Chapter 9

exception of the master gem crafters that were enticed to work in the major

human cities, dwarves were scarce in the kingdom. “You’re the one who

offered to protect us from such fates, Jev.”

“As I recall, I only offered you a bunk,” Dharrow said.

“I assumed it was at your home, not in a jail. There was talk of castles.

And trees.” The dwarf glanced at the elf, but the elf’s face might have been

chiseled in stone. It was cold and impossible to read.

“That offer is still open,” Dharrow said. “Whatever this is shouldn’t take

long. Though it would be nice if our good inquisitor told me why she wants to

detain me.” He met Zenia’s eyes, his gaze fearless, the opposite of the eyes of

the thief from that morning.

For a moment, Zenia thought he might not realize what she was, but he’d

identified her as an inquisitor. He just wasn’t afraid of her. Because he

believed being a zyndar would protect him?

“Theft,” Zenia said.

She hadn’t intended to state his crime, figuring he would be more likely to

come along if he believed he was only to be questioned on some tangential

matter, but she wouldn’t lie if asked for the truth. Nor would she be evasive.

He had a right to know why he was being arrested.

“Theft?” Anger flashed in his brown eyes. And indignation. “Zyndar do

not steal.”

She didn’t let his outburst bother her. She’d expected it. The Zyndar Code

of Honor. They all liked to claim they followed it, but from what she’d

observed—and experienced firsthand—it was something that appeared more

often in children’s tales than in real life.

“Theft,” Zenia said firmly.

He loosened his jaw and reined in his anger. Sort of. His tone was

sarcastic when he said, “Theft from ten years ago?”

“The Order has waited a long time to get its property back.”

“What property? And why do you presume that I have it?” He stuck his

hands in his trouser pockets and drew out the linings, showing he carried only

a few coins and a lot of dirt in there. Not a bad acting job.

Without a deep probe, Zenia couldn’t fully read his mind, but she felt his

self-assurance and his belief that he could handle the situation. Handle her.

“A magical carved ivory artifact in the shape of an eye,” Zenia said. “It’s

called the Eye of Truth, and it’s of great value.”

His forehead furrowed. More acting.

“Come with me,” Zenia said, adding the compulsion again. “There is a

picture of it in the temple. I will show it to you to jog your faulty memory.”

Zenia didn’t know why someone from a wealthy family would bother

stealing, but such a powerful artifact could have worth that went beyond coin.

There were rumors that some of the Dharrows of old had been sympathetic to the elves, lending them sanctuary when they passed through the area. If

Jevlain shared that sympathy—and the elf warden standing at his side

suggested the possibility—then it was possible he’d acquired the artifact

because it could give the enemy some advantage. Perhaps he’d even given it

to their people. He could have worked as a spy his entire time in the army.

A tingle of excitement went through Zenia as she imagined that

possibility, imagined being the one to uncover ten years of heinous crimes this

zyndar had perpetrated, the betrayals he might have been responsible for as he

pretended to fight alongside kingdom soldiers. Didn’t his odd choice of

companions hint of mixed alliances?

But, no, she shouldn’t make assumptions, even guesses, until evidence

presented itself. It was dangerous to grow overfond of one’s suspicions lest

the truth be overlooked or mistaken for something else.

“Come,” Zenia repeated, turning toward the head of the dock and

expecting the power in the word to compel him to follow.

Once again, he started after her, but once again, his silver-haired friend

gripped his shoulder.

“Stop,” the elf said, and Zenia felt magic in his word.

Did he have a dragon tear? Maybe not, since elves had innate magic of

their own, but if he did possess one, that could make him a powerful and

dangerous enemy. Zenia would report his presence in the city when she

returned to the temple.

She was half tempted to arrest him now. Rhi was watching all this with

narrowed eyes, her bo held horizontally in front of her, her stance promising

she was ready to fight.

“All right, stop it.” Dharrow lifted his hands and stepped away from Zenia

and also from the elf. “Nobody’s playing magical tug-of-war with me.” That

anger and indignation sparked in his eyes again. He clenched his jaw, his hand

twitching toward the pistol hanging from his belt.

He’d gotten used to solving his problems with violence, had he? Well, that

wouldn’t work for him here.

“She is attempting to manipulate you,” the elf said coolly, doing more

than twitching his hand toward his weapons. He gripped the leather-wrapped

hilt of a sheathed sword.

“We can put a stop to that.” The dwarf grinned, white teeth flashing from

deep within that bush of a beard, and slapped the side of a hook against his

open palm. It took Zenia a second to realize the hook was attached to the

stump of an arm rather than being an independent weapon.

Rhi stepped up to Zenia’s side, her bo between them and the men. Zenia

wasn’t weaponless, but she did not yet reach for the pistol holstered at her hip

inside her robe. She met Dharrow’s eyes. Zyndar or not, he would not likely

attack an inquisitor. His odd comrades, unschooled in the ways of human