Many thanks to those of you who read all of Eye of Truth (Agents of the Crown, Book 1) on my blog this summer. The ebook is now releasing on Amazon where it’ll be exclusive for the rest of 2018, so I need to take it down from my site. I am allowed to leave up a couple of preview chapters, so those are below for anyone who missed the earlier postings.
If you’re not an Amazon-shopper, look for Agents of the Crown in 2019 at Kobo, Apple, Barnes & Noble, and Google Play. Also look for my recent series Heritage of Power and Sky Full of Stars to come out of Amazon exclusivity and into those stores this fall.
If you hate waiting, you can always sign up for my Patreon campaign. For $5 a pop, you can get my novels (in both e-reader formats and also as a PDF) before they are published.
If you like Amazon just fine, here are the links to Book 1 (available today) and Book 2 (coming on August 31st).
Eye of Truth
Book 2: Blood Ties
And here you’ll find the blurb and first two chapters of Eye of Truth:
Description
After ten years at war, Jev Dharrow looks forward to hanging up his sword, relaxing with a cool mug of ale, and forgetting that the love of his life married another man while he was gone. But when his ship sails into port, a beautiful woman wearing the garb of an inquisitor from one of the religious orders waits to arrest him.
His crime?
He’s accused of stealing an ancient artifact with the power to start another war. Jev would gladly hand over the artifact to stop more suffering, but he has no idea where it is or even what it looks like. The inquisitor woman definitely has the wrong person.
Inquisitor Zenia Cham grew up with nothing, but she has distinguished herself as one of the most capable law enforcers in the city, and she’s next in line to become archmage of her temple. All she has to do is find the Eye of Truth, and her superiors are certain that Jev has it.
He tries to charm her with his twinkling eyes and easy smile, but she’s not letting any man get between her and her dreams. Especially not a thief.
If Jev can’t convince Zenia they’re on the same side, find the artifact, and clear his name, his homecoming will turn into a jail sentence. Or worse.
Chapter 1
Inquisitor Zenia Cham crouched atop a parked wagon, observing the brick square in front of the Temple of the Water Order. Observing and waiting.
Pedestrians ambled through the area, buying from vendors, ignoring beggars, and tossing pebbles into the dragon fountain for luck. Two boys waded through the water, scrambled up the statue, and giggled as they stuck their fingers into the dragon’s nostrils in an attempt to plug the streams shooting out of them.
Zenia almost yelled for them to get off the fountain—that statue represented the Blue Dragon founder of the Water Order and deserved respect—but she had a greater criminal to catch.
“He’s not going to come back here,” her colleague whispered from behind her.
“You’re doubting my ability to read a criminal’s intentions in his actions?” Zenia arched her brows and smiled over her shoulder.
Rhi Lin leaned casually against the wagon’s dormant smoke stack, but she also scrutinized the square from their elevated perch, her dark brown eyes missing little. “I’m doubting anyone would be stupid enough to return to the scene of his crime. Twenty minutes after committing it.”
“Judging by the nervous way he kept glancing over his shoulder, he knew we were following him. And his hand strayed often to his purse full of stolen coins. Those were hesitant touches. I believe he knows he won’t escape and that he’s decided to return the offering to the temple charity plate in the hope that we’ll let him go.”
“Your rock tell you that?” Rhi glanced at the front of Zenia’s robe.
Zenia’s dragon-tear gem wasn’t visible, but her colleague knew well that she kept it on a chain around her neck.
“I didn’t need magic to deduce our criminal’s motives.”
“So, you’re guessing.” Despite the skeptical curve of Rhi’s lips, she leaned forward onto the balls of her feet, her fingers curled around her bo staff. She was ready to spring into action.
“We’ll see.” Zenia smiled and turned her attention back to the square.
It was a guess, but after more than ten years as an inquisitor, and five years apprenticed to an inquisitor before that, she believed in her guesses. Her deductions. They typically proved correct.
One of the twin bronze-and-wood doors to the temple opened, their massive size and height making the blue-robed figure that stepped out appear diminutive. But the white-haired Archmage Sazshen was anything but diminutive, and when she yelled at the boys to get off the dragon, they leaped down and sprinted away so quickly they tripped over their own feet. Repeatedly.
Sazshen gazed calmly after them, then around the square. Her square.
