, and she sipped from her tea.

“I just have a few questions for you, Zyndari. Do you know anything about the relationship between the butler Corvel and your missing daughter? It seems he was quite loyal to her.”

Wyleria’s puzzled look did not fade—clearly, she didn’t understand this line of questioning. Perhaps her puzzlement was founded. Maybe it led nowhere.

“The butler? Oh, I barely knew him.”

Wyleria’s brow furrowed more deeply. Zenia’s might have furrowed too. Had Wyleria gotten her story wrong? If Corvel had come with Jev’s mother when she’d married Heber, wouldn’t that mean the butler had lived in her home—and in Visha’s home—before then? Even if Visha had lived elsewhere, she’d been here since her daughter’s marriage. Surely long enough to get to know a butler.

Frowning, Zenia opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but Visha spoke again first.

“I’ve not had any luck at all getting my tapestries into the Fire Temple. The archmage there told me that whimsy is completely inappropriate for his people. As if the Fire Dragon himself wasn’t known to inhale beer and play chips with dwarves.”

“Uhm, yes, Zyndari,” Zenia said. “That’s unfortunate. May I ask a question about—”

“Do you have any idea how I might sway him? I’ve sent cookies.”

“Gort cookies?” Wyleria asked. “Perhaps there’s a reason that didn’t work.”

“No, lemon-lavender cookies. They were delightful.” Visha looked earnestly at Zenia. “I even have a tapestry on display in Alderoth Castle. My daughter’s husband Heber arranged for it. Have you spoken to him yet about your questions?”

“No, but I will as soon as he returns. I was told he was meeting with the new king.”

“Yes, I do hope the new king will follow in his uncle’s footsteps in laying down the law against those pesky elves and keeping them out of our country. You can’t trust anyone with points on his head. They tell our people nothing but lies. Accuse us of thieving. As if humans would want anything they have. What audacity. Do you like the cookies? The secret ingredient is almond extract.”

Zenia drew upon her power and tried to gauge if the woman was deliberately trying to misdirect her, or if this was an example of the simpleness Wyleria had mentioned.

Visha’s mind seemed scattered, and even with magic, Zenia struggled to grasp her motivations. There was a child-like quality to the thoughts that did come through, a concern about her tapestries, a determination to finish repairing that shirt, an eagerness to see Jev married with children, and—oh—should she try to guide Heber into arranging that?

Feeling her cheeks warm, Zenia leaned back in her seat and withdrew her mental probe. She told herself not to be distracted by thoughts of an arranged marriage for Jev, that it had nothing to do with her mission here.

“Do have some tea, dear,” Visha said, sipping from her own cup. “It goes so well with the cookies. I had a dragon tear of my own many years ago, and I used it to guide me in baking. Sadly, it was given to my cousin when he went off to fight in the war. He’s a cook too. He can make breads that increase a man’s stamina and strength for a time. I can’t say my cookies do that. They can increase the size of your waist if you’re not careful.” She chuckled at the joke.

Zenia forced herself to smile. It wasn’t often that the inquisitor was the one thrown off in a questioning session, but she did feel that way. She decided to speak more with Wyleria and the servants around the castle for now. When Jev returned, she would ask him for permission to spend the night. She had a feeling it would be easier to sneak up here and search for clues—and take a look at the source of the magic she sensed—once Visha and the rest of the castle had gone to sleep.

Sneaking about like a burglar wasn’t how she preferred to gather evidence, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had done things that way.

Still, as they finished the evening snacks, and Wyleria led Zenia out of Visha’s suite, Zenia couldn’t help but look back over her shoulder and wonder if she’d been outmaneuvered by a senile old lady.

 

• • • •

 

The six-foot-long and three-foot-high rock arrangement was far more artistically laid than Jev had imagined when Cutter called it a cairn. He could see it well since they hadn’t had to travel far and the silver glow of the meeting stone still lit the area.

The granite stones had been cut and elaborately placed, each one fitting together like a piece in a puzzle. Nothing that he could see adhered them to each other, but they had not tumbled to the grass below, despite the age of the collection.

Oh, he wouldn’t have been able to guess at the age based on the stones themselves, but they had been there long enough for moss to grow thickly on the north side, and dirt had gathered in the crevices on the top via the winds from numerous monsoon seasons. A few tufts of grass and a lone flower grew from between the stones. The cairn could have been built decades ago or centuries ago, but he agreed with Lornysh’s assessment that it had been done before Corvel had left the castle.

“It is the grave of a friend,” Lornysh said. “Not an enemy. You can see that more care was put into the placement of the stones than might otherwise have been done.”

“Not bad stone-laying for an elf,” Cutter said.

“There are rumors that long ago, elves were the ones to teach dwarves to work stone,” Lornysh said.

“There are rumors that you wear your grammy’s panties, too, but we don’t put much stock in those.”

Jev walked around the cairn. Even though the others had warned him there were no markers, he had to see for himself. All these revelations of elven meeting stones that were apparently monitored, along with the very existence of this place, had him questioning what he thought he’d known about his family history and this land.

He didn’t spot any markings on the cairn, but by accident, he stepped on something in the grass, something solid enough that he felt it through the sole of his boot. He bent down and pushed the grass aside. The silver light glinted off something dull but something that definitely wasn’t stone or earth.

He had to dig to pry it out of the dirt, then squatted down to stare at his finding. And to rub the dirt off it. A feeling of numbness crept over him. Another bullet.

“What did you find?” Lornysh walked over and squatted next to him.

Jev held it up toward the light. “It’s the same make as the one that was in that skull. It looks older. Or at least like it’s been out here longer.”

“Yes.”

“There are scratch marks. Almost like someone was trying to cut it?” Jev handed it to Lornysh, curious to get his opinion. He was good at tracking and finding clues that eluded others.

Cutter came over for a look, though Rhi merely folded her arms and hitched her hip against the cairn. Lornysh glared balefully at her for disturbing the resting place. She looked back toward the trail they’d blazed and didn’t seem to notice the glare.

“Cut it out, I’d guess,” Lornysh said.

“Er, out of a body?” Jev looked toward the cairn, but he also looked toward the trees in the area. Maybe someone had pried it out of a trunk after missing a shot? But only to cast it to the ground? Why bother?

“One of my people might have removed the item that killed a person if the person was a friend.” Lornysh tilted his head toward the cairn.

Jev scraped his fingers through his beard again. He found this mystery, as Lornysh had called it, intriguing, and he would have loved to research more, but he feared nothing here would lead him to the artifact Zenia sought. And until he found that, or she did, the Water Order would dog his every step. He might not have objected to Zenia trailing him around indefinitely, but some lesser minion of the Order might be given the task if they didn’t find the artifact soon. It was also possible the Order had the power to keep him from going about his duties, from restarting his life, until this was resolved.

“Maybe one day, I’ll come back to this place and figure it all out,” Jev said, “but for now, let’s see if Zenia has learned anything back at the castle.”

“You don’t think the more recent death is important to all this?” Lornysh pointed toward the skeletal remains.

“It may very well be. I just don’t know what it’s telling us right now. Do you?”

Lornysh gave the cairn a long look, then said, “No.”

“Are you sure?” Jev asked quietly, turning his back to Rhi.

Lornysh hesitated. “At this point, I have only guesses.”

~

Chapter 17: Coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 15 (a free fantasy novel)

My cover art is almost ready to go, and my typo hunters have now gone over the manuscript (just need to update the it with all the little fixes). I’m on track to publish Eye of Truth at the end of August. I’ll keep posting here and get the novel completed for you guys before it goes live. Also, if you’re one of my Patreon supporters, you’ll get a free copy of the final ebook. (My Patreon folks get everything early, including ebooks that start out exclusive with Amazon — it’s a way to get those books even if you’re a Nook/Kobo/Apple person.)

And now, on to the next chapter! (If you’re coming in new, start with Chapter 1.)

Eye of Truth: Chapter 15

When Zenia saw Rhi standing at the back door of the temple with three horses, she rushed over and hugged her, forgetting to portray a professional image for Jev and anyone else around. Rhi grinned and hugged her back, the bottom of her bo clattering on the cobblestones.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get back,” Rhi said when they parted.

Jev stopped a few feet away, waiting while they had their reunion.

“We got back early this morning,” Zenia said.

“Yes, I heard you were taking a nap.”

Zenia faltered over what should have been a witty reply as she tried to decide if Rhi had somehow been in on that deception, if she’d known Sazshen had ordered that sleeping draught brought to her. Probably not. Rhi wore an affable easygoing grin. One free of guilt. She likely didn’t know anything about the potion—or that Jev had been tortured.

Zenia glanced at him, and Rhi’s gaze also drifted in his direction.

“You’re looking a lot prettier today than you were yesterday, Zyndar.” Rhi gave him a lazy wink.

“I thought I might convince the inquisitor to change her gaze from withering to appreciative if I cleaned up,” Jev said.

“If you manage that, let me know. You’ll be the first man she hasn’t withered.”

Jev’s eyebrows rose, and Zenia blushed.

“We have a new mission,” Zenia said, taking the reins of one horse from Rhi. “We have to head back up the highway to Dharrow Castle. Is the road safe now? Have you heard? And what happened to you last night? We came to the edge of the mangroves to look, but I didn’t see you anywhere. And there were people searching for us so we couldn’t stay.”

“A couple of thugs leaped out of the shadows, startling my horse before I got to the village. I was thrown, and the men attacked me. No explanation. I attacked them back. As one does.” She patted her bo. “They had guns, but I knocked them out of their hands, and they couldn’t find them again in the dark. I then convinced them to run away. Wish I’d questioned them. By the time I got to the village, the golems were gone, and so were all the inhabitants. While I was trying to figure out why someone had constructed an attack in the first place, I came across two of the watchmen we’d been working with. They were injured, one badly, and I worried he would die if I didn’t take him straight to the hospital. It wasn’t an easy decision to leave you behind, and I apologize for not coming back to tell you, but I judged that he didn’t have much time. When I got to the hospital, the healer said that judgment was right. I hope he pulled through after all that. I’ll go check tomorrow. Before the coronation. Did you hear all about that? We should get a couple of days off.”

“Was she this chatty yesterday?” Jev asked.

“No, but this isn’t atypical,” Zenia said. “Yesterday, she was being aloof and intimidating to keep you in line.”

“She was? Or you were?”

“We use some of the same tactics.” Rhi thumped Zenia on the shoulder, then mounted her horse. “I’m ready when you two slowpokes are.”

Zenia and Jev mounted their horses and let Rhi lead the way out of the city. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and the waning light reminded Zenia far too much of the circumstances of the night before. Now, she wished she hadn’t spent as much time with her hand on Jev’s chest, talking to him in his cell. It would have been better to reach his castle before nightfall. Or to wait until the following day to go, but Sazshen had made it clear she wanted this resolved quickly.

“I hope Iridium doesn’t have all her thugs out looking for us again,” Zenia said.

She knew Master Grindmor had wreaked some havoc as part of her diversion, but she didn’t know how long it would take Iridium to recover. Or how vengeful she would feel afterward.

“As do I,” Jev said. “I don’t want trouble to follow me home. Our villages aren’t walled, nor do the people usually keep weapons close at hand. Not these days. Back in the days when highwaymen, mercenaries, and all-out invasions from Tortlar and Ska were common, they didn’t go out to the field without their bows, but… it’s been a peaceful fifty years. Except for the wars we’ve started with others.” His jaw set as he gazed straight ahead.

Zenia wondered if that meant he hadn’t been an advocate of the war. If not, why had he served for so long? She knew the eldest sons had been expected to join the king’s army, but she’d also heard of wealthy zyndar families paying a fee as an alternative and the crown finding that acceptable. Surely, his family had the money for that.

“We might be going back to the ways of highwaymen.” Rhi pointed to the road ahead. A single rider waited atop a hill, a cloak pulled over his or her head.

Zenia groaned. They weren’t even a mile out of the city yet.

She touched the pistol she’d acquired from the temple armory, a replacement for the one she’d lost. “That’s not another one of Iridium’s assassins, is it?”

In the fading light, she couldn’t tell if the rider’s cloak was black or another dark color.

“Nah,” Jev said after a moment of consideration. “That’s Lornysh.”

“Your elf friend?” That didn’t make Zenia relax, not at all. “How can you tell from this distance when he’s got his cloak up?”

“By the haughty way he sits on that horse.”

Zenia squinted at him, suspecting a joke.

Jev only kept a straight face for two seconds before breaking into a grin. “There’s also a bow and quiver of arrows poking up over his shoulder. Most people—human people—prefer rifles and pistols these days.”

“Ah.”

“Elves don’t like the noise of firearms. Interferes with their stealthy sneaking about in the forest.” Jev nudged his horse into a trot and passed Rhi.

The cloaked figure did not lift a hand or acknowledge his approach. Zenia worried Jev might have been mistaken.

“We’re not going to have to fight Points again, are we?” Rhi asked, riding up the slope beside Zenia.

“Points?”

“The elf. With the pointed ears. You haven’t heard that term?”

“No, but I don’t usually arrest elves. Even half elves have been seldom seen in the city since the war began.”

“True.”

When Jev reached the top of the hill, the rider pushed back his hood, and silver hair spilled to his shoulders.

“You decided on a cloak?” Jev was asking when Zenia rode up. “After roaming through the city and the countryside in your distinctive warden greens?”

“Your cousin gave it to me and suggested I wear it around your land in case people saw me.”

“And you listened to her? I’m positive I made the same suggestion.”

“Yes, but she’s female.”

“So, her suggestions are more worth listening to?”

“They’re harder to say no to. Even though I attempted to refuse, she thrust the cloak, a blanket, fire starters, food, a canteen, and round, flat sweet wafers into my arms.”

“Cookies,” Jev suggested. “You’ve heard the men speak wistfully of them.”

“Ah. Regardless, it seemed rude to completely reject the suggestions of someone outfitting me for camping, as she called it, on your property.”

“What do elves call it?” Rhi asked.

The elf—what was his name? Lornysh?—turned his cool blue eyes toward her, and Zenia feared drawing his attention hadn’t been wise. He’d been chatting easily enough with Jev, but memories of that swift—and depressingly one-sided attack—flashed through Zenia’s mind.

“Living.” Lornysh tilted his head toward Zenia and Rhi, then looked to Jev.

“Yes, introductions are in order, aren’t they? Reintroductions. Inquisitor Zenia Cham.” Jev pointed at her, then at Rhi. “And monk Rhi She-didn’t-tell-me-her-last-name.”

Rhi snorted. “Lin. Sexy, isn’t it?”

“These are the women who arrested you yesterday,” Lornysh said.

“Elves are known for being observant,” Jev told Zenia.

“Are you still under arrest?” Lornysh ignored the aside and gazed coolly at the women.

Zenia found his chilly gaze uncomfortable and believed she would have even if they hadn’t fought before.

“No,” Jev said. “I’ve been questioned, and now I’m being followed.”

“Then they are still enemies.”

“Not entirely.” Jev looked at Zenia, and she flushed as she remembered the ear nibble.

It was growing darker, so she wasn’t sure if she truly saw the elf wrinkle his nose in distaste, but he oozed distaste regardless of nose activity.

“Have you seen Cutter?” Jev asked him. “Is he all right?”

“Briefly, this morning. He sensed someone had called upon rock golems and went out to investigate.”

“Yes, that was Master Grindmor’s work, I believe. I have a story to tell him.”

“If the female dwarf he wishes to apprentice to is involved,” Lornysh said, “I’m sure he’ll be interested.”

“He’s always interested in my stories. They’re scintillating.”

The elf’s eyebrows twitched.

“My charm works on elves too,” Jev told Zenia.

“Clearly.”

“I have something to show you on your family’s land, Jev.” Lornysh turned his horse away from the city and started it forward at a quick pace without waiting for a response.

“Did you do research about my problem even though I told you to relax and enjoy yourself?” Jev nudged his horse into a trot to catch up with him.

Zenia did not want to rush to keep up and be seen as an eavesdropper, but she also didn’t want to miss the conversation. Even though she no longer mistrusted Jev, Sazshen would want her standing at his side if he received any information about the artifact.

“Last night, I listened in on several conversations among the people who live in your castle,” Lornysh said.

“Did they know you were listening in?”

“No. Most of them were talking about the death of the king and the princes and whether Targyon was somehow responsible.”

“Uh, he’s been in Taziira with the rest of us for the last two years. Him somehow plotting his cousins’ deaths is about as likely as me stealing an artifact from across an ocean.” Jev glanced back at Zenia.

She thought about retorting, but the elf responded first.

“Yes, he never seemed ambitious and impatient in the way of many young humans,” Lornysh said. “Regardless, people were discussing current events rather than butlers who disappeared years ago. I did interact with your cousin when she was piling provisions into my arms, and I asked her directly if she knew anything about the missing man or the package. She said she wasn’t living there at the time but remembered your butler well and thought it was odd that he left without word. It was almost as if he’d gone missing in the same way your mother had. He had always been loyal to your family, and your cousin recalled a time when he’d discussed with your father that he hoped to be interred in your family’s cemetery, in a small place reserved for honored servants. Apparently, your mother had promised this honor to him before she disappeared. She said your father hadn’t seemed pleased by this, but he hadn’t objected either.”

Zenia wanted to know about Jev’s mother—when had she gone missing? Had she literally disappeared from the castle one day? Without anyone having a clue where she went? Or had she run off with another man, and everyone was being polite by using disappeared as a euphemism? And was it possible her disappearance tied in with the greater mystery of this missing butler? And the missing artifact?

Zenia thought about asking Jev for more details about his mother, but it might be better to keep a few ideas to herself, especially with the hostile elf in earshot. And she admitted that her pride would like it if she were the one to solve the mystery and find the artifact.

“That was all she knew,” Lornysh said. “I roamed your castle, including all the cellars, last night, looking for clues. Mostly, I learned that you have some interesting art and pottery from past eras and quirky tapestries that seem far more recent. Your accountant’s books were particularly dry and not useful.”

“I could have told you that,” Jev said. “He manages all the family’s holdings. His ledgers are basically lists of people paying rent and of repairs made to buildings.”

The men fell silent as another group of riders, these heading toward the city, passed them on the highway. People traveling to the capital for the next day’s coronation festivities?

“I thought that if the artifact had been sold or some bribe had been made,” Lornysh said, “it might be listed in a ledger from the time.”

“Ah. But there was nothing?”

“Nothing. This morning, I walked around the estate. That is when I found something that you might believe interesting.”

Several moments passed with only the clip clop of the horses’ hooves breaking the silence.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Jev asked.

“I’m going to show you.”

“It’s a surprise, is it?”

“I believe it would be best if I didn’t taint your perceptions with my own thoughts. You should see it and contemplate it on your own.”

Jev didn’t respond, and the two men fell silent again.

Zenia let her horse drop back so she could ride beside Rhi, who sat with her bo across her thighs as she looked left and right into the deepening night. They passed the village that had been attacked, dark rubble marking buildings the golems had stomped into pieces. Zenia wondered if Grindmor knew how much damage they had caused or if the Fifth Dragon people had guided them after she called them into existence.

“You think we’re actually going to find the artifact before the coronation?” Rhi asked quietly.

“I hope so, but I think that I will, with my Order-provided power as an inquisitor, talk to people around the castle while those two go look at whatever is outside.”

“Do you want me to loom threateningly by your side while you do it? Or go keep an eye on them?”

Lornysh’s head seemed to turn—it was hard to tell since he’d pulled up the cloak’s hood again. Did he object to the idea?

“We’ll see,” was all Zenia said aloud, but she gave Rhi a firm nod.

 

• • • •

 

Lornysh stopped his horse about two hundred meters from the castle, its dozens of wall and walkway lanterns spilling yellow puddles of light onto the moat and pond. He pointed to the left of the road, toward dark land where neither village nor stable nor outbuilding lay.

Jev raised his eyebrows, puzzled as to what his friend could have found out there besides cows or sheep.

“I will take you in that direction,” Lornysh said.

“We’ll need lights if we’re going tramping around in the woods at night. We lowly humans can’t see in the dark.”

“I can light the way if the female does not.” Lornysh pointed at Zenia’s chest, presumably suggesting she could illuminate their surroundings with her dragon gem.

She wasn’t wearing it openly, but she’d found another chain to attach it around her neck.

“The female?” Jev asked. “That’s Zenia. I introduced you.”

Zenia and Rhi had been riding several paces behind, but they caught up now, drawing to a stop.

“Is she not female?” Lornysh asked.

“Yes, but I hear inquisitors like to be called by names rather than gender labels.”

“They are an uppity folk,” Rhi said.

Jev expected Zenia to glare at her, even if it was a mock glare, but her thoughtful gaze was focused on the castle.

“Jev, I wish to speak with your kin,” she said, shifting her gaze to him. “While you follow your… friend into the night. I’m more equipped to question people than he is, and you yourself said the answers would likely be among them, right?”

“They’re more likely to know where Corvel went,” Jev agreed. “But I’m not sure my father will let you roam around the castle. I assume Lornysh roamed sneakily rather than openly.”

“Let me?” Zenia lifted her chin. “I assure you, he will not impede an investigation by an Order-ordained inquisitor. In fact, he may be the first person I will question.”

