Sword and Verse (12 page)

From then on, each time Laiyonea left me, I wrote more pages. Soon I had so many that they no longer fit in the hole in the wall, so I found more hiding places. I laid some flat under paving stones, and scaled the back of the writing cabinet and hid more in the fluted wood that adorned the top.

And still there were thousands of symbols left. But I would make the language of the gods give up its secrets to me.

Sotia was moved to give her own gift to the mortals. She fashioned a disk of stone and exhaled the symbols of the language of the gods upon it. But when she descended the mountain to give it to the people, the eyes of Gyotia, often suspiciously upon her, saw what she planned.

WHILE I WAS
in the Adytum working on my project, the emptiness seemed to abate. But each time I heard the servants gossiping about wedding plans or saw Soraya on Mati's arm, the pain returned.

One day was especially brutal—Karita Jin, the Trade Minister's wife, had organized a luncheon for Soraya, and asked Laiyonea and me to be present for the invocations for the health of Soraya's future son, the boy I would one day teach. Afterward, Lady Jin insisted, in what she clearly thought was a kindness, that we stay for the meal. I pushed fish around on my plate and tried to tune out the laughing advice the other women offered Soraya for her wedding night.

Laiyonea pulled me away for lessons as soon as was decent.

In the Adytum, I sat down heavily and rested my forehead on my arms. My tears had long since been spent. The pain was a dull ache now, a vast, perennial emptiness.

Laiyonea rubbed my shoulder. She wasn't one to fill up silences with chatter or to offer meaningless comfort.

At length she gave me a project—busywork to keep my quill moving and my mind empty. I don't think she meant to leave me that afternoon, because she looked at me regretfully when a summons from the king came.

It didn't matter. I'd have been equally miserable with or without her there. I tried to distract myself with my encoding project; I'd gotten through the thousand higher order symbols by that time, and was ready to begin the lower order.

I dipped my quill into the ink, but my heart was too heavy to focus on symbols or sounds. I thought of how the kings wrote to the gods when they had a problem or a request—that was the sole purpose of the higher order writing, after all.

One does not entreat the gods through shouted prayers or offerings
, my father had told me when I was a child,
but through their greatest gift to us, writing.

I was a child of the islands. The gods who listened to the Qilarite kings surely would not listen to me.

But the caged goddess might.

My quill shook as I set it to the paper.
Most Honored Sotia,
I wrote, and I poured out my emptiness and anger onto the page. Surely Sotia, even if she could receive this message in her imprisoned state, would care little for my sorrows, but my heart lightened as I unburdened myself. I wrote of endless nights in the banquet room, of Laiyonea's brittle kindness and Mati's uncaring coldness. And somehow, as the feelings transformed themselves into the geometry of symbols and lines, I felt less alone.

When I was done, I held the letter over the firepit for a long time. These words were completely mine, unlike anything else I had written, and harder to give up.

But I wasn't stupid, so I did drop it into the flames in the end. I imagined the smoke lifting my misery to the sky, carrying my words to the goddess, wherever she was.

After that I often wrote to Sotia, and then I imagined my grief turning to ashes along with the pages in the firepit. Most days I wrote no more than a page, but that page helped me bear the sight of Mati in the corridors or laughing in the garden with Soraya. Slowly, I began to feel myself again.

Laiyonea approved of the change. She didn't say so, of course, but I sensed it as I sat by her at banquets, pretending all was well. I even answered the kindly Trade Minister, Priasi Jin, with more than two words when he asked about my training, and did not flinch when he told Laiyonea boisterously that I would be more than ready to replace her in a few years when Mati's son was born.

Now that I was emerging from oblivious misery, I realized how much I had been missing in the palace while Mati had consumed my thoughts. Ambassadors from drought-stricken Galasi had come to ask for aid, which the king had refused—perhaps because the conflict with Emtiria had gotten worse. Everyone on the Scholars Council seemed to have a different opinion of King Tyno's decision to send soldiers to Asuniaka to break the Emtirian siege, but all agreed that it wasn't going well.

Far more interesting to me, though, were the rumors of the Resistance in the city. I overheard two guards muttering about a massive slave escape at the quarry, until they saw me lingering
and sped off in different directions. Later I heard that two Arnath boys had been killed in the market for stealing swords from a blacksmith. Scholars now went about the city with armed guards in their carriages.

Perhaps that was why the king ordered the palace gates shut at the Festival of Qora, and the fair took place in the front courtyard. Laiyonea told me that many Scholars now refused to set foot in the market, so the council had convinced the king of this measure so that the highborn ladies could purchase dress materials for the wedding, which was now but a season and a half away.