Uncharacteristic nerves trotted through Zenia’s belly as she realized the temple leader, who was also her employer and mentor, might witness her failing. What if she had guessed wrong? Sazshen would think it odd to find her protégé sunning herself atop a wagon for no reason.
Rhi touched Zenia’s shoulder. “There he is.”
Before Zenia spotted their target, Rhi sprang from the top of the wagon. She landed lightly on the brick pavers, her soft shoes not making a sound as she sprinted through the pedestrians with her bo in hand. People hurried out of the way, though she wouldn’t have knocked anyone aside. Rhi was five and a half feet tall and as stocky as a dwarf, but she had the uncanny agility of an elf.
She weaved through the crowds like a dancer, the six-foot olive-wood staff a natural extension of her body rather than a clunky weapon, and if people hadn’t made exclamations of surprise as she ran past, her target never would have heard her.
But the gaunt man in tattered clothing glanced back and jumped, spotting her sprinting toward him. Rhi had been circling as she ran, perhaps hoping to herd him up the steps and into the temple’s great hall. But he took off down the street instead, heading toward the wagon where Zenia perched.
She hopped down, not with as much agility as her colleague, but she was ready when the man approached, bystanders scattering to get out of the way. Zenia lifted her arms and stepped toward him. She had no great magical attacks she could throw at him, since her gem only lent her powers that were useful in sussing out clues and tracking down criminals, but she prepared to shout a mental command into his mind, a compulsion to stop and surrender.
Before she sent it, he saw her and halted so quickly he tumbled to his knees in front of the dragon fountain. Sheer terror flashed in his eyes, making Zenia feel like some tyrannical troll that ate those who trespassed in its territory.
The man was so gaunt and clad in such tattered clothing that a part of her wished she could let him go, that she could look the other way and let him take the Order’s donation money to buy some fish and flatbread. Times had been difficult for many these last years of the war, and Zenia hadn’t forgotten what it was like to go hungry and to have hunger turn into desperation.
But she had sworn an oath long ago to do the Water Order’s bidding, to protect the interests of the temple and all it employed. If the laws were ignored for one, they might as well be ignored for a thousand. Besides, she could never let a criminal go with Archmage Sazshen looking on.
As Zenia stepped forward, believing the man would give up, he threw another terror-filled look at her and leaped to his feet. He whirled to sprint in the other direction.
By now, Rhi had caught up with him. She launched a fist at his face. His nose crunched loudly enough that Zenia heard it from several paces away, even over the rumble of a nearby steam carriage and the gurgle of the fountain. The blow dropped the man to his back.
As Zenia approached, Rhi knelt to pat down the thief. Groaning and dazed, the man brought shaky hands to his nose but did not object to the search.
Rhi produced a jangling pouch and handed it up to Zenia. A witness in the temple had seen the man slip the donation coins into the pouch, so there was no question that they belonged to the Order.
“All those hours I spend sparring with Jagarr and throwing sandbags around in the gym,” Rhi said, shaking her head, “and criminals are more terrified of you than they are of me.”
She truly sounded disgusted.
“It’s the pin that terrifies them.” Zenia accepted the pouch and pointed to the dragon claw pin attached to the front of her robe, the pin that marked her as an inquisitor. “Those with sins staining their souls get nervous when an inquisitor of any of the Orders comes around.”
“I’m not arguing that, but you’ve got a special reputation in the city. And don’t tell me you don’t know it.”
Zenia grimaced as Rhi hefted the thief to his feet, tears streaming from the man’s eyes. She was aware of her reputation and the fact that she was known as the Frost Mage—and occasionally the Frost Bitch, depending on who was listening.
She never knew how to feel about it. In the early years, she had been proud, because it had come about due to all the crimes she’d solved, all the underworld felons she’d located and brought in. She’d risen to her current level of fame—or perhaps infamy, at least in the eyes of guilty parties—three years ago after finding and defeating the elusive Dark Stalker, a man who’d raped and murdered his way up and down the kingdom coast.
She remained proud that she was good at her job, but her reputation did lead to a degree of isolation that she hadn’t anticipated. Even within the temple, she had few friends, and she wasn’t sure why that was. It had been years since a man had asked her out to dinner or for a walk on the beach. Even though she was focused on her career and told herself companionship wasn’t important, she sometimes wondered if she would die without ever marrying and having children, without finding someone she loved and who loved her.
Her gaze drifted up the long marble steps to where Archmage Sazshen still stood, now gazing down at them. Sazshen was everything Zenia longed to be, with a career and power that nobody could take from her, but she’d also never married and she had no children. By choice? Or because she, too, had been feared by men rather than loved by them?