“That should go well,” Jev said dryly.

Her chin did not lower.

“I already asked him about Corvel,” Jev said. “He didn’t know anything.”

“That he told you about, perhaps. I shall see what he knows.” Zenia touched her chest where the dragon tear rested.

Jev grimaced. He did think Zenia could question his family more effectively than anyone with pointed ears, especially these days, but he worried his father wouldn’t bow and scrape sufficiently for her inquisitor tastes. He might throw her into the moat if she tried her magic on him.

Still, what could he do to stop her? She had her mission and was driven by it. All he wanted was to find the damn artifact so he could foist it off on someone else and no longer have to worry about being attacked for it. Or about someone he cared about being attacked.

“You’re welcome to try him if you wish,” Jev said, “but honestly, I’d start with Mildrey, the cook. She knows the gossip on everyone on this estate, including what’s going on with the villagers and their families. My grandmother Visha might know a few things too. She’s lived here since my parents were married more than thirty years ago. You just have to convince her not to wander off onto whatever topic comes to mind. She’s a bit…”

He rocked his hand, not sure how to explain his grandmother’s mental state. All he knew was that she hadn’t changed much in the years he’d been gone.

“I’ll keep your suggestions in mind. Thank you.”

Zenia maneuvered her horse past them and headed for the drawbridge. It amused him that she would go straight into a zyndar stronghold by herself without even asking for an introduction. True, she had been in the courtyard the day before, but it wasn’t as if she had done anything then, with her two steam wagons full of watchmen at her back, to endear herself to the family.

“You are not going?” Lornysh asked Rhi, sounding like he wanted her to go.

“Someone has to keep an eye on you two boys,” Rhi said.

“Boys?” Lornysh asked.

“He’s never told me,” Jev told Rhi, “but I suspect Lorn of being a few centuries old.”

“Is that how long it takes for elves to acquire their haughtiness?” Rhi asked.

“Oh, I think they’re born with that.” Jev smiled at Lornysh to let him know it was a joke, though he doubted Lornysh would be offended either way. He and Cutter were always quick to poke fun at humans, after all.

“Being a nanny there must be a trying gig.”

“I’m fairly certain my nanny made the same comment about working here.” Jev waved toward the castle. Zenia had already reached the gate and was speaking to the guard on duty.

“Working here and watching you? I believe it.” Rhi waved off the road in the direction Lornysh had pointed. “Shall we? I’m sure Zenia will miss my company, so I’d prefer to get this side trip over with as quickly as possible.”

As Lornysh wordlessly led the way across the cleared field, Jev wondered if Rhi also worried Zenia would run into trouble with his father. He believed Zenia could handle him, just that it would prove trying. Probably for both of them.

Jev glanced back at the castle a few times as they rode away, not feeling entirely like it was his home. Not the way it once had been. It had changed. Or he had. He still didn’t know what he would do when this ended and his father asked him to take up duties related to running the estate, duties he would be expected to handle by himself one day. Not one day soon, he hoped. He didn’t relish the idea of running all their properties and businesses. His father could go on living forever if he wished.

A chill breeze blew in from the sea as they wound their way along oft-used trails. For a time, the stars and a half moon provided enough light for them to navigate, but then Lornysh left the trails and headed up a wooded hillside. The leaves blotted out the stars, but soon, a silver glow blossomed from a small magical sphere that floated in the air behind Lornysh.

Rhi muttered something under her breath.

They followed a gully that wound farther inland, the trees thick on its slopes, the terrain rugged enough that nobody had bothered to clear it over the centuries. Or maybe previous zyndar primes had simply wanted some trees to remain on the property for shade and windbreaks. And scenery.

Jev and Vastiun had played in this area as children and even camped out a few times during the summers, so the territory remained familiar, but the gully stretched farther than he remembered. Had he never traveled back this far? He thought he’d covered all of the family’s thousands of acres numerous times in his life.

A creek trickled out of a side gully, and Lornysh dismounted. He murmured something to his horse, lifting his hand in a staying motion.

“The foliage will be too dense for the horses,” he said, then started up the creek, finding rocks and logs on which to place his feet between dense ferns.

Jev shrugged at Rhi and followed the example, tying his horse’s reins to a tree and promising to return soon so the creature wouldn’t be stuck in place for long.

Lornysh had already disappeared, and Jev hurried to catch up. Fortunately, the rustle of clothing sounded, guiding him. As stealthy as Lornysh tended to be in the woods, branches and briar thorns that had never seen an axe scraped and caught at his cloak. Of course, they seemed to do a lot more when it came to Jev’s and Rhi’s clothing, and he struggled to push his way through while keeping from stepping into the creek.

“What led you up this particularly inhospitable gully?” Jev asked as they pushed on for several minutes. It had to have been something. Nobody would simply wade through all this in the name of random exploration.

“You’ll see.”

Jev was tempted to join Rhi in grumbling—and cursing—under his breath. Lornysh did have a tendency toward the taciturn, but he was being more vague than usual. Because he saw Rhi and Zenia as enemies? People whom he shouldn’t speak openly in front of? Understandable, but—

A strange zing of energy ran all over Jev’s skin, and he halted. “Uh, Lornysh? Was that you?”

“It was here before I came,” Lornysh called softly back, though he wasn’t visible through the brush. “Likely since before your family claimed this land.”

“We’ve been here for almost a millennium.”

“Yes.”

From the sound of his voice, Lornysh had continued on. Jev followed, and the energy subsided. A gasp came from behind him as Rhi passed through the spot.

“What was that?” she asked. “Magic?”

Lornysh didn’t reply.

“Either that,” Jev said, “or there’s a plant back here with a kick.”

He remembered the stinging nettles and biting thorns from Taziira. Their touches had tingled painfully but not otherworldly. Not with strange magical energy.

The silver light grew brighter, and Jev expected to run into Lornysh’s back any second, into that orb floating behind him. But the gully opened up, the brush growing less thick, and he saw that the light came from a structure up ahead. A stone pillar that looked like a mix between a tree trunk and a giant mushroom stem. Four symmetrically placed branches arched out from the top and glowed softly, shedding light on the clearing. A couple of curving stone benches rested to either side, the leaves of vining plants threatening to obscure them from sight.

Lornysh stood on the opposite side of the stream. He had let his own sphere of light fade.

“Is this… has this always been here?” Jev asked. “Doing that?”

It seemed impossible that the foliage would have completely hidden that silver light at night, that nobody would have noticed this over the years.

“The stone activates when someone of elven blood comes near,” Lornysh said.

Jev started to ask how he knew that, but a cheerful whistling from the back side of the structure surprised him. He leaned to the side and spotted a familiar figure crouching behind it, making a rubbing of carvings on the pillar.

“Cutter?” Jev asked.

“Yup, that’s me.”

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Judging by Lornysh’s unsurprised expression, he had.

“Or for here to exist,” Jev added, walking toward the structure.

He didn’t know what it was—he’d never seen anything like it on his family’s land or anywhere else—but he assumed it wouldn’t sling some magical attack at him, not when Cutter was poking and prodding at it like an archeologist. Or a dwarven treasure hunter.

“I wanted to go looking for you today when I found out you weren’t back from the city,” Cutter said, “but I also wanted to look at this relic when Lornysh told me about it. These warring desires pounded at me like a pickax on stone. Until Lorn said he’d go find you and bring you back.”

Rustling came from behind Jev as Rhi pushed her way out of the foliage and stopped to stare at the structure. The relic? That didn’t seem the right word for something so large.

“Body’s back there still,” Cutter added, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Lorn said not to disturb it until you had a look. Not that I make a point of rummaging through bones.”

“Just stones,” Lornysh murmured.

“Stones are far more interesting than bones.”

“Body?” Jev walked in the indicated direction.

“We thought it might be your missing butler.”

Lornysh frowned at Cutter. “I was going to let him make his own conclusions.”

“He can still conclude all he wants.”

Jev stopped when the remains of a skeleton came into view. A human skeleton. The bones had been gnawed on and pulled apart, with the skull several feet away from the scattered ribs, but he’d seen enough human bones to recognize them. A few shreds of clothing had survived the years—how many years?—along with a single boot, the leather as gnawed as the bones.

He walked around the remains, careful not to disturb anything. “I have no idea what Corvel would have been wearing or how to identify this… person from what’s here. Nor can I guess what would have led Corvel to this place.”

“The presence of magic led me.” Lornysh extended a hand toward the glowing structure.

“Yes, but you can sense magic. Corvel was human, and as you’ve pointed out many times, we humans are as sensitive to magic as moss-covered boulders.”

“True, but if someone had told him where to look, he could have found the place.”

“But who would have?” Jev scraped his fingers through his beard, momentarily startled by how little of it remained after his trim the night before. “I didn’t know about this place, and I grew up here.”

“What is this thing?” Rhi stopped under the structure.

“A meeting stone,” Lornysh said. “If you touch it, it will rejuvenate you. Early elven explorers left them in places where fresh water could be found, using magic to turn them into a beacon that magical beings could sense.”

“The interesting part,” Cutter said in a tone that implied none of what Lornysh had said was interesting, “is that there are dwarf carvings on here as well as elven ones. Must have been a dwarf adventurer on that party.”

“What do they say?” Rhi asked.

“Oh, I’ve no idea,” Cutter said. “I’m copying them down to show Master Grindmor in the city. Some of those from the older generations can still read Trade Dwarf. Assuming the person who promised to introduce me to the master carver doesn’t get arrested.”

“I actually met her last night,” Jev said.

Cutter lurched to his feet. “What? Without me?”

“You should have allowed yourself to be arrested, then captured by criminals with me. You could have met her too.”

Cutter stamped around, looking like he genuinely regretted not coming along for the adventure.

Jev held up his hand. “Don’t worry. I told her about you. She actually has a problem, unless she’s resolving it as we speak, and I told her you’d like to help her.”

Cutter pressed his hands to his chest. “I’d mine a thousand veins for a chance to assist her. I must prove my worthiness so she’ll one day be willing to teach me.”

“Almost precisely what I told her.”

Cutter tried to get more details from him, but Jev said he would explain more later, then knelt by the skull. By Corvel’s skull?

Unless Jev found more clues, he couldn’t assume that. He couldn’t even guess how long ago this man had died. Four years ago? Forty? Not four hundred, he didn’t think. The bones weren’t yellowed yet.

Jev turned over the skull, revealing a hole in the back.

“Now there’s a clue,” he murmured, lifting it to peer inside, expecting an arrowhead to fall out. Had some elf been waiting at this meeting stone to guard it? But why would Corvel have come if he expected an enemy?

Something small and dark fell through one of the eye holes and clinked against a boulder. Not an arrowhead. A bullet. A wyvern-cutter from an old percussion-cap rifle. He’d loaded bullets exactly like this for the firearm he’d learned to hunt with as a boy. The rifle had been old then, and that had been over twenty years ago.

“You think this was Corvel? That this happened only a few years ago?” Jev held it up for Lornysh to see.

“Judging by the weathering to the bones, yes. I know it’s an older bullet than what your army uses now, but I’m sure many of your villagers around here have older rifles hanging over their hearths.”

“True. And I’m positive you can still buy wyvern-cutters from gunsmiths today.”

The silver light from above gleamed on the bullet, and Jev imagined he could still see the fallen man’s blood on it. He still didn’t know if this had been Corvel, but he felt a sense of loss at the idea. The old butler had been a mainstay in his boyhood, serving the family for as long as Jev could remember. He’d been stately and proper, but he hadn’t been above sharing confidences with ten-year-old boys. And Corvel’s eyes had twinkled as, with the barest tilt of his head, he gave away Vastiun’s hiding spot after Vastiun made off with Jev’s treasured raccoon-skin cap for the dozenth time.

Whoever had shot Corvel, or whoever the person ended up being, it had happened on Jev’s family’s land, and that filled him with indignation. And a need to get to the bottom of this, to avenge the person.

What if someone in his family had been involved? No, that couldn’t be. But it could have been someone from one of the villages. Or someone who worked in the castle. Someone who had seen Corvel open that package? And had known it contained something valuable? And had followed him out here to kill Corvel and take the item? The Eye of Truth?

But why would Corvel have brought such an artifact out here to start with? Why hadn’t he simply left it in Vastiun’s room? How had he even known it was something valuable? Jev hadn’t.

Jev sighed and stood up, all the questions in his head making it ache. He hadn’t expected to walk out to a crime scene when he’d followed Lornysh off the road.

“No other clues?” Jev asked. “Nothing to identify this person for certain?”

It would have been handy to find a leather-bound diary that had fallen out of the man’s pocket.

“No,” Lornysh said, “but if you agree with my assessment that this man was killed in the last few years, it would coincide with the time period during which your brother’s belongings were returned and the butler disappeared, right?”

“Yes.”

“If he realized he had a magical artifact, he may have brought it here to contact someone.”

Lornysh walked to the structure and pointed out a carving different from most. Jev recognized Taziir runes, even if he couldn’t read the ancient dialect, and knew most of what adorned the pillar was writing. This, however, was a carving of a spread hand.

“Touch this, and an alert will be sent to all the meeting stones within roughly three hundred miles,” Lornysh said. “If someone is monitoring them, they will know a request for communication has been made. Whether they will travel here depends on factors that I can’t guess at in this circumstance. How important the people living near this stone are, most likely, and what relationships exist between them and those who monitor the other stones.”

Jev realized he was staring at Lornysh with his jaw dangling open, and he made himself shut it. But the words raised so many questions—so many more questions—and he couldn’t imagine answers that wouldn’t stun him.

“There are meeting stones like this all over the kingdom that are still monitored by elves?” he asked.

He knew there were dwarven and elven ruins all over the continent, but he’d always heard, both from history tutors and elves themselves that the Taziir hadn’t found the warm southern Anchor Sea climate hospitable to them for long-term habitation, that they’d preferred their temperate northern forests. The elves were supposed to be long gone from this area.

“Likely.” Lornysh twitched a shoulder to suggest he didn’t know. Was that true? He’d been an army scout for the last few years, but before then… who knew what he’d done? Jev did not.

“And they care what’s going on here? On my family’s land? What do you mean important people? Why would any of us—” Jev touched his chest, then waved in the direction of the castle, “—be considered important to elves?”

Lornysh lifted a shoulder again. Why did Jev get the feeling he knew far more than he was saying?

Jev stared down at the bullet, trying to digest all the implications of it and of the body.

“Just to be clear,” Rhi said into the silence, “the artifact we’re looking for isn’t here, right?”

“I do not sense it,” Lornysh said.

“So, if that’s the butler that took it out of the castle, does this mean someone took it from him? After shooting him?” She looked at Jev.

As if he knew anything. He didn’t even want to accept that this was Corvel’s body. He’d liked Corvel. The idea of him being heartlessly murdered on land where he should have been safe distressed Jev deeply.

“I suggest,” Jev said, aware of Rhi watching him expectantly, “that we return to the castle and see if Zenia has learned anything.”

Lornysh’s expression never overflowed with emotion, but it grew even more guarded than usual.

Later, Jev would take him aside and explain that he trusted Zenia now. Even if he wasn’t positive he should. She had made it clear where her loyalties lay, and even though he didn’t object to the Water Order in general—interrogation sessions notwithstanding—he was skeptical whether they were the rightful keepers of whatever this artifact was. Had it truly been stolen from them? Or were they, like the Fifth Dragon guild, opportunists looking to claim it?

“Maybe someday somebody will tell me what this thing actually does,” he muttered to himself.

As Jev headed for the path back, Cutter stood and asked, “Are we going to show him the cairn?”

“Cairn?” Jev asked.

Rhi, who had also been turning to leave, paused and lifted her eyebrows.

Lornysh spread his palm. “There weren’t any identifying markings, and it would be unacceptable to disturb the rocks to seek clues from the bones.”

“There weren’t any identifying markings here either.” Jev pointed to the skeletal remains, not believing the bullet counted as a marker. “And you didn’t mind me poking through the bones.”

“That man’s spirit was never properly laid to rest. His ghost may haunt this small glen. Perhaps after your mystery is solved and you can with certainty name the owner of the bones, it would be appropriate to return to inter his remains.”

“I can do that. But let’s see this cairn, too, before we go.”

Lornysh hesitated. “It is older than your mystery. There is little point in disturbing it.”

“I won’t disturb it. I’ll look at it. Is that allowed?”

“He’s getting in a snit over it because elves laid the rocks,” Cutter said. “He wouldn’t let me touch it either.”

Lornysh sighed. “Yes, you may look. It’s not hard to find.”

Rhi looked like she wanted to head back to check on Zenia rather than traipsing farther up the stream, but she followed Jev and the others. He wouldn’t have minded if she left. He had more questions for Lornysh but doubted his friend would speak openly with her around. Among all the other things he was wondering, he now wanted to know why elves had come onto his family’s property and buried someone.

~

Chapter 16: Coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 14 (a free fantasy novel)

Here’s the next installment in Eye of Truth! I got some new artwork for Lornysh and Cutter. Even though they don’t appear again for a couple of chapters, I’m going to share one of the pictures here. Thanks for reading! (And don’t forget to start with Chapter 1 if you’re new.)

Chapter 14

Zenia woke with a start, her heart thundering in her chest. Her blankets lay rumpled around her, and sweat dampened her nightshirt. She felt like she’d been entrenched in the clutches of a nightmare, but she couldn’t remember anything.

That morning, she’d closed her shutters on the bright sun, taken a sleeping draught the healer Mage Heryn had brought by, and hoped she wouldn’t lie awake and dwell on Sazshen’s disappointment. She hadn’t. She’d dropped off into an exhausted slumber.

Feeling hungover and groggy, Zenia pushed herself to her feet. She stepped over the sheepskin rug to open the shutters and let in sunlight. The clock on the wall said it was a little after noon, and vendors in the temple square shouted, hawking their lunchtime offerings.

She wondered when Sazshen would come get her for the interrogation. Or if she would.

After seeing Zenia so close to Jev, Sazshen might doubt her reliability or willingness to interrogate him. Her dedication to duty. But Zenia would question him. She wouldn’t let burgeoning feelings get in the way of her duty. If she was able to clear his name, they could pursue a relationship later. If he truly wanted that. Did he? Or had he had an ulterior motive for kissing her? Almost kissing her.

A stab of disappointment went through her that they hadn’t gotten a chance to truly kiss. But perhaps this was best. He might have simply been trying to manipulate her. Suborn her somehow. Make her want to sneak down to the dungeon in the dark of night, let him go, and then turn her back so he could escape.

As if she could do that. But did she truly think he would ask? If she’d accepted him as honorable in other areas, could she truly believe he would try to manipulate her?

“I don’t know,” she muttered, donning her robe.

She plucked up her brush from the dresser and poured water into the washbasin. She did know it would be wise to wait until after Jev was cleared of doubt and this artifact had been recovered before contemplating anything romantic. It boggled her mind that she might even want to contemplate romance. She, the woman who men always considered too dedicated to her duty to approach, too frosty. Too intimidating.

Jev had never been intimidated by her. She smiled, suspecting there weren’t many people who had ever intimidated him.

But could there truly be any future for them? She had always wanted to wait for marriage to have sex, to risk having children, and he was zyndar. What zyndar, especially one from such a renowned family, would marry a commoner?

A distant scream reached her ears, and she slammed her brush down. Had that come from within the temple or from outside somewhere? The thick stone walls muffled sound and made it hard to pinpoint origins.

The scream sounded again, a male scream. Her gut sank as certainty grasped her. Jev.

Zenia spun, yanked open the door, and sprinted down the corridor of sleeping quarters and through the great hall. As she ran, she realized Mage Heryn must have brought that draught by at Sazshen’s request. To make sure Zenia slept through the morning and stayed out of the way.

Supplicants, devotees, and people there to pay for their official blessed fortunes all turned at her swift passage, gaping at her as she ran, her blue robe slapping at her ankles.

She ground her teeth in anger and worry and ignored them all, racing through another corridor and to the stairs. She almost mowed over the dungeon guard as she passed, but he wisely stepped back, pressing his shoulder blades to the wall.

When Zenia rounded the corridor to sprint for Jev’s cell, she almost crashed into Sazshen and Inquisitor Marlyna.

“You started without me?” Zenia blurted, unable to keep it from sounding like an accusation.

She craned her neck to look past them, toward Jev’s cell. And her gut sank again. She could only see his arm but could tell from its position that he lay on the floor on his back. And that he wasn’t moving.

“We’ve completed the interrogation,” Sazshen said unemotionally. “He—”

Zenia pushed between them and ran to Jev’s cell. His eyes were closed, his arms and legs splayed, his face tilted toward the ceiling. Blood trickled from his nose and his left ear.

“What did you do?” she whispered.

They hadn’t relocked the cell door, so Zenia thrust it open and went in, kneeling beside him. She touched his face and drew upon her gem’s magic, though there was little she could do besides confirming he was alive but unconscious. For the first time ever, she wished she’d chosen a different career and studied the healer’s profession, learned to use her dragon tear for helping people. Then she could have helped him.

“I deemed that you were too close to him,” Sazshen said, “and might not perform an effective interrogation.”

