The Floodgate   ::   Каннингем Элейн

But would a good man stand by while his wife destroyed her mind and magic to ensure that she bore a jordaini babe? Matteo's training taught him that service to Halruaa came first. Perhaps Basel had once believed this and learned that other vows lay deepest in his heart.

Another thought hit him, an aftershock no less jarring than the quake that proceeded. What if Basel's claim was actual truth? What if the wizard was Tzigone's father? If that were so, perhaps Matteo's friend was also his sister! As Matteo considered this complex marvel, he found that he did not want to reject these possibilities out of hand. If he were able to do so, he would claim this unlikely family with pride. He searched the wizard's face for a similar epiphany and found none.

"I've seen lightning-struck men who looked less stunned than you," Basel said with a faint smile. "Yet we are not so different. I suspect that one of your reasons for seeking Kiva so diligently is that she obviously knows of Tzigone's heritage. You don't want her hurting Tzigone any more than she has."

Matteo blinked. "I had not thought of it in those terms."

"Sometimes the hardest truth to see is the one within." The wizard spoke the jordaini proverb with the air of long familiarity.

They spoke for a few minutes more, and Matteo took his leave. On impulse, he gave the driver the name of a place he had visited but once. The horses trotted swiftly to the west, through rows of fashionable houses magically grown from coral, on through neighborhoods of dwindling wealth and prestige. Finally they stopped at a tall, stonewalled garden.

He passed through the gate and walked swiftly to the cottage he and Tzigone had visited. The door was ajar. He tapped lightly and eased it open.

A woman stood by the window, gazing out at the small garden beyond, her arms wrapped tightly around her meager form.

"Mystra's blessing upon you, mother." It was merely the polite address for women of her age, but the word felt unexpectedly sweet on his lips.

The woman turned listlessly toward him. Matteo fell back a step, his breath catching in an astonished gasp.

She was not the same person.

"What did you expect?" demanded a soft, furious voice behind him.

Matteo turned to face a woman dressed in a servant's smock. Her face was round and soft, and it would have been pretty but for the grim set of her mouth.

She nodded at his jordaini medallion. "If one of you comes around asking questions, any woman he meets is moved to another place.