Matteo stepped in and held the captain’s gaze with an imperious stare. “Is Lord Basel to be taken in without benefit of counsel?”
After a moment, the man stepped aside and motioned his men to do the same.
“What can I do to help?” Matteo asked Basel softly.
“You’ve more important things on your plate. I’ll send to Halar for one of my own jordaini counselors.”
“At least tell me the charge!”
The wizard glanced at Tzigone. “I am accused of Sinestra Belajoon’s murder.”
The girl’s jaw fell slack with astonishment. She snapped it shut and quickly caught up. “Sinestra is dead, too? How? Where?”
“I can’t answer how, but the where is plain enough. She was in my tower, searching your room.”
“Of course she was,” Tzigone said clearly and distinctly. “Sinestra and I were friends, and she was looking for me. But of course you knew that. It’s not as if you would mistake her for a thief, or anything like that.”
Basel leaned closer. “Child, this is not the time to spring to my defense. Say no more until we have opportunity to speak. There are things about Sinestra you should know.”
“Tell me now,” she urged.
The wizard glanced toward the guards, who were becoming visibly restless. “Sinestra was once Keturah’s servant,” he said, speaking softly and quickly. “I knew her. We helped your mother escape after she was condemned as a murderer. You cannot afford to become entangled in this. Now, go back to the tower. We will speak when we can.”
Basel stepped back and motioned to the guards. They reformed ranks, and he fell into step with them. Tzigone watched him go, her face stunned.
“Not good,” Matteo fretted. “This gives Basel an apparent motive.”
She spun and stalked back toward the tower. “Basel didn’t do it. He wouldn’t do anything remotely illegal.”
“Well,” Matteo hedged. At Tzigone’s prodding, he told her that he and Basel had slipped into Dhamari’s tower and had taken from it a number of valuable spells and books.
“But he got them for me, right?” Tzigone persisted. “To research the spell that freed me?”
“So?”
“Then he did no wrong. The tower was Keturah’s before Dhamari stole it. I’m Keturah’s daughter and heir. Whatever Basel took was mine. He didn’t do anything wrong, ever, and I’ll tell that to everyone who’ll listen. Let’s go.”
She changed directions again, hurrying toward the city palace. Matteo matched her pace. “Tzigone, you will never get into the council chamber!”
“Why not? Who’s going to stop the queen’s jordain?”
“I am counselor to Zalathorm now,” he corrected.
“Even better!”
Matteo sighed and pulled her to a stop. “I will bring you on one condition: You listen and say nothing. Until all is known, your tendency to add interesting facts to the truth could create complications.”
She gave grumbling assent. They walked in silence to the pink marble palace and walked unhindered into the council hall.
The vaulted room was dominated by a vast marble table shaped like a half moon. Thirteen members of the Council of Elders sat around the table’s curve, their faces grave at the prospect of hearing charges against one of their own.
Matteo and Tzigone found a seat in an empty upper balcony and watched as an Inquisitor of Azuth began the spells of testing.
The magehound was a tall, black-haired woman, fussily clad in the green and yellow robes of an Azuthan inquisitor and decorated with far too many gems. No doubt she wished to appear important and grand. Even her gestures had a theatrical extravagance that set Matteo’s teeth on edge. He could imagine the vicious satire Tzigone would enact after the trial!
With a flourish, the magehound took out a silver rod and placed it against Basel’s forehead. “The charge brought by Uriah Belajoon is true,” she announced in ringing tones. “Basel Indoulur was the man who touched Sinestra and triggered Lord Belajoon’s spell.”
“That may be so,” Basel said evenly, “but I merely closed the woman’s eyes. She was already dead, slain by magic I did not cast.”
Tzigone leaned out over the railing, her eyes fixed upon the man seated in the very center of the group of Elders. “Damn! There’s old Snow Hawk. That can’t be good.”
Procopio Septus fit the description in every particular. He wore his prematurely white hair cropped close, which drew attention to a strong curved nose and black eyes like those of a hunting hawk. Matteo knew there was no love lost between Procopio and the accused wizard.