Realizing that Rhi was almost to the top of the stairs with the prisoner, Zenia trotted up after them. She hoped the gaunt man wouldn’t be punished unduly for his crimes, especially since the money had been recovered before it could be spent.
Archmage Sazshen regarded him with cold eyes.
“Dungeon, Archmage?” Rhi asked.
“Dungeon.” Sazshen nodded firmly. “Brakkor will drop a few lashes on his back to ensure he thinks twice about stealing again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rhi escorted her charge into the cool temple interior.
Zenia was glad the man would receive a whipping rather than the traditional punishment for theft, having his hand cut off. Thankfully, all the Orders had grown more lenient in dispensing justice these last few years. It was anything but a time of prosperity for the kingdom, and half the city would be without hands if punishments remained as harsh as they had been historically. Even so, Zenia was glad she was usually assigned tough cases, men and women who had done far more evil than swiping a few coins from the Order’s coffers.
“How did you convince the thief to return to the temple?” Sazshen asked. “I’m sure your monk appreciates having such a short walk to the dungeon with her recalcitrant prisoner.”
Your monk. As if Archmage Sazshen didn’t know Rhi’s name. A few dozen monks lived in or worked for the temple, but that wasn’t so many that one couldn’t learn their names. And Rhi, as one of only two female monks here, was memorable.
“He convinced himself, Archmage.”
“Handy.”
“I thought so.” Zenia thought about mentioning that Rhi had wanted to head to the public market, believing the thief would rush to spend his ill-gotten coin there, and that it had been she who’d deduced the criminal’s route. She shouldn’t feel the need to brag, and it irritated her that she still had the urge to do so, to point out that she’d done something clever. She’d passed her thirty-second birthday, and she was established in her profession. Why did she still feel the need for praise?
“I sensed your approach and came out to meet you.” Sazshen touched the tear-shaped gem that she wore openly on the outside of her robe, an intricate representation of the fountain in front of the temple carved into its surface. Most people who owned the valuable gems hid them, lest they tempt the desperate and the hungry.
“Do you need something more than thieves from me?” Zenia asked.
“I wish to take you to lunch.”
“Ah.” Zenia had hoped for more interesting news, but she was always willing to spend time with her mentor. “I would be happy to dine with you.”
“I thought we would discuss my retirement.”
“Again?” Zenia smiled.
Archmage Sazshen had been threatening to retire for years. More than once, she’d hinted that she might suggest Zenia to her colleagues at the other temples as a possible replacement, but Zenia hadn’t been holding her breath. Even though she liked to think her work and dedication to the Order would make her ideal for the position, there were other mages and inquisitors who were more eligible. Older and more experienced. And from the nobility. Even though the temples supposedly promoted people equally these days, and ignored kingdom titles, the bias was there. And Zenia was… well, her father had never acknowledged her existence, so it didn’t matter that she was technically half zyndar.
“Many have watched your work and your career with interest,” Sazshen said. “Archmages are usually at least in their fifties before they’re considered wise and mature enough for the position—if Archmage Xan’s tendency to place noise-maker cushions on the chairs of his colleagues at meetings can be considered mature—but I’ve mentioned your name numerous times, and I believe they’re considering you. If you were to complete one more high-profile task for the Order, I suspect they could be swayed.”
Zenia clasped her hands behind her back. “I would certainly be honored to be chosen for the position, Archmage.”
Was it possible a high-profile task was already on the horizon? Perhaps some new crafty criminal was at work right now, harming the Order or the subjects of the kingdom.
“As it happens, I have a challenging assignment for you right now.”
“Oh?” Zenia leaned forward on her toes, not bothering to hide her eagerness. It had been weeks, if not months, since she’d had a truly demanding assignment. The capital city of Korvann had been unusually restful since news of the king’s death and the end of the war had arrived, as if its one million residents believed a period of prosperity would return now that resources would no longer be funneled across the sea to the north.
“I find it encouraging that you appear more excited about an assignment than a promotion,” Sazshen said, smiling slightly.
“You know I enjoy the challenge of my job, Archmage.”
“Indeed I do. I suspect that would have to be one of the stipulations of the promotion, that you would continue to tackle difficult assignments as an inquisitor.”
