Sword and Verse (19 page)

His discouraged tone pulled me out of my own gloom. I touched his cheek. “Your father never would have tried to repeal that law,” I said softly. “You're a better king—a better man—than he ever was.”

I saw in his eyes how much my opinion meant to him. He bent down and kissed me, and there was no more talk of councils or laws that night.

Iano took the tablet to his brother Belic and spoke of a world where the wonders of knowledge were available to all. Iano's words wrapped around his brother's mind like the symbols unwinding upon the tablet of the gods, and Belic's heart weighed his love for his brother against his fear of the gods.

THE NEXT MORNING,
I took Jera on a tour of the palace, ending with the Adytum. I saw it anew through her amazed eyes as she learned how to strike the surface of the firepit to kindle the sacred stone, as she ran her fingers over the quills and ink bottles in the writing chest and giggled with delight when the asotis nibbled seeds from her palm.

I was showing her how to run the metal comb through the sand to remove the hardened droppings when the gate opened below—Laiyonea, checking up on me, I thought.

But it was Mati who emerged at the top of the stairs. “I thought I'd find you here,” he said. He smiled at Jera, and she ducked behind me.

“It's all right,” I whispered to her. To Mati I said, “Yes, Your Majesty, I was just showing Jera around the Adytum.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “I have a bit of a dilemma. I have this lovely ball, but I cannot find a child who might like it.
Can you help me, Jera?”

Jera poked her head out curiously as Mati held up a little ball of silver. He tossed it, and it sparkled in the sunlight.

Mati knelt and held it out to her. “Would you like it?”

Jera nodded shyly, but wouldn't move until I took her hand and went with her. Finally she accepted the ball, examining it seriously.

“Say thank you, Jera,” I prompted.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She bounced the ball experimentally, squealing with delight when it spun across the stones.

As she dashed after it, I held out my hand to Mati and he took it, standing. “Thank you,” I said. “That was very kind.”

He shrugged. “It gave me an excuse to visit you.”

I dropped his hand. Jera was entranced by the ball, but still . . .

I went back to the asotis, taking up the comb and smoothing the sand, mostly to have something to do with my hands. Mati shot me a knowing smile and stepped out into the sunlight. “Throw it here, Jera,” he said.

She did, and a spirited tossing game ensued. Jera missed the ball most of the time, but laughed as she went tearing after it. Twice it landed in the flowers, and she came out with leaves in her hair.

I combed the sand mechanically as I watched Mati gently teasing Jera, and couldn't help thinking that he would be a wonderful father someday. As this was decidedly in the category of things I would not allow myself to think about, I pushed it away immediately. But a voice in my mind asked how this could end in anything other than more heartbreak.

“She's lively, once she opens up,” Mati said, laughing, coming to stand next to me. He glanced at Jera, who was chasing the ball across the courtyard, and put his arm around my waist, dropping a quick kiss onto my cheek. I sighed, accepting my own inability to resist him.

“Yes,” I said. “I think she'll do well.”

Mati bent his head and murmured in my ear. “I'm to go hunting with the western vizier this afternoon, but I fear a horrible headache will prevent it. Meet me in the Library at midday bells?”

“I'll be there.” It would be easy enough to draft Arlin or Mala to watch Jera for me—both the elderly servants, like everyone else in the palace, adored her.

“Oh!” came Jera's voice. Mati and I sprang apart. I turned to find her standing by a certain spray of red poppies and chamomile, clutching a beige square of paper in one hand and her ball in the other. I dashed forward and tugged the paper from her hand, babbling about how the paper must have blown into the flowers and been left accidentally. Jera seemed to want to say more—no doubt to tell me about the wad of such pages pushed in between the stones behind the plants—but I talked over her, chattering on about how important it was that everything the Tutors wrote was burned. I hurried to the firepit and stoked the flames, then dropped the paper in, watching it curl into ashes. Blood pounded in my head so hard that it blurred my vision. My codes would have meant nothing to anyone else, but still I hovered by the pit until every bit burned to ash.

When I turned from the fire, Mati was watching me, his brows lifted in amusement. I hurried forward and snatched the
ball from Jera's hand. “Come, let's all play,” I said, my voice falsely bright.

“Yes, Jera, let's see if Raisa can catch the ball as well as you,” said Mati. I was tense for the rest of the morning, but Jera and Mati laughed and played until the luncheon bells rang and I set to cleaning up.

“I'll see you later,” Mati said with a meaningful look at me. Then Jera surprised us both by wrapping her arms around his waist before dashing around the asoti cage to hide behind me.