“I can always perform an effective interrogation.” Zenia glowered at Sazshen, knowing she shouldn’t argue with her senior—the most senior person in the temple and the most powerful member of the Order of the Blue Dragon in the capital, if not the kingdom. But she couldn’t think about her career now, only her anger. Anger that Sazshen had replaced her with someone else and anger that they’d hurt Jev when it hadn’t been necessary.

She didn’t hurt people when she questioned them. Marlyna was known for having a heavy hand and dragging her long fingernails through people’s minds. Sazshen knew that. Had she chosen Marlyna on purpose? Had Sazshen, for some reason, wanted Jev hurt? But why? As far as Zenia knew, Sazshen didn’t have a grudge against the zyndar the way some did. The way Zenia did.

“I’m glad to know that,” Sazshen said, calm in the face of Zenia’s ire. “Since I would like to keep you on the assignment. He trusts you, as we learned, and that could be useful.”

Zenia took a deep breath, struggling to gather her wits—and her own calmness. Nothing could be gained by yelling at Sazshen. And much could be lost.

“He doesn’t know where it is, does he?” Zenia asked.

“No, but he had it at one point four years ago.”

“Oh?” That surprised her.

“Apparently, he didn’t know what it was or even that it was magical.” Sazshen’s lips thinned in skepticism, and she looked to Marlyna. For confirmation?

Marlyna nodded once.

“His brother had it and died wearing it. He never said anything about it, not even with his dying breath. Maybe the fool also didn’t know what it was.” Sazshen lifted her eyes toward the heavens. “Jevlain Dharrow sent it home with the rest of his brother’s personal belongings, and that was the last he saw of it.”

“So… the brother was the thief?” Zenia still didn’t grasp what had happened, and that frustrated her. She wasn’t used to feeling slow. “He stole it from the temple, then sailed off to join the war to avoid our wrath?”

Zenia had worked at the temple when all this would have been happening, and she had already been an inquisitor, a trusted devotee of the Water Order. She didn’t remember any news of an artifact theft.

“From someone who was bringing it to the temple for our safekeeping, yes,” Sazshen said.

“Who?”

“One of our trusted inquisitors. It’s an elven artifact.”

“Something that had to do with the war? Or would have affected it?” Zenia hated vague answers. If she’d been questioning a criminal, she would have used her gem’s power to ensure the answers she received were specific and exactly what she wanted. But she couldn’t use her magic on Sazshen, not without her knowing it. Further, Sazshen had the power to defend herself from magical prying.

“Something that would have affected it greatly, yes. Something that could have caused riots in the streets here at home. In the entire kingdom. We couldn’t have allowed that, not with our forces split between Kor and Taziira. We needed to keep the artifact safe. That it was stolen was horrific, a terrible failing on our part. It’s only the founders’ luck that it hasn’t been used in the past four years.”

Sazshen shook her head, and even though Zenia didn’t draw upon her magic, she sensed the archmage was telling the truth, even if she was still being irritatingly vague about it.

“And would it have value now?” Zenia asked. “The potential to cause riots?”

Sazshen’s gaze sharpened. “It has great value. And the potential to change the course of history. We must have it back.” Sazshen extended her hand toward Zenia, not looking at the unconscious Jev beside her. “I know you’re frustrated and want better answers, Zenia. Because I know you. But some secrets must be kept to a select few, to those who have been chosen to protect all that we believe and hold dear. Some secrets are too dangerous for the general populace to know.”

Zenia kept her face from scrunching up with skepticism—and being considered part of the “general populace.” Barely.

“One day, I will share all of my secrets with my successor.” Sazshen spread her palm toward Zenia. “With you, I hope.”

Behind her, Marlyna stirred, but she did not say anything.

“But you must do one more task for me, Zenia. Get the artifact and bring it home. Where it’ll be safe, and where its secrets won’t cause riots. It is up to us to protect the kingdom from further trouble. From future follies.”

Future follies? Did she speak of the potential for another war? Or reference the last one?

Zenia knew that only one of the elemental Orders had sided openly with the king in his decision to take forces to Taziira, but she hadn’t heard Sazshen speak against the war or the old king. None of the archmages had. Because they hadn’t dared? Zenia didn’t know, but she did know that King Abdor had been rumored to command numerous assassins and that people who vocally opposed his rule had occasionally disappeared.

“How do I find it?” Zenia laid a hand on Jev’s chest. He still hadn’t stirred.

“Go with him, and I think he’ll lead you to it. He believes he can piece together clues from questioning people within Dharrow Castle. And if he can’t, I’m sure you can.”

Dharrow Castle. Zenia stared bleakly at Sazshen. Jev had wanted to go back there the night before. No, he’d never wanted to leave. But Zenia had finagled him into coming to the temple. If he had stayed at his home, he might have already located the gem. Zenia could have walked up this morning, explained that it was stolen, and taken it from him.

All this pain and effort had been for naught. She gazed down at him, at the blood dried on his face.

“Find it and bring it back to the temple,” Sazshen ordered. “He shouldn’t have any need for it, and he understands that it’s not his to keep.”

Zenia kept her face toward Jev instead of looking at Sazshen, but frustration welled inside of her. Not only had all this pain been for naught, but if someone from the Water Order had simply walked up and explained everything to Jev when he stepped off his ship, he likely would have cooperated. All this secrecy and suspicion had only made everything worse.

“I understand,” she forced herself to say as she looked up. “I’ll go with him, and we’ll find it.”

“Then bring it back to me. The new king will be crowned tomorrow. We must have this artifact in our safekeeping so it can’t be used to cause trouble during or after the ceremony. The kingdom is already in an upheaval over the deaths of Abdor and the princes. It can’t take more upheaval right now.”

Zenia thought it was interesting that Sazshen mentioned keeping the artifact safe during the coronation, not sharing it or information about it with the new king. Would he ever be informed? This Eye of Truth sounded like something he should know about if it could possibly affect all of Kor someday.

Sensing Sazshen wouldn’t answer any more questions if she asked, Zenia nodded and said, “I’ll find it.”

“And bring it back,” Sazshen repeated, her eyes narrowing.

“Yes, of course, Archmage,” Zenia said, stung that her superior might doubt her after all these years. And doubt that she would do everything she could to ensure Sazshen had good reason to name Zenia as her successor.

Zenia wanted that position more than ever now. So there would be no more secrets that were inaccessible to her. She wanted all the knowledge and to understand everything going on in the city and the world around her.

“I’ll bring it back.”

#

Jev woke with a throbbing headache and squinted at the light coming through the window. It was too bright. Too irritating.

A hand touched his face, surprising him. He turned toward it, even though his eyes couldn’t deal with the light yet, and he couldn’t see the owner. Immediately, he sensed that it wasn’t either of those two shrews who’d tortured him.

“Zenia?” he guessed.

“Yes.” Her thumb brushed his cheek.

That was promising. He realized he was lying on the floor of his cell. That was less promising.

“You’ll have a headache for a while, I’m afraid, as I can’t do anything about mental pain, but I’ve applied a healing salve to your bullet wound. And, uhm, also to your eardrum and the membrane in the nostril that split open.”

“Membrane?” Jev touched his nose.

He remembered a warm trickle of blood coming from his ear earlier, but he’d been in so much pain from whatever those women had done inside his skull, he’d barely noticed it. He didn’t remember a nosebleed at all, but it didn’t surprise him.

“Yes, up in your nose. I couldn’t find anything to more easily slide the salve up there, so I used my finger. Sorry about that.”

“You stuck your finger up my nose? Huh. You’re a good woman.”

She snorted. “Yes, I am.”

Her humor didn’t last long. She laid a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry they hurt you. That wasn’t necessary. I was—I still am—angry that I wasn’t allowed to handle it. I know it doesn’t make any difference to you now, but I don’t hurt people when I question them.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m also angry that Archmage Sazshen had someone bring me a sleeping potion so I didn’t know any of this was happening. I thought she was being considerate. She just wanted me out of the way because she thought I was biased.”

“Are you?” Jev remembered the almost kiss and managed a roguish smile for her. Or maybe it was a wan smile. That light was still bright, and his eyes were watering.

“Perhaps a little.”

“Does that mean you’ll quit your job in an indignant huff and flee the harsh ways of your temple?”

“Actually, I’m trying to get a promotion.”

He managed a short, hoarse laugh. But she wasn’t laughing. He pried his eyes open, looking for humor on her face, only to see that she was utterly serious.

“If I were archmage, I could do much to effect change in the temple, and it’s what I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“Your whole life? You can’t even be that old. Thirty?” He felt like a hypocrite after the words came out. He was only thirty-three. When had that started seeming old? After five or six years of fighting in Taziira, he supposed.

“I’m thirty-two. I became an inquisitor at twenty-two, the youngest ever in the history of the Water Order. I’d been apprenticed to another inquisitor—he has since retired—for more than five years before that. And for the five before that, I was in school here in the temple, being taught everything. I didn’t know how to read and had no education at all before I was orphaned, before they took me in. I owe the temple a lot.”

“I… see.” Jev had been joking when he’d suggested she quit—sort of—but he wouldn’t have made the joke if he’d known all that. He had no trouble grasping loyalty and why it was important. Raised on the Zyndar Code of Honor, he understood it perhaps more than most. He just wished she didn’t feel it toward the people who had tortured him.

“Who was—is?—your father?” Jev asked, remembering Iridium’s words about Zenia’s heritage.

If her father was zyndar, why would she have been orphaned? Jev knew about bastard children that randy zyndar men had out of wedlock, and that such a child would be denied any inheritance and might not be acknowledged, but most men quietly gave the mother some money and saw to it the child could go to school and have opportunities.

Zenia leaned back, looking toward the high window. Deciding whether to answer? Maybe she didn’t want him knowing that much about her, or feared he would use the knowledge against her somehow.

“Zyndar Veran Morningfar,” she said quietly.

“Oh?” Jev knew the name. He was familiar with people from most of the zyndar families in the kingdom since his father had often sent him to social gatherings in the city and dinners at Alderoth Castle—his father hated such things and had been glad when Jev had turned sixteen, the age one was allowed to be named heir and sent off to represent the family. “He’s zyndar prime and owner of all the Morningfar land, isn’t he? It’s a small estate, and the Morningfars aren’t the oldest and most prosperous family, but he should have had enough money to send any offspring to school.”

He extended a hand toward her and didn’t say more, not wanting to presume to know the story just because Iridium had blabbed some details. Details that might be little more than false gossip.

“Yes.” Zenia shifted her gaze to the stone floor. “He has money enough to feed and clothe his mistresses if he chose, I’m certain.”

Jev wrinkled his nose at the thought of the gangly rat-faced Veran having hordes of mistresses. Jev had only spoken to him a few times but distinctly remembered him being condescending and haughty. He always had a foul-smelling cigar dangling from his mouth at gatherings, the smoke lingering around him and his chosen cronies like a curtain. If he was Zenia’s father, it was amazing she was such a beautiful woman.

“It wasn’t money for school I wanted. I wouldn’t have asked for anything since I didn’t know the man—my mother gave me his name but not much else. I certainly never got the impression they’d had some passionate affair. More that my mother had made a mistake. She told me never to ask him for anything, but that was before she took ill. Shrumphasis. You know it?”

She didn’t look at his eyes when she asked. She seemed to be finding the stone floor tiles fascinating. It would take too much effort for Jev to roll over and contemplate their fascination for himself.

“Something that causes heart defects, right?”

“A bacterial infection that does, yes. A healer using magic can cure it, but it takes several treatments to fully eradicate the bacteria, and then hours of work to repair the heart. We went to the public hospital and signed up, but we didn’t have any money. My mother had worked as a weaver when I was growing up, and she made enough to keep us fed and in a room we shared with another mother and daughter. But there was never extra money to save, and she… I’m sure she didn’t expect such a disease to strike her down.” Zenia’s already soft voice grew softer as she whispered, “She wasn’t that old.”

“How old were you?” Jev couldn’t help but compare her childhood to his. Sharing a room with another family? He and his brother had shared the second floor in the north wing of the castle. They’d had the services of a nanny, tutors, and a cook whenever they wished.

“Eleven. As I said, we went to the hospital and signed up for the charity program, but as you probably know, you have to wait months for treatment.” Zenia looked at his face. “I guess you wouldn’t know, actually.”

She didn’t sound bitter. Maybe because this had all happened twenty years ago, some of the edge had worn off. Or maybe not. Jev remembered the cool way she’d originally greeted him, the little comments that gave away her bitterness toward the zyndar, toward their wealth and special treatment in society. Maybe she just didn’t feel bitter toward him anymore.

If so, that was an improvement.

“She got worse while we waited her turn for treatment,” Zenia said. “I realized she wouldn’t make it. I went to Morningfar’s townhouse.” Now, she curled her lip. Showing her distaste for someone who had multiple homes across the kingdom.

Jev decided not to mention that the Dharrows had a townhouse, too, even if his father never used it, preferring working the land with his tenants to hosting social gatherings in the city. The last Jev had heard, one of his cousins who taught at the university lived there.

“It took three tries before I could get past his henchmen to talk to him,” Zenia said.

“His henchmen? Like his personal guard?” Jev also decided not to mention that Dharrow Castle employed a couple dozen such men to protect the family on trips off the property.

“I think one was his butler. They all seemed henchman-ish to an eleven-year-old girl. I finally managed to yell across the courtyard to him as two men were pulling me away. I told him who my mother was and that she needed help. I asked for a loan, not a handout. I guess he didn’t think a dumb kid could ever pay back a loan, but I would have.”

She lifted her chin in that now-familiar gesture Jev had been considering haughtiness. He decided it was determination.

“He walked over to look at me and waved for his henchmen to set me down. I thought he was willing to listen, that he might help. A woman had come out of the townhouse by then. His wife, maybe. I thought he might want to look good—be generous—in front of her. He bent and looked me square in the eye to say he didn’t give charity to beggars. I tried to tell him he was my father and about my mother’s illness and that I could take him to see her if he wanted, but he ordered his men to carry me out, and I distinctly remember him saying he’d have them flogged if they let me back in.” Zenia shook her head. “I didn’t want to try again after that because I didn’t want other people to be hurt because of me. Besides, he’d recognized my mother’s name when I gave it. I’m sure if it. I saw it in his eyes. He knew I wasn’t some street urchin with no connection to him. He just didn’t care.”

Jev was fairly certain he’d heard something about Morningfar and his wife celebrating their fortieth anniversary right before he’d gone off to the war. Which meant he’d been married when Zenia had been born—and conceived. The old man probably hadn’t wanted his wife to hear evidence that he’d been unfaithful, even if such was common among some zyndar, despite the Code of Honor forbidding it.

“He’s an asshole,” Jev said.

Even if he could understand why the man hadn’t spoken to his offspring by another woman in front of his wife, he didn’t condone it. If nothing else, Morningfar would have had the resources to find Zenia and her dying mother in the city later if he’d wished to do so.

Zenia smiled slightly. “I certainly thought so.”

“Did you tell him?”

“I was too busy being hauled out of the courtyard, kicking and punching at the henchman carrying me over his shoulder like a side of beef. I may have called him an asshole.”

“Misplaced anger, I fear.”

“Yes. Perhaps if I chance across Morningfar someday, I’ll belatedly let him know.”

“I believe he’s in his seventies now,” Jev said.

“Is there an age cut-off for when insults can be delivered to a man?”

“Probably not. He might even wet himself if you showed up at his door in your robe, implying he’s guilty of some crime.”

Zenia’s smile turned bleak. “I wish he were, but not supporting your mistress’s children—or your mistress herself—isn’t a crime.”

“A shame.” Jev wondered if that was something she would try to change if she became archmage of the temple.

Sometime during her sharing of her history, she’d stopped stroking his face. Lamentable, but he hitched himself up on one elbow. He needed to figure out what he was supposed to do next. He assumed his interrogators had gotten everything out of his mind and realized it wasn’t much. Would they keep him locked up?

He pushed himself into a sitting position. The cell door was open behind Zenia.

“Does your father have any bastards?” Zenia asked.

“Uhm, technically, yes. He’s had a couple of lovers since my mother disappeared, and he never married any of them. They were women from one of our villages. They probably bonded over fixing some fences together, then got randy.”

Judging by Zenia’s dark expression, she didn’t want a humorous answer.

Jev cleared his throat. “He acknowledges the women and their children. The last I knew—before I left for Taziira—I had three half-sisters and no half-brothers, at least not yet. I have no idea what’s been going on lately. My cousin Wyleria wrote me from time to time, but her preference is to gossip about other people’s families, not her own. My father never wrote me. We’re not that close.”

“Ah.”

He didn’t know if he’d given her the answer she wanted. It was the truth, and that was all he could offer her, but she may have hoped his father was too honorable to have children out of wedlock.

“Do you?” Zenia looked in his eyes.

“Have bastards? I don’t think so. I was engaged to be married before I left, but her children… aren’t mine.” Jev looked at the cell door again, wondering if he could convince Zenia they should wander out instead of discussing his past. “She wasn’t my first lover, but there weren’t that many before then. I’d pined for her since I was about fourteen, you see. She was two years older, and it took me a few years to convince her she pined for me too.”

Alas, her pining had not survived distance and time. Damn, he didn’t want to talk about this with Zenia. Or anyone.

“So, what’s my status among your Order friends?” He pointed at the open door. “Did you forget to close that or am I being encouraged to wander off?”

She kept looking at him, not at the door, and he didn’t need magic to sense that she wanted to ask for more details about his one-time fiancée.

“Actually,” Zenia said, “you are being encouraged to wander off. And I’m being encouraged to follow you.”

“Oh?” Jev asked, relieved she’d dropped the subject.

“Archmage Sazshen believes you don’t know where the artifact is, but she also believes you’ll find it if she lets you go. You’ll want to clear your name and remove any doubt about your honor, and you can only do that by turning it in. So, you’ll look for it promptly. And if I’m with you, I’ll be there when you find it. Or maybe I can see something you don’t and help you find it. I know you haven’t seen me do anything brilliant yet, but I am good at solving puzzles.”

“If Master Grindmor finds her diamond tools in a pumping station, I’ll surely believe you.”

She snorted. “That was just a guess.”

“A thoughtful one, I imagine. All right, the artifact. Once I—or we—find it, you’re to take it from me?”

Zenia didn’t hesitate to nod. “I am. The archmage believes you won’t object since it’s not yours. It’s only chance that it passed through your fingers at one time.”

“No kidding. I wish she’d figured that out before she sent her henchmen after me.”

“Her henchmen?” Zenia touched her chest—she was clad in a fresh blue inquisitor robe. “Me?”

“I suppose I should have said henchwomen, but I don’t think that’s a word. It definitely should be.” Jev rolled himself to his feet, glad his shoulder only stung minutely, and offered Zenia a hand, hoping she knew he was joking.

“The archmage has arranged for Rhi to meet us out front soon with horses.” Zenia accepted his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “I’ll share your label with her, that you consider her a henchwoman.”

“Do you think she’ll object?”

“Perhaps not. She’s proud of her deadliness. She would prefer it if more people shrank away from her than they did from me.”

“Would you prefer it?” Jev wondered if she had deliberately cultivated that reputation or if it had simply evolved over the years due to her deeds.

“I wouldn’t mind. Being considered powerful and threatening isn’t quite the boon I once thought it would be.” She regarded him curiously. “It surprised me that you were never uneasy in my presence. Even though I’d come to arrest you.”

“I’m not easily scared anymore. I’ve seen… a lot.” A lot that he didn’t want to talk about any more than he wanted to talk about the woman who hadn’t waited for him. “Let’s head out, shall we?”

Zenia released his hand and stepped into the corridor. “Yes, we should hurry, so you can start questioning people tonight. The new king’s coronation is tomorrow, and all the zyndar families will likely attend, as well as everyone else with the wherewithal to snag an invitation to the event. Three days of festivities and holidays are scheduled after it. It may be hard to find anyone to question then.”

“Yes, I imagine so.” In addition, he might receive an invitation to the event and be expected to come.

Jev would like to see Targyon crowned and give him a solid thump on the shoulder, but would Zenia object if he wandered off before finding the artifact? Even if she’d stuck a finger up his nose and almost kissed him, he couldn’t forget that she worked for the woman who had tortured him.

~

Chapter 15 Coming Soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 13 (a free fantasy novel)

I’m back from my puppy-acquisition road-trip adventure to Utah! I’ll post some pictures on Facebook whenever I can get her to stand still. So far, most of my pictures are blurry due to extreme action. Or maybe my puppy is just blurry?

But here’s what you’re waiting for, the next chapter in Eye of Truth. (Here’s Chapter 1 if you’re coming in new.)

Chapter 13

Zenia yawned as she and Jev walked into the square in front of the Water Order Temple, the dragon fountain spitting water into its pool. Though the sky lightened above the city, few people walked the streets yet. That didn’t keep Zenia from glancing back often, worrying about spies or outright pursuers. By now, Iridium had to have realized that they were gone and that her dwarf ally was done doing her favors.

Arkura had shown them to an exit from the subterranean lair, then parted ways with them, saying she would check the pumping stations and also that she expected Jev and his dwarf friend to check in with her later. Zenia figured it was a long shot, but she would be delighted if Arkura found her tools in one of the buildings. And, if they were submerged, Zenia hoped they were waterproof.

