Chapter 8

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.” Zenia watched the officer intently, not sure whether he would run or come

calmly with her. While he gaped at her, stunned at her announcement, she

glanced again at the wolf-head emblem on his cloak. She almost believed she

had made a mistake, even though she had already checked the emblem twice.

Was this hairy, scruffy man truly a zyndar? One of the kingdom’s

privileged landowners? And one from a very old, very powerful, and very

rich family? He looked like a common soldier rather than some noble officer.

Dirt darkened his hands, a scar marked his cheek, and his black hair and

beard were in need of cutting. Badly. He carried a short sword on one hip and

a pistol on the other, the weapons far better cleaned and polished than he.

Broad-shouldered and a head taller than she, he wore a faded gray and blue

uniform under a chainmail tunic, his rolled-up jacket sleeves the only

concession to the warm spring sun. The ropy muscles of his forearms

promised strength, so Zenia hoped Rhi was ready for a fight.

Approaching him here with hundreds of his allies nearby had been

chancy. Zenia had considered following him for a time and arresting him as

he was on his way out of the city, but she was gambling that few men, even

hardened soldiers, would get in the way of an inquisitor making an arrest. She

also believed they would be so eager to step on home soil again that they

would rush away without paying attention to what went on here.

And exactly that was happening. Though the man—Jevlain Dharrow—

stood in front of the base of the gangplank, others simply hopped off behind

him and jogged for the waterfront, shouts of beer and women and home rising

above the voices of vendors hoping to hawk their wares to men who hadn’t

had a way to spend their pay for a long time.

“What did you say?” Dharrow finally managed to ask Zenia.

He didn’t add mage, ma’am, or inquisitor, or any of the half dozen titles or

honorifics that would have been appropriate—and expected. Of course not.

He was zyndar. Zyndar considered themselves above everyone else, usually even other zyndar.

“You’re under arrest.” Zenia kept her chin up, staring into his eyes. “I

have orders to bring you in for questioning at the Temple of the Blue

Dragon.”

Actually, she had orders to acquire a carved ivory artifact he’d stolen

years ago, one that was magical and extremely valuable, the archmage had

said. But Zenia could, through the power of her dragon tear, sense nearby

magical items, and she could tell he didn’t have such an item on him. That

wasn’t that surprising, and she was more pleased than disappointed. If he had

hidden it somewhere, she would have to figure out its location, and the idea of

pitting her wits against his appealed to her.

“As lovely as being tortured and interrogated by mages sounds,” Dharrow

said, “I’d rather pass. You have the wrong person. I haven’t set foot on

kingdom land in ten years. I can’t possibly know anything useful to you

unless the Water Order cares about the numbers and locations of elf

encampments in Taziira.”

“Do you deny being Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow?” Zenia bristled at his

suggestion that she would lead some torture-based interrogation. No doubt, he

imagined fingernails being pulled off and brands being applied to his chest.

As if, with her magic, she needed to be so crude to acquire answers.

“No.”

“Then you’re the right person.” She drew upon the power of the gem

resting on her chest, channeling it into a compulsion command. “Come.”

His eyes widened, and she sensed that he felt her using magic on him.

Few people did, but if he’d encountered elves often, he might be accustomed

to the touch of magic. Recognizing it, however, did not keep him from taking

a step forward.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he stopped.

“What’s going on?” A tall man stepped off the gangplank behind Dharrow

and stood at his side.

No, Zenia realized, her heart jumping. Not a man. An elf.

By the founders, he looked like a full-blood too. What was he doing here?

In a human city? And why weren’t police running over to apprehend him? For

that matter, why weren’t all the soldiers on and around the ship shooting at

him? The ones not busy racing off to find bars and brothels.

Admittedly, that wasn’t many of them.

“It seems I’m being arrested,” Dharrow said. “For reasons that my arrestor

doesn’t feel compelled to explain.”

“You’re being arrested?” a second person asked, stepping up to his other

side. This one was a dwarf with flaming red hair and a matching beard. His

head didn’t quite come up to Dharrow’s shoulder. The stout being’s

appearance surprised Zenia almost as much as that of the elf. With the