I opened my mouth to scold her, but Mati's pleased smile stopped me. He reached behind me to tousle Jera's hair, and then left the Adytum.

At lunch, I explained to her how inappropriate such behavior was, and she sank back into meek silence. I was too distracted to make my words gentle. Mati obviously knew I'd kept papers, and didn't seem to mind. But if anyone else were to find them . . .

I knew what I had to do. I raced back to the Adytum after lunch, having seen Jera off for a walk in the garden with Mala. I snatched the coded pages from the hole by the poppies and laid them in the firepit, then whirled from cache to cache, pulling up pages from under stones, retrieving letters from the loose panel of the writing cabinet and the ridge at the top. I fed page after page into the flames, praying that none of the guards in the watchtowers would question the smoke rising, black and choking, over the Adytum. Midday bells rang, but I kept burning pages. My heart ached—I had barely gone through a third of the lower order symbols to look for those that translated to Arnath sound-based symbols. Maybe, I told
myself, I could start again later, when it was safer.

I couldn't imagine it ever being safer.

Finally I came to the very last page: my heart-verse. It hung limp from my fingers as I held it over the flames for a moment that stretched into an eternity. Keeping it was too dangerous, I told myself. It always had been, but now that my writing had been found, I'd be insane not to burn it.

I dropped to my knees and smoothed the fragile paper in my lap, intending to look at it one last time. But even as I traced the symbols that my father had written so long ago, I knew that I wouldn't burn my heart-verse. I couldn't. I would have jumped into the fire myself first.

Still, it couldn't stay in the Adytum any longer. I folded it into a tiny square and shoved it into the toe of my shoe. It couldn't stay there either, but it was the best I could do for now; I didn't trust any of my former hiding places. I resolved to sew it into the lining of my shift as soon as I found myself alone with needle and thread.

Exhausted and reeking of smoke, I left the Adytum and darted down the corridor to the storeroom, wondering what I would say to Mati. My fingers found the hidden latch easily now, and it was only few seconds before the door to the Library swung open.

Mati, who'd been sitting at the desk, leaped up and came to swing me around. “I thought you weren't coming,” he said into my neck, and then he was kissing me, and I was kissing him back.

He didn't bring up the incident in the Adytum until later, when we were entwined on the couch, talking between lazy
kisses. “I know you were upset this morning, when Jera found—”

“Have you noticed how dusty it is in here?” I asked quickly, pointing to the frieze above us, as if I could somehow distract him from what he had seen.

Mati frowned. “I changed the Library cleaning days. It's only First and Eighth Shining now.”

This startled me, and I met his eyes. “You did?”

“Of course. I wish I could do away with the platforms altogether, but . . .” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

But the council would use it against him. Just as they'd use it against him if they found out how he'd helped me.

My throat was tight. I almost told him then, about Linti's death, about the Resistance. But what would the softness in his eyes turn into, if he knew?

Mati will never have to know,
I reminded myself.
Jonis said they wouldn't ask anything else of me, after taking Jera.

Mati touched my cheek. “It's all right, about the papers. Just please, hide them better.” He smiled wryly. “You could—”

I lifted my chin. “I burned them all,” I lied. He didn't need to risk himself any more for my sake.

He visibly relaxed. “Well, then,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “Nothing to worry about.”

Headaches plagued the king over the next twelve days, forcing him to cancel more hunting parties, an audience with the High Priest of Qora, even a picnic with his fiancée. I claimed to spend afternoons in the Adytum, readying for Jera's lessons, while Jera romped in the gardens under Mala's supervision. Mati and I both
knew we couldn't continue the afternoons in the Library once the council went back into session. But he worried about the secrecy of our nighttime meetings—though he trusted his valet, Daki, to keep his mouth shut, there was always the risk that someone else would see him. I think the deeper truth was that being together in the Library was so much like the old days, before everything had grown so complicated. He wanted to keep those fragile moments as much as I did. We even went back to reading letters together, anything to extend our time by each other's sides.

I was lucky that Jera had become so beloved in the palace. Emilana Kret didn't mind sparing Mala, when I told her it was for Jera, and I often found Priasi Jin visiting with Jera when I returned to the gardens. Once he brought his daughter and baby granddaughter to play with her. Jera was so gentle with the baby that everyone fawned over her. Jera even told me that Penta Rale came to see her sometimes, and she showed off the green hair ribbon he'd given her. So long as Jera was available to coo over, no one seemed to mind my disappearances.