As they drew near the broad temple steps, Zenia quickened her pace, eager to escape into the sheltered halls. One of the large doors already stood open, inviting in supplicants.

Jev did not quicken his pace, and his expression did not suggest eagerness, but he also did not turn away. He could have. He also could have left Zenia in that cell. She hadn’t been the one to barter with Arkura. The dwarf never would have risked anything to help her.

Jev followed Zenia up the steps, not straying from what was, for him, a potential prison. Though she did not truly think it would come to that. He would tell her and Sazshen what he knew about the artifact, and they would use his clues to figure out where they could find it. Then, if he truly hadn’t stolen it at some point, he ought to be released.

Though her thoughts were reasonable to her, Zenia couldn’t help but feel twinges of guilt as he followed her across the landing, weariness—or defeat?—slumping his shoulders. He’d helped her with the thugs in the mangrove swamp, he’d gone along with her crazy plan to float down the river, and he’d helped her again in the Fifth Dragon lair. These were the actions of an ally, not an enemy.

“Zenia?” a familiar voice called as soon as she stepped into the grand entry hall.

“It’s me, Archmage,” she said.

Inside, a few candles burned around the base of the Altar of the Blue Dragon, but it was too early for more than a shred of light to enter through the large eastern windows.

Sazshen appeared out of the shadows, hurrying toward Zenia. “I worried when you didn’t come back last night.” She frowned at Jev. “He didn’t have the artifact?”

“No. I had to bring him in for questioning.”

“Does he know where it is?”

“He knows…” Zenia looked at Jev, not wanting to speak anything that wasn’t true, and also finding herself reluctant to say anything that might incriminate him. “I’m not sure what exactly, but he knows more than he’s told me.”

Sazshen frowned. “Didn’t you question him with your power?”

“Not yet. It’s been an eventful night. And yesterday was eventful too.”

“I heard you were treated at the hospital.” Sazshen’s frown deepened, and she stared accusingly at Jev.

He wasn’t reacting to anything they said. He appeared too tired to care, but Zenia doubted that was the case.

“Yes. After being attacked by an elf. Oh, and Rhi and I were separated.” Zenia barely resisted the urge to grab Sazshen’s arm. “Has she made it back?”

“She did. Late last night. I had some of the story from her, but she had no idea where you’d ended up or how to find you. If she had, I’m sure she would have hurried back out to look. But, Zenia—” Sazshen held her hand up, palm out. “What do you mean you didn’t question him? You’ve clearly spent some time with him, and he’s the thief who stole the artifact.”

“Is he?” Zenia realized that sounded like a challenge, or maybe even defiance, and hurried to add, “I mean, I’ve spoken with him enough to believe he didn’t take it, but as I said, I do believe he knows more about where it is.”

“Zenia,” Sazshen said reprovingly, “a thief wouldn’t admit that he took something.”

“But he’s zyndar, and he’s…” Zenia groped for a way to explain that she’d come to believe Jev was trustworthy and honorable without sounding like she’d been suborned or tricked somehow. “Well, he’s been gone for ten years. I don’t see how he could have been the thief.”

“Clearly, he ordered it stolen. Zenia.” There was that frown of reproof again. “This is not a man without resources and access to many, many minions.”

“Who told you I stole this artifact?” Jev asked, speaking for the first time. “And how many years ago exactly did it disappear?”

“I will not reveal my resources to you, Zyndar,” Sazshen said.

What about to me? Zenia wanted to ask, but she wouldn’t question the archmage in front of anyone.

“As if you didn’t know, it was stolen almost five years ago,” Sazshen added.

“Stolen from your temple?” Jev asked.

“Stolen from a loyal member of the Water Order entrusted with it.” Sazshen stood straighter. “You will not question us, Zyndar.”

“No? It’s easier for me to gather information if I do so.” Some of Jev’s casual irreverence slipped in, and Zenia had to hold back a smile.

Even though she thought she was successful in doing so, Sazshen frowned over at her again. Zenia, realizing Sazshen could possibly read her amusement even if she didn’t smile, did her best to make her mind a blank.

“We will question him and find the location of the artifact,” Sazshen said.

Zenia nodded. This was what she had assumed would happen, and she welcomed it. Jev could prove his innocence, if he was indeed innocent, and if he knew the location of the artifact, a magically augmented questioning session would reveal it. Even if he didn’t know precisely where it was, she knew he had some ideas. He’d believed the answers might be back at his castle.

“But not this morning,” Sazshen added. “You both look exhausted.”

“Oh?” Jev rubbed his face. “I was hoping I looked dashing and alluring after my haircut and beard trim.” He raised his eyebrows toward Zenia.

She frowned and shook her head at him, not wanting him to include her in any of his jokes, not with the archmage looking on. She already worried Sazshen suspected they had become closer than Zenia should have allowed.

“No?” Jev asked. “All that grooming effort for nothing. A shame.”

“Take him to a cell in the dungeon,” Sazshen said, unaffected by his one-sided banter. “I’ll find a disciple to bring him food and water, and he can rest for a few hours. I expect you to do the same. You’ll be more effective at questioning him after some sleep.”

Zenia nodded, agreeing fully. She wouldn’t be effective at anything right now.

“Zyndar Dharrow.” Zenia extended her hand toward one of the doorways on the far side of the hall, one that led to the basement and the dungeon. “This way, please.”

“Archmage,” he said politely, nodding toward Sazshen before walking away with Zenia.

She was glad he didn’t say anything to her as they crossed the hall. She already worried Sazshen would think them too familiar, that she should be taken off the case because she’d made friends with the suspect. Maybe that would be easier, but Zenia was reluctant to foist Jev off on someone else, both because she wanted to think nobody else in the temple was as competent at ferreting out truths as she and because… someone else, someone who hadn’t spent a day and night with him, might not treat him fairly.

They passed a guard on the stairs leading down to the dungeon, and Zenia accepted the keyring from him.

A single occupant she didn’t recognize snored on a bunk inside the first cell they passed. One of the other inquisitors may have been busy capturing criminals the day before. A little thread of nervous concern knotted in her gut as her subconscious involuntarily brought up the word: competition.

Archmage Sazshen hadn’t mentioned other inquisitors being considered for her position when she retired, but there were five in the temple, in addition to Zenia. None had quite her reputation for finding ruthless and deadly criminals, but three of them had more years of service to the Water Order. And two had zyndar blood. One was even a distant relative to the Alderoths. Though the temple was fairer about offering common people opportunities than many organizations, Zenia would have to be blind to not see the bias toward the nobility.

Jev stopped in front of an empty cell. It was one of only two with a window high in the back wall.

He ticked one of the vertical iron bars. “It’s rather different from an elven prison, in case you were curious. Theirs are less permanent, merely existing where they need them. No iron is involved in their construction. Somehow, they use their magic to convince trees to create cages with their branches. If you don’t have an axe, a stout branch is a formidable obstacle to escape.”

“I can imagine. Were you imprisoned by them often?”

“Never in the first five years I served, but three times in the last few, after I was transferred and made the captain of Gryphon Company. That was the army’s intelligence-gathering and analyzing unit. I became a more desirable prisoner to them once I knew some of their secrets. Not to mention a lot of our own secrets.” He turned and met her eyes. “Or maybe my allure simply grew stronger as I aged.”

He smiled, but now that she had her dragon tear back, she could sense some of his emotions behind the smile. Though he joked on the surface, underneath, he was disturbed by memories of being imprisoned. Haunted by them.

And she, in locking him up, was bringing those disturbing memories to the front of his mind, memories he thought he’d forgotten.

“They have a tendency to appreciate age and wisdom over youth,” Jev added. “Of course, they also tend to still be beautiful when they’re two hundred years old. Going by what my father looks like now, I may not be that alluring when I’m two hundred. Or when I’m sixty. If you’re thinking of falling in love with me, you should probably do it now.”

The first morning sun slanted through the high window and lit up his face through the bars. Zenia opened the gate but paused before waving him in. He gazed at her, as if waiting for her to say something. She told herself she was doing the right thing, obeying the woman she’d worked directly under for the last ten years, the woman who’d hinted that Zenia could become her replacement as archmage over the whole temple. And yet… why did this feel like a betrayal?

“Are you contemplating my allure?” Jev asked.

“What?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh.” She caught on belatedly, and her cheeks warmed as she realized how close they were standing. She could have reached up and touched his jaw. Was his trimmed beard, now as freshly cleaned as the rest of him, coarse? Or soft? His dark hair appeared soft, and she had the urge to brush her fingers through it. “Your allure is fine.”

“That didn’t sound overly heartfelt, but I’ll accept your faint praise, especially since the last time we discussed my allure, you had derogatory words for it.”

“When was that?” Zenia thought of Rhi’s comments about his body odor, but she didn’t think she’d done more than nod in agreement.

“When you were puzzled that a woman would want to sleep with me.”

“A woman? You mean Iridium?”

“Yes, she is a woman.”

“I wasn’t being derogatory. I was just confused, given the situation. Why would she find you so irresistible that she’d risk being in a vulnerable position with you?”

“I trust you’ve never felt so drawn to a man as to put yourself in a vulnerable position.”

“Of course not. That would be ludicrous.”

“Men are often ludicrous when it comes to women.”

“I’ve noticed that during my career. I find it puzzling.”

“I believe you.” He sighed and stepped into the cell, his shoulder brushing hers as he eased past.

An unexpected tingle of awareness went through her at the touch. She stepped back, too tired to work through feelings and tingles right now.

She closed the gate and locked it. Jev clasped his hands behind his back and gazed at her. As weary as she was, she found herself reluctant to leave him here alone, to make him feel abandoned. But what would Archmage Sazshen say if she came down later and found Zenia napping in the next cell?

“I have to go,” she said.

“Of course.”

“If you’re truly innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

He smiled sadly and said nothing.

“Did you have sex with her?” Zenia blurted. She almost clapped her hand to her mouth, as if she could retract the words if she covered it quickly enough. She hadn’t meant to ask that. What did she care?

“Iridium?”

“I’m just wondering if I need to worry whether you two made some kind of agreement that could threaten my quest to retrieve the artifact.”

Jev arched a single eyebrow, and she felt certain he saw through her scrambled attempt at an explanation.

“Would it bother you if I had?” he asked.

“No,” she said far too quickly. Damn it. Why hadn’t she just waved goodnight and left him to rest?

“Ah, of course not.”

“Except that she’s a thorn in the Order’s side, and if she were to add a zyndar ally to her stable, it could make her more powerful and harder to thwart.”

There. That sounded plausible. Didn’t it?

“I suspect she already has zyndar allies. Many of them.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She had notches in her bedpost and informed me that each one represented a zyndar man she’d slept with. I don’t know how many of them represented frequent dalliances with the same individual, but I suspect there is little that happens amongst the nobility that she doesn’t know about. I regret that I didn’t get a chance to ask her if she knew anything about the demise of the three princes. Perhaps if your people brought her in for questioning, you would learn much.”

“I’ll suggest it.” Zenia waited for him to say more, to answer the question she’d originally asked. But he seemed to be avoiding answering her. She didn’t know why it mattered, but it did, damn it. “So, she just wanted to add another notch to her bedpost?”

“I’d like to think she found me more interesting than some of the young fops she said she’d entertained, but perhaps I’m thinking too highly of myself.”

Zenia wanted to press him and was tempted to draw upon the power of her dragon tear to do so, but she took a deep breath instead, telling herself to drop it. It was unseemly of her to care this much. Later, she would help Sazshen question him, they would learn where to find the artifact, and after that, she would likely never see him again.

“Sleep well, Zyndar Dharrow,” she said and turned toward the stairs.

“Zenia?” He lifted a finger.

She paused, and he crooked it, inviting her closer to the bars. He glanced up the stairs, then leaned down, as if he meant to whisper something to her. The guard up there wasn’t in sight, but he was within earshot.

Zenia didn’t hesitate to step forward and turn her ear toward him. She wondered when she’d stopped worrying he would do something to her if she made herself vulnerable. Another prisoner might grab her neck and force her to drop the keys. But he’d had dozens of chances to escape, and he’d stuck with her, honoring his word. Even if he’d known this would be the result, being locked behind bars in a dungeon cell.

The thoughts kindled a warmth within her. Appreciation toward him? Gratitude? Pleasure at being surprised to find he was everything the zyndar of old had been reputed to be? But that was so rare to find these days? She wasn’t sure. She only knew she was reluctant to leave him down here alone.

“I did not have sex with her,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. At the gentle touch, the warmth changed into something far hotter, far more intense, and that earlier tingle returned in force. She realized with the subtlety of a gong being struck that she was attracted to him. When the hells had that happened? “I did not wish to, so I was relieved when Master Grindmor’s diversion arrived in time.”

“And you felt you had to whisper this so the guards wouldn’t find out?” she asked, though she didn’t lean away from the bars. A part of her that she didn’t want to acknowledge hoped he would bring his lips to her ear again.

“No.” He sounded amused. “I just had the urge to do this.”

His lips brushed her ear again, and she froze. This time, they lingered, then opened to nibble on the lobe. A hot tingle of pleasure surged through her body, and her eyes flew open. He let go, and she turned to look him in the eyes.

That was a mistake. His face was only inches away. Maybe only an inch away.

And his eyes were warm and… amused, yes, but in a gentle way, an interested way. She had the desire to find out what his lips would feel like against her mouth. She leaned closer, or maybe he did, and parted her lips. They brushed his and—

“Inquisitor Cham,” a cool voice said from the top of the stairs.

Zenia jumped back, horrified. It wasn’t the guard.

“Yes, Archmage Sazshen.” Zenia didn’t make it a question. She didn’t want to invite a lecture. Instead, she hustled for the stairs while avoiding the older woman’s eyes. “The door’s locked, and uhm, here’s the key.”

“So I see.”

Zenia thrust it into her hand and rushed past. She felt cowardly for not meeting Sazshen’s gaze, but she couldn’t face the disappointment she knew she would see there.

What had she been thinking? Until his name was cleared, he was a prisoner. She hadn’t been thinking, damn it. She’d been too busy contemplating tingles.

“Idiot,” she muttered, almost running through the hall and toward the passage that led to her room.

 

• • • •

 

Jev lay on the bunk in the back half of his cell, watching the sunbeam that slanted through the window creep from the far wall toward the floor as the morning passed. The tray that had been delivered with food and water remained largely untouched near the gate. He had been too tired to contemplate a meal, but he hadn’t managed to do more than doze fitfully, waking from nightmares each time he drifted off. They alternated between being tortured for information he did not have and images of that archmage scowling down at him and Zenia.

He winced every time he thought of the way she’d jerked away from what had almost been a kiss, followed by her expression of utter horror. As if she’d realized she’d been about to kiss some mass murderer.

He didn’t have a gem that allowed him to read minds, so he didn’t know if she was more disturbed that they’d almost kissed or that they’d been caught almost kissing.

Jev hadn’t meant for either to happen. When Zenia had asked him if he’d had sex with Iridium, he’d gotten the first inkling that she cared, that maybe she wouldn’t like it if he slept with other women. And she hadn’t rushed away after locking him in his cell. It had seemed like she hadn’t wanted to leave him.

The kiss—the ear nibble—hadn’t been premeditated, at least not for more than a minute, but he admitted it had been an experiment. To see if she would show any interest or not. She hadn’t passionately thrown her arms around him—the bars would have made that difficult—but she hadn’t pulled away. And he was positive that she had been the one to lean in for a kiss. At least he thought so. By that point, he hadn’t been thinking about much except how appealing her lips were and how it would be nice to see her naked again someday, under less invasive circumstances.

A soft click came from the top of the stairs, followed by a faint creak. Footsteps sounded on the cement steps, and the guard said, “Archmage,” in a polite tone.

Jev eyed the position of the sunbeam. It wasn’t noon yet. Assuming the archmage would give her inquisitor at least five or six hours to sleep, Jev hadn’t expected visitors until well into the afternoon.

The archmage—What was her name? Sazshen?—bypassed the other dungeon inmate and stopped in front of Jev’s cell. She wore a blue robe similar to Zenia’s, except braided gold thread lined the hems, and a thick gold chain, rather than a simple silver necklace, held her dragon tear.

Another woman stepped into view beside her. It wasn’t Zenia.

Nerves thumped around in Jev’s belly. Had she been taken off the case because of the almost-kiss? He hadn’t intended to get her into trouble.

Still, maybe this was for the best. He wouldn’t want Zenia to be a part of an interrogation, not when he was the subject of the interrogation. Though he didn’t want to make assumptions, he thought it might distress her to interrogate him, no matter how benign she believed her methods were.

“Your meal did not agree with you, Zyndar Dharrow?” Sazshen asked.

Her assistant, a younger woman but still someone with silver threading through her black hair, clasped her hands behind her back and did not speak. She did, however, gaze with intense interest at Jev, and he thought she might be using magic on him, a gentle probing of his thoughts. Gentle for now.

“I haven’t had time to eat it yet,” Jev said. “I like to relax before I dine so I can truly savor the taste and appreciate the meal.”

Sazshen looked down at the soggy pile of steamed gort and the hard biscuits on the plate, no sign of jam or butter to improve their flavor. She cocked her eyebrows.

“I hope you’re not implying those biscuits aren’t palatable,” Jev said. “If so, I’ll be terribly disappointed. Since this is one of the fanciest temples in the capital, I was expecting far better rations than I dined on during the war.” He doubted anything would come out of it but figured it couldn’t hurt to remind her that he’d been a soldier, a soldier who had loyally served the king for many, many years.

“I find your mouth wearying, and I’ve only just met you,” Sazshen observed. “One wonders what spell you cast to alter Inquisitor Cham’s perception of it.”

“Well, she saw me naked.”

If he’d hoped for a smirk or a snort with the comment, he didn’t get it. Odd to think Zenia might be the least repressed inquisitor in the temple.

“Which unfortunately creates a conflict of interest,” Sazshen said. “Admittedly not one I’ve had to accuse her of having often. She won’t be punished, if it matters to you.”

“Uh, I’m glad to hear that.” The idea that she might have been punished—had this archmage contemplated that?—for having feelings toward him floored him. He wasn’t a damn criminal. He was an army captain and a zyndar from a long line of men and women who had risked—and sometimes given—their lives for the kingdom. This situation was insufferable.

“I don’t expect that it does matter to you. I assume you kissed her to win her leniency during the interrogation?”

Jev thought about pointing out that he’d only sucked on Zenia’s earlobe—far too briefly—and that they hadn’t gotten to the kiss, but he couldn’t see the distinction mattering to the crone. “Assume what you want. You people seem to have decided I was guilty of a crime before I set foot on kingdom land.”

He stared up at the ceiling. It was possible that being properly respectful and obsequious would get him further with the archmage, but after all he’d been through in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her ass. Or her earlobe.

“With good reason,” Sazshen said. “Tell us where the artifact is.”

The back of his skull prickled, and the probe he’d only suspected earlier grew more unmistakable now. It started as an itch, but it quickly grew into a dull ache that throbbed in sync with the ache in his shoulder. It sure would be nice if someone would offer him a salve for that bullet wound.

“Doesn’t it have a name?” Jev asked, though he already knew it. He hoped in slipping in a few questions of his own, he might learn some information as they interrogated him. “Maybe people would have an easier time finding it for you if you called it by name and gave out a better description.”

“You already know it’s called the Eye of Truth, but if you truly need a description…” Sazshen flicked two fingers toward her assistant.

An image popped unbidden into Jev’s mind. An ivory carving in the shape of a tree, a single eye looking out like an owl from a hole in the side. He had barely glanced at the carving years ago, but he recognized it and knew right away that his guess had been correct. This was one of the charms, or what Jev had taken for charms, that his brother had been wearing on a wrist bracelet when he died.

And where was it now? Jev still had no idea.

Really? a sarcastic voice spoke into his mind. Sazshen’s.

He frowned over at the women, both of whom looked intently at him, their faces cool masks of concentration.

“If you can see my thoughts, you know it was my brother who acquired it somehow,” Jev said. “I’ve only heard rumors and gossip about what he was doing before he shipped off to Taziira.”

Sazshen looked over at her colleague. The woman looked back at her, and they shared nods, then focused again on Jev. He didn’t find their mental intrusion as alarming as he would have in his youth, before he’d had countless experiences with elven magic, but he did find it disturbing. And he wasn’t surprised when the ache at the back of his skull grew more intense.

We’ll see, Sazshen spoke into his mind.

Jev tried to stare at the ceiling and appear indifferent to the pain. At first, he managed a stoic facade as they scoured his mind, their search of his thoughts feeling like fiery knives raking across his brain. He didn’t know if they needed to cause pain to search, but they were doing so, perhaps believing he would be more likely to yield what he knew if they hurt him. Maybe there was some truth to that. Maybe a man in pain would have a harder time walling off his thoughts. Or maybe they just enjoyed this excuse to hurt him. He got a sense of self-righteous satisfaction from one of them, the belief that she was right in punishing him for all the sins he’d ever committed, all the blasphemous thoughts he’d ever had toward one of the dragon founders or those who served them.

