"War is often the path to power. Stay with Procopio if you can," Matteo urged. "He should be watched."
The jordain gave him an incredulous look. "What are you suggesting?"
Matteo considered his next words carefully, for he was picking his way through new and dangerous territory. "We jordaini swear many oaths, binding us to our patrons, to Halruaa, and to truth. What happens when these pledges conflict?"
"But-"
"Hear me out. What is our primary concern? Do we serve the ambitions of a single man? The good of the land? Truth? And what defines this 'good, this 'truth? Our own perceptions or those of our patron? Do we listen to the voice of conscience or the demands of ambition?"
Iago was silent for a long time. "You should be careful about speaking such thoughts, my friend. Some might call it treason."
"Others might call it honor," Matteo pointed out. "If we jordaini abandon honor, what good can we possibly do? Can we be Halruaa's guardians with no moral compass other than the whim of the wizard-lords? You know history. You know what wizardry ambition can do."
"We serve the wizard-lords," began Iago.
"Yes, and so do the message boys that carry word from the wizard's kitchen to the butcher. If we do everything we are bid, without thought, how are we any different?"
The small man fell silent. "I will consider your words, Matteo. Since you are a friend, I will not repeat them."
Iago spoke with great finality. Matteo was surprised, therefore, when Iago picked up the awkward threads of their conversation.
"You have spoken plainly. Will you hear some blunt words?"
"Of course!"
"You're quick to trust," the jordain observed, "and far too impulsive. You seem willing to do whatever a friend requires of you. Perhaps you care too deeply about your friends."
Matteo's brow furrowed. "How is that a fault?"
"I didn't say it was a fault, exactly, but it is a danger. What will you do, Matteo, if you must make a choice between your jordaini duties and your friends? You puzzle over the conflicts of truth, the good of the land, and the will of the wizard-lords. How much more difficult would you find it to weigh the good of Halruaa against the life of a friend? And what of truth? Would you lie for Andris?" His steady black gaze narrowed and sharpened. "Or perhaps for Tzigone? It seems to me there is little you would not do for that girl."
Matteo felt his cheeks flame. "As I keep repeating, she is a friend and nothing more."
"As I am trying to tellyou,perhaps you care too deeply for your friends. You've already fought a magehound's wemic for Tzigone. You went to prison rather than name her as a thief, even though she stole the sword that led to your arrest and didn't bother to tell you she'd hidden it among your possessions. To protect her, you killed a wizard. Awizard,Matteo! The Disputation Table absolved you of legal wrongdoing, but have you any idea how the wizard-lords regard a jordain who kills? In the eyes of many, you're as dangerous and unpredictable as a half-feral dog."
"I know this," Matteo said quietly.
"You know a great deal, and yet knowledge does not give you wisdom! Whenever that beguiling little witch shows up, you cease thinking and merely act."
Matteo was silent for a long moment. His words, when he spoke, surprised him. "You find her beguiling?"
The older man sighed heavily. "It does not matter what I think. I am not the one who missed the purification ritual."
Matteo was unlikely to forget this particular disgrace, though he wasn't certain why Iago brought it up in the current context. "I will remember," he promised.
Iago was not yet finished. "We've all learned the tales of impossible quests and tragic passions. Only heroes can afford such things, Matteo. We are not heroes. We are counselors."
The young man shook his head in bewilderment. "I know what I am."
"I hope so, Matteo," he said softly, his black eyes fixed upon the rapidly approaching docks.
They did not speak again, except for a strained recitation of ritual parting words as they left the ship and went their own ways.
Night enfolded the city as Matteo worked his way through the teeming dock area and out onto the broad, tree-lined streets of Halarahh. Magical lanterns winked alight as he set a brisk pace toward the palace.
His thoughts turned to Queen Beatrix. He did not know the exact nature of the steward's concern, but he could think of several possibilities. He owed his position to the death of his predecessor. The queen's former counselor had been slain by one of her clockwork devices.
This had long puzzled Matteo. No one at the palace ever spoke of this accident. Nor had the jordain's death been discussed at the College. Matteo had still been a student at the time, and certainly would have heard the stories. Was it possible that a man's death could be held in such strict secrecy and without consequence to those at fault? Halruaa was a land of law. Surely even the queen was not above its rule!
Yet as far as Matteo could tell, no steps had been taken to curb the queen's strange and dangerous pastime.
Many things about his royal patron troubled him, not the least of which was the strange song he had overheard her sing at their last meeting. For a brief moment, the queen had reminded him of Tzigone.
Yet the voice was not the same, nor was there any physical resemblance between the queen and his friend. Surely he was seeing ghosts in a house not haunted! He had promised Tzigone to help her find her mother, and of course he would search for Tzigone's face in that of every woman he met. It didn't help matters that Tzigone, with her uncanny knack for imitation and her mobile, expressive features, could change herself at will. No doubt she could resemble half the women in Halruaa!
He absently dodged a pair of giggling lovers who staggered out of an alehouse, supporting each other as they wove down the street. As Matteo passed the narrow alley that ran behind the tavern, a small figure stirred amid the shadows, and a very grubby face turned to watch him pass.
The jordain walked on, aware of the soft pad of footsteps behind him. He was not entirely surprised to sense a furtive touch on the hilt of his silver dagger.
Matteo reached back and seized the fragile wrist. He spun toward the thief, twisting the lad's arm and spinning him about so that his back was to Matteo and his captured wrist held high behind his back. Matteo pushed his captive back toward the privacy of the alley. All this he did quickly, with as little sound and movement as possible. The laws of the land dealt harshly with thieves.
The lad seemed to realize this.