Jev nodded, his brain slowly spinning into gear as he got over the surprise of finding the man dead.
“If someone did kill him, they left his dragon tear behind.” Zenia waved toward a chain visible around his neck. “I checked. He’s got one with a vial carving—a medical enhancement. It would be worth a lot, even sold on the black market.”
“Have you checked his work space yet?” Jev waved toward a large mahogany desk and chairs near the window. Stuffed bookcases rose on one wall, and a huge hearth took up much of another. “I assume this is his office.”
“Not yet. That was next on my list. The ashes are cold in the fireplace, there are no signs of a fight—no objects on the floor or anything knocked over—and there’s also no sign that his assistant, who works in the front office, has come in. I did check the desk up there. There are appointments scheduled for today, so it’s odd that this wasn’t discovered before our arrival.”
Jev smiled at her, appreciating her analytical mind, even if he would have liked an excuse to hug and comfort her. “Maybe the assistant came, found him like this, and ran away because he or she was scared.”
“She. And it’s possible. She could have gone to report to the watch, too, which could mean we’ll have uniformed company soon.”
“I believe we outrank that company now.”
“Didn’t you always?”
“I suppose.”
Zenia gazed at him with inscrutable green eyes, and he had the sense of being studied by a scientist. She’d been much more approachable—much more kissable—when she’d been tired and wounded, with her hair fallen down around her shoulders instead of up in that no-nonsense bun. She’d once admitted that men were afraid of her reputation and didn’t ask her on dates often. He could see why, though he enjoyed trying to get her to smile, trying to break her determined focus.
Or at least he had when she’d been arresting him. Now that they were on the same side, he would feel guilty about distracting her.
“Even if you’re zyndar,” Zenia said, “the watchmen might not appreciate you impeding what they’ll see as their investigation.”
“True.”
Zenia pointed at the desk. “Do your snooping quickly if you plan to.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirked and gave her an army salute, open hand to the side of his temple.
She wasn’t one to bow to the zyndar or hesitate to order them around.
One of her elegant eyebrows twitched, but all she said was, “I’m going to check the rest of the building for clues.”
She nodded at Cutter, who stepped aside as she walked out, even though she didn’t ask him to. She had a way about her that cleared obstacles, zyndar, commoner, dwarf, and otherwise. In only a few short days, he’d come to admire her determination, even if it occasionally came with haughty chin tilts. As someone who’d traveled in zyndar circles his entire life until he’d joined the army, he was accustomed to haughtiness in all its incarnations.
“You should definitely make her something,” Cutter said after she left.
“Because that’s the only way I’ll win her heart?”
“Because that’s the only way her heart will notice you. She’s got a singular focus, eh?”
“True. What do you suggest? A spice rack?”
“Does she bake?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Probably not then.” Cutter backed into the hallway. “I’m off to help Master Grindmor. I’ll leave the dead bodies to you.”
“Thank you.”
Jev opened drawers and looked for clues, but he came across nothing more than typical office supplies and notebooks pertaining to patients. He skimmed through the recent entries on the chance some bitter man or woman the doctor hadn’t been able to help had come back to take revenge, but he doubted complaints of digestive discomfort and corns lent themselves to murders.
Nonetheless, he wrote down the names of the patients from the last two weeks as well as those the doctor had planned to see that day. Dr. Bandigor had people booked out for weeks, so it was unlikely he had been planning this end for a while. Had he been planning it at all? Jev found it very suspicious that the man had killed himself the night before he and Zenia had arrived to question him.
“Why do I have a feeling our first case isn’t going to be an easy one?” he murmured.
3
Zenia lifted her chin and did her best not to feel daunted as she and Jev walked through the massive gateway into the castle, the guards watching without doing anything to stop them. Jev, gazing at the flagstones with his hands in his pockets, probably expected no less—zyndar were invited to the castle for social gatherings, after all. Zenia kept waiting for someone to question her right to be there.
This was only her third time entering the great fountain- and garden-bedecked courtyard and only her second day on the job. The first had been tediously full of meetings and introductions to all her new colleagues—her new subordinates, she reminded herself—when all she’d wanted was to get to work on the case she’d already been assigned. There were thirteen agents working in the king’s information office, directing international spies and overseeing intelligence gatherers in Korvann and in greater Kor. Supposedly. She had gotten blank looks when she’d asked who had been investigating the deaths of King Abdor’s three sons. Had they been an accident or had someone arranged the strange virus that had only targeted those with Alderoth blood? If the latter, was young Targyon now in danger himself?
Nobody had admitted to knowing anything, and a young woman named Lunis had implied the former Crown Agent captain, Zyndar Garlok, hadn’t assigned anyone to research the incident. Zenia hadn’t met the man yet. He had been out of the office, apparently spending the coronation holidays at home, so she didn’t know if he was aware yet that he’d been replaced.
