Sword and Verse (7 page)

Gyotia fashioned a lamp from the sky-fire and carried it as he wandered the night philandering, though he veiled it when he visited the bedrooms of mortal women.

So regular were his wanderings that the mortals below began to order the year by the fourteen Shinings and fourteen Veilings of Gyotia's Lamp.

“IT'S ALL RIGHT,”
said a hoarse voice. I had rarely heard him speak that way, without humor. Maybe that was why my heart didn't start pounding until he let go and leaned over to light the lamp.

As Prince Mati's profile became visible, I clutched the blanket to my chest. He perched on the edge of the bed. “It took me ages to find you. I'd have given the western vizier's wife an awful fright if she hadn't already passed out from too much wine.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Why did you come?” I asked, my voice strained. I was overly aware of my bare arms, of my thin white and green nightgown, of his leg brushing mine through the blanket. Despite the sunamara tea I'd drunk, every part of me was almost painfully awake.

His face fell. “Don't be angry,” he said. “I'm sorry about . . .
earlier. I shouldn't have—” He broke off and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I understand,” I said woodenly. “It was a mistake. We should just . . . forget it happened.” My fingers clutched the blanket so tightly that it hurt.

The softness in his eyes stole my breath. “But I can't forget it happened. I've been thinking about it all day. If you want me to leave, I will, and I'll never say another word about it. But . . . I had to come and see if maybe . . . you couldn't forget about it either.” He watched my face, one hand tapping nervously against his leg.

Entire worlds of possibility blossomed before my eyes, and my skin went hot, then cold, then hot again.

Tell him to leave,
said the sensible voice in my head, in Laiyonea's clipped tones. I tried to think of higher order symbols, and my father, and my heart-verse. But the truth was, more than anything I wanted Mati to touch me again, to kiss me as he almost had behind the stage.

And I was terrified, not of what might happen to me, but of the power of my own want.

“I haven't forgotten,” I said faintly.

Mati's shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered.

The night air was thick. My head spun as he leaned forward. He was so close that I saw his throat work as he swallowed and said, “I'd like to kiss you, Raisa. Would that . . . would that be all right?”

There were reasons I should say no, I knew, but I couldn't bring a single one to mind.

In answer I leaned closer. He let out a surprised exhalation and pushed my hair back from my face, his eyes closing as he leaned in to kiss me. His fingers touched my neck, my shoulders, my arms, leaving a trail of fire.

We were both breathing heavily when the kiss ended. Mati stroked my face and told me that I was beautiful, and I said some quite embarrassing things back. In the pale glow of the lamp, with his warmth beside me, it was difficult to hold on to any thought for long. We kissed again. This time he pressed me down to the pillow and I lay pinned by his half weight on top of me.

It was wonderful.

I couldn't think; feeling had replaced thought, and suddenly my heart seemed capable of holding more than my brain ever had. The noise of the revelers on the streets faded, replaced by Mati's soft murmurs in my ear.

Mati stayed with me for a long time—and yet not long enough—and eventually we broke off kissing and talked of the banquet, and lessons the next day. But these mundane topics seemed magical when discussed with Mati's head on my shoulder and his fingers twined through mine. I asked if he'd enjoyed the dancing. He laughed and looked sideways at me.

“Father'll complain that I didn't dance with the western vizier's daughters nearly often enough.” He absently traced his finger over my palm. “I wish Laiyonea would let you dance.”

A pleased flush spread through me. “So do I,” I whispered. “She says it isn't our place.”

“No one will find out,” Mati said softly. “As long as we don't let Laiyonea suspect anything, she'll still leave us alone in the
Adytum sometimes. Besides,” he added with a grin, “it's an easy climb to your window.” He leaned over and kissed me again, and any nerves I might have had vanished into a sigh.

The knock on the door startled us both. Mati went still. I prayed to all the gods that we wouldn't be found out, not yet.

“Raisa,” came Laiyonea's voice through the door. “Why is your lamp still lit?”

I couldn't think of a thing to say.

