The Magehound (33 page)

A strange knot formed in the girl’s throat. Matteo had helped her to escape in direct defiance of the rules of his order. For a moment, even Tzigone’s nimble tongue seemed weighted down by the enormity of this revelation.

“I thought the jordaini didn’t write and send messages,” she managed at last

Matteo’s faint smile acknowledged her unspoken words. “It appears that in this case Cassia made an exception. I daresay that the jordaini weren’t the only people in this city to receive her missive. No doubt it also went to the city guard, town criers, and city Elders.”

“There’s a personal message on this copy,” she said, pointing to the last few lines. The script was written in a different hand and in a shade of emerald ink that few professional scribes could afford.

She read aloud, using Cassia’s voice. “I give you fair warning, Matteo, that this young woman is dangerous in the extreme. You have been seen in her company, but henceforth you must avoid her at all costs. She was tested as a child and found to possess great magical talent. She has abused this power and committed a number of crimes. If you wish, come see me after she has been apprehended. You will understand at once, for the secrets of her birth explain all. One jordain cannot command another, but your assistance in this matter is most urgently desired, and will be regarded as a great service to Halruaa.

“The secrets of my birth,” Tzigone said in her own voice, her tone distracted. “Do you think she really knows?”

Matteo looked dubious. “A jordain’s word is inviolate. That’s what I was raised and trained to believe.”

“But?”

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I have learned that it is possible to deceive without speaking a single false word. You may have noticed that Cassia does not actually claim to possess this information. She merely says that it will answer all. It is possible-possible, mind you-that Cassia sent this note hoping that I would pass it along to you.”

“Bait,” Tzigone concluded.

“It is possible,” he repeated in a bleak tone. He turned his gaze to her. “And now that you have this information, what will you do with it?”

Tzigone was silent for a long moment. “Some of what Cassia says is true. I seem to have some innate magic. Wild talents, they call them. But I’m no wizard,” she said emphatically, glaring at Matteo in challenge.

“So you have told me,” he said in a neutral tone.

“You know I’m a thief.” She laughed shortly. “That’s nothing to boast of, but you and I are alike in thinking it’s a better thing to be than a Halruaan wizard.”

“You hate them,” Matteo observed. “I would like to understand why.”

“You can ask that after seeing what magic did to that poor woman?”

He didn’t answer at once, nor did he meet her eyes when at last he spoke. “This process-is it the same for all women who give birth to a jordain?”

Tzigone understood what must be going through his mind. He was wondering if his own mother had suffered a similar fate, and he was picturing her in a similar situation, a prisoner in her own diminished mind. For a moment Tzigone considered telling him that he need not use his imagination, for the worst was his to know.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps some women give birth to jordaini without aid of potions and spells.”

“Perhaps.” He looked up at her, frustration in his eyes. “I wish there were something I could do for that poor woman. No jordain will ever be wealthy. Our expenses are paid by our patrons, though we may receive small personal gifts from time to time. If ever I were to find my mother in such a state, how would I provide for her?”

“You saw the cottages, the gardens. Halruaa ensures that her wizards get what they need. Your mother is well cared for.”

For a moment she thought she might have revealed too much. But there was no flash of epiphany in Matteo’s dark eyes. He merely nodded as he took in this new information.

There seemed to be nothing more to say. That knowledge dampened Tzigone’s spirits more thoroughly than a cold rain.

“So I suppose that knowing what you know, you can’t afford to be seen with me anymore,” she said.

“Knowing what we know, you can’t afford to be seen at all,” he countered. “Promise me that you’ll leave the city at once. I will learn what Cassia knows, and somehow I will get this information to you.” He smiled faintly. “All you need do is acknowledge that the debt between us is paid in full. Even a jordain knows something of honor.”

It was a princely offer, far better than Tzigone had right to expect. What Matteo said, he would do. It might take him a while to talk his way around the matter of her escape, but she felt he could come up with a convincing story if pressed to do so. Even so, the thought of leaving the matter in his hands distressed her, and not entirely because of her reluctance to rely upon others. Tzigone enjoyed company, she made friends quickly and parted lightly. This time, the parting was not so easily done.

