JК
The Floodgate :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 62 из 212I was ordered back to the palace. I will continue my search as soon as I can obtain leave."
She considered this. "What happens to a jordain who just picks up and goes?"
"I don't know," he said in surprise. "As far as I know, it has never happened."
"Hmm." Tzigone sent him a sidelong glance from beneath lowered lashes, but did not press the matter.
They spoke for a few moments of other things, and in that time Matteo laughed more than he had under the light of the past two moons. After Tzigone slipped away, Matteo continued to the palace with a lighter heart.
He made his way directly to the queen's chambers. As he had expected, the workshop hummed with activity. He found the queen working at a table in a far corner of the chamber and drew near to pay his respects. He might as well have tried to discuss philosophy with a cat. She never once looked up from the half-finished device, oblivious to everything but the winged metal creature taking shape under her hands.
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.
She considered this. "What happens to a jordain who just picks up and goes?"
"I don't know," he said in surprise. "As far as I know, it has never happened."
"Hmm." Tzigone sent him a sidelong glance from beneath lowered lashes, but did not press the matter.
They spoke for a few moments of other things, and in that time Matteo laughed more than he had under the light of the past two moons. After Tzigone slipped away, Matteo continued to the palace with a lighter heart.
He made his way directly to the queen's chambers. As he had expected, the workshop hummed with activity. He found the queen working at a table in a far corner of the chamber and drew near to pay his respects. He might as well have tried to discuss philosophy with a cat. She never once looked up from the half-finished device, oblivious to everything but the winged metal creature taking shape under her hands.
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.