Blood Ties

  Blood Ties

  Agents of the Crown, Book 2

  Lindsay Buroker

  Copyright © 2018 by Lindsay Buroker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  1

  “I don’t think it’s fair that your noble righteousness ruined my life.”

  Zenia cocked an eyebrow at her friend as they walked around a fountain marking the entrance to the Silver Ridge shopping district. The armor-clad zyndar warrior at the center of the water feature appeared far more interested in slaying trolls and golems than highlighting discounts and bargains. Not that either was to be had in the exclusive district.

  “Are you referring to me letting that elf princess have her artifact back?” Zenia asked.

  “Unless you’ve done something else to ruin my life lately.” Rhi Lin, monk of the Water Order, thumped the butt of her bo against the cobblestones for emphasis.

  A bejeweled woman in furs that were far too warm for the late spring day curled a lip at the overly boisterous thumping and murmured something to the gilded ladies browsing with her. Nobody dared say anything, not when Rhi wore her blue gi and wielded that bo with authority, but Zenia had already heard a few snide comments about commoners in the wrong part of town.

  “You still have your job at the temple,” Zenia said. “Regular pay, a room to stay in, monkly vows of chastity to follow. I fail to see how my actions affected your life in the least.”

  “I don’t work with you anymore.” Rhi’s tone held genuine anguish as she gave Zenia an exasperated look. “Why did you let yourself get kicked out? After ten years of working as an inquisitor and establishing a reputation as the best in the city? And twenty years in the temple. They took you in and taught you to read, didn’t they? How could you just leave?”

  As if she’d had a choice.

  “I’m trying to decide if my personality is truly so endearing that you’re having difficulty living without me there,” Zenia said, “or if you got stuck working with someone unappealing.”

  Rhi cleared her throat so vigorously she drew another lip curl from a well-dressed passerby, a man this time, arms full of recently acquired boxes of hats. Everyone in the city seemed to see the end of the war and the crowning of a new king as an excuse to shop.

  “Marlyna,” Rhi confessed, naming the hard-nosed inquisitor who had interrogated Jev. The woman was known for inflicting pain and leaving mental scars when she scoured a suspect’s mind for information. “I’m her new bodyguard when she goes out on assignments. I don’t think Archmage Sazshen thought this through. Shouldn’t your bodyguard care if you live or die? And not be rooting for the felons to horribly embarrass you?”

  “Fortunately, as a consummate professional, you would never allow your feelings for someone to get in the way of doing your duty.”

  “After five years of working together, shouldn’t you know me better than that?”

  “You were always a professional with me.” Zenia slowed to a stop in front of a store with a diamond shape carved into the wooden sign above the doorway. “Aside from the occasional sarcastic comments you issued while pummeling felons into submission.”

  “They were frequent sarcastic comments. But only issued before and after pummeling. Talking while fighting is a good way to get your legs swept and a dagger stuck in your throat.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. This is the place.”

  Rhi eyed the sign and the large window skeptically. A few necklaces featuring simple opals and sapphires lay on velvet cushions on the display ledge. Zenia shuddered at a phallic pendant carved from ivory. She’d had enough of ivory carvings of late.

  “You sure you can afford anything here?” Rhi asked. “I almost wet myself when I saw the price for orc ears back on the corner. How can any self-respecting baker ask twenty krons for a fried pastry dusted with cinnamon and sugar?”

  “Discussion of urination habits may get you some disapproving frowns in this part of town,” Zenia said, choosing to respond to the second topic rather than the first. Because she feared the answer to the first would be no. But she had to ask. She worried she wouldn’t be able to perform her new job adequately without a dragon-tear gem hanging around her throat, one that lent her the power to read minds when she questioned witnesses and interrogated suspects.

  “What does it say about our city that it doesn’t get you frowns everywhere?” Rhi asked.

  Zenia shook her head and stepped inside, the shop cool and shady after the warm sun. To her surprise, a man and a woman in brown gis almost identical to Rhi’s blue uniform were pointing at items in a display case in the back.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed monks could afford jewels,” Zenia murmured.

  “Trust me, they can’t. I make less than you. Or than you did. I’m sure they’re here on behalf of the Earth Order archmage or someone else with access to the donation trays at their temple.”

  Zenia frowned at the idea that someone might pilfer money meant to assist the Orders in providing aid for those less fortunate. She didn’t think Archmage Sazshen had done that. The Water Order Temple leader certainly hadn’t worn jewels. She’d been modest in dress and appearance and fair in… most matters. Zenia knew she should resent her old employer, but she couldn’t help but wish things had turned out differently and that she was still at the temple, still on the path to becoming archmage herself one day.

  “Are you going to make a lot more at the castle?” Rhi asked curiously. “Is that why you think you can afford this?” She pointed the tip of her bo around the shop, drawing a frown from the room’s other occupant, a raven-haired woman in a richly colored silk dress and slippers. The clerk. Or perhaps the owner.

