Sword and Verse (14 page)

The edge of it caught in the weave of the basket as I pulled it out. I worked the scroll back and forth, trying to loosen it. I tugged, and heard the heart-stopping sound of ripping paper. Kneeling, I reached both hands into the basket and forced the scroll out, cringing as another rip sounded.

At last the scroll was free, but the bottom dangled like a half-severed limb, torn edges crinkled where the weave of the basket had chewed it like tiny teeth. The rips, though they had thundered in my mind, were tiny compared with the crushed portions that had caught in the basket.

I stared at the scroll, which listed the holdings of an olive farmer named Eral Kone, and found a note at the barely connected bottom about a recently purchased male slave with a wife and young son back in the City of Kings.

I'd found the scroll I was looking for.

There was no way to hide this. I could steal the entire page—but when the Trade Minister next levied taxes, its absence would be noticed. Even more scrutiny might descend on Ris and his mission, whatever it was.

And then, a sound even worse than tearing paper: voices in the hallway.

Gyotia's blow sent Sotia crashing to the stones, but she would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.

FRANTICALLY I RIPPED
off the bottom of the scroll and shoved it into my pocket, then rolled the mutilated top half and stuck it in the basket. I dove into the corner behind the shelves and held my breath.

At first, I couldn't hear anything over my pounding heart, but then the voices came again. Two men, out in the main room—arguing.

“It was right on my desk! Why'd you move it?”

“I told you I was filing anything already rolled,” said a second voice, deeper and milder than the first. “Don't blame me if you can't keep track of your scrolls. Let's just find it and get back.”

The first man sighed. His grumbling grew closer. I shrank against the wall as he entered the records room. My heart nearly stopped when he crouched and started going through baskets on the bottom row of shelves. I prayed to every one of the gods that the shadows of the corner would hide me, my panicked mind slipping into the litany recited on the festival days:
Gyotia, greatest of the gods, lend me your might. Aqil, patron of Scholars—

An angry cry cut through my thoughts. I braced for discovery,
but heard only shuffling paper and an impatient sigh. I peeked out to see the black-haired Scholar carefully lifting the tattered scroll from the basket where I had so hastily placed it.

“Mice again! Jin will have our heads. Aqil have mercy on a Scholar.” He replaced the damaged scroll and poked around at the others in the basket.

“Terin!” The second man appeared in the doorway, dangling a scroll from his fingers.

Terin looked up. “You found it?”

The second man nodded. “Old slave, no children, originally from Asuniaka? Master's name is Botai?”

Terin shoved the basket back onto the shelf and snatched the scroll. “That's it! Anything about Resistance ties?”

“Nothing specific. Looks like he's had plenty of whippings, though.”

Terin snorted. “That's nothing to what he'll get when the guards recapture him. Let's get this to Minister Jin before he makes an example of us.”

The second man followed Terin out. “Us? I had nothing to do with it. I was merely helping.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

Their banter faded down the hallway. I stayed still for a full count of one hundred, hardly daring to breathe. Then it hit me that, somehow, impossibly, I hadn't gotten caught.

The Scholar had thought mice destroyed the scroll. I unfolded myself from my hiding place, my hands moving to the basket before my brain had fully caught up with their plan. Deliberately, I rubbed another scroll against the weave of the basket, letting
the edges crinkle and tear. I damaged a few more, then fled to the Adytum, where I burned the scrap of Ris ko Karmik's record and watched the smoke rise up to the gods.

I threw myself back into my work with the fervor of one with something to hide, but Laiyonea seemed to attribute my enthusiasm to her teaching methods. Three days after my close shave in the records room, she looked over my afternoon's work and, for the first time, found nothing on which to comment.

“It's well you're done learning the higher order script,” she said as she slipped my pages into the firepit. “You really must start planning for the Selection. The wedding is less than five Shinings away.”

I focused on the quills I was laying in their box. “I thought that the Selection would happen closer to the . . .” I couldn't bring myself to say “wedding.”

