The Wizardwar - Elaine Cunningham [108]
Zalathorm's brows shot up, and he sent an inquiring look at Matteo. The young jordain turned a deep shade of red.
"I believe that is a colloquial expression for extreme anger, my lord, one that holds connotations of something hot, steaming, unpleasant, and rather too large to deal with."
The king turned a wistful smile upon the girl. "Then I will leave matters as they stand. A dragondung sorceress is not something I care to contemplate."
"A sorceress," Matteo mused, staring thoughtfully at the girl. This explained a great many things.
Tzigone grinned and hurled a small honeycake at him. "Things change.
Try to keep up."
He deftly caught the small sticky missile. A wicked impulse stirred, and he yielded at once. "While we're contemplating change, perhaps we should also consider a long-running debate in the Council of Elders concerning the nature of the crown."
She rolled her eyes and then glanced at Zalathorm, evaluating the silver circlet resting on his brow with a practiced eye. "Electrum and sapphires would be my guess."
"There's a faction in Halruaa," he continued, "that wishes to establish a hereditary monarchy."
Matteo let that shaft sink home. When Tzigone's eyes flew wide, and her face slackened with horror, he tossed back the honeycake. It struck the bemused girl on the forehead and stuck there.
The king passed a hand over his face as if to erase a smile, then sent a stern glare at Matteo. "Is that any way to treat the crown princess?" he said with mock wrath.
He rose, plucked the cake off Tzigone's forehead, and left the room. His footsteps quickly faded, along with a feint chuckle.
Tzigone licked her sticky fingers and looked thoughtfully at Matteo. "You know, I think I could get to like him."
"As you say, Your Highness."
Her eyes narrowed. Matteo responded with a bland smile. "Things change," he reminded her. "Do try to keep up."
Basel Indoulur strolled through the public gardens that lay between the city palace and his Halarahh tower. Sunset colors crept into the sky over the city, and the bright, complex perfume of a thousand flowers lingered in the soft air. The wizard took his time, for he was in no hurry to return to his lonely tower.
With no family of his own, Basel lavished time and attention on his apprentices, but Tzigone would not be returning to the tower for quite some time.
Procopio Septus had seen to that. Now that she'd been publicly acknowledged as Keturah's daughter, her mother's tower was hers.
He sighed as his thoughts shifted to his other two apprentices. Farrah Noor was dead, and Mason, accused of her murder, was constrained by magic from leaving Basel's villa. The young apprentice was alternately morose and frantic, but he steadfastly maintained he'd had nothing to do with the girl's death.
Basel believed him, but Farrah's death had had dire and far-reaching impact on the uneasy wizards. In these uneasy days, the trial of one wizard for another's murder was like a match to oiled timber. The sooner they sorted through this tangle, the better. He wondered if perhaps Tzigone might be able to ferret out the true story from the potion bottle, as she had with the noblewoman's necklace.
Suddenly a bolt of orange light sizzled up into the sky and exploded like festival fireworks. Droplets of bright magic spread into a brilliant fountain and sprinkled down over Basel's tower.
The wizard broke into a run. He'd never seen such magic, but he suspected its purpose. A protective shield surrounded his villa, keeping Mason in until his fate was decided. It also kept people out, but no magic was inviolatethere were spells that could eat through this shield as surely as a black dragon's acid melted through a northerner chain mail.
He burst through