Sword and Verse (25 page)

That night, Lanea prepared for Gyotia a feast—meat dripping from the bone, steaming rice, and sweet concoctions to lighten his dark mood.

“Where were you today?” he said as she served him.

“I . . . merely wished to see that Belic's people were using your gift as you intended, mighty husband,” Lanea replied.

“And?” he said, ripping a chunk of meat from the bone with his teeth.

“There has been no change,” Lanea whispered. “Nor, I think, will there ever be.”

I HOVERED IN
the makeshift dining room for the rest of the evening, forcing myself to talk about Mati's cause to anyone who came in. Jonis stayed away, but it didn't matter; every one of them left eagerly as soon as they had finished eating.

Eventually I was alone in the room. I stretched my legs out in front of me and leaned against the wall. This was impossible. I couldn't even make these people trust me, so how could I convince them to trust Mati? How had Tyasha ke Demit gotten them to accept her?

She taught them the language of the gods.

I bit my lip, remembering how I had vowed to do just that,
right before I'd gotten caught in the scribe rooms. How quickly I had forgotten it, when life had swept me back into Mati's arms.

It had been days since I'd really written anything. My stomach did an odd flip at the thought of teaching others what had so long been held inside the Adytum. A discarded wooden spoon lay in one corner of the room; thoughtfully I picked it up and ran my fingers over its rounded handle. It would work.

Standing on tiptoe, I lifted a torch from its bracket, then moved to an empty corner of the room. I held the spoon handle in the flames until the end was charred with soot. Then I knelt and started writing the first tenset of the lower order symbols on the stone floor. I had to return the spoon handle to the flames often to get more soot, and the spoon's shape made it an awkward quill, but the result was legible, and large enough to attract attention.

I'd planned to write the second tenset as well, but now that my mind was turned to writing, I'd started thinking about my heart-verse. I moved to a new patch of floor, burned the spoon again, and wrote
sa
with bold, black strokes. Then I faltered; this was where I'd gotten hung up before, on the symbol with the vertical line and the curve. Did the curve touch the end of the line, or was there a gap? Both ways matched symbols in the lower order script. So I wrote them one above the other, and moved on to the next, the arches that I was almost sure went with the sound
ano
. I kept writing, stacking multiple symbols where I wasn't sure which was right.

Soon I had over a dozen symbols. I pointed with the now-shortened spoon handle to each one, saying aloud those I had deciphered so far. “
Sa
something
ano heli
something
yoti ev
something
qilan goday
something something—”

“
Sa noano heli gri, yotieven qilan godesha
,” said a voice behind me.
Light of wisdom, bold, brave, bright, bless us all and what we write.

I whipped around and stared at the speaker, a middle-aged woman with curly blond hair, the one who had looked like she'd wanted to comfort me after learning about my father. She stood by the door, smiling at me. “Is that what you were trying to say?”

“What was that?” I asked, my mouth dry. Her words had tugged at something in my mind.

She shrugged. “Just something my mother used to say, when the master couldn't hear, of course. I'm Anet, by the way.”

“I'm Raisa,” I said absently.

“I know,” she said, laughing. She had a bold laugh that echoed off the walls, more joyful than I had ever expected to hear from any Arnath in Qilara.

I swallowed hard. Anet had recognized the sounds from my heart-verse, even with the gaps. It couldn't be a coincidence. Her mother's words and my heart-verse were the same thing.

I looked at her keenly. “Say it again. More slowly. Please.”

Anet grinned, but repeated the lines, and even held the torch for me when I fell to my knees and frantically pointed to each symbol, trying to burn the sound for it into my memory.

“Keep going,” I ordered breathlessly.

Despite my rude tone, she laughed again. “That was it. It was just something she used to say.”

My heart crashed with disappointment—my heart-verse had three more lines. But some of the symbols repeated, so maybe the new sounds would help me after all . . .

I charred the end of the spoon again and sketched another
symbol on the stone floor. Anet watched me for a few minutes, then put the torch back in its holder and sat down beside me.