Then the pain rose in intensity, and he could no longer contemplate their motives. He couldn’t contemplate anything. It all grew to be too much, and he cried out in pain, grabbing his temples and praying this would all end soon.

~

Chapter 14, coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapters 11 and 12 (a free fantasy novel)

I’m making today’s post from Northern Utah, up in the mountains near Ogden. This weekend, I get the new puppy, but I’m doing some hiking and exploring of the area with the current dogs (and my mom — I dragged her along to help) first. Also getting caught up on some email (I’m always behind!), and I scribbled a bunch of ideas down today for a new science fiction story that’s been floating around in my head. I won’t let myself start in on that until I finish some other projects though.

In the meantime, let’s move on to Chapter 11 of my new fantasy novel. Remember to start with Chapter 1 if you’re coming in new. Thanks!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 11

The stone walls in Iridium’s room held no windows, as it was twenty or thirty feet below the surface of the city, Jev guessed, but lanterns burned on most flat surfaces. The scents of dragon-scale incense and dried oleander competed in the air, pungent and hinting of death, much like the macabre decorations. Ancient torture implements were mounted on the walls, skulls rested on shelves, and she had framed pages from books that showed surgeries in progress.

Jev supposed he should have been alarmed by it all, but the thought trying too hard floated through his mind. He also suspected this was a show room and not Iridium’s true sleeping place. Either way, he didn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary.

Iridium reminded him uncomfortably of the elven priestess who had forced him to spend several nights with her when he’d been captured by her people. She’d dressed in pretty dresses and smiled prettily at him, but her cruelty had gone far beyond physical torture implements.

Years had passed since then, but the memories still made him bitter and ashamed, both because he’d allowed himself to be caught and put in that situation and because he’d eventually spilled all the secrets he knew. That had been what she’d truly wanted, though he’d gathered later that she’d slept with him to irk some lover or husband.

“That’s me. The means to make other men jealous,” he muttered, eyeing notches carved into a bedpost. Men Iridium had slept with? Maybe she did use this room.

He peeked through a side door to a bathroom complete with a carved stone tub, a stone sink, and a stone washout. He almost gaped because everything looked to be plumbed. How had criminals living under the city managed to tie into the water and sewer systems? Less than half of the city—the legal and tax-paying portion—had been hooked up, at least when he’d lived here before.

More than the plumbing, the stonework was impressive, the work of a master. Had Iridium convinced Arkura to create this fancy bathroom for her? If so, those diamond tools the dwarf had mentioned had to be truly priceless to her.

Jev wished he’d had more time to talk to Arkura. He’d been too hasty, too desperate, in the throne room. He wasn’t surprised she had dismissed him as a naked raving loon. Maybe it was a good thing Cutter wasn’t there and hadn’t heard him promising he’d go on a tool-finding crusade for Arkura… if she simply helped Jev get out of here. Of course, he was almost positive Cutter would happily do just that. He would jump at the chance to prove his worth to the master gem cutter.

A knock came, and the main door opened. Two guards leaned against the wall in the corridor, rifles resting in their arms. A filthy man in mismatched clothing stood in front of them, holding a silver butler’s tray in his hands, a cloche resting in the center.

What rested under it? Another skull? A severed head? Some other garish message?

“A gift the boss insists you use.” The man smirked.

Jev lifted it, bracing himself for more of the macabre. But a collection of shaving and bathing products were all that lay under it. Shampoos and soaps, small scissors, combs of various sizes, and a number of scented gels and rubs he wouldn’t consider using under normal circumstances.

His father had always mocked the zyndar who came to visit smelling of strange colognes and oils, saying it was better to smell like a pig sty than a dandy who’d done no work in his life. Jev wouldn’t say he preferred a sty aroma for himself, but he’d certainly grown accustomed to it during the last ten years. Early on in the Taziira campaign, he and his men had learned that tranquil pools and hot springs tended to be places where elves set ambushes.

Jev accepted the tray. “No razor?”

The man dug into a back pocket and held up a folding razor with a six-inch-long blade. “She said you could have it if you gave your word not to use it on her.”

Jev looked bleakly at the blade. He was surprised Iridium would trust him to keep his word just because he was zyndar. Even if zyndar were supposed to hold their words and their honor closer than their lovers, he frequently encountered people who didn’t believe that drivel from the old days.

“Well?” The man wiggled the razor.

“No,” Jev decided.

He intended to escape and to do so in such a way that he could get Zenia out, too, and he didn’t want to have that razor in his pocket and be unable to use it because of his word. He also didn’t want to say anything to imply that he wouldn’t try to escape. He would get out without being forsworn. Ideally, he would also get out without promising one of his family’s priceless dragon tears. He’d only hoped to pique Iridium’s interest with that offer, to get her talking.

“No?” The man arched his eyebrows. “Don’t you zyndar all like to be smooth like a baby’s bottom? I heard some of you even pluck other hair out. Shave your chests and pricks, all to prove you can spend your days grooming yourselves instead of doing honest labor.”

“Some people have odd notions of what the zyndar are.” Jev resisted the urge to press an offended hand to his chest and shudder at the idea of shaving anything there or anywhere lower. “And also of what honest labor is.”

This oaf couldn’t possibly believe he was doing honest labor, acting as a servant to some criminal overlord.

The man shrugged and pocketed the razor. “It’s up to you. But Iridium likes pretty men. If you want to live, you might want to keep that in mind.”

“You’re not pretty, and she’s keeping you around.”

The man shrugged. “I came with the place.”

He handed Jev the tray, then left, closing the door behind him. Mumbles in the corridor suggested the two guards remained.

Jev took the tray of grooming items into the bathroom and set it on the sink. He gazed down at the scissors and soaps while debating if he wanted to be defiant and wait for Iridium exactly as he was or if he should take the opportunity to wash off his grime and clean up.

He wouldn’t mind looking and smelling less unkempt. It wasn’t as if his bedraggled state had kept enemies from recognizing him. Besides, he hadn’t planned to be defiant with Iridium. He wanted to negotiate a deal, something he’d done often with enemy representatives. Many times, he’d come out ahead in such negotiations. Even though he thought of Lornysh as a friend these days, their relationship had begun with a negotiation, with Jev convincing the elf that working with the very people who had been torturing him would be a good idea. It hadn’t hurt that Lornysh had felt extremely bitter toward his own people at the time, or so he’d implied. All these years later, Jev could still only guess at the truth.

He picked up the scissors. He had to convince Iridium that he had something she wanted—and that it was worth keeping him and Zenia alive for it. That might be more easily done if he looked appealing.

In his youth, he’d been told he was handsome, but he didn’t know if that remained true after years of war. He had far more scars than he’d had back then. Still, he believed he could present a respectable front if he wished, maybe making a woman conjure up bedroom fantasies when she perused him.

It wasn’t Iridium that came to his mind at the thought. No, he pictured Zenia and that haughty look she so often wore. She’d even worn a degree of it when she’d asked in her most puzzled tone why Iridium would want to sleep with him. Given the circumstances, Jev admitted it was odd—or not without ulterior motives—but for some reason, it stung that Zenia didn’t think he was someone with whom women would want to have sex.

He couldn’t brush it off and say it was because she hadn’t seen him naked because she had. Just as he’d seen her naked.

Heat rushed to his groin as he remembered the moment. He’d been careful not to look like he was looking, but he’d made sure he didn’t miss any detail, that he had burned every curve into his mind so he would remember for later. To what end, he didn’t know, except to inspire late-night fantasies. It wasn’t as if she was interested in him, and even if she were, she was… not insufferable exactly, but her tongue was far too sharp, with her attitude toward zyndar too grating, for his tastes.

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re getting excited all alone in a lavatory,” he grumbled, looking down.

He trimmed his beard in a small round mirror, did his best to make his hair hang in a straight line, then headed for the bathtub. He would make himself presentable for his discussion with Iridium, and maybe Zenia would find him presentable too. Then she wouldn’t be so startled when a woman showed an interest in him.

“Because that’s what matters right now.”

He forced thoughts of her aside and focused on what he intended to say to Iridium. Whenever she deigned to come see him.

 

• • • •

 

Zenia watched the halls and doors they passed, hoping for inspiration, for something she might use in an escape. Not that her four-man escort was likely to let her stop and rummage through drawers for tools she could take into whatever cell they stuck her in.

Besides, if the meeting she’d witnessed with Arkura Grindmor was any indication, these people didn’t know how to find tools.

No, that probably wasn’t true. Iridium hadn’t sounded truthful when she’d spoken to the dwarf. Even without her dragon tear, Zenia had sensed that. She wagered Iridium knew exactly where the tools were. Maybe she’d even been the one to steal them and had then created this ruse of a rival guild taking them to enlist Arkura’s aid. In creating golems? No, it had sounded like the golems had been the latest in a series of favors.

What about that dragon tear Iridium had been wearing? Had it been newly carved? By the master gem cutter herself? Maybe that had been the first favor. Maybe the whole scheme had come about because the dwarf had refused Iridium at first, refused to cut a gem to help her kill people and commit crimes. Then her tools had mysteriously disappeared, and Iridium had offered to help find them…

If so, it had to have been cleverly done. Maybe someone from a rival guild truly had perpetrated the theft. Otherwise, Arkura would have been suspicious of Iridium. Dwarves were honest and blunt, yes, but that didn’t mean they were dumb.

They—

A thud sounded behind Zenia, and she lifted her head. The guards had stuck her in a tiny, dark room, shutting the door behind her, and she’d been too busy thinking to notice she’d arrived.

She sighed. It wasn’t the first time such had happened.

Hardly caring that she’d been left alone in the dark, Zenia dropped her chin onto her fist and continued to mull over the dwarf’s problem, going over the words Iridium had spoken in the throne room and trying to find clues in them. Evidence. Right now, she only had conjecture, and as she well knew, it was dangerous to hare off on the basis of conjecture alone.

Not that she could hare anywhere at the moment. She ought to be mulling over her own problems. But she’d always had a hard time stepping way from puzzles before they were finished.

“I’ll bet a hundred krons those tools are here,” she murmured into her fist.

But where? Arkura was a powerful magical being—she wouldn’t be able to increase the power of dragon tears if she weren’t—so she ought to be able to sense magical objects nearby. She definitely ought to be able to sense her own magical tools since she would be intimately familiar with them.

Maybe Iridium had an agreement with another guild leader—this odious Brick, perhaps—and they were being stored in someone else’s territory. But would Iridium truly trust some rival or even an ally with such valuable magical artifacts? More likely, she’d taken them far out into the wilderness and buried them.

“No, she probably wouldn’t do that,” Zenia muttered to herself. “First off, all the land within a hundred miles is owned by some zyndar family or another. Or the royal family. Bet she wouldn’t have wanted to risk being caught burying something out there. Besides, she’s a city rat, same as me. I wouldn’t think to hide something in a rural area. Hells, I’d be afraid I wouldn’t find it again. No, I’d hide it in the city. But if it’s here, why wouldn’t Arkura sense it? The city is large, but is it so large that a powerful dwarf’s senses couldn’t cover it?”

“Who’s she talking to?” one of the guards left in the corridor asked, the door not muffling his voice much.

“Herself. Or a spider.”

“It’s weird either way, right?”

“Yup.”

Zenia rolled her eyes and vowed to keep her musings silent as she tried to think of all she knew of magic and also of stories she’d heard. Weren’t there wrecks out in the Anchor Sea with magical loot in the holds, wrecks that even searchers with dragon tears hadn’t managed to find because the water made it hard to detect them? She could have sworn she’d heard that piece of trivia multiple times in her life. Whether it was true or rumor, she didn’t know, but if water or sea water specifically had some element or density that made it hard to sense magic through…

Could Iridium have hidden the tools in one of the pumping stations near the river delta? Zenia had already smelled the proof that these tunnels connected to the water somewhere. Maybe the guild had direct access to one or more of the city’s pumping stations.

Zenia nodded to herself. She might not have any proof yet, but if she were on this case, she would look there.

“Not that this helps me in my current situation,” she muttered, frowning at the faint light seeping under the door.

If she crossed paths with the dwarf again, she would share her thoughts. But for now, she attempted to turn her mind to solving her own problems. How to get out of here and get Jev back to her temple. And find that damn artifact.

 

Chapter 12

When the door opened again, Jev was lounging on the bed, his body scoured and scrubbed and his hair and beard trimmed. Since he still had no clothes, he had no pockets to hide anything in, not that he had anything to hide. He’d left the grooming materials, including the tiny scissors, in the bathroom. As far as weapons went, those scissors wouldn’t be a danger to anything larger than a fingernail.

Two guards led the way into the room before Iridium stepped in behind them.

“Shall we search him, ma’am?” one asked.

“He’s naked, stupid,” the other said.

Jev watched them, his head propped on his elbow, and tried to look unthreatening. He didn’t know if Iridium would send them away or have them stay in the room to watch. They were big, burly men with short swords, pistols, and truncheons hanging from their belts.

“He could be hiding things behind his back. Or under his balls.”

The men stepped aside as Iridium nudged them out of her way.

“I’m honored you think my balls are so substantial that I can hide weapons under them,” Jev said.

“Small weapons.”

“Like pistols and daggers?”

“Take your positions, gentlemen,” Iridium said, shooing them toward the door and stopping whatever reply had been forthcoming. She gave Jev a frank look—in the eyes this time. “Am I correct in assuming that you won’t give your word not to attempt to harm me, escape, or do anything but assiduously attend my bedroom needs tonight?”

One of the men rolled his eyes behind her back, but neither said anything at the comment.

“That’s correct,” Jev said, surprised by the end of her question. Was sex truly what she wanted? It couldn’t be all she wanted.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he had any particular appeal that she couldn’t find elsewhere. He was his father’s heir and had some power and land of his own already, but there were hundreds of zyndar living in and near the city. Granted, few were zyndar prime—or the heirs to the prime—but the options still numbered in the dozens.

“That’s what I figured, but seeing you waiting in the ready position got my hopes up.” She smirked and waved to the bedpost with the notches in it.

“Eager to add another notch?” Jev asked. “What is that, twenty-seven? And here I would have guessed you could have hundreds of interested parties attending your, ah, bedroom needs.”

“Twenty-seven zyndar men. They’re a little harder to bring down here than commoners.” Iridium waved at the guards behind her without glancing back.

They had closed the door but stayed in the room, standing to either side of it. Glumly, Jev realized they were likely to remain there. Maybe they studied the ceiling while she had sex with her conquests. Or maybe they watched and that was their reward for loyal service. He hoped they weren’t invited to join in. He also hoped he could finagle a way out of this before bedroom needs came up again.

“It’s true that we don’t usually frequent the subterranean lairs of villains,” he said.

“Villains, really.” Iridium sat on the base of the bed. “As if we’re more villainous than the fat zyndar living off the labor of others.”

“I’m not fat. As you can see. Were the other twenty-seven?”

“No, but that’s because most of them were young pups. Tell me, Zyndar Dharrow, more about these dragon tears your family has stashed away.”

Ah, so something he had mentioned had caught her interest. Good. That gave him a place to negotiate from.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” he asked. “You just acquired Inquisitor Cham’s, and I see you have one of your own.”

“Yes, it’s very newly carved.” Iridium slipped a hand into the top of her blouse, a blouse cut low enough to reveal the tops of her bosoms, and fished out a dragon tear with a dagger cut into the front. “Do you like it?”

“Carved by a certain dwarven gem cutter, I assume?”

“She’s the only one in town that can do the work sufficiently.”

“I hear her services cost a lot,” Jev said.

“Less than you’d think.” Iridium smiled, dropping the gem back into her blouse, then let her finger drift to the top button. “I might be willing to trade your inquisitor friend to you and let you go for three dragon tears.”

“That’s a hefty price. Would you also tell me what you want with this Eye of Truth artifact?”

“Is your freedom not worth a mere three dragon tears?” Iridium asked, ignoring his question. “And hers? I saw you admiring her ass.”

Jev did his best not to react, but he felt warmth creep into his cheeks.

“You were pretending not to look. It was cute. In here…” Iridium unbuttoned her blouse as she spoke. “You can look all you like.” Her eyes sharpened. “And I do hope you like.”

Jev glanced at the guards. One was admiring the ceiling. One was watching, his interest even more disturbing than hers.

“I think I could be motivated to like it more if I knew why you wanted that artifact.” He smiled and tried to sound smooth, but suggesting interest that he would never have felt dishonorable to him. Even if it was part of the negotiation game, and even if she saw through him.

“To sell it. Several wealthy and influential people have learned about it of late, and a great deal is being offered. With such funds, I could secure new alliances. Destroy old enemies.”

Jev was debating whether he believed her when a shout came from the corridor.

He shifted, ready to leap from the bed if he got an opportunity. And maybe even if he didn’t. But Iridium’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, her gaze not straying from him.

A fist pounded on the door.

“Check it,” Iridium said without looking back. She ran her hand over Jev’s chest, nails scraping down to his abdomen. “Your muscles are quite lovely when you’re tensed to spring.” She smirked at him.

“Someone’s drilling into the tunnel by our vault,” someone blurted. “You can already see the tip of the drill head. It’s huge. Some big steam-powered thing. We’ve got men running down to guard the spot, but what if it’s armored? And there’s a whole bunch of people behind it?”

“Uhm, boss?” one of the guard’s said.

Iridium finally tore her gaze from Jev—and his chest. She growled deep in her throat, glowering at the deliverer of the news. The man shrank back but didn’t retreat entirely.

“What do you want us to do, milady?”

“I’ll see to it.” Iridium looked back at Jev. “Do stay there so we can finish this soon.”

“I can’t wait,” he murmured.

She strode out of the room, not bothering to button her blouse. She snapped her fingers, and the two guards walked out behind her. The one who had been overly interested gave Jev a long look over his shoulder before the door closed.

He supposed it was too much to hope that one would run off and get himself flattened by whatever this drilling machine was. He couldn’t imagine. Giant steam-powered tools weren’t anything Lornysh would use. Cutter? Maybe, but how would either of them know where he was?

Maybe—

A thunderous cacophony sounded on the other side of the door, and the bed shuddered. Jev jumped to his feet, landing with his arms spread for balance. Rock dust flowed under the crack in the door, tickling his nostrils. A rockfall? Was that what was happening?

The door opened with a bang against the wall, and several head-sized chunks of rock tumbled inside. Even more dust hung in the air, obscuring his view, and he couldn’t tell if the guards were still out there.

He looked around for a weapon in case he needed to defend himself, but the tiny hair scissors remained the only option.

The dust in the air stirred, and a short brawny figure strode into the room. “Foolish human, what’re you doing just standing there? Do you not know a jail break when you see it?”

“Master Grindmor.” Jev recovered enough to bow to her. “I am most pleased to see you.”

A weak groan came from the corridor. One of the guards buried under rocks?

Arkura tossed Jev boots and a stack of clothing that included cotton coveralls and Zenia’s wet blue robe. She must not have been able to find his clothing. Or maybe she’d deemed it too grimy to collect.

As Jev started to dress, she held up something on a chain.

“Is that Zenia’s dragon tear?”

“If that’s the name of the naked woman you were with, I reckon so.” She tossed it to him. “Hurry up and get dressed, so I don’t have to look at all that hairless human skin. We need to go. That woman’ll figure out my diversions are diversions soon enough. She’s a cunning vixen.”

Jev decided not to mention that his hairiness was perfectly in line with the human norm—he remembered how furred Cutter’s chest was. He yanked on the coarse cotton clothing and canvas boots. None of it fit well, but he wouldn’t complain.

Not waiting for him, Arkura marched into the corridor. Jev rushed after her. The dust was settling, and he had no trouble seeing the oddly precise section of ceiling that had come down on the two guards. More groans emanated from below as Jev and his new guide clambered over the pile.

Without hesitating, Arkura led him through two intersections, then turned down a long hall with numerous doors placed close together. Cell doors? She stopped in front of the sixth one on the right, though there was nothing to distinguish it from any of the others.

“You were truthful with what you said, human?” Arkura splayed one hand on the door. “I’ve heard of your family. I believe you have the resources to help me. And I would like to meet another dwarf, assuming you spoke truthfully about that too.”

“All of it was the truth,” Jev said. “I’ll help in any way I can, and I know Cutter will be eager to assist you. You’ve my word as a zyndar.”

He knew that human social classes didn’t mean much if anything to dwarves, but she had worked in the capital a long time, so she would be familiar with the zyndar and the culture around being zyndar.

“Good, because I’m tired of being swindled by thieves.” Arkura shoved at the door with one hand. She either had immense strength or she applied some of her magic, for the lock snapped, and the door banged open.

Zenia stood inside and blinked at the sight of them. Or perhaps at the lantern light in the corridor. Her tiny cell was dark.

“We’re being rescued,” Jev told her, holding out her dragon tear and robe. “My charms worked after all.”

“That’s shocking but joyous news.” Zenia grasped the gem first, fingers wrapping tightly around it. More sincerely, she whispered, “Thank you,” to him and to Arkura.

“Save your thanks.” The dwarf held up a hand. “I just want my tools, and your boyfriend promised to help me find them.”

“My what?”

Jev wasn’t heartened by the way Zenia looked like she would pitch over.

“I think that’s me,” he said.

“That’s even more shocking news.”

“And not joyous?”

