“Uh, yes.”
“I think my palm is soft and moisturized now too.” He shifted his hand toward Ji Loo’s nose.
Her eyes widened and she stepped back, but she forgot she was on the stairs and clunked her heel against the riser. She almost pitched backward onto her butt. Jev, Zenia was certain, could have grabbed her in time to steady her, but he merely lowered his hand, watching blandly. Alas, Ji Loo recovered before polishing the steps with her white-robed butt.
Without another word, she rushed around Jev and hurried onto a path leading to a stable.
“It’s possible my charisma isn’t working as promised,” Jev said. “She must also be a member of this placebo group you mentioned.”
“It’s possible all inquisitors are.”
“I am finding it difficult to infect them with my laughter.”
If the blind old woman, close enough to hear this strange conversation, thought anything odd of it, she didn’t say. She merely smiled and gazed sightlessly at the stream.
Zenia took Jev’s arm and led him toward the open door, wondering if she should send him in first to speak with the archmage. Or let him do the speaking while she stood back and analyzed the man. That might work well. In addition to having that charisma, he had a knack for startling emotions out of people with his irreverent comments.
They walked into the deep shade of the spacious temple, the cavernous great room with its candles and dragon statues taking up the front half of the dome. Zenia had visited before and headed across the polished travertine floor toward hallways on the other side, intending to walk straight to the archmage’s office.
But another white-robed figure rose from among several people in civilian clothing, all kneeling before the candles with their heads bowed. The figure, another inquisitor, this time a strong-jawed man with shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair and gentle gray eyes, strode to intercept them.
“Another inquisitor for me to flirt with?” Jev murmured.
“Is that what you were doing with Ji Loo?”
“You couldn’t tell?”
“She hustled away at top speed. Is that the typical result when you flirt with a woman?”
“It’s not my fault she didn’t want to sniff my palm. It smells quite lovely right now.”
“I had no idea working with you was going to be such a unique experience,” Zenia said, lowering her voice since the other inquisitor was nearing them. What was his name? She’d seen him about before but didn’t think he’d had this job for long. Uragran?
She stopped, forcing a smile, though inwardly, she braced herself for more insults. Inquisitors in other temples often considered each other rivals of a sort, but they also treated each other with politeness and respect. Maybe that rule no longer applied to Zenia.
“Zenia Cham?” The man offered his hand. “Uragran Uthors. You’re not looking for our archmage, are you?”
“Yes, is he in?”
“He’s not. He’s gone to a meeting in Drovann to speak with several Air Order archmages from other cities. May I assist you? Ji Loo is the senior-ranking mage in the temple when the archmage is out, but she just left.”
“So unfortunate to have missed her,” Jev murmured.
“I’m next in command, I believe, though I’m told I’m not nearly ferocious enough to lead a temple.” He smiled at Zenia.
It was so different from the reception she’d expected from anyone here that she stared at him with a slack mouth. She glimpsed Jev looking at her, and she snapped her jaw shut.
“Would you be able to answer a few questions?” Zenia asked, though she was disappointed the archmage wasn’t there.
If the Air Order ran its temple the way the Water Order did, its inquisitors wouldn’t be privy to all the secrets the archmage was. A fact that Zenia still resented. If only Sazshen had told her all she knew about that artifact from the beginning, her introduction to Jev could have been far less fraught.
“Yes, certainly,” Uragran said. “I understand you work for the king now?”
“As one of his intelligence-gathering agents, yes.”
“And is this—” Uragran spread a hand toward Jev, who stood a couple of inches taller than he, “—your bodyguard?”
Jev drew back his shoulders, appearing pleased by this unbiased assessment. Any second now, he would start looming.
“I’m her zyndar,” Jev said before Zenia could introduce him as a colleague. “Jev Dharrow.”
“Oh?” Uragran seemed taken aback, but he recovered and bowed. “It’s an honor to receive you in our temple, Zyndar Dharrow. Do you wish to light a candle?”
“No, thanks. And I’ve already received my fortune.” Jev pointed a thumb toward the entrance.
Uragran frowned in disapproval. “I’m certain we could get you a more divinely approved fortune. No charge for a zyndar, of course.”
Zenia decided it wouldn’t be seemly to roll her eyes at the display of preferential treatment. She ought to be happy someone here was amenable to answering questions. Unless he was overly amenable? Was it possible Uragran had been sent to lead Zenia astray? Maybe the archmage was even here in the temple and simply didn’t wish to speak with her. Because he had a truth to hide?
“Not necessary,” Jev said. “We came to see how the Air Order feels about King Targyon. We heard the Earth Order was paramount in selecting him over older and wiser relatives who might have been suited to the position.”
“The Earth Order? I fear you’re mistaken, zyndar. They objected to Targyon as king. It was Water, Fire, and Air that banded together and cast their votes for him.”
“Ah, I must have heard incorrectly. Why did you support such a youthful king?”
“I had no say, you understand.” Uragran touched his chest. “I’m told the archmage received a vision from the White Dragon, and there was no doubt as to the content. Young King Targyon sat upon the throne, ushering in a peaceful and economically thriving era for Kor.”
