For a horrible moment, he thought the pendant was his.

He gingerly reached out and turned the small silver disk.

The markings on the back was the emblem of Cassia, jordain in the service of King Zalathorm.

Matteo's sigh spoke of relief and self-reproach. Why did his first thought go to Tzigone? She had said she would leave the city, did she not? She agreed to let him get the information from Cassia. And never had she given him any reason to think of her as a murderer.

But what of the crimes Cassia hinted at? Tzigone was an admitted thief. What else might she be?

The need to know raised him to his feet and prompted him to invade the counselor's study. Matteo carefully went through Cassia's writing table, and then went through the shelves, book by book. He checked for hidden drawers, wall safes, and secret compartments. The king's counselor had an amazing total of eight hiding places. They were all empty, but for a hidden drawer that held a large wilting flower, a small sack filled with skie, and a silver hairbrush. The "damning evidence" Cassia had claimed to possess was gone.

Matteo took a deep breath and had another look around. He studied the jordain's chair, which was fashioned of elegantly carved teak and deeply cushioned in the new fashion-removable cushions stuffed with down that could be removed and fluffed. The imprint that Cassia left upon the seat was there to see, but he thought he perceived a smaller, deeper imprint within it. Cassia was a tall woman, and although not heavy, she could hardly be considered small. This second imprint had been left by someone very small, someone nearly as slim-hipped as a boy. Someone like Tzigone.

Then there was the matter of the silver brush. He recalled what Tzigone had said the day they probed her memories. She remembered her mother brushing her hair. That had seemed important to her. Perhaps this brush was important as well. If so, why had she left it behind?

Matteo searched the room again, more thoroughly this time. He found a small basket under the writing table, and in it a single piece of parchment. He smoothed the sheet flat and read a message from Cassia to the wizard Sinestra Belajoon. On the parchment was the seal of King Zalathorm. Apparently Cassia, with little use for writing materials, had taken a sheet from her patron's store.

He quickly took from his bag the notes he had received from Cassia and compared the script. The writing was not from the same hand. Since Cassia, like all jordaini, didn't send written messages, no one would be expected to know her handwriting. No one, that is, except Cassia herself.

Suddenly he understood the pallor on Cassia's face as she read the note. Someone else had written these notes, someone who wished to lure first Tzigone, and then him. Someone who had left clues, like the markings that rangers carved into the trees to mark the path for those who followed.

Matteo studied the two messages. The letter to Sinestra Belajoon had been written in deep indigo. The notes he had received were enscribed in a rare green ink. But by whom?

A fresh quill lay on Cassia's blotter, its tip stained the color of liquid emeralds. Likely the quill had been used but once, otherwise, the ink at the tip would be darker from many immersions. He tested the quill and found that the ink was dry, then took a new quill and dipped it into the bottle. He would test it at intervals and see when the ink fully dried. That would give him some idea of how long ago the note had been written.

Matteo turned his attention to the flower. It was a gentiola, a rare green blossom twice the size of his hand. He had never seen one except in sketches of Halruaa's exotic plants, for it grew deep within the swamps.

He turned the flower over and regarded the stem. A bit of dried sap sealed the cut stem, keeping in moisture so that the blossom would last several days. He noted a new scar, however, where a single leaf had been torn away, and recently. A single drop of liquid seeped from it, fragrant and tear-shaped. He wiped it away and noted the tiny design that had been carved onto the stem: a circle separated by a lighting bolt, the symbol on his stolen jordaini medallion. The same symbol had been scratched into the leather of the coin pouch, which was well worn and inexpensive.

Matteo read the message with mixed feelings. Tzigone had found this place. She trusted him to figure out what had transpired.

But she had not trusted him to do as he promised. She had taken the bait after all and had come to see what information Cassia had about her past.

And in doing so, she had condemned herself. If the forged messages had been sent throughout the city, Cassia's death would turn all eyes in Tzigone's direction. Now if Matteo were to be questioned, he couldn't deny his conviction that Tzigone had been in Cassia's chambers. The coin purse was undoubtedly hers. She had left it for him, hoping that he would understand and follow.

But what had she found? And where had she gone?

He sighed in deep frustration and studied the brush. The handle and back were of finely carved silver, the dark bristles taken from a wild boar. He pulled one of his daggers and slid the tip through the bristles. The blade caught on a single long hair, a hair that caught the light and gleamed like polished jade. His heart quickened as he pulled it free. There was no doubt. The hair was green.

"Kiva," he said grimly.

Chapter Eighteen

Matteo quietly left Cassia's chambers and made his way down to the palace stables. The night was dark, and the grooms were snoring in a mound of sweet hay. No one challenged him as he walked softly down the long row of stalls, looking for a horse that could run long and hard. He chose a black stallion that reminded him of Cyric. The horse nipped at him when he put on the bridle. Matteo took this as a good sign. He left enough of the skie to pay for the horse's hire and led Cyric the Second out of the stall.

He rode through the sleeping city and reached the docks before sunrise. Two small temples stood at the corner of the vast public square, places where sailors and travelers could come to ask the blessing of Mystra or Azuth. Matteo slipped into Azuth's temple and persuaded the acolyte on duty to find out the whereabouts of the Inquisitrix Kiva. Grumbling, the lad went into the back room and came back with a thick tome. He thumbed through it until he found the elf woman's name.

"Last assignment took her to Zalasuu," the boy said. "She's gone to Khaerbaal. That's all I have."

"Thank you." Matteo offered the lad a skie. "For the work of Azuth."

The young man's eyes brightened, and he put the coin into his bag. "Well, whose work do you think I'm doing?" he asked defensively, noting Matteo's stare.

The jordain had no wish to argue. He hurried down to the open-air market. The stalls had not yet opened for business, and many of the merchants slept on piles of their own goods. He found a dry goods stall and bought a tunic and leggings of rough brown linen from the sleepy-eyed merchant.

So garbed, he was able to get a place as a deckhand on a ship bound for Khaerbaal, claiming that he'd served as crew on Procopio's skyship. This proved sufficiently impressive to gain him passage both for him and his borrowed horse.

Once Matteo had reached Khaerbaal, he changed back into his jordaini garb, for few people would refuse information to a wizard's counselor. It didn't take him long to piece together information on Kiva's activities. She had been very busy indeed. A rather large number of visiting clerics had been branded and taken for inquisition. This was not all that unusual, but for the whispered information that a few extra coins bought Matteo. Of these people, very few were known as professed members of the clergy and some had been vehement in their denials of vocation.