Laiyonea shook her head. “No later than Fourteenth Shining. Emilana Kret may grow fangs if she has to host a pack of young girls too close to the wedding. Once the new child is selected, your training will shift to focus on teaching methods.”

I didn't answer. The last thing I wanted to do was round up Arnath orphans for the Selection of the next Tutor, whom I would present to Mati and Soraya as a wedding gift. The thought of doing anything at Mati's wedding other than curling up into a miserable ball was difficult for me.

Laiyonea sighed. “I've already made inquiries, and none of the palace slave children are the right age—the youngest is six.” I still didn't respond, and she went on, “The quickest way would be
to go down to the market. Arnath orphans run wild there, those too young for the platforms.”

Silently I closed the quill box and placed it in the cabinet.

“Raisa!” Laiyonea's tone made me look at her at last, but her face softened as she took in my expression, and she held in whatever she'd been about to say. She walked over and placed her hand briefly on my hair. “Just . . . take care of it soon.”

I spent the next few days in the Adytum, puzzling over my heart-verse and thinking what a shame it was that I had no missions to take me to the scribe rooms, since the full Scholars Council was in session and the rooms stood empty most of the day. But I wouldn't dare visit during daylight hours again. I wondered if, perversely, it would prove something to Jonis if he knew I'd almost been caught.

I had no chance to tell him. I listened hard at every banquet over the next Shining and Veiling, even forcing myself to eavesdrop one night while Soraya had a long conversation with the Finance Minister about council doings at the next table, trying not to dwell on Mati's worried frown as he spoke to the War Minister on his other side. I heard no more than the usual whispers of fear about the Resistance. Nothing of Ris ko Karmik's mission reached my ears, and there was no more talk of escaped slaves or disrupted shipments. In fact, the Defense Minister boasted one night that he thought the “slave problem” was completely under control, and that the guard captain had personally killed several Arnath conspirators in a raid a few days earlier. My heart twisted.

Was that why I hadn't heard from Kiti or Jonis?

I deliberately wandered into an alcove at our next visit to the Temple of Aqil, and even begged to take a walk in the gardens at the Temple of Lanea two days later, but no one approached me. I had no way to contact them.

So I waited. At Eleventh Shining, when Laiyonea and I visited the Temple of Aqil to make our offerings for the royal couple's health, I almost cried out with relief when we found Kiti sweeping the floor in an alcove. Kiti bowed and hurried off without even looking at me. When we finished the offering, Laiyonea went to speak to the priest and I stayed in the alcove, waiting.

Kiti didn't come.

I squeezed my hands together in my lap and fought back tears. Mati was gone, my heart-verse remained an indecipherable mystery. Working with the Resistance had been the one thing that had given me a sense of purpose. I knew I could help them—help my people—if they only let me.

Gyotia lifted his hand to strike Sotia a second time, but Aqil spoke, distracting him. “How can they worship their gods, without the language to do so?” Aqil asked. “Perhaps the noble among them should receive this gift, so that they can instruct the others to worship you properly, mighty Father.”

Gyotia looked over his shoulder, considering.

“It is a reasonable compromise,” said Lanea. Her words seemed to be directed at Gyotia, but the warning look she shot at Sotia made it a plea for her to stop provoking Gyotia's fury.

AS THE DAYS
grew warmer, the Scholars visibly relaxed. Why shouldn't they? The rumors of rebellion had faded, and the royal wedding was only three Shinings away.

On the first day of Lilana, the Scholar men of Qilara gathered in the palace courtyard for Mati's eland hunt. Any man who killed an eland during the hunt would earn a place of honor at Mati's wedding. The hunt was held now because the female elands were in heat, and so more dangerous. Mati himself would kill a large horned female and present the bloody knife to Soraya upon his return, a symbol of the bridegroom's passion for his betrothed.

I told myself that it had nothing to do with me, and yet, standing with the entire court to see them off, my hands went
cold. Mati knew how to hunt, of course, but suppose one of those wild creatures hurt him? The hunt seemed pointless, danger for danger's sake—it could only have been devised by men.

