Chapter 11

Jev didn’t have a gem or any magic of his own to call upon, but he didn’t

need it to know Cutter and Lornysh were following them.

Oh, he didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of them as the inquisitor and her

monk assistant led him along the waterfront, around a corner, and onto one of

the boulevards that headed toward the ridge where the Temple of the Blue

Dragon stood. But he knew his comrades as well as the men in his company.

They wouldn’t amble into a bar for a beer while he was in trouble.

Jev did not yet know if he was in trouble—since he hadn’t stolen

anything, he shouldn’t be—but they didn’t know that.

He stole a few glances at his escort. Even though he planned to

accompany them peaceably, he couldn’t help but size them up as potential

enemies. He had gotten in the habit of assessing the threat level of everyone

he encountered, and he couldn’t dismiss these two because they were women.

The sea-blue gi that the monk wore meant she had completed at least six

years of intense training and was a full-fledged member of the Order’s elite

fighting unit. And the inquisitor—neither she nor the monk had offered their

names—would carry a weapon or two under that robe. A firearm, most likely.

Inquisitors didn’t typically receive a great deal of combat training, but the

ones he’d known had always gone to the ranges to practice shooting.

“What’s your name, Inquisitor?” Jev asked, alternating between watching

the street and pedestrian traffic and her. The streets were largely as he’d

remembered, especially in this older part of the city, but he spotted steam

wagons and carriages with frames and engines that hadn’t existed the last time

he’d walked the city. They were almost as numerous as the horse-drawn

conveyances clattering along the cobblestones. “You know mine, and if we’re

to spend time together with you pulling off my fingernails, it would be nice to

know yours.”

She gave him a flat, unfriendly look. It seemed to be her typical facial

expression. Normally, he would have considered her attractive—of course, it had been so long since he’d experienced feminine company that he was

starting to consider boulders attractive—but her frosty eyes would have kept

him at arm’s length even if she hadn’t been arresting him.

“Zenia Cham,” she said, her chin lifting. It did that a lot.

She watched him. Expectantly? She seemed to be waiting for a reaction. It

wasn’t a noble name—he knew all the zyndar surnames in the kingdom—and

he didn’t recognize it. But it wasn’t as if he’d seen an issue of the Korvann

Chronicle recently.

“And your sarcastic friend?” Jev waved toward the monk, who kept

glancing behind them, watching the rooftops as well as the streets.

“Her name is hers to share if she wishes,” Zenia said.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me more about this artifact I supposedly

stole when I was… I guess I was twenty-three the last time I was here.”

It seemed an eternity ago. Back when his father had ordered him to go off

and fight for the king, as it was the family’s duty to supply a son for the war

effort, Jev hadn’t guessed he would be gone for more than a year or two. So

much of his life lost for something he’d never believed in. The cost for the

kingdom had been ridiculous. And the cost for him? He’d lost countless

friends over the years, but, as much as he hated to admit it, it was Naysha’s

loss that still stung most.

She had been attractive without being frosty. And far superior to a

boulder.

“Archmage Sazshen will tell you more. I’ve only been ordered to retrieve

it. Your fingernails need not be in danger if you’ll tell me its location.”

“Uh huh.”

Jev had been captured and tortured four years earlier, after being

appointed the leader of Gryphon Company. It had been by a human scout

from another kingdom, one happy to fawn at those elves’ feet. The man had

enjoyed cutting on him, on his own kind. Whatever it took to please his

pointy-eared employer. A cold snake of an elf who’d watched the whole thing

with his face utterly impassive. Jev had been lucky to escape and survive the

ordeal. Even though the elf had healed him at the end of each session, so he

would last longer, Jev still had a lot of scars. Sometimes, he wondered if

Naysha would even recognize him, should their paths cross again one day.

“Would you do it yourself?” he asked.

“What?”

“My fingernail removal.” Jev wouldn’t normally think a woman would

have a stomach for torturing a man—physically, anyway, as they seemed to

prefer emotional torment if they had a vindictive streak—but this Zenia had

those frosty edges. She might like it. He definitely sensed that she was one of

those people who held some bitterness toward the nobility, though she’d risen

to a respected rank in society, so he didn’t know why.