  “I don’t know yet what my salary will be, but I’m not expecting largess.”

  “You said yes without knowing what the king is going to pay you?”

  “One doesn’t ask impertinent questions of the king when he’s offering a job perfectly suited to one’s talents.” Talents Zenia worried would be insufficient now that she no longer had the use of one of the temple’s dragon tears. She let a hand stray to her chest, to where the oval-shaped gem had once dangled.

  “Asking what your salary will be isn’t impertinent.”

  “It is among the zyndar and even more so among royalty. When they work at all, it’s supposed to be for the glory of their kingdom, not because they need money.”

  “Four elemental hells, are they going to pay you at all?”

  “Yes.” Zenia hesitated. “I think so.”

  By the founders, should she have asked? She had assumed…

  “For someone with the intelligence to outmaneuver criminal masterminds, you can be dense at times, Zenia.”

  “I hope your new inquisitor enjoys your bluntness as much as I do.”

  Rhi opened her mouth to respond but closed it when the owner sashayed in their direction.

  Zenia braced herself for a suggestion that they
would find shopping in a less ritzy district more to her monetary tastes.

  When she’d worn her blue inquisitor robe, nobody had questioned her right to go anywhere in the city she wished. But she not only didn’t have a robe any longer, she didn’t even have much of a selection of civilian attire. Her brown and beige cotton dress was almost ten years old, and the hem and collar were starting to fray. Now, she wished she’d bothered to shop and purchase clothing a little more often, but it had hardly been necessary when she dressed in the same robe every day for work.

  The owner pointed toward the door, her lips parting in preparation to issue her decree.

  “This is Zenia Cham,” Rhi said, speaking first. “She wants to see your dragon tears.”

  The owner blinked and lowered her pointing finger. “Inquisitor Cham? I—my dragon tears? Are you here to take inventory? See my books? I assure you there’s nothing nefarious going on. I only have three dragon tears in inventory. I know that’s far more than most sellers, but I assure you, they were all legitimately acquired from zyndari ladies who’ve passed on and whose heirs had no aptitude for magic. I paid a fair price to the families—more than fair—and my markup is quite modest when you consider how much the rent is in this exclusive neighborhood.”

  “I’m not an inquisitor anymore,” Zenia felt compelled to admit.

  Once, she would have been proud that her reputation had reached all the way to the Silver Ridge, but it would do her little good now. Could she one day establish a new fearsome reputation as one of the king’s Crown Agents? She didn’t know. She feared the agents worked largely in secret and weren’t supposed to be seen or heard until they pounced on some threat to the kingdom.

  “I’m just a shopper,” she added.

  The owner’s eager-to-please expression faded. “You’re not here about a case?”

  “No, I’m interested in seeing your dragon tears as a potential buyer.”

  “She’ll need one for the work she’s doing for her new employer,” Rhi said. “King Targyon.”

  The owner’s lips formed a round, “Oh.”

  Rhi smirked smugly as the woman turned, murmuring, “This way,” and headed toward a door in the rear of the shop.

  Zenia didn’t know if she should thank her friend for name-dropping or not. She hadn’t minded relying on her reputation, but she didn’t like the idea of receiving preferential treatment because she worked for Targyon. It reminded her of the zyndar favoritism that she hated. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d even seen the king since the morning she and Jev had dined with him, and Targyon had hired them.

  They followed the shopkeeper through the rear doorway, and Zenia jumped when she spotted a bodyguard—or maybe security guard?—looming just inside, his thickly muscled arms bare, a pistol and heavy cudgel belted at his waist. He narrowed his eyes at Rhi and her bo.

  She winked at him. “Hello there, Muscles. What are you doing in the back instead of displaying those forearms up front?”

  “Muscles are uncouth,” he rumbled in a voice deep enough to belong to a dwarf. “Zyndari Grayela said.”

  Zenia took that to mean the Silver Ridge customers might not find it appealing to see armed beefy types roaming the shops. But if the owner truly had dragon tears, Zenia wasn’t surprised she kept someone fearsome nearby.

  “Over here, ladies.” The shopkeeper—Grayela, presumably—waved them to a small vault built into the stone and plaster wall. “I would usually ask to see proof of finances from commoners,” Grayela said, eyeing them up and down. “But if you’re here on behalf of the king…”

  Zenia frowned at her back as Grayela inserted the first of two keys into the vault door. Zenia hadn’t said that. She didn’t even think Rhi had implied it.

  “Is he looking to acquire more dragon tears?” Grayela asked. “One would expect the Alderoths to have a whole stash in the castle somewhere—most of the old, wealthy zyndar families do—but maybe his father and cousins died without telling him where it is? That would be tragic, wouldn’t it? Though you’d think someone with a dragon tear could use its magic to find other magic gems located in the castle. Unless they’re stored elsewhere. I could see the princes having died—all at once, speaking of tragedy!—without writing down the family secrets. Or sending them off to Targyon at the front. I don’t think anyone ever expected that boy to be crowned. I bet there’s a lot he wasn’t told.”