Lunis had shown enthusiasm when Zenia said the agents would start investigating the princes’ deaths. It boggled Zenia’s mind that nobody had been doing so earlier. Had somebody—this Zyndar Garlok, perhaps—deliberately kept the agents from the task? Or, with nobody on the throne following the princes’ deaths and prior to Targyon’s coronation, had they all failed to take the initiative? The thought galled her, and she planned to give Garlok a verbal lashing when she met him, zyndar or not.
“Lost in thought?” Jev glanced at her as they walked through the courtyard, passing vibrant birds of paradise and belladonna lilies already in bloom.
Zenia almost mentioned her suspicions about Garlok, but since Jev was also zyndar, and they all seemed to know each other, she hesitated to berate the man. Targyon hadn’t seemed impressed by him, but Zenia ought to wait until she’d at least met him to form an opinion. And voice it.
“This morning, I overheard a comment from a couple of Earth Order monks,” she said instead, something she’d meant to bring up to him as soon as they were away from the prying eyes in the city. “It has me itching to go talk to their archmage.”
“Was it related to the princes’ deaths? Or did you hear that they’re hiring over there, and you’re already ready to abandon me—and the king?” He grinned at her, but something akin to genuine concern lurked in his dark brown eyes. Did he truly think she would do that? Apparently, he hadn’t heard about her new status as outcast among the Orders. Not that she would leave the king after two days even if she were offered her old job back.
“They implied their archmage wanted something from Targyon and expected him to deliver. Since he owes the Orders for his appointment.”
“Do you think the Orders could have had something to do with the princes’ deaths? That one of the archmages might have wanted Targyon on the throne for a specific reason?”
“They’re the ones who collectively decided to put him there, and I imagine they all have their reasons, but I’m not assuming anything about the princes’ deaths yet. As a former inquisitor sworn to defend the kingdom and the tenets of the founders, I’d like to say no, it’s impossible that a representative from one of the re
ligious Orders would think of murder. But I can’t. We would be best not to rule out anything this early in the investigation.”
“True.”
“Do you want to come with me to question the various archmages?” Zenia asked. “Or do you think our resources would be better spent if we split up? One of us should do some research on the disease and try to figure out if it truly was a virus of some kind. Are you qualified to do that?”
“I’m not qualified for much in this new job, but I can question some experts.”
“I didn’t think zyndars were ever self-effacing,” Zenia said, surprised by the comment. He’d worked in the army’s intelligence unit—led it, from what she’d heard—so he couldn’t be that unqualified for this kind of work.
They turned down a side aisle in the courtyard garden, toward doors that would lead to the intelligence office rather than straight into the great room.
“The Code of Honor doesn’t require self-effacement. I’ll see what I can find out about the illness, but it can wait a few hours if you want me to come with you to talk to the Order archmages. I’m tall enough that I can loom fairly effectively, and the scar makes me look like a brutish combat veteran.” He touched the wound on his right cheek—it looked like a sword had once come close to removing his eye.
“I don’t think so,” Zenia said.
Jev stopped at the path that led to the side entrance. “You don’t think I can loom? Or you don’t think I’m brutish?”
“I don’t think I need you to come.”
“Ah.”
Belatedly, it occurred to her that he might have wanted to come. She couldn’t imagine why, as she knew her company wasn’t witty or scintillating—unless compared to the interrogation-loving Inquisitor Marlyna. But on the chance she’d made him feel rejected, she explained further.
“I just don’t want to waste your time dragging you around the city. I’m used to having Rhi. She used to go everywhere with me for looming purposes.”
“Was it hard for her to loom when she’s three inches shorter than you?”
“No, she’s stouter. And has that big stick.” Zenia smiled briefly. “But now, she puts herself in danger even talking to me.”
“In danger? How?” Jev leaned forward, and she imagined she could see hackles bristling protectively.
“Not physically. But of losing her job. My choice has marked me… Well, I guess Archmage Sazshen has been vocal about how disappointed she is with me, and she’s made it clear that people working for the Orders, including my old friends, should avoid me.”
“I’m sorry. That must be hard.”
Zenia shrugged, for some reason uncomfortable with the sympathy in his eyes. “I just have to make sure Rhi doesn’t have a reason to seek me out. She’s known to flout the rules.”
“I gathered that when she stalked down those bare-chested men playing ball on the beach. Monks are supposed to be celibate, aren’t they?”
“She interprets that word loosely.”
“Well, if she can’t go with you, then you’ll definitely want my company.” They reached the side door, a single guard posted next to it, and Jev held it open while smiling at her.
Despite her focus on the case, Zenia found herself pausing to admire the gesture. Scar or no scar, he definitely wasn’t brutish. His neatly trimmed beard highlighted his strong jaw, his straight white teeth gleamed during his frequent smiles, and his dark eyes were always eager to give off an alluring twinkle. Few men had ever twinkled at her.