“Is that a possibility?” Zenia had dreamed often of rising all the way to archmage, not only the highest position in the Water Order Temple, but, because this temple presided over the capital city, one of the highest positions in the entire kingdom. Only the Fire, Earth, and Air Order archmages would be her equals. For a girl of her dubious origins… it was amazing to think that she might rise so far.
“You would be the boss over the whole temple. You would make the rules.”
“That sounds encouraging.”
Sazshen patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s save that talk for the future and discuss this new assignment. You wouldn’t mind arresting a zyndar, would you?”
Zenia imagined her eyes flaring with inner fire. Usually the kingdom’s nobles were untouchable, above most of the laws of the land—and they knew it—but if a crime was grievous enough, they could be brought in for an inquisition and punishment. And she loved bringing in those arrogant entitled sots. Maybe it made her petty, but she couldn’t help it. So many of them did not deserve all that they had.
“I would not mind,” Zenia said calmly, hoping her feelings didn’t show.
“Good. Good. Because an artifact was stolen from the temple several years ago. Now that the war is over, and the soldiers are returning home, we may be able to get it back. You may be able to get it back.”
“I’m ready. Who has it?”
“Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow.”
Chapter 2
Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow gripped the railing as the ship turned, knifing through the gleaming waves of the Anchor Sea, and Korvann came into sight. The war hadn’t touched these shores, and the capital was as he remembered it, the whitewashed plaster walls, the red-clay tile roofs, and the four pillars to the four founding dragons rising up from the winter, spring, summer, and fall quarters of the city. The brown waters of the Jade River delta still marked Korvann’s eastern border, with few attempting to build inland along the waterway, not with the dense mangrove swamps rising along the muddy shores for miles.
Claps, cheers, and shouts came from behind Jev as the ship sailed closer. All he felt like doing was throwing up.
He rubbed his face. The feeling in his stomach wasn’t nerves, not exactly. He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d longed for an end to the war for so long, it had become a habit, but he wasn’t sure what he was coming home to. His crusty old father? The woman who hadn’t waited?
Someone walked up from behind and thumped Jev on the shoulder. “Is the city as wondrous a sight to you as it is to me, Captain?” the cheerful voice asked.
Jev attempted to arrange his face into an expression of good cheer as Second Lieutenant Targyon joined him at the rail.
“Korvann remains beautiful,” Jev said, hoping the young officer wouldn’t notice that he didn’t quite answer the question.
Targyon, one of fallen King Abdor’s nephews, hadn’t earned a reputation as a great warrior or dauntless leader during his two years at the front, but his bookishness had lent itself toward craftiness. Despite the affable smile that made him seem simple rather than shrewd, the twenty-two-year-old man didn’t miss much.
“I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever again see a settlement that wasn’t full of death and booby traps. And I was only out there for two years. I can only imagine what this moment must be like to you after ten. That’s almost half my lifetime.” Targyon shook his head.
“Yes.” Jev lowered his voice when he added, more to himself than to his young officer, “Long enough to grow jaded to death and fear and pain and to almost forget one’s identity. But not quite long enough to forget… other things.”
Targyon’s brow furrowed.
Jev forced a smile onto his face. “I’m looking forward to getting smashing drunk and sleeping it off on the beach under one of those thatch umbrellas,” he offered, both because that was what so many of the men had expressed longing for and because it did sound appealing right now.
“That’s how you’ll celebrate? You won’t go home to see your father? Your mother has passed, hasn’t she? You never mentioned if there was anyone else.”
Jev locked that smile onto his face, though it wanted to drop off onto the deck of the ship.
Naysha, her name floated into his mind. He’d thought he had gotten over her, come to accept that she had moved on. It had been years now. But seeing the city he’d visited so often in his youth and knowing he would soon ride past the farms and vineyards of his family’s estate brought all the memories back. Too many memories.
“No,” Jev said. “There’s no one else.”
Oh, he had cousins, aunts, and uncles aplenty, but they weren’t the ones occupying his thoughts.
Since Targyon looked like he might pry, Jev hurried to add, “What will you do, Lieutenant?”
“Go back to school and finish my classes. Become a professor of the sciences, as I’d always planned. This…” Targyon extended a hand backward, encompassing the hundred-odd men out on the deck, the soldiers who had survived countless battles, fighting for a king who’d never been able to see that the war was unwinnable. “This was a startling dose of reality and something I’ll always remember, but I wasn’t a soldier two years ago when I joined you in Taziira, and in my heart, I know I’m still not. I do appreciate you letting me tag along, letting me get myself into trouble even.”