“Answer her, or she'll come in to check on you,” Mati breathed impatiently into my ear.

I found my voice. “The noises outside frightened me.”

Mati seemed impressed—he probably hadn't thought me capable of lying. Laiyonea obviously didn't either, because she laughed fondly and said, “Well, I'm back now, so blow out the lamp and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Laiyonea,” I managed to say, before Mati kissed me again.

“You have to go,” I whispered when we broke apart.

He nodded and brushed his lips against mine before he rolled off the bed and stood up soundlessly. I watched him blow out the lamp. Even Gyotia in his chariot couldn't have been more beautiful than he was.

As he crept to the window and disappeared into the night, I bit my tongue against a crazy urge to call him back.

Rolling over, I squeezed my pillow—it still held his musky scent. When at last I fell asleep, I dreamed of asotis wheeling across the sky.

The seven gods breathed out the symbols of their power, awakening root and stream and stone, bringing forth living creatures—goats, cattle, oxen, small beasts of the fields. So the language of the gods was written into the earth, astonishing even the gods themselves as each day brought new creations.

THE NEXT MORNING
in the Adytum, I was so distracted that Laiyonea actually rapped my knuckles with her quill box to get my attention. “Honestly, Raisa! I'd planned to start you on the higher order symbols today, but—”

I sat up straighter. “No! I'll pay attention, I promise. I just . . . didn't sleep well. Because of the noise from the festival and . . . the things the War Minister was saying last night.” Even if that wasn't why I was distracted, I didn't have to feign fear when it came to threats from the Resistance.

Laiyonea smiled indulgently. “Raisa, you're safe here.”

I looked down at my paper to disguise my confusion. I
did
feel safe here, in the palace, in the Adytum, especially when I thought of Mati's arms around me. But how could that be? Did the asotis feel safe in their cage?

“Very well,” Laiyonea said. “I suppose you're ready.”

Fortunately, Mati had taught me the first three tensets by
then, so I didn't have to concentrate too hard on the symbols Laiyonea introduced. In fact, I did so well so quickly that Laiyonea commented on how unusual that was, and I purposely reversed the lines on the seventh and eighth symbols just to give her something to correct.

When we'd first entered the Adytum, I'd been nervous about how I would act when Mati arrived, but by the time he came at midmorning bells I was so enmeshed in my work that I'd forgotten to worry about him, about the Resistance, about anything but the curves and slopes of the symbols. His footsteps on the stairs set my heart pounding. I kept my eyes on my work, lest my expression betray me when I saw him.

Laiyonea greeted him as he crossed the courtyard. He looked over my shoulder at my paper. “Finally started her on the higher order?” he said to Laiyonea.

“Yes,” said Laiyonea. “With things moving along as they are, it seemed prudent.” I wasn't sure what she meant, but I glanced up in time to see Mati grimace and shrug as he sat down beside me.

“I'm surprised you didn't start torturing her with them sooner.” Mati's eyes were on Laiyonea, but his hand found mine under the table and gave it a squeeze.

“It's only torture for lazy boys who don't pay attention,” Laiyonea shot back.

“Laiyonea, you wound me!” said Mati, clutching his heart. I giggled, and even Laiyonea cracked a smile. After that she instructed Mati to review the first two tensets by showing them to me; the Trade Minister, Priasi Jin, wanted her to attend a
meeting with the city's largest supplier of kirit, the plant used to make green dye for Arnath clothing.

As I watched her leave, I pondered how, even though people like Jonis might sneer at her qodal-dyed hair, Laiyonea had used her position as best she could. By staying on the good side of the king and most of the council, she probably did more to quietly help the Arnathim than the Resistance knew.

Such thoughts evaporated as the gate clanged shut behind her and Mati pushed his paper away. Before I had a chance to grow awkward around him, he kissed me. It was so different, kissing him outdoors in the ocean air, from the way it had been in my dark bedroom. We were under the canopy, so no one could have seen us from the palace windows or the guard towers, and the walls hid us from the beach below. I thought I felt the statue of Gyotia watching us. I tried not to care.

