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"To research the spell that freed me?"
"So?"
"Then he did no wrong. The tower was Keturah's before Dhamari stole it. I'm Keturah's daughter and heir. Whatever Basel took was mine. He didn't do anything wrong, ever, and I'll tell that to everyone who'll listen. Let's go."
She changed directions again, hurrying toward the city palace. Matteo matched her pace. "Tzigone, you will never get into the council chamber!"
"Why not? Who's going to stop the queen's jordain?"
"I am counselor to Zalathorm now," he corrected.
"Even better!"
Matteo sighed and pulled her to a stop. "I will bring you on one condition: You listen and say nothing. Until all is known, your tendency to add interesting facts to the truth could create complications."
She gave grumbling assent. They walked in silence to the pink marble palace and walked unhindered into the council hall.
The vaulted room was dominated by a vast marble table shaped like a half moon. Thirteen members of the Council of Elders sat around the table's curve, their faces grave at the prospect of hearing charges against one of their own.
Matteo and Tzigone found a seat in an empty upper balcony and watched as an Inquisitor of Azuth began the spells of testing.
The magehound was a tall, black-haired woman, fussily clad in the green and yellow robes of an Azuthan inquisitor and decorated with far too many gems. No doubt she wished to appear important and grand. Even her gestures had a theatrical extravagance that set Matteo's teeth on edge. He could imagine the vicious satire Tzigone would enact after the trial!
With a flourish, the magehound took out a silver rod and placed it against Basel's forehead. "The charge brought by Uriah Belajoon is true," she announced in ringing tones. "Basel Indoulur was the man who touched Sinestra and triggered Lord Belajoon's spell."
"That may be so," Basel said evenly, "but I merely closed the woman's eyes. She was already dead, slain by magic I did not cast."
Tzigone leaned out over the railing, her eyes fixed upon the man seated in the very center of the group of Elders. "Damn! There's old Snow Hawk. That can't be good."
Procopio Septus fit the description in every particular. He wore his prematurely white hair cropped close, which drew attention to a strong curved nose and black eyes like those of a hunting hawk. Matteo knew there was no love lost between Procopio and the accused wizard.
"He is the lord mayor of the king's city," Matteo reminded her. "He often hears accusations and sits in judgment.
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