“Uh.”

“Let’s go.” Arkura pointed down the corridor. “There’ll be guards swarming down here any second, but I can make a back door if we have time.”

“What happened to the guards that were in front of my door?” Zenia jogged to follow her.

“I arranged a lot of diversions. Don’t irk a master cutter.” Arkura glared over her shoulder. A warning to both of them?

“I don’t plan to, ma’am,” Jev said, bringing up the rear.

“Have you by chance checked the city’s pumping stations for your missing tools?” Zenia asked.

“What?” Arkura glanced back again. “Why would I?”

“Just a hunch I had. I’d be happy to explain.”

“Do so, human. Do so.”

~

Chapter 13 coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapters 9 and 10 (a free fantasy novel)

I’m trying to finish up the rough draft of a manuscript and getting ready to go on a road trip later this week to pick up a new vizsla puppy from a breeder in Northern Utah. I’ve usually adopted adults dogs in the past, but it’ll be fun to pick out a little female and raise her from scratch. Fun and crazy since I still have two other dogs (my old lady is 14, and I thought I was going to lose her last fall, but it turned out she just had an abscess tooth, and she’s doing well again). Let’s hope the new pup sleeps sometimes and lets me work!

In the meantime, here’s the next installment of Eye of Truth. Thanks to all who have been reading along. Start at Chapter 1 if you’re coming in new.

Chapter 9

As Jev waded into the slow-moving Jade River, he reminded himself that he’d fought elven weapons masters one-on-one, stood his ground at the front lines on a battlefield, and ventured alone through enemy-infested wildernesses in a strange land where humans were hated. It was unseemly to worry about crocodiles. But he’d always found them alarming. One had wandered up the hill from the river when he’d been a boy and had eaten one of the pigs in the village, one that he’d named and ridden. He’d had nightmares after that, and there were always stories of one occasionally attacking fishermen out in wooden boats in the delta. It wasn’t as if his fears were entirely unfounded…

Still, it was probably good that he was trying to make Zenia think him inept and unthreatening rather than manly and appealing. She’d sounded dismissive when he’d protested the swim. And now, as they alternated between walking and wading along the shore, inlets thrusting inland often to force them into the water, she led the way. Fearlessly. Even though he doubted her mind manipulation magic worked on predators.

He was surprised she hadn’t wanted to go out on the highway and deal with the guild people, if only because she could affect people’s minds. But she would need to be within speaking range for that. It wouldn’t work if someone was shooting at them from the cover of the trees.

“Is that a log or a crocodile?” Zenia paused and pointed.

Even though the darkness wasn’t as complete along the shoreline as in the depths of the mangroves, the moon wasn’t out, and Jev had trouble seeing more than a dark lump thrusting out from the shore ahead of them.

“I can think of reasons to avoid it, either way,” Jev said, tugging his foot to remove his boot from mud trying to claim it. It didn’t seem to matter if they walked on shore or in the water. The mud had the inevitable ferocity of lava flowing downhill to incinerate a village. There was a reason the land along the river had never been cleared and built on, even though it was close to the city.

“You’ve had a lot of run-ins with logs that didn’t come out favorably?”

“My shins have.” Jev decided to take it as a good sign that she was speaking with him more now, even if she was poking fun at him. It reminded him of the occasionally barbed camaraderie he’d shared with the men in his company. She was a lot prettier than the men in his company, so it wasn’t quite the same. He would rather date her than exchange barbs. Not that dates were likely to happen. He reminded himself that she was a renowned inquisitor and would be tickled if she found out he’d committed some heinous crime and could order him hanged.

“If it’s a log, we could use it to float downriver. If we walk the whole way along the shore, it’ll take until dawn to get there.” She veered toward the dark lump, her pistol drawn. “Technically, we could float downriver on a crocodile, too, I suppose. If we killed it first.”

“I had no idea inquisitors were so bloodthirsty.” He sloshed out of the inlet, hurrying to catch up with her. If it was a crocodile, he ought to stride forward and deal with it instead of hiding behind her robe. “Or that it mattered if we waited until dawn to reach your temple.”

“In the dark, it should be easier to get there without being identified or shot.”

Jev reached the dark lump first and prodded it with the butt of the rifle. He’d been carrying it above his shoulder to ensure the bullets didn’t get wet.

“Log,” he said at the dull thuds. “Sounds like it’s partially hollow.”

“Good. Help me drag it into the river. If we both hang on, we don’t have to worry about being separated.”

“Yes, I’d hate it if a river current carried me out to sea and forced me to be forsworn.”

“People fish in the delta on rafts. The current isn’t terribly threatening most of the year.”

Meaning she wouldn’t believe it had been an accident if he were carried off by the current.

They dragged the log into the water, and Jev balanced the rifle atop it. As cold water reached all the way up to his shoulders, and a fresh flash of pain came from his bullet wound, he decided that dealing with the assassins would have been better than this. He also lamented that he’d told Lornysh to stay out of trouble instead of coming to assist him again. Jev could have sent him after these guild thugs like an attack hound loosed on coyotes.

He slung an arm over the log and let the slow current carry them away from the shore. “Will your archmage mind if you drip water all over the temple floor when you drag me in?”

“Not as long as I have my man.” Zenia floated ahead of him, gripping a broken branch on the log and kicking to direct their conveyance to stay near the shore. “Though technically, she was a lot more interested in getting the artifact than you.”

“I’ll hope she doesn’t plan to simply shoot me to get it.”

“She would never do such a thing.” Zenia managed a haughty sniff despite the water kissing her nostrils.

They kicked their way down the river for a couple of miles, doing their best to stay close to the shoreline and keep their heads low so nobody would see them. Twice, Jev glimpsed lanterns in the mangroves. Maybe this hadn’t been a bad idea, after all. There had to be dozens of people out there searching. For him. Or for the artifact they thought he had.

Not for the first time, he wondered what, by the pointed teeth of all the founders, this Eye of Truth did. More than a dragon tear, he was certain. Dragon tears were rare, but not that rare. One could purchase them if one had enough money, and they were frequently given as dowries with arranged marriages among the zyndar.

What kind of artifact could be so desirable that the leaders of the Water Order Temple wanted it, as well as the leader of a powerful criminal guild? Whatever it was, he doubted he wanted either organization to have it. If he found it, and Zenia wasn’t pointing a gun between his shoulder blades at the time, he would take it to Targyon and let him have it. It sounded like something that would make a nice coronation gift, and with access to all the books in Alderoth Castle, Targyon would be able to research it and figure out what it could do.

Jev smiled, imagining Targyon accepting the position of king simply so he could claim that library as his own. His stewards would be looking all over for him, needing him to sign documents and revise treaties with neighboring nations, and he would be at some back table with open books scattered all around him, oblivious to the passage of time.

The log came to a stop, pulling Jev from his musings.

“We’ve snagged on something.” Zenia shifted and kicked, trying to knock the log loose from whatever had caught it.

“A crocodile?”

“I don’t think so, though I did see one swimming upstream a minute ago.”

“Comforting.” Jev also kicked, trying to manipulate the back half of the log toward the shore.

The river was wide and shallow where they were, and his boots brushed the bottom, but he didn’t find any submerged logs or boulders that might have caught their ride.

Zenia grunted with exertion or maybe annoyance. “It’s some fishing net.” She scooted closer to the front of the log. “What the—” Her splash drowned out the rest of her words as she tried to disentangle the log from the net.

The rumble of a steam engine reached Jev’s ears, and his stomach sank to the bottom. “That’s on the water. Behind us. A boat.”

Ten years ago, paddle boats and small skiffs had made up the majority of the river traffic, but he wouldn’t be surprised if more steam-powered craft plied the waters now. He also wouldn’t be surprised if the location of this net wasn’t an accident. Did it stretch across the entire waterway?

“Swim to shore,” he ordered.

Zenia was still splashing about, trying to disentangle the log. Or maybe she’d been caught up in the net herself?

Jev pushed away from the log.

“Zenia?” Worried she wouldn’t hear him over the splashing, Jev raised his voice. “Can you get free?”

The noise of the steamboat grew louder, its wheel splashing as paddles rotated in and out of the water.

Jev glanced back and spotted lanterns burning on the deck. With the current helping it along, the boat approached quickly.

Jev paddled backward toward the shore, keeping an eye on Zenia and on the boat. If they were tangled in the net when it arrived, they would be hauled in as easily as fish.

“I got caught, but I’m coming.” Zenia shoved away from the log. “Go.”

She turned and swam. The current carried Jev into the net, and he cursed. It did indeed seem to stretch all the way across the river. He tried to swim away from it while still angling toward the bank.

He wanted to dismiss the net as some new fishing tactic, but he knew nobody was out here fishing in the middle of the night. This had all been placed for him. For the artifact.

Realizing he would keep getting caught in the net if all he did was push himself back upstream, he gripped it. The rope was taut enough that he could pull himself along it, almost as if he were climbing a sideways ladder.

A gun fired from the boat.

Jev’s heart jumped into his throat. These people were determined to kill him.

“This is getting old,” Zenia growled.

Jev couldn’t agree more.

Aware of the boat looming closer and closer, he took a breath and dunked his head, pulling himself along underwater. Another gun fired.

His legs streamed out behind him as he pulled himself along, so his elbow struck the bottom first when he reached the shore. He came up with a gasp, letting go of the net and scrambling to get his feet under him. He glanced back, hoping Zenia hadn’t been hit by that shot. He didn’t see her. Was she also staying underwater? Or had she been—

Her head came up, and she gasped for air less than three feet away. He grabbed her to help her out of the water. Now, he could make out several dark figures out on the deck of the steamboat, all with weapons in hand.

Gripping Zenia’s arm, Jev rushed for the cover of the trees.

A lantern was unshuttered right ahead of them, yellow light spilling out.

“That’s far enough,” the man holding it said.

Two men with pistols stood next to him, the muzzles pointed at Jev.

Zenia stopped beside him, her sodden robe clinging to her. As with the other thugs, these men did not target her.

Jev calculated the distance to them and whether he might be able to dive behind a tree before they could shoot. It was doubtful.

“Search them,” someone said from the side, and Jev realized there were two more people over there. Two dark-hooded people. The riders they’d seen earlier?

More men walked out of the trees, more lanterns being unveiled. Jev’s shoulders slumped. He might have taken his chances against three men, but there were too many now.

One of the two men with pistols holstered his weapon and stalked forward. Even though the others were aiming at Jev, he went straight toward Zenia. There was just enough light to see the eager grin on his face. He lifted his hands, reaching for Zenia. No, for her breasts.

Her eyes blazed before he touched her. Jev took a step, intending to block the oaf’s path, but Zenia lunged toward the man first, launching a palm strike at his face. Even though he looked like a lustful idiot, he had the presence of mind to throw up a block and deflect her attack. She dropped into a crouch with her fists raised, clearly ready to defend herself.

But one of the other men came forward. He circled his buddy and pointed his pistol at Zenia’s face.

Her chin came up in defiance.

“Don’t think we won’t kill you because of your robe, Pretty,” the man said. “People die and get thrown in the river all the time. Accidents happen. Nobody pays attention.”

“Lower your weapon and back away from me,” Zenia ordered, touching her dragon tear.

Both men stepped back, and the one aiming at her let his arm droop to his side. They wore befuddled expressions.

One of the dark-cloaked figures made an exasperated noise and strode toward Zenia. Jev was positive he was one of the riders and possessed a dragon tear of his own.

“Stay back,” Zenia ordered.

But the man didn’t falter.

Even though Zenia could defend herself, her doing so might get them both shot.

Jev stepped forward to intercept the cloaked figure, raising his hand. “We have nothing on us that you want, but I’m not opposed to working with your leader to find the item. Take us to her, and I’m sure she will reward you.”

The cloaked figure paused to stare at him. Deep shadows in the hood hid the person’s face, and Jev had no idea what he was dealing with. Some guild assassin? Something worse?

“You can tell I don’t have anything magical on me,” Jev said, guessing that was true. People with dragon tears could usually use them to detect magic elsewhere. “But the inquisitor and I have information. That’s more valuable than a grope. Take us to your leader. We won’t discuss what we know with minions.”

“Minions?” one of the men protested.

The hooded figure said nothing, simply kept staring. Jev stared back. He’d dealt with enough elves and their terrifying magical creations not to be scared by anything his own city could throw at him.

“We’ll take you to see Iridium,” one of the men finally said. “But you’ll wish you’d simply dealt with us.”

“You are charming, but I’ll take my chances.”

“Remove her gem,” the man told the cloaked figure with a gem of his own. “We don’t want any surprises.”

Zenia stirred, growling in her throat like a wolf.

The cloaked figure turned his stare on the order-giver, and Jev sensed that the man, or whatever was under that hood, didn’t like being told what to do. However, he strode around Jev, nudging him aside with some magic that felt like a physical shove, and reached for Zenia’s necklace.

She lifted her arms, as if she meant to punch him, but she froze mid-motion. The figure lifted a black-gloved hand and tore the dragon tear from her neck. She remained frozen with rage burning in her eyes.

The figure shifted her robe aside and withdrew her pistol, though it had gotten wet during their swim and wouldn’t have fired anyway. Still, Zenia’s eyes flared with even more indignation.

Jev wanted to step in on her behalf and clobber the thief, but the odds were too far in favor of him being shot. Judging by the night thus far, these people did not believe his life mattered.

The men surrounded Jev and Zenia and pointed them in the direction of the highway and the city. Jev supposed it was too much to hope that a watchman at the gate would stop their party and throw these louts in jail.

Zenia regained her ability to move and shook out her arms. Their escort didn’t give her time to enjoy her freedom. Pistols prodded them in the back, leaving them no choice but to go with the men.

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Zenia growled, her fingers straying to the empty spot where her dragon tear had hung.

Jev shook his head, having no better reply to offer. His wet clothing chafed as they walked, and he hoped they would not have far to go. Weariness assailed him at the idea of dealing with some crime lord tonight. Or crime lady. Whatever this Iridium was. He was tired of this day and longed for a bed. He would even settle for a blanket spread deep within a Taziir forest right now.

“I don’t suppose your elf friend is going to come to your aid again?” Zenia muttered as the highway came into view through the trees.

“I’m afraid not. That seemed to irritate you, so I told him to stop doing it.”

“It would irritate me less if he was beating the piss out of other people.”

“I’ll let him know next time I see him.”

Whenever that would be. Jev gazed wistfully up the highway in the direction of Dharrow Castle, but they were miles away from it now. Their escort turned them the opposite way, toward the city.

 

Chapter 10

“I asked for artifacts, not people,” the raven-haired woman said, drumming her long black fingernails on the marble armrest of what could only be called a throne.

Its presence wasn’t as out of place as one would have expected in the large subterranean room since all manner of pots, statues, paintings, and other items—stolen items—from past eras filled the space. A huge astrological painting behind the throne showed the four seasons, beautifully illustrated dragons of each color within each quadrant, along with their matching constellations. Zenia wondered if underworld guild leaders were as likely to pay attention to signs and portents as the average kingdom subject.

“They told us they don’t have it, ma’am,” said one of the men who had escorted Zenia and Jev into the capital and this underground warren via a secret passageway under the city wall.

There were multiple levels of tunnels, some as old as the city itself, and the scent of mildew and the sea permeated them, making Zenia suspect they had been flooded often in the past. Lanterns burned on the walls, and candelabras hung from the ceiling, hundreds of candles shedding their light. They didn’t do that much to brighten the vast room, and Zenia had trouble guessing Iridium’s age. Assuming this was she. She hadn’t introduced herself, but a runner had gone ahead, and then she’d been waiting here on the throne when her people led Zenia and Jev in. She matched the description Zenia had previously heard of the woman.

“They told you?” Iridium’s fingers halted their drumming. “Did you check?”

“Uhm, no, but your assassins…” The man trailed off and looked around, but the two black-clad figures had disappeared.

Zenia frowned. She hadn’t noticed them leave. They’d been with the group most of the way, which was part of why she hadn’t tried anything. Also, her weapon had been taken, and Jev had lost the rifle he’d acquired. Besides, he’d orchestrated this meeting, so he presumably wanted to talk to this woman.

“They would have known, right?” the man asked, his voice turning squeaky. He cleared it and glanced at his cohorts. For moral support?

“Hm,” Iridium said.

Her gaze turned toward Jev and Zenia. She looked them up and down. Zenia, her robe cold and sodden as it clung to her body, felt like a bedraggled owl pellet abandoned on a barn floor.

“Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow, is it?” Iridium asked.

“Yes.” He was scrutinizing her as much as she was him. “And you are?”

“Your captor.” Iridium tilted her head. “Would your father pay to have you returned? And if so, how much?”

“It depends. How much longer am I likely to live if I imply he’d pay a handsome ransom?”

“At least six hours, I should think.”

“A small eternity.”

Iridium smirked and looked him up and down again. “Much can be done in a small eternity.”

Zenia blinked. Was she implying sex? Jev was just as bedraggled as Zenia. More so with that shaggy hair and beard. The dip in the river had taken away the stink, but with leaves and grass sticking to his clothes, he didn’t look overly desirable.

“Remove your clothes,” Iridium told Jev, then waved a dismissive hand at Zenia. “Both of you.”

“So your people can search them, or so you can ogle our nakedness?” Jev asked.

“That depends on how worthy your nakedness is of ogling.” She waved at the men.

They pointed guns at both of them, though all their interest turned toward Zenia. She grimaced. Iridium might want to ogle Jev, but Zenia knew she’d have plenty of attention she didn’t want.

She looked at him. How had she let herself get into this situation? What would Archmage Sazshen think?

She found Jev looking back at her, his expression apologetic.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

He held her gaze for a moment, but someone waved a gun, and he looked away. He unfastened and unbuckled his clothing, the same army uniform he’d been wearing all day.

A man behind Zenia cleared his throat to imply she should be doing the same thing. She thought about resisting, but these oafs might like it too much if they had to force her to remove her clothes. Besides, Jev was flirting with Iridium, or whatever one called it, and she seemed receptive to it. More than that, she’d been the instigator. Maybe something would come of it. If nothing else, they might learn why the guild wanted the same artifact that the Water Order wanted. And for that matter, Zenia wondered why the Order wanted it. As an inquisitor, she was supposed to dutifully complete her assignments without asking unnecessary questions, but she wished she’d asked a few.

Jev finished undressing first, dropping his wet boots to the floor with thuds. Zenia glanced over, more at the noise than at any interest in seeing him naked, but she immediately glanced back. More than glanced. The dirty, ripped uniform had hidden a beautifully muscled form. A few knots of scar tissue marred his flesh here and there, but they didn’t detract from an athletic masculinity that Rhi would have drooled all over.

A chuckle came from the throne. “It seems the mighty inquisitor would like to spend a small eternity with you too, Zyndar.”

Fiery lava scorched Zenia’s cheeks. “I would not. I was just looking at… He’s injured.” She pointed to the fresh gouge on his shoulder, though she’d been looking elsewhere and hadn’t noticed it until that second.

Now that she saw the red gash, she remembered Jev being shot and falling off the wagon bench. A rush of guilt washed over her. In the chaos that had come after the shooting, she’d forgotten he had been hit. She had dragged him all over the countryside without even asking if he was all right. It looked like the bullet had only cut through the outside of his shoulder on the way past, but it still had to hurt.

“Indeed,” Iridium said. “As a good disciple of the Air Order, I shall take it upon myself to see him healed.” She drew a dragon tear on a thong out from under the lavish silks she wore.

At first, Zenia thought it was her own stolen gem, but a different image was carved into the front of this one. She was too far away to make out the finer details, but it looked like a dagger or sword. Fitting for some criminal mastermind. Or whatever she fancied herself. Iridium would have to be deadly in some manner or another to lead all these men, even if she had used her sexual wiles to get close and murder the old guild leader. She wouldn’t have kept the position if she wasn’t able.

“Fortunate for me,” Jev said. “I do enjoy it when warrior women heal me.”

Zenia doubted Iridium could wrap a bandage around a log, much less use her dragon tear to heal someone.

“That is fortunate for you then.” Iridium waved at one of the men. “Search his clothes for the artifact.” Her gaze shifted toward Zenia, and she flicked her fingers. “Finish undressing. You’ll be searched too. And then, Jorgot, take her to a cell while I contemplate whether it’s better for the world if she disappears or if she might have some value to us.”

Zenia kept her face neutral as Iridium stroked her chin thoughtfully. She knew better than to show alarm. She reminded herself that she’d captured numerous criminals over the years, and she could figure out a way to escape if she was given some time. Admittedly, she usually solved cases from the comfort of her office in the temple, and when she did go out into the city to capture someone, she had a bodyguard along and watchmen that she could requisition at any time.

“Have you offended Brick of the Future Order at all?” Iridium asked. “I need something from him, and if you’ve had some of his people arrested, he may enjoy acquiring you. Have you heard of his torture chamber? I hear that it’s lovely and that he particularly enjoys hosting women there.” She smirked.

Zenia had heard of the Future Order leader’s torture chamber and had to stifle the urge to shudder. This could be an opportunity. If Iridium wanted to trade her, she would keep Zenia alive, at least for now.

“It’s a large guild, is it not?” Zenia asked. “I’m certain I’ve captured some of his minions.”