But she painted a smile on her face and extended her hand to him. “Deal.”

To Matteo’s eyes, the girl’s smile was a brave thing, not unlike a small boy dressing up in his father’s armor and weapons. He took her hand in a comrade’s clasp.

Tzigone muttered an expletive and dropped his hand. She leaned forward and wrapped herself around him in a quick, hard embrace. Then she was gone, scrambling down the tree as nimbly as a squirrel.

Matteo sighed. In the sudden lull her absence left behind, he noticed the throbbing in his head and the heavy thudding of his heart. He pressed against his temples with both hands to distract the pain and then again at the pressure points at the base of his neck. His fingers brushed through his thick dark hair and stopped short-not because of what they found, but because of what they did not. No silver chain, no emblem of his order.

His jordain’s pendant was missing again.

The young man’s lips twitched, then he chuckled. This was not merely a theft but a message -Tzigone’s way of assuring him that they were destined to meet again.

Though his jordaini masters would certainly disapprove, the thought did not displease Matteo in the slightest.

It took Matteo the better part of an hour to work his way down the bilboa tree. His first action was to find a member of the city guard and place himself under the man’s jurisdiction. After all, he was being held for Inquisition, and he was currently a fugitive from the king’s high counselor. They took him to the palace and sent a runner for Cassia. The lady jordain herself came to the gatehouse and took custody of the prisoner, assuring the guards that she was well able to deal with Matteo and insisting that they take no further action without her command.

He walked beside her in silence as they made their way into the palace gardens. Cassia finally came to a stop under an arbor heavy with ripe yellow grapes.

“This need not come before an inquisitor. Let us be frank with each other. I don’t like you and I don’t wish you well, but I dislike seeing any jordain come under the jurisdiction of those accursed magehounds. Tell me what you know about that girl. Spare yourself the disgrace of Inquisition, and save your order the trouble of dealing with your latest infraction.”

Matteo spread his hands. “There is little to tell. Not long ago I defended an unknown girl against attack in a tavern. Only later did I learn that she was a thief and a fugitive.”

“But you knew the identity of her attacker.”

“All too well,” he said bitterly. “I saw the wemic kill my best friend that very morning. I will not deny that this influenced my actions.”

“Imprudent, but understandable,” Cassia allowed. “Yet you continued to see the girl from time to time.”

“I had little choice,” he said dryly. “Tzigone considered herself in my debt and acted accordingly. She appeared whenever she thought she could do me some service, only to end up increasing her debt.”

“You never made an effort to alert the authorities?” He shrugged. “Our meetings were always at her instigation, and they were both unexpected and brief. I could not alert the authorities of something I could not anticipate.”

“The girl always walked away from these meetings, unscathed and undeterred. How do you explain that?”

“How do the guards of a dozen cities explain it? Or Mbatu, the wemic warrior who serves as personal guard to the magehound Kiva? Tzigone is harder to hold than starlight. I am a humble counselor,” Matteo said without a trace of irony. “It would be presumptuous to claim I could do what so many have attempted and failed.”

“Humble!” The king’s counselor sniffed. “That is probably the first time someone’s listed that quality among your many virtues.”

“Yet I owe my current position to my many failings,” Matteo said wryly.

Cassia lifted one hand in the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit. “I am seldom wrong. Would you like to hear me admit that I misjudged you? Help me in this matter, and I will consider my error to be a fortunate thing.”

He studied the woman’s pale, serene face for signs of duplicity. “I was imprisoned in the same chamber as Tzigone. At your command?”

“Of course. The thief claimed that you had let her into the palace.”

“I did not bolt my shutters,” he said dryly. “Tzigone no doubt took that as an invitation. Let me rephrase my question. Would you be gratified to hear that Tzigone stole my medallion of office?”

Her intelligent black eyes narrowed as she tried to follow his meaning. “Not particularly. Speak plainly!”

Matteo took the message from his bag and handed it to her. As Cassia skimmed it, her lips thinned and her pale face turned nearly gray.

