"The story," he prompted. "Unadorned, if possible."
She took a deep breath. "I am secretly a member of the Jordaini Council. In the guise of a clever street waif, I protect the rights of any jordain targeted by treachery or jealousy. Currently I am following you to ensure that Frando does not attempt to place you in damning circumstances."
Matteo folded his arms. "Really."
"And it's a good thing I did! Are you aware that a pair of nubile Amnian twins are being smuggled into your bedchamber even as we speak? And that they are clad in the queen's gowns, and wearing wigs and face paint so that they both resemble Beatrix? Frando plans to accuse you not only of depravity, but of theft of the queen's property and treachery against the king. I suppose that would be treachery by proxy, since the twins are not actually Beatrix," she mused. "The niceties of Halruaan law escape me."
"Indeed," the jordain said dryly. "That's an ingenious plot, considering how little time Frando had to conceive it. He must have more talent than either you or I credited him with."
"Who knew?" she marveled.
Matteo sighed. "Tzigone, why do you insist upon telling such outrageous tales?"
"It keeps me in practice," she said with a shrug, then patted the wooden bench. "You might as well have a seat. We could be here for a while."
"Until the magehound is summoned," he said grimly. "Do you realize how serious this situation is?"
She met his eyes. "All my life I have been pursued by wizards and magehounds," she said quietly. "Once before I was caught. I escaped, but not before I learned exactly how serious the situation can be. Here's a tall tale you can believe: If I don't get out, I'm dead."
Matteo nodded slowly. "Then you are a wizard after all."
"Must you keep singing that dreary tune?" she snapped. "I told you, I'm no wizard. I have never been trained, I have never gone to any of the schools, I have not even been tested for gifts."
Matteo suspected that this was true, as far as it went. He sat down beside her. "I believe that you will be slain if the law gets hold of you. But I suspect that theft is the least of your crimes."
"Compare my situation to yours," she suggested. "I've been a street entertainer, making my way by doing tricks that supposedly had nothing to do with magic. If fraud is proved, there's a price to pay. Same as with the jordaini."
He thought of Andris and of the price that had been exacted from his friend. He couldn't stand quietly by while that happened again. After a moment he looked up and let Tzigone see the resolve in his eyes.
The girl nodded and then began to plot. Matteo could almost see the gears working behind her eyes, as if she were one of the queen's clockwork creatures.
"I want you to stand over there in the far corner, where the shadows are deepest. Put your white cloak over your shoulders. Turn your back to the door, so that the first thing someone sees is a faceless jordain. You're not much taller than Cassia. It might work."
He quickly followed the line of her reasoning. But impersonating a jordain was a serious offense, even if one jordain pretended to be another. "Is this truly necessary?"
"Depends. How attached are you to the idea of living? Personally, I'm quite fond of the notion."
Matteo nodded in acceptance. He rose and took the position she had indicated, his daggers at the ready.
Tzigone rose and walked to the door.
"Guards!" she demanded in a peremptory tone. Cassia's voice rang from her throat, strong and commanding. "Open this door at once."
The guard came over to the door, glanced at the jordain in the shadows, and made the assumption Tzigone had anticipated. He dug the key from his bag and bent to unlock the door.
Tzigone seized his hair with both hands and yanked his head into the iron bars. He fell senseless. The key remained in the lock, twisted in a half turn.
Nimbly she reached around and finished the task. Motioning for Matteo to follow, she darted toward the narrow winding steps that traced the interior wall of the tower.
Matteo followed her up the steep flight, knowing full well what he was leaving behind. Saving Tzigone's life had only one possible result. He could never return to the only life he knew.
He acknowledged that this wasn't a new choice. He had merely taken another step along the path he set upon the day he stepped between Tzigone and the deadly wemic. The day that Andris had died. The day, he realized suddenly, that his unwavering faith in the jordaini order had been shaken beyond repair.
A strange desolation assailed him as he followed Tzigone out of the tower. He was a jordain, sworn to the service of truth and to Halruaa and her wizard lords. This had been his whole life, it was all he knew. He couldn't conceive of anything that could replace it.
But first, survival. They raced to the top of the tower and then squeezed out the window and climbed down the vines that somehow found purchase on the smooth marble walls. From there they moved to the curtain walls, and from there to the branches of the first of several trees. But they didn't speak until they reached the leafy sanctuary of Tzigone's bilboa tree.
Matteo watched as Tzigone took dried rations and a flask of water from a hidden cache. "Do you know every such tree in the land?"
"One or two in every city and main village," she said. "I move around a lot. I doubt I need to explain why."
"In truth, an explanation would be in order," Matteo said. "For what are you searching? What is worth the risks that you've taken?"
For once Tzigone gave a straight and simple answer. "I'm looking for my ancestry."
Matteo's brow furrowed. "This is so important?"
"I can see why you wouldn't think so. You've never known family."
"All jordaini are taken to the school shortly after birth," he agreed. "It is the traditional way."
"But haven't you ever wondered who your family were?"
He gave that careful thought. "From time to time, I have wondered who might have given me birth. But the jordaini are my brothers, and I have known no real lack. Your situation is different, I take it?"
"Yes," she said shortly. "I had a mother, and I won't rest until I find her. Don't you ever wonder what happened to yours?"
"She was a woman grown when she gave birth. I understand that jordaini births are usually predicted by the matchmakers, so she knew from the onset that she would bear a child only to give it up. This is done willingly, for the good of the land. The parents are well compensated, as they have no children to care for them in their old age, and they are greatly honored for their sacrifice."
Tzigone stared at him for a long moment. "Come with me," she said abruptly and began to slide down the tree.
Less than two hours later, they stood in the doorway of a one-room cottage, one of several such cottages, all identical and clustered around a simple garden surrounded by a tall, thick wall.
"What place is this?" Matteo asked in a whisper. There was something about the place, pleasant though it was, that inhibited the spirit.
"Go inside," Tzigone said.
Matteo paused at the doorway and spoke the traditional pledge tradition required of all Halruaans, swearing that no magic would be worked within this house.
"Do not mock me," said a small, anguished whisper.
He came fully into the room and peered into the shadows that lingered by the unlit hearth. A woman huddled there, curled up on a chair like a weeping child.
"That was not my intention, mother," he said softly, using the polite form for unknown women of her apparent years. "My words were a greeting such as any might speak. They are also truth, for I am jordaini."
The word hit her like an arrow. She looked up, her eyes wild in her white face. "A jordain!"