The Floodgate

"I don't know," he said in surprise. "As far as I know, it has never happened."

"Hmm." Tzigone sent him a sidelong glance from beneath lowered lashes, but did not press the matter.

They spoke for a few moments of other things, and in that time Matteo laughed more than he had under the light of the past two moons. After Tzigone slipped away, Matteo continued to the palace with a lighter heart.

He made his way directly to the queen's chambers. As he had expected, the workshop hummed with activity. He found the queen working at a table in a far corner of the chamber and drew near to pay his respects. He might as well have tried to discuss philosophy with a cat. She never once looked up from the half-finished device, oblivious to everything but the winged metal creature taking shape under her hands.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Matteo left in search of the queen's steward. He found Timonk in the wine cellar, taking a long pull from a bottle of haerlu gold. He entered quietly and seized the man's wrist. Startled in mid swallow, Timonk jerked away with a gurgling protest. Fragrant liquid spilled over the steward's tunic.

Matteo pulled the coughing, sputtering man to his feet. "I will apologize after you explain why you called me back." A measure of sobriety crept back into the man's fuzzy gaze. "She's getting worse," he said darkly. He lifted a bandaged hand. With drink-addled fingers, he fumbled off the bandage.

Matteo's eyes widened. Only two fingers and a thumb remained on the steward's hand. The others had been sheared cleanly away.

"One of the clockwork creatures?" Matteo asked quietly. The man nodded. "Since you left, all she has done is build."

"Why didn't you tell the king?" Timonk's only response was a loud snort, drunken but derisive.

Matteo rested one hand on the man's shoulder, then turned and sprinted up the stairs that led into the queen's palace. He strode through the triple doors that kept her toys from disturbing the rest of the court, past the clockwork ice dragons that stood guard, and down the hall toward the king's council chamber.

A plump, sweet-faced woman wearing the blue of a royal herald stopped him at the door. Her face turned grim as she listened to the jordain's tale, and she asked him to wait. The herald returned in moments. "The king is holding open court, but he will speak with you as soon as he might."

Matteo nodded his thanks and worked his way through the throng that gathered in the high-vaulted hall. He waited quietly in an alcove until the last of the supplicants had been given audience. At last the king dismissed his courtiers and guards and motioned for Matteo to approach.

With a grateful sigh, King Zalathorm removed his crown and set it on the empty table to his right. The left-hand table was still piled with parchment, mute testament to the multitude of mundane matters that absorbed the great wizard's attention.

Halruaa's king was a mild-looking man of average height, with a soft brown beard and a thoughtful, almost dreamy expression. He looked to be in midlife, yet he had ruled the kingdom for all of Matteo's life, as throughout the lifetimes of Matteo's unknown parents, and theirs before them.

"Your face is troubled, Matteo," the king said. "Since you are a jordain, your concerns are beyond divination. Speak freely."

"The queen's steward summoned me back to Halarahh, expressing concern for her well-being." Matteo said carefully. "There is much about the queen that I do not understand. If I am to serve her, I must know how she came to be as she is. Can you tell me of her life before she came to Halarahh?"

Matteo doubted there was a safe door into so dangerous a room, but this was the most tactful approach he could fathom. Once before the king had confided in him. Perhaps if Zalathorm started talking about his queen's dark past, they might find a way to discuss her present troubles.

A shadow passed over Zalathorm's face. He lifted one hand and rubbed distractedly at his jaw. "Beatrix was born into a family of wizards, raised in a quiet settlement in the northeastern hills," he recited wearily. "All of Halruaa knows her history. The Crinti attacked and brutally slew every living thing in that settlement. Beatrix was the sole survivor."

"She was gravely wounded," Matteo prompted.

"That and more. She was horribly disfigured." The king fell silent for a long moment. "A simple spell gives her a fairer face, but that is not sufficient for Beatrix. Her porcelain facade is more than a queen's pride or a woman's vanity. It is a shield she places between herself and the assault of memory."

"She remembers nothing?"

"No. Perhaps that is for the best."

"When the queen came to the city years ago, she was examined by the magehound Kiva, now condemned as a murderer and a traitor to Halruaa. What significance might that hold?"