The Floodgate

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?"

Zalathorm waved this away. "None that I know of. Obviously the elf woman kept her secrets for a very long time. She could not have done so unless she carefully avoided scrutiny. I can only assume that for years, Kiva did her work correctly and well. She got the story of the Crinti raid from Beatrix, using the prescribed spells and artifacts. I have no reason to doubt it."

"Yet Kiva claimed she murdered Cassia at the command of Queen Beatrix. She claimed the queen was concerned about the purity of the jordaini order, and the quality of counsel you were receiving. The queen called in Kiva, who examined Cassia, then passed sentence."

The king lifted one eyebrow. 'Tell me, Matteo, in your opinion is Beatrix consumed by concern for jordaini purity?"

"No," he admitted.

"The Elders agreed with you. Kiva's story was repeated and considered. Most find it ludicrous. Beatrix is not capable of treachery." The wizard king's shoulders rose and fell as if under a great burden. "I almost wish she were."

Zalathorm's eyes took on the unfocused look of one who looks deep into the past. "When Beatrix first came to Halarahh, she was like a blossoming flower. She remembered nothing, so everything was new to her. I have lived too long," he concluded with a wistful smile. "I had forgotten how bright was the world when it was new. For several years, Beatrix was my eyes. Indeed, she was every gem in my crown. Magic lent her beauty, but all Halruaa admired her grace, her charm, her vivacity, and most of all, her courage. The people loved her then. I love her still."

In Matteo's opinion, the king was getting sidetracked by his memories. "So in these early years, it is possible that more of her background might have been uncovered."

The light in Zalathorm's eyes disappeared. "I suppose so, yes, but what purpose would it serve if she remembered the family she had lost and the monsters who slaughtered them?"

"What if there was someone she had left behind? Someone whom she wished to remember?" Matteo persisted.

A shuttered expression fell over the king's face. "There are some things that lie beyond a king's decree and a wizard's power. Beatrix is what she is. Try to live with that, as I have."

Matteo bowed to show his acceptance of this advice. "There is one thing more, your majesty. I am curious about my predecessor, a jordain named Quertus."

"Ah, yes," the king recalled. "A wise man, I suppose, but a quiet one. Anyone in the palace could tell you this much and more."

"No one in the palace speaks of Quertus," Matteo said bluntly, "but I have heard that he was slain by one of the queen's clockwork creatures."

Storm clouds began to gather on Zalathorm's brow. "Who spoke this lie?"

"Someone sworn to truth, your majesty. Your former high counselor, the jordain Cassia."

"Ah." Zalathorm flicked one hand in a gesture of dismissal. "You would do well to disregard Cassia's words. There is much about her you do not know."

"I know of her grudge against the queen, and the one-sided rivalry that embittered her," Matteo responded.

Zalathorm leaned back and regarded the young man astonishment. "Well, I see that you believe in speaking unadorned truth."

Matteo bowed. "If I offend, I beg pardon."

"You surprise me. It has been many years since I heard plain speech from a member of your order." He rested his elbows on the arms of his throne and settled in. "Please, say on."

"Cassia had a hand in my promotion to the queen's service. She caught me in some foolishness and thought it amusing to foist an inept counselor upon the queen."

"That sounds like Cassia," Zalathorm noted. "Now let's have some of that much-vaunted jordaini truth." The king leaned forward, his eyes searching Matteo's face. "What would you do, jordain, if serving Halruaa conflicted with your duty to your patron? Where do your deepest loyalties lie?"