Targyon offered a lopsided grin, silently alluding to how few zyndar captains had wanted the king’s scholarly nephew in their company. But he’d fit in well with the intelligence-gathering Gryphon Company, and Jev had never minded having him along. He hadn’t been a burden.
“You’re a soldier,” Jev said. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently. You became a soldier the day you stopped hiding under the table in the mess hall and started helping me ferret out the activities of the Taziir.”
“Thought I saw the boy under the table last week,” came a deep male voice from behind them, the timbre reminiscent of rocks grinding together.
“Only because I dropped my fig,” Targyon said, turning toward Cutter, the only dwarf who’d fought with the kingdom army during the war.
Red-haired, red-bearded, and barefoot, Cutter wore a belt full of weapons and tools that would have brought most men to their knees with its weight. After almost five years, Jev still didn’t know his real name. Cutter assured him it was too difficult for humans to pronounce, even though Jev spoke six languages in addition to a smattering of Preskabroton Dwarf.
“That wasn’t a prize I was willing to let go easily,” Targyon added. “Considering nothing but berries grow on the elves’ benighted continent.”
“So long as there was a reason your dusty butt was top-up like a dirt flower sprouting from a rock.”
“A dirt flower? Is that an actual plant?” Targyon arched his eyebrows at Jev.
“Maybe,” Jev said, “but dwarves have about fifty words for dirt. It’s possible there wasn’t a more apt translation.”
“I hope you’re not mocking my language, human.” Cutter pointed the hook that replaced his missing right hand up at Jev’s face. “I’d hate to have to break your nose when you’ve somehow managed to survive all these years of battles without a blow to crook it.”
Cutter’s own nose looked like a sculptor’s drunken apprentice had battered at it for years with a hammer.
“You’d better treat my nose well,” Jev said, “if you want that introduction to the city’s master gem cutter.”
“Arkura Grindmor,” Cutter said, his tone managing to take on a wistful quality without losing any of its harshness. He faced the railing and the city. Their vessel had sailed close enough that the masts and smokestacks of docked ships blocked the view of the waterfront, but meandering streets climbed up the slope from the harbor with buildings visible as they stretched up and over the ridge. “Can we see the master today? Do you know where the workshop is located?”
“I do know where his shop is, assuming it hasn’t moved in the last ten years.” Jev looked to Targyon since he’d been in the city far more recently.
“I don’t think she’s moved in ten years,” he said dryly.
“There’s plenty of moving involved in bringing out the magic in a gem,” Cutter said. “I’m sure she’s as sound as a boulder.”
“That’s a compliment, right?” Targyon asked.
Jev nodded. “For a dwarf, yes. He’s practically swooning. One wonders if his interest in our city’s master gem cutter isn’t more personal than professional. I hadn’t realized Master Grindmor is a, er, woman.” Considering he’d seen the dwarf a few times and even gone to the shop once, it was somewhat alarming that he hadn’t known that.
“She does have that appealing beard.” Targyon scraped his fingers through his own beard. It was on the clumpy and scraggly side, but Jev’s wasn’t much better. None of them had bathed, shaved, or had haircuts in he couldn’t remember how long.
“Indeed,” Jev said. “It’s fuller and fluffier than the tail of a wolfhound.”
Cutter squinted up at Jev’s face, perhaps entertaining nose-breaking fantasies again. “I’ve never met her,” was all he said. “But I’ve waited a long time to beg her to take me on and teach me.”
Cutter touched one of the many leather pouches and kits attached to his belt, one that held his jewelry tools. He had often put those tools to use while assisting the army, repairing and improving the dragon-tear gems that some of the officers wielded. They were the only source of magical power in the world that humans could draw upon and use, and they’d been imperative in surviving against the magical Taziir. Jev didn’t know what more the dwarf hoped to learn about carving, but he owed it to Cutter to help him gain an apprenticeship if he wanted one.
“King Alderoth?” a man asked as he approached Targyon. It was Lieutenant Morfan, one of the signal officers.
“What?” Targyon’s brow furrowed at the incorrect address.
Jev wondered if they had both misheard it. The earnest Lieutenant Morfan wasn’t known for telling jokes. Or laughing at the ones others told.
“Sire.” Morfan dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “You may have noticed the flag message we received a short while ago.”