One day I returned from the Library to find Laiyonea by the fountain, watching Jera digging in the dirt with Mala. Laiyonea's lips compressed as she took in my dress—I looked down and found my laces askew, and straightened them hastily.

Laiyonea stood. “Mala, stay with Jera. I need to speak with Raisa.”

“Yes, Tutor,” said Mala. Jera didn't even look up from her digging. I winced as I saw the mud on her dress. No doubt Laiyonea had seen it too.

Laiyonea swept past me. She didn't speak until the Adytum
gate had clanged shut behind us and I had slowly followed her up the stairs.

“I thought this nonsense was over with,” she said, anger and exasperation dripping from every word.

I lifted my chin. “I don't know what you mean.”

Laiyonea snorted. “You'll have to lie better than that when the council questions you.”

“How does the council—”

She shook her head impatiently. “They don't, not yet. But it's only a matter of time, isn't it, with the way you two are going on. I thought
you
at least had some sense.”

“I've been careful!”

Laiyonea's dark eyes narrowed. “You've been neglecting your responsibilities. Or do you think that letting her roam all over the palace gardens is proper training for a Tutor?”

“I've made sure Jera is taken care of.”

“You haven't given a single thought to what that little girl needs. You've been too wrapped up in yourself.”

I knew she was right, knew that the anger welling up inside of me was at myself, not at Laiyonea. But it was easier to direct it at her, since she was the one telling me that my heart's desire was selfish and wrong.

“So what will you do, report me?” I said, shocking myself with the contempt in my tone.

Laiyonea slapped my face. As I buckled onto the bench, eyes stinging with tears, I knew I had deserved it.

“Get your head out of the clouds,” said Laiyonea in a low voice. “Mati needs this alliance with Gamo—or at least with his
money—if he wants to keep a rein on the council. He doesn't have enough goodwill to push new ways through, not when most of the councilors still think raiding the islands every ten years is a grand idea.”

“But . . . Mati said there would be no more raids.”

A gleam of sympathy pierced Laiyonea's impatience. “Don't you understand, Raisa, how dangerous this is for Mati?”

I was silent as her words sank in. Our relationship had been dangerous from the beginning, but I'd always imagined that the consequences would fall on me if we were found out. It was a new and frightening thought, that Mati might suffer.

Laiyonea sighed wearily and waved me away. “Go get Jera cleaned up before dinner. And for Gyotia's sake don't let her roll in the mud anymore, or half the council will be talking about the disgraceful Tutors.”

I nodded and left the Adytum.

When Gyotia learned how his sister had defied him, he smote the mountains in his anger, turning the great range south of his home to sand. And yet he relished her disobedience, for had he not goaded her to do just this, to give him righteous reason to bring the might of all the gods against her?

Gyotia called Aqil to him, saying, “Serve me well and you shall have a place high among the gods.”

Aqil fell to his knees. “Whatever you ask, I shall do, mighty Father.”

Gyotia smiled grimly. “Bind your mother, the traitor, and bring her to me.”

“I WISH I
could cancel this stupid banquet and carry you off to the Library right now,” Mati murmured as his mouth made its way down my neck.

“We can't,” I said breathlessly. “The council—”

Mati gripped my waist and pulled me closer. “Hang the council,” he growled. His hand slid lower. I tensed, but no crinkle gave away my heart-verse, sewn into my shift near my right thigh. That was one advantage of paper so old and soft.

It had been four days since our last visit to the Library. Mati hadn't been able to slip away to see me at all since; the dinners, card
parties, and other entertainments put on by the returning councilors over the past several days had kept him busy. I'd told him about Laiyonea's warning; he had reluctantly agreed that the headache excuse would no longer work, though he thought she was over-reacting. Laiyonea herself had been frosty with both of us.

So tonight we'd met briefly in this small chamber off the main hallway; the very room, in fact, where I'd seen Emilana Kret scolding Linti. Mati had no idea how much I despised the room.

I broke away from his lips. “I have to get back. Laiyonea will never believe it took me this long to get hairpins.”

Mati sighed and kissed my forehead. “Why couldn't it be Rale or Sarin retiring tonight, instead of Hait? The speeches will be
endless
. I have a surprise though—I've picked Hait's replacement.” Mati tapped my cheek. “But you'll have to wait to find out, just like everyone else. You don't receive special treatment just because you're irresistible.” He nibbled at my neck, making me squirm.