“You thought I sent this message to you, expecting that the girl would steal it?”

“A reasonable assumption,” Matteo said.

“Entirely reasonable,” she agreed. “Tell me, where is she now?”

“I do not know. She told me she planned to leave the city immediately.”

Cassia’s smile was mocking but brittle. “And you believed her? As a jordain, you are constrained to tell the truth. But surely you are not such a fool that you think everyone follows the same code?”

He met her mocking gaze and gave away nothing of what was in his heart. “No, my lady, I am not such a fool as that.”

The second note from Cassia came late that night and was not such a surprise as the first. Matteo thanked the messenger and smoothed out the parchment. Written in the counselor’s emerald ink was a brief message commanding that he come to her chambers at once.

Commanding. Matteo noted this turn of phrase with deep consternation. In her first message, Cassia had admitted that she could not command him. Perhaps now she felt differently. Perhaps he was now her hound to call. All she had to do was speak the word, and his life as a jordain was over. He could continue being an honored servant of truth as long as he was willing to place Cassia’s demands above personal integrity. But what of his promise to Tzigone? How could he learn what secrets Cassia held if he did not play her game for at least a little while longer?

It was a complex problem, and not at all like the sciences he had devoted his life to learning. With a sigh, Matteo tucked the message into his tunic and made his way through the palace to the luxurious apartment of the king’s counselor.

He tapped at the door, which swung open slightly. This did not surprise him-after all, Cassia was expecting him.

Softly calling the jordain’s name, he eased into the room. The sight before him stopped him cold. Cassia lay on the floor, her pale face a sickly bluish gray and her black eyes bulging.

Matteo knelt beside her. Her skin was cool to the touch.

He guessed that she had been dead for several hours. The cause of death was immediately apparent. A silver chain had been twisted tightly around her neck so that it dug deep into the skin.

For a horrible moment, he thought the pendant was his.

He gingerly reached out and turned the small silver disk.

The markings on the back was the emblem of Cassia, jordain in the service of King Zalathorm.

Matteo’s sigh spoke of relief and self-reproach. Why did his first thought go to Tzigone? She had said she would leave the city, did she not? She agreed to let him get the information from Cassia. And never had she given him any reason to think of her as a murderer.

But what of the crimes Cassia hinted at? Tzigone was an admitted thief. What else might she be?

The need to know raised him to his feet and prompted him to invade the counselor’s study. Matteo carefully went through Cassia’s writing table, and then went through the shelves, book by book. He checked for hidden drawers, wall safes, and secret compartments. The king’s counselor had an amazing total of eight hiding places. They were all empty, but for a hidden drawer that held a large wilting flower, a small sack filled with skie, and a silver hairbrush. The “damning evidence” Cassia had claimed to possess was gone.

Matteo took a deep breath and had another look around. He studied the jordain’s chair, which was fashioned of elegantly carved teak and deeply cushioned in the new fashion-removable cushions stuffed with down that could be removed and fluffed. The imprint that Cassia left upon the seat was there to see, but he thought he perceived a smaller, deeper imprint within it. Cassia was a tall woman, and although not heavy, she could hardly be considered small. This second imprint had been left by someone very small, someone nearly as slim-hipped as a boy. Someone like Tzigone.

Then there was the matter of the silver brush. He recalled what Tzigone had said the day they probed her memories. She remembered her mother brushing her hair. That had seemed important to her. Perhaps this brush was important as well. If so, why had she left it behind?

Matteo searched the room again, more thoroughly this time. He found a small basket under the writing table, and in it a single piece of parchment. He smoothed the sheet flat and read a message from Cassia to the wizard Sinestra Belajoon. On the parchment was the seal of King Zalathorm. Apparently Cassia, with little use for writing materials, had taken a sheet from her patron’s store.

He quickly took from his bag the notes he had received from Cassia and compared the script. The writing was not from the same hand. Since Cassia, like all jordaini, didn’t send written messages, no one would be expected to know her handwriting. No one, that is, except Cassia herself.