Jev and Targyon glanced toward the high stone walls that stretched into the Anchor Sea, creating a protected harbor for the docks and swimming beaches. A semaphore soldier had been atop it earlier, waving his colored flags toward the Fleet Stallion. Since Jev was colorblind, he’d never tried to add the semaphore code to his repertoire of languages, but he did remember thinking the flags had been waving about more quickly than usual. More urgently?
“Uhm, yes, but whatever you think you saw must have been a mistake if…” Targyon spread a helpless hand and glanced to Jev, as if he had some idea what was going on.
He did not. As his father’s eldest—and now only—son, Jev knew how the government and the succession worked, but he couldn’t think of anything that would account for this. King Abdor was dead, but according to the last reports Jev’s company had received, his three sons were alive with Crown Prince Dazron running the kingdom.
“It’s not a mistake, Sire. I checked three times to be certain. I, too, was… surprised.” The lieutenant lifted his head but only enough to glance up at Targyon. “The three princes died of a rare disease of the blood, all within weeks of each other and all quite suddenly. This left the kingdom without a named heir. The four archmages of the Orders came together and debated the merits of the children of the king’s sisters.”
Jev scratched his bearded jaw and watched Targyon’s face as the story unfolded. His mouth hung open. No, it was frozen open. The expression stamped there held both horror and disbelief.
Horror for the deaths of the princes, Jev guessed. He didn’t know how close Targyon was with his cousins, but unlike their warmongering father, they had been well-liked among the populace. And disbelief because—
“I’m the youngest,” Targyon managed to blurt. “Of six boys. My mother is the oldest of my uncle’s sisters, yes, but Himon, Dralyn, and—four hells, all of them would be before me.”
“I don’t claim to understand, Sire.” The lieutenant was careful to use the royal honorific. Whether this proved to be a mistake or not, he wouldn’t risk failing to respect the possibility. “I just know what I read in the flags. The ship’s captain would like you to join him. We’ll be docking shortly, and he’s arranging a suitable bodyguard for you. Representatives of the Orders, including Archmage Petor, should be waiting to explain everything to you.”
“Bodyguard,” Targyon mouthed, then looked to Jev again.
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Jev said, figuring Targyon would appreciate a familiar title right now. “I don’t know what to tell you, but I do know the oldest-is-considered-first rule is only for the king’s direct descendants. In this situation, the precedent is for the archmages to decide among themselves which of the potential heirs that put themselves forward would be best for the kingdom.”
“Put themselves forward?” Targyon brightened at this potential loophole. “I didn’t do that. That makes this a mistake. Or maybe they assumed since I volunteered to serve in the army that I would—no, this must be a mistake. And I can get out of it, right?”
“You’ll have to discuss it with the archmages,” Jev said neutrally. He couldn’t imagine young Targyon saying no or even arguing with those intimidating figures. Few did. On paper, the Orders and the kingdom government had equal power over the land, but the archmages tended to get what they wanted, especially in those rare incidents when all four Orders worked together toward a common goal.
“I will.” Targyon nodded firmly and turned, almost tripping over the lieutenant who still knelt, his head bowed. “Where’s the ship’s captain, Morfan?”
“Permission to rise, Sire?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Morfan stood. “I’ll take you to him.”
Jev felt numb as he watched them go, having a hard time envisioning Targyon as king. Even if he only dove under tables these days for figs.
How had this happened? A disease of the blood? That struck down all three princes in the prime of their lives? By the founders, that was as unlikely as a dragon cave without treasure in it. Jev hoped the Orders’ inquisitors were crawling all over the castle looking for signs of foul play. He imagined every newspaper in the city speculating that the Taziir were behind it.
But why would they be? The elves had won the war. Their archers had found the cracks in Abdor’s armor and taken him down, leaving no one else who cared to continue the assault. The kingdom was no further threat to Taziira.
“That boy is going to be a king?” Cutter asked. He’d been silent during the exchange, but he scratched his head vigorously with his hook now. If the metal appendage bit into his scalp, he didn’t notice it. “He’s barely out of diapers.”
Jev didn’t voice an objection to the observation since he was more than ten years older than Targyon and also had a tendency to think of him as a boy. What had the Orders been thinking?
A green-clad figure with pointed ears and silver hair walked toward Jev and Cutter, his pack slung over one shoulder and his longbow visible over the other. His elegant facial features were impossible to read as he glanced past them and toward the ships. The Fleet Stallion was only seconds from sliding into one of several vacant slips along the main dock—other troop transport ships trailed behind, waiting their turns.