The High Priest of Lila blessed the men's weapons; Penta Rale insisted upon giving a benediction as well. When his droning voice finally fell silent, the men climbed into the carriages. I let my eyes linger on Mati where he sat between Annis Rale and his cousin Patic. When the gates closed behind the carriages, the women went inside, where they would spend most of the day embroidering and gossiping until the men returned for the night's feast. Laiyonea sent me to the Adytum, with a stern reminder to meet her in the garden for the women's luncheon at third bell; she knew how I longed to skip it, but the Trade Minister's wife had again made a point of inviting us, and failing to appear would both dishonor her and insult the prince's betrothed.

The sky above the Adytum was perfectly blue and cloudless, the ocean breeze balancing the sun's warmth. Quickly I finished the tasks Laiyonea had set me, and worked on my encoding project. I still had almost three thousand lower order symbols to go through, but I was beginning to wonder if it would ever help me figure out my heart-verse. I considered writing another letter to Sotia, but found I had nothing to say.

At third bell, I headed to the garden. Laughter and chatter drifted over the hedges, but my mood was dark as I stepped off the path—and nearly collided with Soraya Gamo.

She was beautiful, as usual. Shining black hair flowed down her back, under a spangled scarf of brilliant blue. Her silk dress matched exactly, bound with gold cord at her waist.

How little I had to offer Mati, compared with her. No wonder he'd left me without looking back.

Soraya stopped short when she saw me, hesitation clouding her eyes before her familiar haughtiness slipped into place.

I bobbed an awkward curtsey, hoping that I would not have to speak to her; my throat was too tight.

“Pardon me,” she said. Was I imagining the frost in her tone? Her eyes ran over my plain white and green dress, her face falling into a delicate frown. Surely she'd heard the rumors about Mati coming to my room the night before her arrival. Dread flashed through me—had Mati told her what had really gone on between us? Did they laugh together over the silly Tutor who had thought the prince in love with her?

I considered a new, horrible possibility: that Mati might have given his heart to Soraya Gamo. It had been bearable—if only just—when I'd thought he was marrying Soraya to please his father. But to think that he loved her . . .

What difference does it make?
I asked myself bitterly.

But oh, it mattered.

Soraya turned away. She hadn't gone more than a few steps, however, when the wild clatter of a carriage came from the front of the palace.

My heart constricted.
Mati
. I turned and raced to the courtyard, reaching it in time to see a carriage lurch to a halt by the steps, the driver shouting as guards and servants scurried around in confusion.

The palace doors opened and more people spilled out to see what the noise was about. The women arrived a few minutes later from the garden.

“Get the doctor!”

“Out of the way!”

“Now—”

“Keep the women away!”

I caught sight of Laiyonea at the back of the crowd, straining to see. Her panicked expression broke the unreality of the scene for me. I ducked under the outstretched arm of a servant and hurried to the carriage. A moment later I realized that Soraya was beside me, having done the same.

We both jumped back as the carriage door banged open and Mati stood before us, his golden tunic spattered with mud and blood. He clutched a bloody knife.

“Call the doctor!” he cried. He looked down and saw Soraya and me, and held out the knife. “My father—I need help.” I wasn't sure if he was speaking to her, or me, or both of us.

Soraya looked into the carriage. Suddenly she covered her mouth with her hands and turned and ran into the palace.

“Help me,” Mati pleaded. He thrust the knife at me, and I took it automatically, realizing that the crumpled, bloody heap behind him was his father. I dropped the knife and rushed to help him, but I did little good. I clutched at the king's cold shoulder, gagging a little at the sight of the jagged hole in the front of his tunic and the blood spreading from it. King Tyno's eyes were closed. I couldn't tell if he breathed.

“It's all right, Father,” Mati said, his voice hollow and distant. “We'll get the doctor . . . you'll be fine.” The king gave no indication of having heard him.

Two servants pushed me aside. They heaved the king onto
their shoulders and carried him into the palace, Mati trailing behind them. The women on the stairs went silent as they passed, and wailing started up once they'd gone inside.

One voice rose above the others. “The king is dead! Gyotia save us! King Tyno is dead!”

In the crowd I found Laiyonea's face, white as ash.