I gently disentangled myself from him. I pulled out the extra hairpins I'd hidden under my braid, then shook my hair out and rebraided it quickly. Tucking in the pins to flatten the waves, I turned to him.

“Do I look all right?” I asked, smoothing my dress.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. My heart fluttered at his tone—how was it possible he still had that effect on me?

Mati went to the door and spoke to Daki, who confirmed that the corridor was empty before I slipped out. I didn't look at the valet as I passed—Mati trusted him, and his bland expression never betrayed a thing, but I couldn't help wondering what he thought of me.

I crept down the hall. Music and laughter spilled out of the open banquet room doors ahead, where guests were catching up on all that had happened during the council break. The corridor was quiet, only a few late arrivals hurrying into the banquet.

I slid along the wall, and, because I was sneaking, I noticed them, also sneaking. Two men, one thickset, dark-haired, and olive-skinned, wearing the fine woven tunic of a Scholar, the other thinner and taller, wearing a simple green tunic and trousers. The Scholar led the slave away from the banquet room, toward an alcove by the front doors. As he looked around, I recognized Mati's cousin, Patic. I stepped back into the shadows, something about Patic's manner making me curious. But though I strained to hear their conversation, the chatter from the banquet room blocked it out.

I'd just given up and stepped out into the light when they emerged from the alcove. “Everything is going as planned,” Patic was saying cheerily. “Tell my mother I'll send word as soon as the announcement is made. Who knows? Maybe tonight.”

Then the other man—a familiar, tall figure with brown hair—nodded and said quietly, “Yes, master,” before leaving through the front doors of the palace.

Ris ko Karmik.

I stood rooted to the spot. Patic turned and found me there. “Tutor, are you well?” he enquired politely.

“Yes, I . . . hairpins,” I squeaked, gesturing lamely at my braid. I scooted into the banquet and floundered into my seat beside Jera. Laiyonea gave me a disapproving look, but I couldn't care.

I hardly noticed anything during the meal. Eventually my jumbled thoughts resolved themselves into two solid facts:

Patic was Ris ko Karmik's master.

Ris ko Karmik had performed a special mission for the Resistance.

So did that mean Patic
was
working with the Resistance? What had he meant by “everything is going as planned”?

I chased these thoughts around and around like Jera chasing her ball, and not until the spiced oranges were served did I realize how thoroughly I had missed the key question: what exactly
was
Ris ko Karmik's mission? I'd assumed it had to do with stockpiling weapons, but now I remembered the long periods of silence from Jonis and Kiti, the troubled look in Kiti's eyes when he'd said,
We had something going on. We stayed away to keep you out of it.

More important, I remembered
when
those periods of silence had been: around the time of King Tyno's death.

And Patic had been right there beside Mati when the hunters had left the courtyard.

Mati thought someone on the Scholars Council was behind his father's death, but what if the Resistance had done it?

I'd been automatically eating my orange, and upon this realization I inhaled sharply and choked. Laiyonea pounded my back as I gulped wine, my eyes streaming. When I was finally able to breathe, I mopped at my face with my napkin.

“Are you all right?” asked Laiyonea.

I nodded absently, my mind racing as I turned and found Patic sitting at Mati's table, laughing with Alshara Gamo. He met my eyes, then looked away.

My stomach turned to ice as I realized what he must know: that I, too, had helped the Resistance. Would he tell Mati?

Of course he wouldn't, not if he was with the Resistance himself. And what had he said in the hallway, about an announcement tonight?

I've picked Hait's replacement
, Mati had said.

Of course
, I thought. Of course Mati would choose his cousin to be on the council. He wouldn't care that Patic came from an olive farm instead of a country villa.

But Patic, or Ris ko Karmik with Patic's help, had killed Mati's father. No doubt they would do the same to Mati if they thought it would advance their cause. I closed my eyes, remembering Jonis's resolute face as he'd sent his sister away, as if he'd been preparing for something, ensuring her safety just as Ris had done for his family.

Mati had no idea, of that I was certain. He smiled and joked with his cousin, and the way his eyes sparkled told me he was excited to announce Patic's appointment.

I had to stop him. But how, in a room full of Scholars, with Laiyonea watching me like a hawk?

The servants began shifting tables to make room for the bell dance. My hands went cold. Hait would make his farewell speech during the desserts, after the first round of dancing. Surely Mati would make his announcement then, after Hait had been properly feted.

Priasi Jin approached Jera and took her hand. “I believe you owe me a dance, my dear.”