“I’ll accept your company, thank you. Will tomorrow morning work? I want to go over whatever reports on the archmages I can find in the office before going to speak with them.” Zenia wondered what the Crown Agents’ report on Archmage Sazshen might look like. Would they have it all wrong? Or would she be amazed by how much the agents knew about all the religious leaders in the capital?
“Tomorrow is fine. In the meantime, I’ll see if anyone took any samples of the princes’ blood before they were interred. It’s a long shot, I’m sure, and even if they did, I don’t know how helpful it would be to study under a microscope weeks later, but you never know. A medical expert might find it useful.”
“That’s a good idea.” Zenia had occasionally talked to experts in medicine and science when she’d been on cases, and she’d often found it illuminating.
“Thank you.” Jev beamed another smile at her as they walked down a windowless hallway, a few guttering lanterns slightly brightening the way, and she resolved to compliment his ideas more often. He smiled often, surprising given how soul-stealing the last ten years must have been for him, but these private just-for-her smiles were a new thing. And she couldn’t deny their appeal.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while,” Jev said, slowing before they reached the closed door that marked their new office.
“A while? It’s only been a week since we met.”
“True, but it was an eventful week. I barely slept at all while we got to know each other intimately. And nakedly. For some people, those would be the same thing.”
Zenia remembered being stripped in front of the Fifth Dragon crime lady, Iridium. There had, indeed, been nothing intimate about that, except that she could say she’d seen Jev naked and that he had an attractive body to match the smile.
“Go ahead,” Zenia said, realizing he was waiting. For her permission to ask his question? It seemed strange to think someone from the zyndar class would bother.
“Would you like to get dinner one night after work?”
Her first thought was to respond that she got dinner every night after work, but awareness trickled into her. “On a date?”
“Yes. I—”
The door opened, and one of the older and more portly agents ambled out, already reaching for his buckle as he headed for the closest latrine. He saw them and lowered his hand from his belt.
“Zyndar Dharrow,” he greeted respectfully as Jev and Zenia stepped apart so he could pass. He looked at Zenia. “And Zenia.” He smiled, his gaze dipping toward her chest briefly. Not briefly enough.
“Miss Cham, if you please, Mr. Brokko.” She didn’t bother to disguise her irritation at the casual address. As newly appointed leaders of the intelligence office, she expected to struggle to get the two zyndar men working there to address her with any respect, but the others were commoners, the same as she, and as their boss, she deserved a respectful address. Granted, she hadn’t had a chance to prove herself yet, but she would. They could show some politeness until she did.
The man snorted and looked at Jev. “Uppity, isn’t she?”
Jev’s eyes widened in indignation, and she once again imagined him like a guard dog with hackles rising. “Miss Cham is your boss, Brokko. I’ve seen her punch people for irritating her.”
“I’m not worried about a girl’s punch.”
“I’ve punched people for irritating her,” Jev said, his voice low, his eyes hard.
Even though Zenia preferred to take care of herself and didn’t like relying on anyone else, she couldn’t help but feel warmth at having Jev come to her defense. He was always so quick to smile and joke, but she’d seen his serious side a few times before and found it intriguing.
“Huh,” Brokko said, stepping back and glancing at her. “Must be nice to have a zyndar leashed up and ready to fling into battle.” His second nod toward Jev wasn’t as respectful, but he hurried past without delivering further insults.
Jev watched him leave, his eyes slitted. He had once suggested that he could be her zyndar if she wished it, but she was fairly certain he had been joking, trying to make her feel better after she’d been caught in that rockfall.
“Is it too soon to start formulating lists of suspects from within the office?” Zenia asked when the man had disappeared into the latrine.
The thirteen agents that worked inside were all people they had inherited from King Abdor and that they didn’t know well. That Zenia didn’t know well. Any one of them could be an informa
nt for the underworld crime guilds or someone else.
Jev arched his eyebrows. “Is that a joke or do you have a reason to suspect our colleagues?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “A reason such as someone might have warned Dr. Bandigor that we were coming? Which might have prompted him to take his life before being blamed for something? Or did someone want to keep him from revealing what he knew?”
She nodded, glad he’d also found the man’s death—and its timing—suspicious, even if they hadn’t been able to determine if it had been suicide or murder. “Not many people outside of the office know we’re on this assignment.”
“True.” He gestured to the office door. “But we may want to spend more than a day on the job before accusing our colleagues of crimes.”
“How political.”
“You’ve discovered my true worth. As a diplomat.” Jev smirked, but it was perhaps not as much of a joke as he thought.
She’d seen him trade a few words with Master Grindmor and win the dwarf to their side, and dwarves were not known for being easily winnable. She suspected the army had chosen him for linguistics training only partially due to an aptitude for words. They’d likely thought he would do a good job speaking—and swaying people—on their behalf.
Maybe taking him along to interview the archmages would be a good idea. Less for looming and more for smiling and charming people.
“An odd claim given that you just threatened to punch someone,” was all she said aloud.