The sailors scurrying about preparing the Stallion glanced uneasily at the elf.
“You decide to take me up on my offer, Lornysh?” Jev asked.
Lornysh arched a slender silver eyebrow, first at Jev, then at Cutter. “To share a guest room with a snoring dwarf?”
“My family has a castle. There’s more than one guest room.”
“Are there trees?” Lornysh’s ice-blue eyes shifted, his gaze sweeping across the city.
Here and there, squat olive trees rose between buildings, and one could glimpse the dark mangroves stretching up the Jade River, but to an elf accustomed to the dense northern forests across the sea, Jev supposed the foliage seemed sparse.
“There are some trees. My father’s land is fifteen miles that way.” Jev pointed up the river and past the ridge. “Outside of the city. We have fields for the cows and sheep, but there are copses here and there near the water. We have a lovely bog where we grow lots of gort leaves.”
“Hm.” The single note held disapproval, for the paucity of trees rather than for the gort bog, Jev assumed. One didn’t typically disapprove of gort until one had tasted it. Multiple times. Which didn’t take long in Korvann where it was served with almost every meal. “Your people are such… assiduous loggers.”
The pause did nothing to hide Lornysh’s distaste of all things related to humans and their proclivities. That he’d worked so many years as a scout in Gryphon Company, and occasionally even an assassin, was a marvel. He’d never shared his reason for turning on his people, but a few omissions here and there led Jev to believe Lornysh had been cast out for some reason.
“We like to clear them so we can farm and eat, but I can find you some trees on our land,” Jev said. “I would be happy to string you up a hammock outside the castle.”
It would actually be easier for Jev to fulfill his promise of sanctuary to Lornysh if he opted to sleep outside. Perhaps his father need never know an elf was on his land. Not that Jev would lie if the subject came up. His honor wouldn’t permit that.
“You going to live here among the humans, Lorn?” Cutter asked.
“For a few weeks. I wish to see some of their culture and art. I haven’t decided yet what I’ll do after that.”
Jev hadn’t either, and this was his home. Was that odd?
He was sure his father would be quick to put him to work again on the estate, which had to have been neglected since the king had required that Jev recruit eighty of their men to form up a company to join the army with him. So many women had been without their husbands for so long. And some of their husbands would never return.
Jev felt he owed something to the estate for that, especially since he hadn’t been able to keep an eye on his men once he’d been transferred to Gryphon Company, but a job overseeing Dharrow farms, dairy, and craftsmen seemed far too tame to hold his interest after the action of war. All the other men spoke of plans, of all the delightful things they would enjoy now that they were free. And Jev had no idea beyond introducing a dwarf to a bearded woman and finding a hammock for Lornysh.
A blue robe on the docks caught his eye. A woman from the Water Order stood at the base of the recently extended gangplank, a space of several feet around her clear of people, even though soldiers, sailors, and vendors hawking their wares crowded the area. Only one person stood near the robed figure, another woman, this one in a blue monk’s gi. She was as stout as a dwarf, one of their temple’s enforcers, no doubt.
Jev saw the browns, reds, and whites of the other Orders farther up the dock and assumed the temple representatives were here to talk to Targyon. Poor kid. Jev wasn’t sure what was worse. Getting stuck with the job of king or having to deal with the Orders.
“I’ve heard you have to join some kind of criminal guild if you want to be an assassin in a human city,” Cutter said.
“I will join nothing,” Lornysh said.
“So, you’re going to be as social here as you were in the company.”
“There is nothing I wish to say to humans. Or dwarves.”
“Or elves either, apparently,” Cutter said, “seeing as how you’re fine with poking them with arrows these days. Is it hard making friends when you’ll stick pointy metal in anyone you meet?”
Lornysh looked at Jev, as if Jev were Cutter’s handler and could silence him with a jerk of a leash.
“How far is the hammock tree from his room?” Lornysh asked.
“Nearly a mile,” Jev said, waving toward the gangplank. Targyon and six soldiers pressed into bodyguard duty had already descended, and other men were crowding it, eager to escape into the city. “The grounds around the castle were cleared centuries ago, back when squabbles between the zyndar were as common within the kingdom’s borders as battles with surrounding nations.”
“A mile should suffice,” Lornysh said.
“You’re sure? Cutter snores loudly.”