“I've been thinking of you all morning,” said Mati softly.

“Me too.” I ducked my head. “I was so distracted that Laiyonea got cross with me.”

“And still she throws your work ethic in my face,” said Mati. “I must do something to sidetrack you, to even the field.” He kissed my palm, and moved his lips up my arm. I shivered at his touch, both liking and fearing how quickly it had come to feel natural. “Luckily you already know the first few tensets,” he said conversationally, as he worked his way up my neck. “Gives us more time for other things.”

A small noise of assent escaped my throat as I turned my head and met his lips.

All the rest of the dry, hot season of Lilana, Mati and I spent languid afternoons in the Adytum. Whenever his father called Laiyonea away, Mati excused himself from the proceedings and came to find me. He assured me that the king was used to his lack of interest in negotiations, and that he wasn't needed anyway.

Days in the Adytum fell into a dreamlike pattern: we talked, we kissed, occasionally we even did our work. And whenever he could, he came to me at night, especially when Gyotia's Lamp was veiled in the dark sky.

Even when palace business or Scholar functions kept us apart, I would see the packets of treats he'd left whenever I slipped into the cavity under the stairs, reminders of his kindness and the secrets that bound us together.

I'd thought my feelings for Mati would keep me from focusing on my work, but he knew how I felt about learning the higher order script, so he kept teaching me a few tensets ahead of where Laiyonea had left off. Learning the symbols with Mati's arm draped over my shoulders was much more pleasant than Laiyonea's teaching methods, even if it often ended in more kissing than writing.

It was fortunate I had his support, for I'd been wrong about the higher order symbols being easier, and though I had found more of the symbols from my heart-verse, I was no closer to decoding it no matter how long I pored over the faded paper. Once I had mastered the first twenty tensets, Laiyonea explained about the complicated determinatives used with the higher order symbols, which could change the meaning at least eight different ways. She showed me the higher order symbol
life
and all its determinatives.
I tried to imitate her quick, precise strokes, but within minutes I'd thrown my quill down in frustration.

The council was out of session for First Shining, and Mati had gone with his father to visit Del Gamo's mines near Pira, three days' ride from the city. Pira had been the site of a slave uprising the Veiling before, and Mati had told me, frowning, that his father planned to leave two hundred guards behind after visiting the mines; he plainly felt that the king showed too much favor to the western vizier. I worried about Mati's safety on the road, but he had only laughed when I'd said so, and pointed out that he would be surrounded by guards.

Ever since he had left, I'd thought I might burst out of my skin from missing him. But today I was glad he wasn't here—I'd never had so much trouble with any symbol before, not even
gift
, and I'd have been embarrassed for him to see it.

“I don't understand,” I said grumpily. “Why does it need so many variations?”

Laiyonea tapped the paper. “Because the higher order symbols allow you to express more subtlety of meaning than the lower order symbols do.” She pointed to the base symbol. “This means the basic act of living. Survival. With this determinative”—she added a swoop across the top—“it means living for a higher purpose. With this”—she added a curve at the bottom—“it means to live without fear.” She continued to add lines, until they practically blurred in my vision. “With all of them in place, it means a state of being so fully engaged with life that one no longer fears death.”

I stared at her. “How is that even possible?”

Laiyonea smiled. “Suffice it to say that the base symbol would be used for a creature that eats, sleeps, and breathes, while the determinatives describe a life lived more fully.”

“So . . . the base symbol applies to animals, and you add the different determinatives to write about people?”

Laiyonea's smile froze. “Not exactly.” She dipped her quill and sketched the symbol again without the determinatives. “The base symbol is used for animal life, yes. But . . . with the determinatives,” she said without looking up, “it is only ever used to refer to Qilarites.”

I swallowed, a vile taste in my mouth. So even the language of the gods—or, at least what I had learned of it in the Adytum—equated the Arnathim with animals, putting the lowliest illiterate Qilarite peasant above us. I wondered if Tyasha had taught the determinatives to the Resistance; I could only imagine what they would have said about this symbol. I was even more relieved, now, that Mati was away.