Jev frowned at her, then told Iridium, “I’d think it would be useful to have an inquisitor indebted to you.”

“Indebted?” Iridium asked.

Zenia almost asked the same question, but she caught the gist of Jev’s comment right away. Unfortunately.

“If you were to spare her life and let her go, wouldn’t she naturally be grateful?” Jev asked. “Perhaps she could become an inside resource in the Water Order Temple that you could tap for information and favors now and then.”

Zenia gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. She knew Jev was trying to help her—and she wasn’t unappreciative—but the very idea that she would trample all over her integrity and her vow to the temple to help some criminal overlord… He would never suggest he would do such a thing, she was certain.

“I don’t think you know your traveling companion that well,” Iridium said dryly, looking over at Zenia.

Zenia forced her fingers open, fearing she’d given away her feelings on the manner with her body language. Though it sounded like Iridium already knew her reputation.

“Inquisitor Zenia Cham is no friend to the underworld guilds,” Iridium added. “Some of my colleagues have tried to bribe her and court her favor before, and most of them ended up in a dungeon somewhere, courtesy of her ferreting them out. She sticks her nose up in the air and pretends she’s above all of us.” Iridium examined her polished nails. “No doubt because some zyndar mounted her mother, she thinks she’s not some common wench, but being a bastard doesn’t make her any better than the rest of us. My parents both acknowledged me and loved me.” She smiled viciously at Zenia.

“Which is why you came out so charming and well adjusted?” Jev cocked an eyebrow.

Zenia barely noticed it as she struggled to bring that neutrality back to her face. The turn this conversation had taken alarmed her, especially with Jev standing next to her to hear Iridium’s words. Zenia didn’t tell anyone who her father was—it wasn’t as if he remembered her or had ever cared about her mother—and it horrified her that criminals knew all about her heritage. All about her.

“Precisely so,” Iridium said, still smiling at Zenia.

Jev shrugged and stepped toward Iridium—trying to draw her attention to him? “I suppose I can’t speak for her, but people with high morals occasionally change their stances when they’re no longer in a comfortable place from which to practice them. Impending torture and death have a tendency to make people’s morals and beliefs pliable.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that myself.” Iridium tilted her head, regarding him with interest again. “You came back from the war recently, didn’t you? I imagine you were in positions to see that yourself.”

“I was,” Jev said quietly, the words hard to read. “Let’s talk, shall we? I have things I can offer you in exchange for our freedom.”

“Do you?” Iridium looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his penis.

“Many things. For instance, if you let Inquisitor Cham go, I would be willing to work with you to find this Eye of Truth. I have some ideas about where it may be located. Of course, you’d have to protect me as we went looking for it. The inquisitor has been trying to arrest me all day, and I’m sure she won’t appreciate me working with you.”

Zenia narrowed her eyes at him. Even though she doubted his vaunted zyndar honor would allow him to help a criminal find the artifact, she didn’t like his negotiation tactics. She didn’t want to be parted from him. He was her prisoner and her only lead on the artifact.

“If you knew where it was, you would have retrieved it already. I admit I’m surprised you didn’t have it on you.” Iridium waved to his pile of soggy clothing.

“Perhaps, knowing Inquisitor Cham was coming to look for me, I hid it somewhere in Dharrow Castle.”

“If it’s there, it should be easy enough to find.”

“My father is unlikely to give you an invitation inside.”

“No?” Iridium ran her fingernails across her chest, following the curve of one breast. “What makes you so sure?”

“He’s focused and not easily distractible. And definitely not pliable.”

“Nonetheless, I think I know enough to find this artifact without you.”

“Why do you want it?” Zenia asked.

“I suppose I can think of other things to do with you though.” Iridium ignored Zenia and gave Jev another scrutinizing look.

One of her men near the door sighed and rolled his eyes. She frowned at him. He straightened his face—and his back.

“There are other things I could offer.” Jev pointed at her necklace. “I see you understand the value of dragon tears.”

“Of course. Who doesn’t?”

“My family has several of them.”

“Does it?” Iridium tapped her fingernail to her chin, then slid off her throne. “How many?”

“Enough that I could barter one. I’ll inherit them all eventually. In the meantime, my father wouldn’t miss one.”

“You’re only offering one?” Iridium circled Jev, examining him from all sides.

Jev stood calmly, not trying to hide anything. “They’re extremely valuable. Surely one dragon tear is a fair trade for a person’s life.”

Zenia didn’t like being ignored, but she made herself keep her mouth shut. She might more easily escape later if Jev held the woman’s attention and Zenia was tossed into a cell somewhere as an afterthought.

Still, Iridium’s focus on Jev’s naked form irritated her. She didn’t know why, but the idea of this woman dragging him off for some sexual interrogation made Zenia want to punch her.

Iridium caught her glowering at them and smirked again. She flicked her finger at the two men closest to Zenia.

“Undress,” one said, stepping close to prod her in the shoulder. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

Zenia had already unfastened her robe, so it was a simple matter to slip out of it and drop it on the floor. She tried not to see symbolism in discarding the garment that marked her as an inquisitor of the Water Order. As someone of import. This was temporary only. She would retrieve her clothing and her dragon tear.

As soon as she dropped her robe and chemise, the men gathered the items and poked through them, investigating the inner pockets. Another man went through Jev’s clothes.

“I admit I’d be more interested in negotiating with you if you were more excited about the prospect,” Iridium told Jev, glancing at his crotch again as she scraped one of her nails down his bare arm.

“Crowds don’t get me excited,” Jev said.

“But women do? It would be disappointing if that weren’t the case.”

“I like women just fine.”

“Excellent. We’ll check your excitement levels soon. After you shave and trim this, I think.” Iridium flicked his shaggy locks with her free hand. “We’ll spend some private and time together just as soon as I send a couple of runners off with messages. One to the Future Order, I believe. I—”

“—in a meeting,” came a raised voice from the corridor.

A thump sounded, followed by an angry snarl and another thump.

A stout bearded dwarf stomped through the doorway. He stalked inside, barely glancing at Zenia and Jev, then planted himself in front of Iridium.

Or was that… herself? The dwarf had a chest, and Zenia didn’t think pectoral muscles accounted for the curvature.

With a start, she realized who this was. Arkura Grindmor, the city’s master gem cutter. Why would she be visiting the leader of a criminal organization?

“Arkura,” Iridium purred, neither looking surprised by the dwarf’s appearance nor alarmed by the man who ran in after her, clutching a hand to his chest and grimacing. “What brings you to visit so late?”

“Sorry, Mistress Iridium,” the man blurted. “She wouldn’t wait. I…” The man frowned and held up the twisted barrel of a pistol that looked like it had spent an hour in a furnace. “She bent my gun.”

“Her sexy beard wasn’t enough to inspire you to keep it straight and erect?”

“Uh, what?”

Iridium waved dismissively at him. “Go back to your post.”

“You know well what brings me to visit.” Arkura propped her fists on her hips. “My diamond tools. You said one more favor, and you’d be able to negotiate for them with your rival. I’m this close to bringing down your entire damn den.” She scowled and jerked her head toward the ceiling.

“I assure you I’ve been working to locate your tools. It’s a delicate matter to dance with the other guild leaders. I need to make sure the person I think has them has them before I start negotiations.”

“You said you had the power to find them and take them.”

“Yes, of course I do. Once I’m positive where they are, then I’ll use all my resources to retrieve them for you. I do appreciate the favors you’ve done for me thus far, and you have my gratitude.”

“I don’t want your gratitude. I want my tools back. My grammy gave those to me, handed down for generations. Blessed by the White Dragon Founder himself. They’re more powerful than anything my people can make now.”

“I think I know where those golems came from,” Jev whispered to Zenia, his bare shoulder brushing hers.

Zenia nodded. She’d been thinking the same thing. She was surprised Arkura would admit the value of her lost items—or were they stolen items?—to some criminal overlord, but dwarves were known for being blunt and honest. And getting impatient with those who weren’t.

How ever had she ended up coming to Iridium for help? Or had Iridium come to her and offered it? If so, how had she known the dwarf was in need of help? Zenia hadn’t heard anything about the disappearance of the tools, and Master Grindmor was a notable person in the city. If she’d reported a theft, the newspapers would have mentioned it.

“Maybe she’d like to make a golem for us,” Jev murmured.

Iridium frowned over at him, though she couldn’t have heard the whisper. “Jorgot, take the zyndar to my room and stick our inquisitor in a well-guarded cell while I send a message to Brick and see if he’s willing to pay for the honor of hosting her in his infamous abode.”

A hand gripped Zenia’s elbow from behind.

“Master Grindmor?” Jev stepped away from the guard reaching for him and turned the motion into a smooth bow toward the gem cutter. He smiled and spoke in dwarfish. Very rapid dwarfish. Zenia couldn’t understand a lick of it, though she thought she caught the name of the future king in there, Targyon.

Arkura’s bushy eyebrows rose, and Zenia hoped that whatever he was saying might turn her into an ally. But she soon said a few terse words, waved a skeptical hand at his naked form, then spat on the floor.

Jev rushed to speak further.

“Stop him from talking,” Iridium ordered her men, her voice hard.

Jev, still speaking, tried to evade another grasp, but one man ran forward and jammed the butt of a pistol into his kidney. He stopped with a grunt of pain.

Zenia had the urge to kick his assailant in his own kidney, but someone grabbed her other arm. The men shoved her toward the doorway.

Jev did not speak again. He let his guards take him toward the exit.

As Zenia was pushed out into the corridor, she glimpsed Iridium placing a placating arm around the dwarf’s shoulders and guiding her toward another door.

Eight armed men accompanied Zenia and Jev, prodding them down the passage with pistols and daggers. Had it been four instead of eight, Zenia might have attempted to escape, but the odds were too poor, and she wasn’t desperate, not yet.

She arranged to walk shoulder to shoulder with Jev. “What did you say to her?” she whispered, trying to make the words too soft for the guards to hear.

He smiled lopsidedly. “I told her I had a friend who wanted to meet her and learn from her and would devote every day and every night to finding her tools. I also offered my family’s resources and mentioned knowing Targyon. I said that if she was willing to use her magic to arrange for some rocks to strategically fall away to form a nice hole in a wall that I could escape through, I would do my best to help her.”

“And she said?” Zenia feared she already knew the answer.

“That I looked like a naked fool who couldn’t grow a beard to my balls if I had a hundred years.”

Zenia raised her eyebrows.

“That’s a heinous insult to a dwarf.”

“Ah.”

“I’m afraid my charm doesn’t work as well on dwarves and elves as it does on humans.”

“You have charm that works on humans?”

“Well, you keep brushing your naked shoulder against mine. You’re clearly drawn to me.”

“I’d knee you in the balls, but I’m too busy being appalled by the idea of your beard growing down to them.”

One of the guards cleared his throat and gave them a shut-your-yaps glare as they rounded a corner and headed for an ornate carved-wood door. In the middle of it, an obsidian inlay with red marble insets formed the image of a black widow.

“I’m guessing that’s your stop,” Zenia said, not caring about the guard’s glare.

“It looks homey.” Jev lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. “I’ll try to keep her distracted in the hope that you can slip out.”

“Noble of you to sacrifice yourself,” Zenia whispered back, not managing to bury the dryness that crept into her tone, “but I doubt you having sex with her is going to cause the guards to leave my cell door open.” Dryness and… bitterness? Her own emotions surprised her. “I don’t get why she wants to have sex with you, anyway.”

“I’ll try not to take offense at that. Besides, I’m still hoping she’ll barter.” He twitched a naked shoulder. “I’ll see what I can manage. Just be ready to escape if you get an opportunity.”

“I can’t leave without my dragon tear. Or my prisoner.”

Jev gave her an exasperated look. “You can come back with help if—”

One of the men behind them jostled him hard enough that Jev stumbled.

“No conspiring.”

“What?” Jev asked. “Who said we were conspiring? Maybe I was confessing my love to her before we’re irrevocably parted and sent off to vile ends.”

“That’s not allowed either,” the guard said without apparent humor.

He opened the black-widow door, and he and three other guards escorted Jev inside. The other four turned Zenia back toward the intersection. She glanced back and caught Jev giving her a long look over his shoulder. Then the door thumped shut, leaving her alone with her guards, on the way to some dingy cell. Or to be traded to a torture-happy loon.

How had this assignment gone so wrong so quickly?

~

Chapter 11 coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 8 (a free fantasy novel)

As promised, two new chapters today. Now, I’m off to write some more!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 8

Zenia let the glow of her dragon tear fade, worried the light would act as a beacon. Her interrogation of the Fifth Dragon brute hadn’t yielded the exact number of guild people outside the city hunting for the artifact, but he’d believed it was a lot. That made Zenia uneasy. She hadn’t expected competition, competition that was willing—if not eager—to shoot the only person who might know where the artifact was located.

She looked toward that person. Full darkness had fallen, and without her light, she couldn’t see much, but she sensed Jevlain hadn’t moved. He was leaning against a tree trunk, his newly acquired rifle in hand as he gazed into the night, listening to the frogs croaking near the river and the cicadas whining in the branches.

He had helped her drag the three prisoners together, and they’d crafted makeshift bindings from torn strips of the men’s clothing, using it to tie their ankles and hands. A couple of her new prisoners were awake now, but they weren’t making a fuss yet. They probably wanted her to believe them unconscious, so they could find a way to take advantage.

That wouldn’t happen.

“What made you decide to become an inquisitor?” Jevlain asked, startling her.

Nobody ever asked her that. They just assumed… well, she supposed she didn’t know what people assumed. That she’d sought power, perhaps. She didn’t know anyone among the Orders who had chosen the career for that. Most people wanted to help whatever Order they belonged to and to ensure justice was fairly dispensed.

“Why do you ask?” she replied, not wanting to discuss her past with a prisoner, nor where the guild thugs could hear.

“Curiosity. And a desire to pass the time while we wait for your monk friend to come back.”

“The time can pass just fine in silence.”

Zenia wondered if she’d made a mistake in not simply marching him out to the highway with Rhi and heading straight back to town. They would have risked being shot at again, yes, but getting him back to the temple was her priority. The reason she’d been sent out this morning. If she brought these other three back, they would likely disappear from the dungeon via some bribe or extradition agreement the temple had with the Fifth Dragon. It was unfortunate and unacceptable in Zenia’s eyes, but the guilds had a lot of power, men, and even some magic, so the Orders didn’t court trouble with them. Sometimes, her colleagues looked the other way. That grated on Zenia, even if the watch was known to do the same thing.

Choose your battles, Sazshen had once told her. And choose them carefully for when the end result matters the most.

“Are you this affable and cozy with all your prisoners?” Jevlain asked.

“You were expecting coziness from an inquisitor?”

“I suppose not, but I was open to being surprised.”

Zenia shook her head and didn’t answer. She thought he might fall silent, but he seemed to decide that her disinterest in talking about her career meant that he should talk about his.

“I didn’t choose to be a soldier. You probably know that the eldest able sons were all supposed to recruit men from their lands and go off to fight in the war. The king—the old king—issued a decree. Some of the zyndar families protested, paid bribes, or found lawyers to argue why their children shouldn’t be drafted, but not my father. He was eager to get rid of me. Oh, not because I was trouble or offended him, at least not so far as I know, but because he believed in serving the king loyally and without question. I also think… Well, he hates the Taziir. He always has. There are some rumors around the castle that my mother left him to go off with an elf. I don’t think that’s true—I suspect people were just trying to make sense of her disappearance and his subsequent vocal hatred of elves. But I remember her from when I was a kid, and how they were together as a couple. He was as distant with her as he always was with me and my brother. It was an arranged marriage, you see. Damn, I wonder if he’ll start trying to arrange something for me now that I’m back?”

He lapsed into silence, perhaps taken aback by that last thought.

“Are you telling me all this in the hope that I’ll start to like you and be more lenient toward you during your interrogation?” Zenia asked.

A lot of prisoners were simply surly and despondent with her, saying nothing as she took them in to the temple, but she’d definitely met others who tried the amiable route, trying to humanize themselves to her. She didn’t know why they bothered. It wasn’t as if she would go against the Order or the archmage to free them. She’d taken vows long ago, and the Order had given her everything she had today. She owed the organization and the people much.

“Sure,” Jevlain said. “Is it working?”

“No.”

“So, there’s no hope of leniency, and I should start clipping my nails now so your fingernail gripper won’t have much luck taking hold to pull them off?”

“Do you have nail clippers with you?”

“No. I suppose I’d have to try to grind them down on something raspy and blunt. One of these fellow’s heads, perhaps.”

She snorted, then immediately regretted it. Whatever he was scheming, she shouldn’t respond to it—to him—in any way.

Zenia clamped her mouth shut and resolved not to speak again. It wasn’t hard. As the minutes trickled past, she started to worry, and that occupied her thoughts. They hadn’t run far into the mangroves, so it shouldn’t have taken Rhi long to ride to the village, check on its status, and return, especially on horseback.

“Come with me, Dharrow.” Zenia leaned over and groped in the air until she located his arm. She gripped his sleeve and tugged him away from the tree.

Had he wanted to be difficult, he could have resisted her pull—he had the size and mass to resist most people’s pull, and he could have likely slipped away into the night by now if he’d wished. Earlier, she’d seen him deal with those two thugs without taking so much as a fist to the chin himself, so she would have known not to underestimate him even if she knew nothing of his military career. But she believed him when he’d given his word not to attempt to escape, so she wasn’t worried about it now. As huffy as he got when she questioned his word, it had to mean something to him.

“Are we going off for a tryst?” Jevlain shifted to avoid stepping on one of the prisoners they were necessarily leaving tied on the ground.

“Do you think that’s likely?”

“Not after all the jokes your monk friend made about my travel-inspired aroma.”

“Good. Delusional men are difficult to work with.” She lowered her voice, leading him in the direction of the highway. At least, she hoped she was heading in the right direction. They were too far from the sea to use its roar as a guide, nor could she hear the running of the wide Jade River any longer.

She wished she hadn’t lost her horse since they had better night vision than humans. But the gunshots had alarmed the old girl, and she’d taken off at the first opportunity. It was just as well. Zenia wouldn’t have wanted to ride double with Jevlain, and she would have felt strange riding while he walked. There was probably some rule against making zyndar prisoners travel on foot.

“You’re worried about your friend?” Jevlain asked quietly. “Rhi?”

“Yes.” Zenia wasn’t sure why it surprised her that he had taken note of her name. Because so few zyndar bothered to learn the names of commoners?

She also wasn’t sure she liked having him identify Rhi as her friend instead of her monk or bodyguard. It suggested he knew they were closer than that, that he’d been paying attention when they’d bantered. That probably wouldn’t matter, but she had dealt with criminals in countless capacities, including blackmail attempts. They had few qualms about using a friendship against an inquisitor or other law enforcer.

Not that she was positive Jevlain was a criminal. Archmage Sazshen had implied that, but Zenia was starting to believe Jevlain was as in the dark as she when it came to the artifact.

Unfortunately, that didn’t help anything. It would have been easier all around if he had been able to pick it up at Dharrow Castle. But when she wore her dragon tear, Zenia could sense magic on others, and she knew he wasn’t carrying any powerful artifacts. If he had been, she would have had him stripped and searched before loading him onto that wagon. She wondered if the rest of him was as grimy as his hands and face. Rhi, she was certain, wouldn’t mind checking, despite all her comments about his so-called travel-inspired aroma.

“She should have easily made it back by now,” Jevlain said from right behind her.

Zenia jumped. Even though she’d stopped and wouldn’t have expected him to be anywhere else, it startled her to hear his voice so close. If he proved her wrong and didn’t keep his word… Well, she would be a fool to make it easy for him to club her in the back of the head.

“Yes,” she said and took several quick paces to put some space between them.

She almost ran into a tree. Four founders, it was dark in these mangroves. Fortunately, she spotted a break in them ahead, the grassy land between the forest and the highway.

“Did you learn anything about the golems when you interrogated that man?” Jevlain asked.

“He didn’t expect them specifically, but he was told there would be opportunities for him and his guildmates to jump you.”

“I thought that was a trap right away. Hm.”

Yes, he had, hadn’t he? Zenia felt a twinge of irritation that it had taken her a few seconds longer to figure out that something strange was happening. Oh, she’d known the appearance of rock golems wasn’t a random occurrence, but she had believed Jevlain’s allies responsible, not someone else.

“Would this Fifth Dragon guild have dwarven allies?” Jevlain asked as they reached the edge of the trees. “I don’t know of another race with the power to conjure rock golems. The elves have a sort of tree golem, though they call it something else on their continent, but the one time I encountered rock golems, I knew our whole company was in trouble. The dwarves and the elves living in that valley put aside their centuries-old racial animosity toward each other to fight what they considered a greater common enemy. Us.”

“You’re the only one I know of around here with a dwarven ally.”

“If that’s true, our people have grown depressingly xenophobic.”

“I think it’s more that the dwarves feel xenophobic toward us.”

“So long as the bearded female master gem cutter still works in town. I promised my friend an introduction.”

Zenia peered toward the village. The fires had dwindled, but lanterns burned here and there on the highway. People out searching for someone? For them?