“He is the lord mayor of the king’s city,” Matteo reminded her. “He often hears accusations and sits in judgment. If there is to be a trial, it will go to the full Council of Elders.”
Tzigone sent him a look of incredulity. “There will be a trial, all right He hates Basel.”
Matteo wasn’t so sure. Procopio was a canny man. He was unlikely to remand a case to the Council of Elders unless he was certain it could be won.
He watched his former patron with great interest. Procopio listened gravely as the magehound cast spells that would recreate the last moments of Sinestra’s life. She spoke of Sinestra and Basel talking in a tower chamber, Sinestra overcome by a spell, dying in terrible convulsions.
“Did Lord Basel create that spell?” asked Procopio.
The magehound hesitated. “That is impossible to say, since the object of the spell cannot be tested. Basel touched her, and she melted away.”
“Was he the man who killed her?”
“I cannot say,” she repeated, speaking with exaggerated precision. “The vision is not conclusive. Lord Basel was responsible for triggering the spell. That much I can tell you. The rest you must learn by other means.”
Procopio Septus rose. “Let us review what little we know. Sinestra Belajoon came to Lord Basel’s tower. She was killed by some malevolent magic, the author of which remains unknown. Lord Basel closed her eyes, and his touch triggered a spell that removed her to her own home. Her husband, Uriah Belajoon, conducted the funeral rites before bringing accusation against Lord Basel. Does that fit the particulars?”
He glanced from Basel to the magehound to the aging, portly man who sat in the accuser’s chair. All nodded.
“Very well then, Lord Basel is free to go.” He lifted one hand to cut short the Belajoon wizard’s protests. “Halruaan law is very clear on this matter. When murder is suspected, magical inquiry must be conducted at once. After the body is destroyed, it is impossible to question the dead.”
Uriah Belajoon’s face turned purple with wrath, but he chopped his head once in curt acceptance of the sentence. He watched as Lord Basel walked from the chamber, his eyes burning with hatred.
“Old Snow Hawk is up to something,” Tzigone mused. In a single, swift movement she rose from her seat and headed for one of the tapestries decorating the walls.
Matteo lunged for her and got a handful of air for his efforts. He peeled back the edge of the tapestry and looked up. She was climbing it, finding handholds in the weave. Her passage would be unnoticed from the other side, for the tapestry hung a bit away from the wall, attached at the top to a marble ledge. This ledge ran the length of the corridor and down several halls. It was wide enough to provide Tzigone a pathway, and high enough to hide her as long as she kept low.
With a sigh, Matteo abandoned thought of pursuit. He would, however, mention this possible security lapse to the palace guards. Most likely, they would laugh behind his back at the seeming absurdity of it.
That, he mused, was precisely why Tzigone had survived as long as she had.
Tzigone edged along the marble ledge, wiggling her way like a serpent. From this vantage, she could see the entire hall and most of the exits. Procopio Septus left through the south hall, on the heels of a throng intent upon finding shade and refreshment before the sun rose high and the sunsleep hours started.
She followed him through increasingly narr
ow city streets, moving like a shadow. Finally she tired of this and climbed a rose trellis to the roof above. She ran lightly over the roofs and dropped back down several houses ahead.
Procopio slipped into a dark doorway. After a slight hesitation, Tzigone followed. The door locked behind her with a sharp click, though no hand touched the bolt. She threw herself under a richly draped table just as a chandelier flared to life. A rainbow of colors filled the room as light streamed through the multicolored crystals that draped the ornate lamp.
The wizard gestured, and the rope holding the chandeliers lengthened, lowering it to his height. He considered it for a moment, then plucked a yellow crystal. This he tossed into the air.
The gem hung for a moment, then swiftly grew into a large, translucent bubble, slightly golden in hue. Its surface rippled slightly, and Dhamari Exchelsor stepped into the room.
Tzigone gritted her teeth to hold back an exclamation of dismay. The emerging wizard looked no more pleased than she.