“What is this, anyway?” she asked.

“It's . . . writing. Arnath writing.” Briefly I told her about my heart-verse and thanked her for her help. I might be stuck again, but now I knew far more of what my heart-verse said than ever before. I ran my fingers under the symbols, wondering what message my father had been trying to give me.
Light of wisdom, bold, brave, bright
—

“It's different from the Qilarite writing,” said Anet, indicating the tenset I'd written in the far corner.

“Yes, Arnath writing is based on the sounds of the words, and Qilarite symbols each stand for an idea. The symbols themselves are very similar, but—” I looked at her in surprise. “You can read.”

She smiled. “A bit. My son convinced me to go with him to Tyasha ke Demit's secret meetings a few times. He learned far more than I ever did, though.”

I straightened. “Well, I can teach you. Your son too, anyone who wants—”

She looked away. “My son is dead. He attended
all
of Tyasha's secret classes. Including the one guards raided.”

I fidgeted with the spoon. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. He would be glad that you want to teach us. It's as much a means of fighting against them as lifting a sword.”

I hadn't thought of it that way. I wasn't sure I fully agreed, or how I felt about the fact that, to the Resistance, Mati was one of “them.” I hesitated, then asked, “What was she like—Tyasha, I mean?”

Anet cocked her head. “She was . . . a wildfire. She was as worked up about the Resistance as any of the leaders. It was all they could do to convince her to go back to the palace every time she sneaked out. She was in love with the idea of being a rebel—and, in the end, a martyr.”

I'd only seen Tyasha a few times in the palace, but I pictured her now with dark eyes bright in her smooth brown face, straight black hair flying as she stood before a roomful of Resistance members, inspiring them with her fiery words—the complete opposite of the impression I must have made in the training room earlier. What had it been like for Tyasha, to know so clearly where her loyalties lay?

“A wildfire,” I muttered. “Whereas I'm more of a candle.”

Anet patted my knee. “Ah, but candles burn more steadily.”

I looked into her kind, motherly face. “Do you think the others will come, if I offer to teach them?”

“They'll come.”

I smiled. “Do you know where Jonis is? I should tell him. . . .”

She jerked her head toward the door. “I'll take you.”

She led me down two flights of steps and along a narrow passageway. When we emerged, I had a sense that we were near the front of the tombs.

“They're in there,” Anet said loudly, indicating a doorway ahead. I didn't realize that her volume was a warning until Jonis poked his head out into the corridor. He turned and spoke to someone behind him, and then Kiti stepped into view.

All my nervous thoughts about what I'd been planning to tell Jonis fled. “Kiti!” I cried, so relieved to see his familiar face that I
only just stopped myself from hugging him.

Anet said something in a low voice to Jonis, and he nodded.

“Have a seat,” said Jonis, gesturing me and Kiti into the room, which was barely ten feet across. There were no torches here, but a firepit crackled in the corner, shedding plenty of light. Several wooden shipping crates lay scattered around the room, a map open on one of them. Jonis quickly rolled this up as I sat on one of the crates, but not before I saw that it was a map of the city.

“I'll give you two a few minutes,” said Jonis, and as he stepped back into the corridor to join Anet, I realized that Kiti was still hovering by the door, studying his hands.

I'd thought that Kiti, of all people, would be willing to hear me out. “You know why I'm here?” I began.

“Jonis told me,” he said softly.

“Then you probably also know about the whipping, and what Mati did.”

Kiti looked straight at me. “I know what
you
did. I can't believe you and the king—” He broke off, but there was no mistaking the disappointment in his tone.

If Jonis had said it, I would have bristled and shot back, but the sadness in Kiti's voice left me momentarily speechless. I understood at last how deep a betrayal it felt to Kiti and the others, me falling in love with Mati. As Tutor, I was supposed to be the most Arnath of the Arnathim, and I had failed them miserably.

I heaved a sigh of frustration. “If you knew Mati, you'd understand.”

