"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. Before 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.
Her eyes filled with tears. The face before her was not recognizable as Keturah-was barely recognizably human. Skin and flesh had been flayed off, and what remained had been deeply burned by fire and acids. The woman had no ears and not much of a nose. On that horrific face, the elaborate white and silver wig was a mockery, like gems on a corpse.
Without thinking Tzigone reached to remove the wig. The queen seized her wrists with a surprisingly strong grip.
"No," she said quietly.
Tzigone's heart shattered. This simple gesture convinced her as nothing else could have. She backed away, dipping in a bow. "Good night, my lady."
She turned and fled the room. Matteo followed. He found her on the stairwell, sitting with her face turned to the wall and her arms encircling her knees. He settled down beside her and waited.
"I should have known better than to touch her wig," she said at last. "My mother had beautiful hair. Even now, she can't bear for anyone to see her without it."
"So you believe it's true."
Tzigone lifted one shoulder. "Why wouldn't I? You've never lied to me. Of course, you haven't exactly been lavish with the truth, either."
He started to reach for her, then pulled back. "What will you do now?"
"Hmm?" She glanced up at him. "I'm heading straight for the tower. You have my word on it," she added in a sharper tone when Matteo lifted a questioning brow.
He nodded and walked her to the nearest exit. As Tzigone sped into the twilit city, she blessed Matteo for his particular brand of logic. He assumed she would return to Basel. It never occurred to him to ask her which tower!
Pebbles crunched under Uriah Belajoon's feet as he crept through the garden surrounding Basel Indoulur's tower. He considered casting a globe of silence but regretfully abandoned that idea. A yellow haze clung to the tower, the mark of warding against magical intrusion. He wouldn't risk discovery. Too much rested on surprise. He would have but one chance.
He crouched behind a flowering hibiscus along the main path and not far from the tower door. His fingers tightened around the hilt of a dagger. Magic would be perceived, but who would expect a single man to come to the mighty conjurer's domain armed with little more than a table knife? Sooner or later Basel would pass, and he would die.
Uriah waited as the moon crept above the rooftops of the king's city. Finally his patience was rewarded. The fat little toad who had killed his beloved Sinestra emerged from the tower and slipped into his garden. Basel Indoulur stood gazing up at the moon and the seven bright shards that followed it through the sky, as if the answer to some great puzzle might be written there.