I forced myself to watch dispassionately as Mati and Soraya opened the fair, and was rewarded with a nod from Laiyonea as she bid me take the afternoon off, and even dropped a few coins into my palm.

I walked down the lanes of merchants, enjoying the unaccustomed leisure. Scholar ladies gathered around a silk merchant's stall, arguing the merits of various colors. I hurried away and bypassed the next two aisles full of milliners, seamstresses, and jewelers shouting suggestions for wedding gifts for the royal couple.

I spent most of my coins on a roll stuffed with shredded lamb, and devoured it, grease dripping down my hands, as I wandered the next row of stalls. This row featured exotic items: carved scroll stands from Emtiria, heavy woven scarves from mountainous Pyla, fat-bellied inkwells from Galasi in the south. I wiped my hands on my skirt and examined a pot of quills with pale green cores and white, curling feathers. My fingers tingled as I recalled the softness of just such a feather, given to me at the Temple of Lanea.

The stall's owner, a powerfully built man with a clump of dense black hair right in the middle of his head, approached me. “Many Shinings, Tutor,” he said; my white and green dress had given me away. “Horel Stit at your service. I see that you are admiring my quills—”

“No, I have quills enough, thank you,” I said quickly.

“Ah, then perhaps I can interest you in my Silkstone Pendant. This is one of several pieces I brought back from Illana in the far north.” Stit indicated a pendant carved from stone so thin that it let light through.

“I thought Illana was deserted.” And had been, for hundreds of years.

Stit smiled; three of his front teeth were missing. Most people looked friendlier when they smiled, but he looked somehow less so. “Caches of treasure wait in the mountain caves for those who wish to find them.”

He meant the ancient tombs hidden in the frozen mountains, filled with offerings left by the long-ago inhabitants. His oily smile made me feel a little sick.

“Such an item would be a lovely wedding gift for the prince's bride,” he went on.

Someone snorted. I turned to see a familiar figure at the other end of the stall, measuring out powdered herbs for a girl in green.

Jonis flashed me a nasty look before turning back to the scale. The girl, who looked about my age, whispered something to him and glared at me. Thick black hair hung straight to her shoulders, but her skin was pale. I thought I'd seen her before, but couldn't place her—and I had no idea why she would look at me like that.

When I turned back to Stit, he was watching Jonis, his eyes narrowed.

I cleared my throat, inexplicably frightened for Jonis, and horrified at the risk he must have taken in stealing the white quill from his master—the quill I had kicked under the chair and left behind. “My gift is dictated by tradition,” I said to Stit, to draw his attention back to me. “I will present the next Tutor.” I was proud of myself for saying this so dispassionately. The presentation was one of many parts of the upcoming wedding I dreaded.

Stit nodded. “Of course. Have you seen these exquisite inkwells?”

I shook my head. “My coins have gone to fill my stomach today,” I said cheerfully.

Stit's interest in me evaporated with comical speed. I hurried away, not daring to look at Jonis or the girl. My path took me to the temple tents at the corner of the courtyard, a convenience for Scholars during the festival days. I sighed and fingered my last two coins, knowing that a good Tutor, as a handmaiden of Aqil, would make an offering to the god; that was probably why Laiyonea had given me the coins anyway.

The red silk tent was quiet inside, with two alcoves closed off by curtains. In the small central space, Kiti perched on a stool, carving a small wooden figure.

He leaped up at my entrance. “Raisa!” he said warmly.

I glanced meaningfully at the partitions.

“It's just me here,” he said in a softer voice. “The priests are all at council and no one's at the altars.”

Kiti was taller than I remembered, and he smiled with a quiet
confidence I could hardly reconcile with the serious boy who'd cleaned the palace beside me. I felt gangly in comparison. “I need to make an offering, I suppose,” I said.

Kiti nodded and opened one of the curtains. I went in and knelt before the narrow altar, which held a golden statue of Aqil—standing over Sotia, of course—and a handful of earrings, coins, and other trinkets. I placed my coins on it and pressed my forehead to the prayer rug, feeling stupid doing this without Laiyonea beside me.

“Bowing down to her Qilarite captors. Unsurprising,” said a voice behind me. I sat up so quickly that my head spun. I hadn't heard him come in, but Jonis stood behind me. Kiti, holding back the curtain, smiled apologetically.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, tripping over the hem of my dress in my haste to get to my feet.

“I'm wondering that myself,” he said darkly, crossing his arms and glaring at Kiti.

Kiti held up one finger and peered out into the tent, then dropped the curtain and stepped closer. Jonis, however, backed up right to the tent wall, as if trying to get as far away from me as possible.

“Raisa,” Kiti said solemnly, “you and I have known each other a long time. You know you can trust me.”

I looked back and forth between the two of them. “What is this?”