“You have broken the terms of our agreement,” Dhamari said.
Procopio extended his hands, palms up. “How so? You requested a place of concealment. What better than your own demi-plane? No wizard will find you there.”
The little wizard conceded this with an ill-tempered nod. “I’m speaking of Basel Indoulur’s hearing. I thought we agreed to handle this matter privately.”
“I let him go,” Procopio said.
Dhamari stared at him in disbelief. Understanding came, and a slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Uriah Belajoon, denied justice, will have no choice but to take matters into his own hands. You know, of course, that he is not very powerful. He has little chance of killing Basel.”
“Not on his own, certainly.”
“Excellent,” Dhamari crowed. “Basel would be difficult to convict: Uriah will not. Two more of Zalathorm’s supporters out of the way.”
“We are in accord,” Procopio said.
Tzigone scowled in agreement—after all, insects usually did march in formation. She felt no surprise at learning that Procopio Septus harbored treasonous thoughts or that Dhamari was allied with him. The problem would be finding someone other than Matteo who would believe this tale!
Dhamari reached for the crystal. “I’ll return to the plane later. There are some small matters I need to attend.”
The diviner agreed and strode to a door on the far side of the room. Arcane light flared around the cracks, giving testament to a magic gate summoned. Dhamari slipped out the way Procopio had come in.
Tzigone gave him a moment, then followed him down a tree-shaded lane. She scooted up a scarlet beech tree and ran lightly along one of its massive limbs, keeping just ahead of the wizard. There were few people about at this hour, for the sun was high and fiercely hot Tzigone waited until there was no one in sight. She dropped from her perch, seizing Dhamari’s tunic and dragging him into the narrow divide between two shops.
Seeking escape, he fumbled for his crystal. Tzigone was quicker. She seized his hand and gave it a sharp twist that brought him down to one knee. Dhamari looked up at her and gasped in astonishment. Before he could let out his breath in a shout, Tzigone bent low and drove a fist into his belly. He folded, and a familiar glint of silver hung from his neck.
Her mother’s talisman.
Tzigone lunged for it. The wizard slapped her hand away and seized her wrist with his other hand.
Sorcerous energy poured from the angry girl. To her astonishment, it merely collected in a circle on Dhamari’s wrist.
He released her and rose to his feet, holding up one arm to display a copper bracer. “Your mother had a temper, too,” he said smugly. “I collected some interesting wards, just in case.”
Tzigone threw both hands high in a dramatic flourish of spell-casting. Instinctively the wizard lifted his hands as if to ward off the attack. Instead, Tzigone stepped in and brought her knee up hard.
A high-pitched wheeze gusted from the wizard. For a moment he looked at her with undisguised hatred. Tzigone could almost see the gnomework gears turning in his mind as he sought the vilest curse possible, the most wounding words. Nothing could have prepared her for what he said.
“Your mother is alive.”
He spoke with such certainty that Tzigone almost believed him. The world shifted weirdly beneath her feet.
“I would know if she were alive.”
“How could you, when even she doesn’t know?” Dhamari taunted. His gaze slid down her, and his lip curled in a sneer. “I must say, you are the most unlikely princess I have ever beheld.”
Tzigone froze in the act of denying this. Beatrix—this was the name her unknown father had bestowed upon Keturah. Queen Beatrix?
“As you may have heard, the queen will be tried for treason in a few days.” Dhamari paused for a chilling smile. “The queen might be exonerated of the charge of treason by reason of her very apparent insanity, but the court will be less lenient if it becomes known that she has another, murderous identity.”
“You killed that greenmage!” Tzigone threw back. “You killed her, and painted Keturah as the murderer!”
Dhamari looked nonplussed, “How do you—” He broke off abruptly, visibly gathered himself. “Why do you say that?”
She looked him over, then snatched a glove from his belt. “This is deerskin.”
The wizard clucked softly. “My dear child, if you think that proves anything, you’re as mad as your mother.”