Kiti shook his head. “I thought you were with us, and all the time—”

“I was! I
am
with you. I did everything you asked.”

“Ris and Patic?” he said quietly.

I bit my lip. There was nothing I could say. Warning Mati was a choice I would make again in a heartbeat, but saying so wouldn't do any good. I had a sinking feeling that Kiti thought less of me with every word.

“Please come sit,” I said.

Reluctantly he sat on one of the crates. As he did, his tunic sleeve fell away, revealing an ugly burn that ran from his wrist up his arm.

I grabbed his hand. “What happened?”

“When Rale found out you'd escaped from the palace, I . . . didn't get out of his way quickly enough.”

My mouth fell open. I stared at the burn, hating Rale even more. Kiti gently disentangled his hand from mine and pulled his sleeve back down.

“I'm sorry,” I said. Why was it that no matter what I did, someone got hurt? “But you of all people understand what Rale is. If he and Gamo are allowed to take over the throne—”

Kiti tipped his head back, as if seeking answers in the shadows above. “I'm the one who brought you into the Resistance. How is Jonis supposed to believe anything I say now? I convinced him to trust you.” He met my eyes. “And I was wrong.”

His words cut me deep, but at the same time I felt a flicker of annoyance. “You weren't wrong,” I said icily. “But you didn't have to lie to me.”

Kiti dropped his eyes, and I knew that my intuition was right; Jonis might not have minded manipulating me, but Kiti
did. “That was Jonis's idea—”

“You're the one who knew me. You gave him the idea. So don't tell me that you
trusted
me.”

“It was . . . for the greater good.”

I seized on that. “So sometimes you have to do things you'd rather not do, for the greater good. Like join forces with someone whose goals are similar, even if you don't like that person?”

Kiti shook his head. “I can't help you, Raisa.”

“But—”

Kiti stood up. “Let me rephrase that. I
won't
help you, Raisa.” He squeezed my hand, as if to ease the sting of his words, and then he left the room.

Jonis appeared before I had even processed Kiti's refusal. He'd probably overheard every word of our conversation. But he only told me to follow him.

When I reached the corridor, Anet was gone. I wondered what she had told him, and whether Jonis had sent her to spy on me.

“Care for some dinner?” he said jauntily.

“So you're my host now, not my jailer?”

“I could be fierce, if you prefer. I just didn't think it was necessary.”

“I'm not hungry,” I said with disdain, just as my stomach gave a ferocious growl.

Jonis laughed. “Fierce doesn't suit you,” he informed me.

“I know,” I said miserably. How had I ever thought I could succeed at this?

“Have something to eat, and then you can join in the training,” said Jonis.

I stopped, offended at his stupid joke, but then I saw that he was serious.

“Why would you want me to—” I began, but he kept walking and cut me off.

“I'd rather have you seen as fighting for our side. It's good for morale.”

“I won't stop talking to people about Mati,” I called after him.

“Fine. Talking hasn't done you much good so far.” He turned back to face me, his features shadowed. “Maybe seeing you with a sword in your hand will make an impression.”

“You're helping me?” I asked suspiciously.

He just shrugged. I thought hard for a moment, and then my stomach sank. “You know it won't work,” I said. “No matter what I say, none of them will believe me, so you don't care how many of them I talk to.”

“Oh, maybe it will, I don't know,” he said. “But these people are here because they've put their faith in the Resistance. There's very little any Qilarite could do to make us trust him, after what we've seen.” He paused. “And whether you want to believe it or not, you belong here. Part of you knows it. That's why you helped us in the first place.”

I do belong here,
I thought.
Because this is the only place where I can help both Mati and the Arnathim.
“Fine,” I said. “I'll join in the training.”

He nodded and started walking again, but I didn't follow.

“You're just as bad as they are, you know,” I called after him. “Rale and Gamo and all the rest.”

He wheeled around. This time he did not bother to hide his anger.

“You are,” I pressed on. “They judge us by our skin color, by our birth, but you're doing the same thing to Mati. You're not giving him a chance at all.”