Reluctantly I tried the symbol again, but the lines came out all wrong. I wasn't sure I even wanted to get them right.

“You're doing fine,” said Laiyonea in what was, for her, a patient tone.

“What does it matter?” I grumbled. “Who will know if any of the strokes are wrong? Everything I write will burn.”

“It matters,” she said crisply, “because you will train the future monarch of Qilara to converse with the gods. You cannot do that if you are too lazy to write the symbols correctly.”

I had to look away from the harsh light in her eyes. It
was
important that I continue. It might be the only way to read my
heart-verse, if I could just figure out how my father had used the symbols.

Laiyonea's voice, softer now, came to my ears. “It is an enormous responsibility. You are young, but many others have taken it on far younger. I was one of them.”

I hadn't thought of that. I tried to picture Laiyonea as a child, three or four years old as most Tutors were when they began their study, and I could not.

Laiyonea took my paper and wrote something on the back. She held it up. I examined the symbols, but only recognized two:
palace
, and another that I thought meant
priest
, but it had a determinative I didn't recognize. “I can't read that,” I said.

Laiyonea pointed to the first symbol. “This means priest. The determinative shows that it is the highest priest. The next symbol can mean either a person's face or a person's character, depending on context. See how the line shows that the first and second symbols are connected? Next is the palace—you should recognize that—and a crowd of people. Then the ground where they walk, and a compound symbol—
right
, with
everyday activity
on top. It means ‘appropriate.' Next is the curved line connecting the face to the ground. What does it mean?”

I stared at the page, afraid to say what I thought.

“I know you're not stupid, so I assume you're just being timid,” Laiyonea said. “‘The high priest's face is like the stones beneath our feet.' In this case, the chief high priest, or Penta Rale.”

I wasn't sure if laughing was allowed, but Laiyonea chuckled, so I let out a strangled giggle.

She leaned forward. “You could walk up to Rale, or any of the
Scholars Council even, and wave this paper in their faces, and they wouldn't recognize the insult. I know you couldn't really do that,” she added impatiently, when I started to protest, “but the point is that you already have knowledge denied to most Qilarites. You know of the first Tutor?”

I nodded. One of the other girls in the Selection, a dark-haired, cocksure orphan from the city, had whispered the tale to the rest of us while we waited to be called to the council chamber. “King Balon taught his Arnath concubine the language of the gods so that she could teach his son. He feared what a priest or Scholar would do with the higher order symbols, so he entrusted them to someone who was . . . powerless.”

Laiyonea lifted her chin. “That depends on what you consider power.”

I pursed my lips, pondering her words. That was why we were kept away from the other Arnathim, and given so many apparent privileges—to keep us compliant. The phrase “shackles of silk” flitted through my mind. I pushed it away.

The knowledge I learned in the Adytum
was
powerful—it would help me unlock my heart-verse, if only I found the right symbols. That was what mattered.

“I'll try harder,” I said.

Laiyonea smiled. She came around the table and fingered a lock of my hair, which I had not bothered to tie back. “We really ought to dye that,” she said. “A bit of qodal would darken it. And cut it shorter too, in the Qilarite style, to get rid of the waves.”

I remembered my mother's thick auburn hair, soft over my fingers when I used to touch it as a child. “No,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“No,” I repeated loudly. “I won't dye my hair. Or cut it.”

Laiyonea went still. “I see,” she said softly, but there was nothing gentle in her tone. “Braid it back then.” She dropped my hair and returned to her seat; the other side of the table seemed farther away than it had before.

“
Life
,” she said. “Write it.”

“You didn't cut your hair,” I said, and knew, by the patches of color in Laiyonea's cheeks, that she wore her hair in a knot because it waved, like mine.

Laiyonea cleared her throat deliberately. “Write it again. Do it correctly this time.”

I bent over the paper and tried again.