“You're wasting your time, Kiti,” said Jonis. “She's a qodder through and through. In bed with the Qilarites all along.”

I flushed. Of course the Resistance would have gotten wind
of the palace rumors about Mati sneaking out of my room.
But Jonis can't possibly know the truth about us
, I reminded myself.

“Stop it,” said Kiti sharply. He turned to me. “Raisa, I know you. You would have done anything to protect the rest of us children. Well, now you have a chance to help even more people. I know it's dangerous. But you've survived worse.” Jonis snorted, but Kiti ignored him. “The Resistance is real, Raisa. Hundreds of Arnathim in this city are sick of being slaves. Aren't you one of them?”

I had to look away. “I knew you were with them, after the pantomime,” I said. “Is that how it's to be? You'll recruit all the palace children into the Resistance, put them all in danger? Naka and Linti and all the others too? You've already annoyed the council so much that they want to send—”

“Not Linti,” Kiti interrupted quietly. He paused long enough that I opened my mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he spoke before I could. “Linti's dead. Didn't you know? She fell from a platform in the Library and cracked her skull.”

Gyotia summoned all the gods and goddesses to him and demanded to know what Sotia intended to do with the tablet. When she declared that she would give the gift of writing to the people below, Gyotia's fury rose. “It is not yours to give,” he roared, lifting a hand to strike her.

THE WORLD ROCKED
around me, and then I was sitting in a heap on the prayer rug. Sweet little Linti . . . I had a horrible image of her laid out on the Library floor, her fair hair fanned out around her, stained with blood.

Slowly I became aware of Kiti kneeling beside me, shaking my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

I couldn't look at his face. “When?” I choked out.

“Sometime during First Shining,” said Kiti. “Naka told me. He's at the Temple of Lila now. He said . . . the rest of the children had to clean the floor.”

My stomach turned. But the food I'd been leaving under the stairs, and the food that—I pushed away the thought of Mati before it could hurt me. The food had been disappearing. Surely that meant Kiti was mistaken, that Linti was fine?

No, I realized at once. No, it only meant that Linti, always kinder than I was, had told the other children about the hiding spot.

Sometime during First Shining.
That meant she had died not long after the incident with Emilana. Had Linti's illness contributed to her fall? Why hadn't I been brave enough to confront Emilana?

Ashamed at the sympathy Kiti was showing me, I looked past him at Jonis's disgusted scowl. For the first time, I agreed with Jonis's assessment of me.

I pushed Kiti's hand away and got shakily to my feet. “I'm sorry. I . . . I didn't know.”

“Obviously,” said Jonis. “You've been busy with other things.” He turned to Kiti with a sneer. “You wanted to do this, so get on with it.”

Kiti turned back to me. “I know it's dangerous for you, but what if you could help the Resistance without doing what . . . the other Tutor did?”

“Her name was Tyasha ke Demit,” said Jonis testily. “Don't be a mouse, Kiti.”

“I can't pretend to know what it's been like for you, being Tutor,” Kiti went on. “But if you could help Arnath children—like Linti—wouldn't you?”

I nodded slowly. Jonis turned away, but from the set of his back I knew he was still listening intently.

Kiti smiled. “The Trade Ministry's got a shipment from Lilano coming in ten days—cloth and some other goods, but mainly slaves. A hundred, mostly children. We can get them out of the city, but it would be a lot easier if we had someone inside the palace who could alter the scribes' records. Then those children could just . . . disappear. We can't move fast enough in the mountains to
evade pursuit, but if the guards weren't even alerted . . .”

“But I can't go into the scribe rooms,” I said, even as I realized that Mati had shown me exactly which passage would lead me there.

Jonis turned and glared at me, but spoke to Kiti. “See? I told you this was a waste of time. You're lucky she hasn't called the guards yet.”

“You can't
not
do it, Raisa,” said Kiti gently. “I've been a slave as long as I can remember. You have for most of your life. You can make sure these children don't have to go through that. Don't you think our parents would have wanted us to help each other?”

I thought of my parents, realizing how often I had used their sacrifice as a reason to avoid acting, how often I had told myself that they wouldn't want me to risk my life. I cleared my throat. “But won't it attract attention if a hundred slaves disappear?”

Jonis rolled his eyes. “That's why you won't remove all of them from the list. Only half.”

“What about the other half?” I asked. “Won't they go to the platforms?”

“Listen to her, now she's criticizing us,” said Jonis. “We do what we can, but we can't afford to have the guards scrutinizing too much right now.”

“We'll attack on the road and get the younger ones out,” said Kiti. “We hope the older ones will join us.”

