The Floodgate - Elaine Cunningham [89]
Zephyr, Kiva, Akhlaur, the laraken, Keturah, and now her. And Matteo, and perhaps even his friend Andris. They were all connected somehow, but Tzigone could not perceive what pattern those intertwined threads might make.
She scrawled a quick copy of Zephyr's history and hurried to the palace, hoping that Matteo could do better. On the way, she "borrowed" some suitable clothing and gear and slipped into the queen's palace.
Despite the late hour, Matteo was not in his room. Tzigone, unnoticed, finally found him at the kitchen storerooms, collecting supplies for his trip. Nor was he alone. The kitchen buildings teamed with activity.
"Gods above," she muttered. "Don't palace servants ever sleep?"
A soft, quickly stifled giggle drew her attention to a nearby goat shed. A pail of fresh milk stood off to one side, not far from the ladder leading up to the loft.
Tzigone climbed the ladder and found precisely what she'd anticipated: a pile of fresh hay, two people entirely oblivious to her presence, and some hastily discarded clothing. Tzigone quietly stripped off her chambermaid's gown and tugged the girl's short blue dress over her head.
Thus accoutered, she hurried back down to the abandoned bucket of goat's milk. She picked it up and staggered into Matteo's path, taking care to slop some of the contents of her bucket onto his boots.
He took in Tzigone's pert dairymaid costume without comment and managed not to roll his eyes while she apologized extravagantly in the rolling accents of the northland herders. And he followed her as she babbled and backed away. He deftly accepted the list she handed him during the distraction and tucked it into his belt.
By Mystra, she thought admiringly. There might be hope for him yet!
They worked their way to a quiet spot between the goat shed and the brewery. Matteo took the note from his belt, scanned it, and lifted grim eyes to her face. "Where did you get this?"
"There's a new tavern by the south gate," she began, still in her goat-girl voice. "The cook makes puff pastries that are hollow inside, then slits the crust and slips in a fortune or a small favor. I got an emerald ring, and traded it to the friend I was with for this list."
Matteo glared at her. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so."
"I don't want to tell you," she replied promptly. "What do you make of it?"
He handed back the parchment. "Zephyr was in service to Halruaa's wizards for well over two hundred years. He was one of the first jordaini. Perhaps Akhlaur had a hand in the order's creation."
Tzigone looked doubtful, "Jordaini and Akhlaur. Those two flavors don't belong in the same pot."
"So I would like to think, but Akhlaur was a powerful necromancer. Such wizards do not deal exclusively with death but alter the living to suit their purposes. When you get right down to it, how better to describe the jordaini than men altered to suit the purposes of wizards?"
She took this in. "How does Kiva fit in?"
"Elves live very long lives. Kiva may look no older than you and me, but it is possible that she knew Zephyr, and possibly Akhlaur, two centuries past."
"What does any of this have to do with my mother? With us?"
Matteo sighed. "You and I are much akin, Tzigone. We are both resistant to magic, we were forcibly separated from our families. Perhaps we were both 'made' to suit some wizard's purpose, as they might fashion a golem from iron or clay."
"Well, that's cheery!"
"What would you rather have-a grim truth or a cheerful lie?"
"Hmm. Do you need the answer right now?"
"Yes, and so do you," he said, turning her half-hearted jest back on her.
"Talk with Dhamari Exchelsor."
She was silent for a long moment. "You know what, Matteo? I really, really hate it when you're right."
"In that case,"