A few riders without lanterns rode along the highway too.

“Also, my ally doesn’t make golems.” Jevlain stepped up beside her, also looking up and down the highway. “He carves gems and crafts watch fobs.”

“Watch fobs?”

“Not enough gems in the world to keep a dwarf’s bills paid, I’m told. Cutter can engrave guns too. Intricate stuff. I bet he could make a scene of you capturing a criminal and carve it into the ivory handle of your pistol.”

Zenia shifted her weight, wondering when he’d seen her pistol up close for long enough to know of the ivory grip. As chatty as he was, it would be easy to think of him as a blathering fool, but he was clearly observant. When he’d asked what prompted her to become an inquisitor, had he been seeking some thread on her that he could tug on if need be? She made a note not to speak too freely around him or underestimate him.

She stirred again, her shoulder accidentally brushing his. She almost snapped at him for being too close, but she had been the one wiggling around.

“People are hunting you,” Zenia said, uncharacteristically frazzled. “Perhaps it would behoove you to speak less.”

“Perhaps, but how dreary would it be for you if your prisoner never spoke?”

“My prisoners usually don’t speak.”

Typically, they were far too intimidated by her reputation and the reputation of Order inquisitors in general to chat with her. Maybe that was why she was frazzled. He wasn’t acting as expected, and it was throwing her off.

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“Does that mean you find me a delightful change from the norm?”

She almost snorted again, damn it. But she caught herself in time. She was not going to laugh at his jokes.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Ah.”

Two riders walked their horses down the highway in front of them. They wore dark clothing and hoods, not typical garments for the warm Kor climate, especially this time of year. They did not carry lanterns, but Zenia could tell they were looking back and forth, peering into the brush to one side and the grass and mangroves to the other. She also thought…

She gripped her dragon tear and focused on them. Yes, one of them had magic. A dragon tear of his own, likely.

Zenia patted the air, found Jevlain’s hand in the dark, and pulled him behind one of the thick trees, stepping carefully so she didn’t trip over the raised roots. Normally, she would have trusted the darkness of the forest behind them to render them invisible from the highway, but depending on what that man’s profession was and how he’d been trained to use his dragon tear, he could have augmented night vision.

She half-expected Jevlain to make a joke about trysts and handholding, but he must have also sensed the danger they were in, for he stepped wordlessly behind the tree with her.

“If this guild has dwarven allies and dragon tears,” Jevlain whispered, his mouth close to her ear, “then the underworld crime organizations are a lot more powerful and resource-rich than they were ten years ago.”

His breath tickled her ear. For a moment, she found herself noticing the warmth of the back of the hand she still held, the callouses where her fingers brushed his palm.

Frowning, she let go and shook away the awareness.

“In recent years, the Fifth Dragon guild has become one of the two most powerful in the city,” she replied, speaking as softly as he had, doubting she should be speaking at all. She couldn’t see the riders around the tree, but she didn’t hear the clip clop of hooves and feared they had stopped. “The other is the presumptuously named Future Order. There are many lesser guilds, but those two vie with each other for control over the underworld part of the city. They’re both known to work outside of the city as well and have long reaches. It seems unlikely the rest of the races would care enough about humans to ally themselves with either guild, but they are criminal organizations. They could have stolen artifacts capable of summoning golems from dwarven communities.”

Zenia fell silent. She still hadn’t heard the horsemen ride off. Or was it possible they had slowed down and gone quietly enough that she hadn’t heard the shoed hooves striking the stone highway?

“And this Eye of Truth artifact,” Jevlain whispered, “what would a criminal guild want to use it for?”

She didn’t know. She was almost glad she didn’t know because she might have let an answer slip out before realizing his question hadn’t been as casual as it sounded. He was gathering information, as much as he could. Maybe he hoped to find the artifact before she did and had no intention of returning it.

“Trade, power, influence.” Zenia shrugged. “Who knows?”

He didn’t ask any more questions. They stayed still behind the tree until Zenia started to again question her belief that the riders were still out there. Jevlain must have been questioning the same thing. He slowly leaned his head out from behind the trunk. Then he jerked it back.

“Hells,” he breathed.

The clip clops she had been waiting to hear started up. Afraid the riders were charging off the highway toward them, she looked out.

The riders had taken off at a gallop, heading down the highway toward the city. In the opposite direction they had been going before. To tell someone they had located Jevlain? Or to set an ambush outside the city?

“I don’t think it’s going to be safe to go back on the highway,” Jevlain said.

“I don’t want to leave Rhi out here without figuring out what happened to her.” Zenia squinted toward the village that had been under attack, but it was too dark to see anything. The earlier shouts had stopped, with the night lying quiet in that direction.

“She seems to be a competent woman who can take care of herself.”

“True, but…” Zenia didn’t want to admit that she was worried and also that she would feel guilty if she’d been the one to order Rhi to go her own way and then Rhi had landed in trouble. Unfortunately, inquisitors weren’t supposed to prioritize friendship above their duties to the Order. Her primary duty was to return with Jevlain. Technically, the archmage just wanted the artifact, but he was the road to it. “You’re right. She’s probably fine. And like you said, I don’t think the highway will be clear into the city. Not for us.”

“We could go back to my family’s castle,” Jevlain said, the words coming out casually again, as if he made the offer for her sake and not his.

“We’re going to the temple.”

“I believe the answers we’re both looking for may be at the castle. Someone may know what happened to the person who was the last one who likely handled this artifact.”

“My job is to bring you to the temple, and that’s what I intend to do. There are other ways into the city than the highway and the main gates.”

“Only the river and the sea that I know of.”

“What’s the matter, Zyndar? You don’t know how to swim?”

“I know how. And so do the crocodiles that make the river home. I assume ten years hasn’t changed that.”

“They’re hunted down often. There aren’t many within twenty miles of the city.”

“It only takes one hungry crocodile to make for a bad night.”

“You pick then, Zyndar. Crocodiles or assassins.” Zenia peered down the highway again in the direction those two riders had gone.

Jevlain sighed. “Crocs. And it’s Jev, remember?”

~

Chapter 9 coming soon!

Eye of Truth, Chapter 7 (a free fantasy novel)

Hey, folks! I meant to get a new chapter up earlier in the week, but I’ve been writing like crazy since getting back from my trip, because I have a deadline coming up with my editor. So… I’ll post two chapters today!

Thanks for reading along! And if you’re coming in new, please start with Chapter 1.

Eye of Truth, Chapter 7

Fiery pain seared Jev’s shoulder. He rolled off the side of the road to avoid the hooves of Zenia’s horse, then rose into a low crouch beside a shrub. Should he run to the village to help with the massive rock golems smashing fences and buildings? Or toward the mangroves along the river to hide from whoever had shot him? He didn’t know what was happening, but he recognized an ambush when he saw it. The alarming part was that someone apparently wanted him dead. Thank the deepening twilight that had given his attacker poor aim.

“Rhi!” Zenia barked.

Hooves thundered as the monk urged her horse toward the mangroves. Had she seen the shooter? Jev didn’t know if Zenia had. She was glaring at him.

“Get off the horse,” Jev yelled up at her. “You’re an easy target.”

Zenia glanced toward the mangroves. “Nobody in the kingdom would shoot an inquisitor.”

Unless things had changed a lot in the last ten years, half the kingdom would happily shoot an inquisitor. Assuming there was a way to do it without getting caught.

Despite her certain words, her brow furrowed with concern. Her cohort had already disappeared into the trees.

Shouts of alarm and pain came from the village. Jev stepped in that direction, but he had no weapons, no way of hurting golems. At least he could punch a human shooter in the face. Despite the pain in his shoulder, he could still move his arm. He thought the bullet had only grazed him.

Movement from within the shadows of the mangroves caught his eye.

“Look out,” he barked, fearing another shot.

He dropped to his stomach. His shoulder protested, and he gasped with pain. A gun fired, and he heard of the bullet whizzing over his head.

Broken hells, whoever was shooting was definitely after him. He crawled on his belly into the deeper brush to the side of the road, lamenting that it wasn’t higher. And denser. A nice boulder field would have been appealing.

“That’s my prisoner,” Zenia shouted into the mangroves.

To Jev’s surprise, she thumped her heels to her horse’s flanks and charged in the direction of the shooter. She stayed low on her mount’s back and withdrew something from within her robes. A pistol?

Jev rose to a crouch, staying as low as he could and running toward the trees. He hated having people risking themselves to protect him, but she had ordered his weapons removed. The last he’d seen, they had been tossed into the back of one of the watch wagons.

A shot fired. Zenia roared. With pain? Or indignation?

Her horse tried to shy from its route, but she yelled and urged it forward again, then fired into the trees.

Halfway to the mangroves, Jev couldn’t see if she had a target or was merely trying to scare the shooter into stopping. He hoped she wouldn’t get herself killed on his behalf.

Jev sprinted the last hundred meters to the trees, not stopping until he was well inside the dense band that ran along the riverbanks and side streams for miles. The twilight was more like full nightfall under their sprawling canopy of branches.

Mud squished under his feet as he leaped over the high roots, making him aware of the noise he was making with his crazy run. He forced himself to slow down, then stop. He put his back to one of the trees and tried to listen to his surroundings over his own heavy breaths.

He’d gone into the trees well away from where the shooter had been, but there could be more people out here hunting innocent travelers. No, hunting him. How had he gotten into so much trouble when he’d been back on his native land for mere hours?

Stepping lightly and moving from tree to tree so he would always have cover, Jev headed in the direction the shooter had been.

A branch snapped off to his left, and he hesitated. Was that a second shooter? Or the first man running away?

A horse screeched up ahead. Jev quickened his pace, hoping the darkness would hide him and that he wouldn’t stumble upon the very people trying to kill him.

A thunk sounded, like an axe striking wood. Jev squinted into the gloom, picking out moving shapes ahead of him. Two people? Three?

“That got him.” It was the monk’s voice. Rhi.

“Who is he?” Zenia asked.

She’d dismounted—or been thrown—from her horse, and now faced her assistant. A man writhed and groaned in the mud between them.

Jev started forward, opening his mouth to warn them he approached, but a faint snap of a twig came from the left again. Someone paralleling his path?

He picked out a large figure sneaking between the trees and heading toward the women. Whoever it was seemed focused on them and unaware of him. The figure stopped and lifted an arm.

Fearing the person had a gun and was taking aim, Jev ran toward the would-be shooter.

He slipped on a protruding root and must have made some noise. The figure spun toward him. Jev was close, and instead of dodging, he dropped a shoulder and bowled into the person. A man. Jev felt muscled mass through his foe’s clothing. Fortunately, he had enough mass of his own to knock his target to the ground and land on top of him.

A thud sounded as something fell against a root. Hands reached up, grasping for Jev’s throat. He smashed an elbow into his foe’s face, and cartilage crunched. The man cried out. Jev struck again, this time slamming his elbow into the man’s solar plexus.

The squish of a boot in mud came from behind him. Not from the direction where the women had been standing.

Expecting an attack from behind, Jev rolled to the side. Another man lunged in, but he tripped on his downed comrade.

As Jev scrambled away, his hand landed on something narrow and cool. The barrel of a rifle? He snatched it up, fingers grasping near the muzzle.

The man who’d tripped regained his feet and spun toward Jev. Jev swung the rifle like an axe, the butt smacking into the man’s temple.

A hint of orange light appeared behind Jev’s enemies, allowing him to see faces. Faces he didn’t remotely recognize.

The man he’d smacked growled and whipped a pistol up. Jev swung the rifle again even as he leaped to the side. This time, the man ducked, but having to defend himself kept him from firing.

Jev lifted the rifle over his shoulder, intending to swing it again, but something slammed into his foe from behind, and the man tumbled forward. His face smacked into a tree trunk, and he crumpled at its base.

Rhi lowered her bo. She glared at the man she’d struck, then glared at the man curled on the ground, trying to catch his breath from Jev’s blow to his chest. Finally, she glared at Jev and pointed at his rifle.

He thought she would demand that he drop it.

All she said was, “Some people like to use the end that bullets come out of.”

“I have no idea who these people are and if I should be shooting them.” Jev lowered the butt of the rifle to the ground.

“They were shooting at you.”

“I am aware of that.” Jev resisted the urge to prod his injured shoulder, though it throbbed with pain, and he could feel his sleeve sticking to the warm blood. “But I like to gather intelligence before I return fire.”

Zenia stepped into view, still holding her pistol. The soft orange glow lighting the branches and trunks around them came from the dragon-tear gem she now wore outside of her robe.

“Do you have any idea who they are?” Jev asked.

He could no longer see nor hear the commotion coming from the village up the road, and he hoped that meant the watchmen had arrived and found a way to deal with the golems. Not that such creatures were easy to deal with, even with bullets and arrows.

“Not yet,” Zenia said, “but I will.”

The one who’d smacked face-first into the tree appeared to be unconscious, but she knelt beside the one struggling to recover his breath. Jev glanced toward the third one the two women had been dealing with, but if the man was conscious, he wasn’t moving.

All three men were human and wore nondescript clothing. Jev hadn’t heard anyone speak yet, so he couldn’t verify that they’d come from within kingdom borders, but they looked like locals with the coarsely woven shirts and trousers favored by the working class in Korvann. Usually, only nobles and those who worked in the temples opted for silks and robes.

“Who are you?” Zenia asked.

“Remmy,” the only man conscious muttered.

Jev couldn’t tell if she was using magic when it wasn’t directed at him, but he suspected she was. Getting answers was exactly what she would have been trained to use a dragon tear for.

“Why did you shoot at us?”

“Not you, Inquisitor.” His eyes widened with fear as he looked up at her. “Wouldn’t pick a fight with one of the Orders or you. Just… had to get something.”

“What?”

“The Eye of Truth. Ivory. Old. She said the zyndar might have it. Big money if we could get it.”

Jev leaned against the rifle for support. How was it that the entire world knew more about this artifact than he did? And why were so many people convinced he had it? Was the charm Vastiun had worn even the right item?

“She?” Zenia stared straight into the man’s eyes. “Who sent you?”

“Iridium.”

Jev frowned. Was that a name? It sounded vaguely familiar, but more like something from Targyon’s books than a name. He’d been the only one to bring a dozen textbooks with him to the war, several on science, and he’d occasionally read to the men. Jev remembered Targyon saying he couldn’t sleep at night unless he read a few pages and learned something first. Jev wondered if he was learning about being a king now. And if he would be bothered if Jev showed up at the castle and asked for asylum.

“From the Fifth Dragon guild.” Rhi kicked a thick root that rose several feet from the mud. “Damn underworld criminals. Iridium is leading the guild now, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Zenia said. “Since her lover and the former guild leader mysteriously disappeared.”

“Mysteriously got a dagger stuck in his back before being dumped in the river, no doubt.”

Zenia focused on the thug again. “What does Iridium want with the artifact?”

“Dunno.” The thug prodded his broken nose and grimaced. “But she promised a big bonus and promotion to anyone who brought it in. Enough to make it worth getting beat up a little. The thing is magic, they say. Elf magic. But I wasn’t scared. Not of it and not of the zyndar.” His brow creased as he looked up at Zenia. He didn’t claim not to be scared of her.

“Did Iridium and your guild send the golems?” Zenia asked.

“Dunno. We were just told to wait for the zyndar to visit his castle and collect the ivory, that there’d be opportunities to take it from him on the way back to the city.”

Zenia’s eyes narrowed, and Jev shifted, wondering if the stories of inquisitors being able to read minds were true.

“Opportunities,” Rhi muttered. “Right.”

“Why did they assume I would have the artifact when I was clearly your prisoner?” Jev didn’t think everything here added up. “If anything, you two should have had it.”

Zenia didn’t answer. She and the thug were still staring at each other, gazes locked and their bodies stiff, frozen in tableau.

“I’m guessing these boys weren’t doing a whole lot of thinking,” Rhi said. “Might be, they were afraid to shoot at Zenia and hoped that shooting you would somehow let them achieve their goal. Criminals never seem to mind taking out zyndar.” Rhi grinned, leaned over, and thumped Jev on the shoulder. “I should thank you. Usually, I’m the target if someone wants to irk Zenia without actually touching her.”

After dealing with the elves for so long, Jev had forgotten what it was like to be hated for the family he’d been born into and the entitlements he received. The Taziir had targeted him because he’d been an officer with a lot of knowledge. Now, he was just… he didn’t even know anymore. A man who needed to find this artifact and get it far, far away from his person, so he could go get drunk on the beach and figure out the rest of his life.

“It doesn’t sound like it’s safe to stand next to her,” he remarked since Rhi was still smirking at him and seemed to expect a reply.

“Not safe to stand next to either of you right now,” Rhi said.

Jev reached up and laid a hand over his wounded shoulder. “Not if shooting zyndar has become a popular kingdom pastime lately.”

“I was thinking of the miasma of odors wafting off you. Might knock me out if I take too big a whiff. If you get a chance tonight to stumble into the river—” Rhi waved deeper into the mangroves toward the distant sound of running water, “—you might want to take it.”

“I would happily stumble into a soap-filled bathtub if you would let me go back to my father’s castle.”

“If the Fifth Dragon are after you, you might not want to bring that trouble home,” Zenia said, rising to her feet.

The thug’s eyes were closed now. Jev blinked. Could she use her magic to knock men out? He knew he hadn’t injured the man badly enough to account for him losing consciousness.

“We taking these in?” Rhi pointed to the downed men.

“I would prefer to. Trying to kill a zyndar is highly illegal.” Zenia’s mouth twisted, and something akin to bitterness flashed in her eyes.

Trying to kill any of the king’s subjects was illegal, but it was admittedly more illegal to attempt to murder a nobleman or woman. The punishment was death instead of flogging and a fine.

“We’ll leave them unless we can catch up to the watchmen and get them to bring a wagon back here,” Zenia said. “Rhi, I want you to ride over and check on the village. My horse was spooked and took off as soon as I dismounted.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with a prisoner in the woods,” Rhi said.

“Be careful too. I saw in his mind—” Zenia pointed to the thug at her feet, “—that there are many Fifth Dragon people out here. Apparently, Iridium didn’t assign an organized team to get the artifact, but rather she announced a free-for-all opportunity to everyone in her guild. The person who gets the artifact and brings it in first will receive her reward. No questions asked.”

“All the more reason why I should stay at your side.”

“If you can, bring some of the watchmen back with a wagon for our prisoners. I’ll stay here and see if I can find something to tie them up with.”

Rhi surprised Jev by giving him a frank look. “Do you like the way she ignores all my objections and just assumes I’ll do what she says?”

“Will you?” he asked.

“Well, yes, but not without a lot of surly grousing and proclamations that she’s making a big mistake.”

“How is that different from other times I’ve given you a command?” Zenia asked.

Rhi groused—in a surly manner—and thumped the butt of her bo on a root.

“Someone has to stay and watch these men and our prisoner,” Zenia said.

“Am I still a prisoner?” Jev shook the rifle, more to point out that he’d helped them than anything else, but he added, “I’m armed.”

Rhi swept her bo out, startling him. He started to step back, but the end cracked against his hand. He jerked it away, but it was attached to the wounded shoulder, and the fresh pain erupted at the sudden movement. He dropped the rifle.

“No, you’re not.” Rhi picked it up.

Jev could have stopped her—she deserved a return crack on the hand, at least—but Zenia snorted. Maybe that was even a short laugh. He decided it might be safer to have her believe him unthreatening and maybe a little inept, even if his pride bristled at the idea. Then she wouldn’t watch him as closely.

“Let him keep it,” Zenia said when Rhi turned to start off with the rifle in hand. “He could have hindered us, but he helped.”

Rhi frowned, looking like she intended another round of surly grousing.

“Do you promise, Zyndar, not to use the weapon on us or attempt to escape?” Zenia asked.

Jev suspected she was only attempting to extract his word to make her friend happy, but it made him pause. He wouldn’t have used the rifle on them, regardless, but the addition of the words attempt to escape bothered him. He had fully intended to return with her, both to gather more information and so he wouldn’t bring down the wrath of the Water Order on his family, but that had been before he’d known an entire underworld guild was hunting for him. Not just that, they were willing to kill him, even though he didn’t have what they were looking for.

He wanted to go back to the castle and question everyone about Corvel’s disappearance. He was positive the path to the artifact, if Vastiun had ever truly had it, started back at home with their old butler, not anywhere in the city.

“I won’t use the weapon on you,” Jev said, choosing his words carefully, “and I won’t attempt to escape until we’ve made it back to your temple and talked to your archmage.” A person who likely had more information than Zenia, information that might help him search for that path.

Besides, he didn’t have much choice.

“Good enough for me,” Zenia said, surprising him by not objecting to his wording.

Rhi scowled. “You’re not alarmed that it took him a long time to answer?”

“I would be alarmed if he’d answered right away and just said yes. He may actually mean to keep his word.”

“Actually?” Jev rocked forward on the balls of his feet, affronted by her insinuation. “I always keep my word.”

What had he done to make her doubt it? Was she blaming him for Lornysh’s attack? Even if he had been responsible, it wasn’t as if he’d given her his word back before it happened.

“We’ll see, Zyndar,” Zenia said, her eyes cool and challenging.

~

Continue to Chapter 8