“A vision?” Zenia couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.
Sazshen had never claimed to receive visions. The dragon founders had left the world millennia ago. Why would they be sending visions to people?
Uragran spread his arms. “I only know what I was told, though my dragon tear did not inform me of any dishonesty from the archmage. Have you not experienced visions, former inquisitor Cham?”
“No.”
“No?” He truly seemed taken aback. “Not in all your years serving the Blue Dragon?”
“You probably didn’t inhale enough of the blessed incense,” Jev muttered to her.
She might have snorted, but it was true that the incense burned in the prayer rooms tended to prompt hallucinations. Or visions, if one wanted to interpret them that way. Many of the mages and disciples did.
“I would be happy to take you to our prayer room and guide you through a cleansing if you wish to experience a vision,” Uragran told her. “And, ah, you too, Zyndar Dharrow.”
“I prefer to get cleansed with beer and wine.”
Uragran’s forehead creased.
“Old King Abdor was the same way,” Jev offered. “I’m not sure about the princes. I didn’t know them as well. Did you? Prince Dazron was born under the air sign, I understand. He must have come to the temple for guidance from time to time.”
Zenia hadn’t known that, and it occurred to her that she should have. In the past, she had never bothered reading news or gossip about the royal family, caring little for the intrigues that the royals and the zyndars always seemed to be a part of, intrigues that her fellow commoners found so fascinating. But now that she worked for the crown and her case revolved around the royal family, she should spend all her free time learning as much as possible about them. She vowed to do so.
“He was a busy man, but he came occasionally,” Uragran said.
“Did you have any trouble with him?” Zenia asked. “Did he ever butt heads with the archmage?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He was pr
operly respectful of the archmage, despite his modest origins and Dazron’s princely status.”
Uragran spoke earnestly and didn’t ooze guile, but Zenia once again felt disadvantaged without her old dragon tear. She had no way to verify if he was telling the truth. He could have been sent out here to deal with her not because he was in charge but because he was a good liar.
“We were devastated by Prince Dazron’s abrupt passing,” Uragran added. “And that of his younger brothers. They were not of the air sign, but they were, nonetheless, good people. Any one of them would have been a good leader, I believe. Certainly less stress-inspiring than… my pardon.” He bowed his head. “It’s not appropriate to speak ill of the dead.”
“Abdor was a handful,” Jev said.
Uragran shook his head, not willing to speak further on the subject, but he didn’t deny that the old king was who he’d had in mind.
“Forgive me, but I have duties to attend,” Uragran said, lifting his head. “I must go. Do you require anything else?”
“Just to use your latrine before I leave,” Zenia said.
Uragran blinked, and his dragon tear, which lay visible over his robe, seemed to glow faintly. Zenia tried to summon a genuine need to use the facilities—maybe she should have slurped some water from the stream on the way to the temple—so Uragran wouldn’t, with his gem’s magical assistance, sense that she was lying.
“It’s back there.” He pointed to the hallway that happened to lead to the archmage’s office. “May I escort you?”
“To the latrine?” Jev raised his eyebrows. “To hold the washout paper for her? I had no idea Air inquisitors provided such an opulent experience to their guests.”
While Uragran blurted a flustered response, Zenia strode quickly away. She trusted Jev understood that she wanted to snoop, for he patted Uragran on the shoulder and asked some question meant to keep him from following her.
Zenia didn’t pretend to open the latrine door and step in. She hustled straight for the archmage’s office at the end of the corridor. She didn’t knock but tried the knob, expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t. She poked her head inside.
The archmage wasn’t there. She hadn’t truly expected him to be, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been. She had a feeling Uragran was lying or perhaps giving her half-truths. Even if she didn’t have a dragon tear and couldn’t be positive, she believed his attempt to distract her by talk of visions had been an intentional diversion.
A half-full glass of peach juice rested on a corner of the desk next to a partially eaten plate of scrambled eggs and gort leaves. The eggs did not appear to be congealed, so if the archmage had truly left town, he’d gone abruptly and less than an hour ago.
Zenia backed out, closing the door. She wished she had a half hour to snoop through the contents of the desk, but she could hear Uragran and Jev speaking in the great hall. The inquisitor would grow suspicious—more suspicious—if she was gone long.
She walked out of the hallway, collected Jev, who was discussing lemon hand lotion with Uragran, and pulled him to the door.
“Did you learn anything useful?” he murmured as they stepped outside. “In the latrine?”
“Just that the Air archmage is likely in town and maybe even in the temple. I wish I had my dragon tear. I could have used it to guide me to other magical sources in the temple, such as the dragon tear he wears.”
“So, you think someone saw us coming and the archmage has a guilty enough conscience that he didn’t want to talk to us?”
“To me, at least.” Zenia couldn’t know if that had to do with guilt or with the fact that she was ostracized. “They thought you were just my bodyguard.”
“Did I loom effectively?”
“I’m not sure. The inquisitor didn’t whiz down his leg in unadulterated terror.”
“True. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the lotion. What now?”