  “I’m sure,” Zenia murmured, wondering if Grayela had heard any useful rumors about the three princes’ mysterious deaths from a “disease of the blood” that only affected their family.

  It was the very mystery King Targyon had asked her and Jev to investigate first. In less than an hour, she was to meet Jev at the office of the doctor who’d treated the princes, so they could begin asking questions. She’d wanted to go right at dawn, but he’d been pulled aside that morning for some zyndar-only meeting with the king. She, being a mature and self-assured woman of thirty-two, wasn’t envious, jealous, or feeling left out. Or so she promised herself.

  “Here we are.” After turning a second lock, Grayela opened the vault door and drew out three boxes, each carved from ivory with gold or silver clasps and hinges. She produced a keyring and proceeded to open the boxes one by one and hand them to Zenia. “As you can see from the carvings on the fronts of the tears, that one holds a loom and was used by a master weaver. This next one has a quill and is more versatile—anything to do with books or writing and recording or even teaching should work. This last one is for more of a warrior woman—Zyndari Masarathi had quite the reputation for winning fencing competitions even against male competitors—with its sword carving. I’m told that one is quite powerful, so it is accordingly valued. Of course, if none of these work, you can see the city’s master gem cutter, Akura Grindmor. For a reasonable fee, the dwarf is rumored to be able to fill in the old carvings, using magic to ensure the gems are fully whole again, and then carve new ones.”

  “What’s a reasonable fee?” Rhi asked as Zenia considered the gems.

  A sense of bleakness came over her as she realized she could no longer sense magic, not without a dragon tear of her own, and had no way to tell if these were real. Given the reputation of this shop, she was inclined to believe they were, but she would need someone else with a dragon tear—someone she trusted—to verify that before she sank her life’s savings into a purchase.

  “For a remake and re-carving? Around ten thousand from what I’ve heard. It’s only five thousand if the master cutter is starting from scratch with an untouched dragon tear, but it’s exceedingly rare to find one that hasn’t already been carved these days.”

  “Ten thousand?” Rhi asked, her bo drooping. “How much for just the gem?” She eyed the sword one.

  Zenia had only heard of a couple of monks receiving dragon tears from the archmage, as the temple usually sought out gems that would be useful to its mages over its fighters. Even then, few mages received them. To be offered one was a great honor. Once again, Zenia felt a twinge of distress over losing the regard of Archmage Sazshen.

  “For that lovely one?” Grayela pointed at the sword-carved gem. “Seventy-five thousand krons.”

  Zenia planted a hand against the cool stone wall to brace herself. She’d only made five thousand a year as an inquisitor. Rhi’s salary—her mouth was dangling open at the price too—was only half that. The temple had included room and board and their uniforms in with their compensation, but even with all that Zenia had saved over the years, she didn’t have that much money, not even close.

  “The quill is a mere sixty, and the loom fifty.” Grayela arched her eyebrows at Zenia. “Forgive my uncouthness in discussing sums, but that must come out at some point, especially when I don’t know the depth of your coffers and if I can simply bill you. How much did the king say you have to work with?”

  “I…” Zenia didn’t know what to say. This was Rhi’s ruse.

  But Rhi only shook her head slowly.

  Zenia lowered her hand from th
e wall. She should have known the prices would be exorbitant. And unattainable. Coming here had been a mistake. There was no way she could ever save enough. Even if she somehow could, the quill was the only gem she could imagine meshing with her abilities and needs, and it wouldn’t be as tailored to her as her last dragon tear, carved with the eyetooth of justice, had been.

  “We’ll have to clarify that with him and see if any of these carvings suit his needs.” Rhi gripped Zenia’s arm and nodded toward the door.

  Zenia allowed herself to be led toward the doorway while biting her tongue to keep from protesting Rhi’s continuing ruse. Zenia hadn’t grown up zyndar with notions of their Code of Honor planted in her head, but she was proud that she’d achieved all she had without bending her morality. She hated to think she might start her new life with lies and misdirection.

  “Thank you for showing them to us, Zyndari Grayela,” Zenia said, bowing on her way out.

  “…he better listen to our archmage,” the male monk muttered as Zenia and Rhi returned to the main room. “He’s only sitting on that padded throne by the grace of the Orders.”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll remember that. The archmage isn’t asking for anything unreasonable.”

  Zenia paused, the reference to King Targyon piquing her interest and reminding her she had something more important to do than shopping.

  But the monks turned, noticing Zenia and Rhi, and stopped their conversation.

  “Rhi Lin.” The woman bowed to Rhi.

  Zenia wondered if they knew each other. Female monks were rare among all the Orders, the training being rigorous and the tests geared more toward men.

  “Danja.” Rhi bowed back, including the male monk in the gesture. “Choris. Anything interesting happening at the Earth Order Temple these days?”