“Are the walls of your castle so thin?”
“The snore of a dwarf is a battering ram even thick walls cannot withstand,” Jev said.
“True.”
Jev walked down the gangplank ahead of his companions, hoping people would notice him first and not make trouble for Lornysh. Not even a half elf would be welcome in the capital these days. A full-blooded one? Jev wanted to get him past the city walls as quickly as possible.
As he walked, he made sure the gold wolf-head clasp securing his gray cloak to his shoulders was visible. The Dharrow family emblem marked him as zyndar, a noble from one of the oldest and most recognizable lines. Commoners here in Korvann, so close to where his family held their land, had always nodded or greeted him with respect.
The blue-robed woman from the Water Order still waited at the bottom of the gangplank. That surprised Jev since Targyon and his escort were moving away from the docks, the colored robes of Order representatives all around him, including someone else in a blue robe.
This woman had dark brown hair pulled back in a braid and an olive-skinned face one might have called beautiful if it had appeared less haughty and aloof. She pinned Jev with a cool green-eyed gaze and stepped forward as he reached the end of the gangplank.
He gave her a nod, recognizing the large silver clasp at her shoulder, the emblem of an inquisitor. He should have guessed from the monk standing at her side. He wondered who on the ship she had been sent to question. A sailor? All the soldiers had been gone for years, so they couldn’t be associated with any recent trouble in the city.
A chain around the woman’s neck suggested a dragon tear hung beneath her robe. For her, the gem’s power would likely manifest as the ability to read minds and tell truths from lies.
After his polite nod, Jev started to move past her, hoping her gaze wouldn’t fix on Lornysh. It was very possible one of the Orders’ law enforcers would opt to pick him up instead of letting him roam free in the city.
As Jev rehearsed the defense he would utter if the woman stopped Lornysh, she reached out a hand to stop him.
“Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow?” she asked, her voice as cool as her eyes.
“Yes?”
“You’re under arrest.”
~
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I don’t know about anyone else but I’m dying for book 2. I am so impatient….I’m going to be hooked on this series.
I really enjoyed the Eye of Truth audiobook! Any idea when the audiobook for Blood Ties will be available? Wondering if I should wait or just break down and read the ebook :-).
Thanks for all the wonderful books over the years! They are such perfect combinations of adventure, humor, and romance!
Hey, Kim! We’re proofing the second audiobook now, so I’m guessing it’ll be up in mid-October. Unfortunately, the audiobooks take a couple of months to produce and get up. Thanks for listening!
When I originally left a comment I appear to have clicked on the -Notify me when new comments are added- checkbox and now
every time a comment is added I get four emails with the same comment.
There has to be a means you can remove me from that service?
Kudos!
Sorry, Kesemutan! I searched and didn’t see your email address subscribed in the database, so I’m hoping you found a way to unsubscribe.
My timing is awesome. Finish Book 2 on 9/7. Book 3 releases 9/8. Pre-buy and get it tomorrow? Yes, please!
Thanks for reading, Jason. I’m writing Book 4 now. 🙂
awaiting 4. want to see arecognitionand marriage. later kids.!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Willie
I’m editing it now, William. I hope to have it ready at the end of October. Thanks for reading!
Love your books. When will Elven Fury be published please.
Hi, Dorothy! I am editing it now and shooting for an end-of-October release. Thanks for reading!
Lindsay, is the 5th book going to be the last of the books in this world, or just the last book in the agents of the crown series? It seems like alot of real estate to just abandon, especially when there’s so much left to explore in this rich world you’ve created.
Are there plans for another series not based around Jev and Zenia?
I’m not normally a fan of romance novels, but you’ve blended this mixture of steam punk and fantasy rather well.
Hi, Kelly!
I’ll be taking a break from the world after Book 5, but it’s always a possibility that I could return one day. I grew up with all those D&D and Tolkien-inspired books, so it was fun to have elves and dwarves and such in the world. 🙂
Any news on release date for book 5 please and, having read the series, which would be the closest next series to read please/
Hi, David! Thanks for reading Agents of the Crown! Book 5 is coming the first week of December. You might enjoy my Dragon Blood series. The first book, Balanced on the Blades’ Edge is free. The Emperor’s Edge is my other big fantasy series, and that’s also free.
This is a great series. Love the interaction between characters. Fast moving story that keeps your interest.
This series is BADLY in need of about 5 more books!!!