“And this plan depends far more than I would like on the cooperation of one
qodding
Tutor,” said Jonis, taking a threatening step toward me. “Kiti trusts you. I don't. In case you hadn't noticed.”

“Jonis,” said Kiti mildly. He looked at me. “So that's the question, Raisa. Can we count on you or not?”

I hesitated. I'd had plenty of reasons to ignore the Resistance for a long time—keeping myself and my identity safe, and my loyalty to Mati. But I didn't owe Mati anything any longer, and besides, they weren't asking me to teach the language of the gods to others. Just to change a few records and save some children's lives—as I hadn't saved Linti.

Guilt rolled over me. Was that why I was so tempted to help them? But Linti's death was utterly unremarkable in Qilara. Arnath children and adults died every day in horrible ways, without dignity or freedom. That was what Jonis had been trying to tell me all along. How selfish I was, that it had taken the death of someone I cared about for me to understand it!

All my life, I'd made choices based on caution. But I saw them now for what they really were: cowardice.

“Yes,” I said humbly. “I'll help you.”

Kiti smiled. Jonis whipped back the curtain and disappeared. I barely had time to shoot Kiti a questioning look before Jonis was back, carrying ink, a quill, and a roll of brownish paper.

“This, Tutor, is the first test of your loyalty,” said Jonis acidly. “You will write a letter from Roa Alton of the Lilano City Trade Ministry explaining why the shipment contains fewer slaves than promised, to keep the scribes at the checkpoints from getting suspicious.” Sweeping the offerings off the altar, he plunked coins at the corners of the paper to weight it down. Challenge in his eyes, he held the ink bottle and quill out to me.

I took them. I wasn't nervous, exactly, but I hadn't expected to
be committing treason quite so soon. I bit my lip, thinking. For a letter from a Scholar, I could use only lower order symbols.

“Have you only the one piece of paper?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, his tone verging on belligerent.

I ignored this and knelt before the makeshift desk, composing the letter in my head. I had to decide exactly what to write before I even dipped my quill. There was no room for mistakes.

A low whistle sounded outside. Jonis and Kiti tensed.

“I'll take care of it,” said Kiti. He disappeared through the curtain, and spoke in a low voice, directing whichever Scholar had entered to the other alcove. Jonis moved to the curtain and peered around the edge.

I dipped my quill, then shook away the drips and began to write—but not too slowly. No Qilarite would put too much care into writing about Arnath slaves, and Lilano was a much smaller city than the City of Kings; I'd heard the Trade Minister himself complain about the sloppiness of its scribes.

“What does that mean?” said Jonis, leaning over me and pointing to a symbol. I started, sending a droplet of ink onto the next line. I hadn't heard him approach. Quickly I turned the droplet into a connecting line before it dried.

“I thought that . . . Tyasha taught you to write,” I said. No matter how I tried, I could not seem to make my tone anything but defensive when I spoke to him.

His lips pressed together tightly; I suspected that he approved of the fact that I'd said Tyasha's name out loud, but he didn't like to approve of anything when it came to me. “Some,” he finally said. “But there was never enough time. None of us learned all of
it.” The admission seemed to cost him something. He pointed to the page again. “So what does it mean?”

“Illness,” I replied. “I wrote that the coughing sickness has been running through the slave population and that many children died before they could be rounded up. The Trade Minister told me that Lilano has been having the same coughing sickness we had here a few years ago.”

Jonis stared at me with a mixture of revulsion and respect. I went back to writing.

“Why was the prince in your bedroom?” said Jonis.

My quill stilled on the page. “He wanted to talk to me.”

“About?”

“That is my business, and his.” I forced my quill to move, penning the last lines with a flourish. “Actually, I rarely see the prince. He is far too busy with wedding plans.” My voice betrayed no pain; the fact of Mati's impending wedding had become an ever-present looming melancholy.

Jonis made a sound I couldn't decipher, then knelt and examined the letter skeptically. His brow furrowed, his lips moving as he worked out some of the symbols. He looked up at me. “What proof do we have that it says what you say it does?”

I glared at him. “You'll just have to trust me.”

He shook his head. “But I don't. Trust is something earned. Know this—” He leaned closer. “If you betray us, I'll kill you myself.”

I had no doubt he meant it. I should have been terrified, but his words only angered me. Who was he, to demand my help and threaten me when I gave it?

I shoved the stopper into the bottle and stood abruptly. “I'll do this, but only for those children. Not for you. Be perfectly clear: I wouldn't help
you
if you were on fire and I were the ocean.” I whirled and ripped back the curtain, startling Kiti.

I caught a glimpse of my ink-stained fingers. Muttering a curse, I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed back toward the palace. I would have to spend some time in the Adytum today after all, to have a reason for the ink on my hands.