They stopped outside once they were out of the blind woman’s earshot, stepping off the road and into grass growing alongside the stream. A breeze whispered up the valley, stirring the oak and cottonwood branches. A lone olive tree rose up on the opposite side, the stout tree appearing older than the city itself.
“Let’s see if any other archmages are available for a chat,” Zenia said. “After that, back to the castle, I guess.”
Jev nodded. “After I get a list of symptoms and make an appointment with a medical expert, I also want to hunt in the castle library for lineage books.”
“Yes. It would be nice to catch someone in a lie, but maybe finding out more about the disease itself will lead us to the person who created it. Or found it and knew how to put it to use.”
“Either way, I suspect it’s a small group of individuals with the knowledge to do so.”
“If we find that person or persons, they could lead us to whoever hired them,” Zenia said.
“Let’s hope so. For Targyon’s sake.”
Zenia knew it was selfish, but she wanted to solve this case as much for her own sake as for the king’s. She felt she had to prove herself all over again in this new job, and if she didn’t… if Targyon believed he’d made a mistake in hiring her, what then? It was clear none of the other Orders wanted her. Would the watch hire her? She had briefly thought of applying to be a detective there, but the Orders worked closely with and had sway over the watch. What if Sazshen had also forbidden them from speaking with Zenia?
If this didn’t work out, she might not be able to find a job anywhere in the city.
Zenia firmed her chin as she and Jev headed to the next temple. She would solve this crime. And, dragon tear or not, Targyon would see how valuable she was to his team.
6
Jev yawned as he entered the castle’s huge library, its book-stuffed shelves reaching from floor to high ceiling. Two stories of the north wing were devoted to the depository of knowledge. Fortunately, he was too tired to feel daunted by the size of the place and the size of his task. He’d trailed Zenia all over the city, questioning people in each of the four Orders’ temples. Not archmages since they had all been mysteriously absent when he and Zenia had arrived.
Zenia had almost seemed relieved when that happened at the Water Order Temple. Jev couldn’t imagine she wanted to come face to face with her old employer, the woman who believed she’d betrayed the temple. And her.
On the way back to the castle, Zenia had decided they should also check in with the captain of the watch. At least he’d been at his desk and hadn’t hidden himself away before they came in. Not that it had mattered. The captain had claimed he didn’t know anything about the deaths, agreeing only that they had been odd. Terrible bad luck or perhaps something more.
Jev hadn’t found any of their talks that day enlightening. He hoped Zenia had gotten more out of them, perhaps learning something from the lies that had danced with truths. Whether she had or not, she’d skipped dinner when they’d returned and gone straight down to their new office. To see what Abdor’s original agents had managed to gather since she set them on the case.
He couldn’t fault her dedication to duty, but he wondered if she was sleeping. And where she was sleeping if she was. He knew she’d been ordered out of the temple, and she’d refused his offer of a room in his father’s castle. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to go back there, but he hoped she had found a suitable place to relax.
“Lineage records, where are you?” Jev murmured, eyeing the nearby stacks and hoping a page would wander out to assist him.
He’d been in the castle library before when he’d attended balls—in the last couple of decades, it had grown trendy to host social gatherings among one’s book collection, no doubt to show off one’s supposed intelligence—but he’d never tried to do research here.
“Are you speaking to the books?” came a voice from the shadows.
The sun had set an hour earlier, leaving the library largely in the dark save for a few lit wall lanterns near the entry. Jev spotted a figure s
itting cross-legged on a piano bench, ignoring the piano and looking in his direction.
“Tar—Sire? Should you be in here alone? Sitting in the dark?”
There hadn’t been guards at the door, nor did Jev see any bodyguards lurking. He grabbed one of the wall lanterns and carried it toward Targyon.
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” Targyon said.
“I was hoping a page would hear my mumbling and come help me. I didn’t expect the books to respond. Though a talking directory would be handy.”
“There is a non-talking directory if you want to try it.” Targyon pointed toward a massive card catalog. “The pages only work until dusk.”
A closed book rested next to Targyon on the piano bench along with a glass of a dark liquid. “I snuck out of my suite. Mostly to see if I could, to see how long it would take my suffocating protectors to find me.”
“A flattering term for those who have agreed to step in front of an arrow and trade their lives for yours.”
Targyon winced.
Jev lifted an apologetic hand. It wasn’t his place to lecture or act the senior officer to his junior. Not anymore. “Unless the guards sleep in the suite with you, I imagine you won’t be missed until dawn.”
The wince turned into a grimace.
“They don’t, do they? Sleep with you?”
“No. They’re not allowed to sleep on shift. And they stay outside the door. There’s a manservant who wanders in every couple of hours to see if I need help bathing. Or wiping my ass.”
“You didn’t tell him you mastered that in the field?”
“I’d like to think I mastered that by age two.”
“A precocious child, were you?”
“My mother said so.” Targyon smiled faintly and took a large swig of his drink.
Jev would have assumed it to be alcohol—even though he hadn’t known Targyon to consume the stuff often, he could see where his new duties would drive him to drink—but he caught a whiff of pomegranate and realized it was juice. Maybe it should have been alcohol.