“You summoned the deer using one of Keturah’s spells,” Tzigone went on, “and you held it trapped and helpless while you shot it. It took four arrows. You’re not much of a marksman,” she added as an aside, then resumed her telling. “The man who tanned the leather lives on the Exchelsor family estates. He has four fingers on his left hand and he wears an eye patch.”
The color drained from Dhamari’s face during this recitation. “What does this mean?”
“It means that I can divine the past rather than the future. In the dark fairies’ realm, I spent a lot of time looking into Keturah’s past. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to learn that you could not possibly have been my father.”
The wizard’s pale face took on a dull red flush. “Let me remind you that a vision induced by dark fairies is hardly admissible testimony. Nor are you a credible witness. I suspect that you can’t be magically tested for veracity—your resistance to magic is too strong.”
All of this was true. Even so, Tzigone kept her taunting smile in place. “You can be tested, can’t you? If you take a single step against me or mine, I’ll come after you with witnesses who have credentials the gods might envy.”
He stared at her for a moment. “A sword at your throat, a sword at mine.”
Tzigone shrugged. “It’ll do for now. Now get out of my sight”
She watched him go, then sprinted off toward the public gardens. There were hidden pathways through the giant trees shading the city, and Tzigone knew them all. Such knowledge, combined with her magical resistance, gave her access to any place she cared to go. Not even the king’s palace could hold her out. She quickly made her way to Matteo’s room and found it empty. Gritting her teeth, she remembered his recent promotion and set a path for the room once occupied by Cassia, the king’s last head counselor.
She slipped into the room. Matteo was in earnest conversation with the ghostly jordain. Both men looked up at her approach—at this point, she was too angry to soften her footsteps.
“Is it true?” she demanded.
Matteo studied her face for a long moment For some reason, he did not have to ask what she meant. “Yes.”
Tzigone took a long, calming breath. “How long have you known?”
“A few days. I learned of it the day after your disappearance. I would have told you before this, had I been free to do so.” He stopped and considered his words. “No, that’s not quite true. I would have told you regardless, before—”
“Before it was too late,” Tzigone finished. Befo
re Queen Beatrix, formerly known as Keturah, was executed for treason.
The jordain nodded.
Andris looked from one to another, his translucent face both puzzled and wary. “Perhaps I should go. I’ll call the guard to take me back to my cell.”
“No,” Matteo said sharply. “You can stay with me until your trial is over or go wherever you like.”
He turned to Tzigone. “Shall I take you to her?”
She nodded and fell into step. They passed through a labyrinth of palace halls and climbed the highest tower, one hemmed about with magical wards and accessed only by a narrow, winding stair. Guards—both human and magical—were stationed in small alcoves cut into the walls, hidden places that appeared suddenly, and, Tzigone suspected, changed places randomly. No one who climbed these stairs knew when they would confront a guardian, or what sort. The queen was well protected—and Halruaa was well protected from the queen.
Finally they paused before an ironbound door. Matteo gestured to the guards, who unchained the locks.
Tzigone leaned against the doorframe and studied the queen. Beatrix sat in a narrow chair, her hands folded in her lap. Incurious brown eyes, deeply rimmed with kohl and enormous in a small, painted faced, gazed back. There was no recognition in them.
Tzigone waited for her thudding heart to slow to a pace that permitted speech. She glanced at the slit of window. The day had passed swiftly, and sunset colors stained the skies.
“It is nearly night, Your Majesty, and time to prepare for sleep.”
When the queen made no protest, Tzigone took a basin and filled it with water from a heated cistern. She found a soft cloth and knelt beside the queen. Playing the part of a handmaid, she gently removed the cosmetics from the queen’s face.
Without the white paint, Beatrix looked smaller, younger, and far more beautiful. She did not, however, resemble the mother Tzigone remembered or the woman she had glimpsed in her vision.
“There must be a magical illusion over her,” Tzigone said. “I’m going to dispel it.”
Matteo began to warn her, but not soon enough. Tzigone’s spell quickly stripped away the cloaking magic.
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