Laiyonea's face said quite eloquently how she felt about Jera dancing. Nevertheless I seized the opportunity. “Of course, Minister,” I said sweetly. “We'll both dance, though you must excuse
my clumsiness, as it's my first time.”

Jin nodded—I really did like that old man—and Jera looked back and forth between us as I steered her into the circle. I only had a few seconds to be embarrassed before the bells started up and I was busy trying to mimic the steps of those around me. The circle moved into two undulating lines; the Finance Minister's son became my partner. I took his hand and watched his feet, my kicks coming a fraction of a second later than anyone else's. Minister Jin had pulled Jera up so that her feet rested on his shoes, and was doing the steps for both of them as she giggled. I glimpsed Soraya Gamo's smirk as she danced by with Mati, and my face burned. Mati shot me the slightest puzzled look. I tried to convey with my expression that I had joined the dance for a reason other than humiliating myself.

Then we were back in the circle and the roundabout began. I gripped the hands of the pudgy Scholar to my left, stepping away and back, away and back, then turning three times before being passed off to the next. I had to work so hard to follow the turns that I almost didn't realize when I came to Mati. I grabbed his hand as my feet performed the repetitive steps, and began to write in his palm with my finger. Mati's eyes flicked to mine in surprise, then he stared at the wall over my head, his face relaxing into a bored, aristocratic frown. I traced the symbol “warning” into his hand. Just before I twirled away, I added a curved line across the top, the determinative that made it a command for attention.

Two partners later, I was back in my spot in the circle, Jera bouncing beside me, and it was the men's turn to do the roundabout. I focused on the steps, not allowing myself to look to the
line of partners coming from the right, but I was ready when Mati got to me, and so was he. He cupped my hands loosely instead of gripping them. Immediately I launched into the next symbol:
announcement.
This was more complicated, and I hoped that the curving lines would be as clear through touch as they would have been on paper. I fervently placed the last line in place—the strike that would negate the concept of announcing—just as we came out of the third twirl. Mati moved on to the next partner. As I turned with the War Minister, Mati caught my eyes and gave a tiny nod. He'd understood.

Laiyonea's lips were pursed when Jera and I returned, breathless and sweaty, to our seats, but she said nothing. I watched the set dances, for the first time without envy. But I let Jera dance again at the women's dance, and the veiled wives helped her through it.

The speeches were just as boring as Mati had predicted. Everyone had fallen into a stupor by the time Mati rose and praised Hait's long service to Qilara—except for Patic, who perked up as Mati finished. But Mati simply ended with a blessing and bid the musicians to start again.

Patic's perplexed expression slid away as he turned back to joke with Alshara—but he left with the first wave of Scholars soon after. Relieved, I said good night to Laiyonea, ignoring the furious set of her shoulders. She must have thought my dancing was a deliberate affront to her authority or a ploy to get close to Mati. Either way, I didn't care.

I led Jera upstairs and helped her into her nightgown. Since the day Laiyonea had accused me of selfishness, I'd made a point
of spending time with Jera at bedtime, talking over the day's events. Tonight, however, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep almost immediately. I blew out the lamp and crept to my room, where I changed out of my sweaty gown. Mati would come, I knew, even if it was past eighth bell before he got away.

But what could I say? More lies? He'd trusted me, but now he'd want to know why Patic was a danger.

I stared out the window, thinking hard, and still wasn't ready when he knocked an hour later. I opened the door and Mati entered. He took my hands and pulled me down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Patic is working with the Resistance. I'm certain of it. And . . . he may have had something to do with your father's death.”

Mati stared at me. Then his breath came out in a huff. “Those are serious accusations, Raisa. What makes you think—”

“The Resistance approached me,” I whispered. “Ages ago. At the pantomime, in the basement before the other girls came in. And Jo—the man said that if I would . . . join them . . . I had to respond a certain way when someone said a phrase to me. And later, at the luncheon, Patic said the words—or something like them. It wasn't exactly the same, so I wasn't sure—”

“And how did you respond?” said Mati sharply.

I darted a look at his closed, cold face. “I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about,” I confessed. “I didn't know what else to do.”

Mati nodded slowly. “You could have told me about this then,” he said evenly.

I hung my head. “I was afraid to. I didn't want you to think . . .”
That I was a traitor.
Hot tears stung my eyes, but I fought them back.

Mati took my hand. “I wouldn't have blamed you for those tialiks trying to use you.” My skin crawled at the curse, but I tried not to let Mati see. He frowned into the distance. “But Patic? I never would have thought . . .”

I nodded miserably. “I know. That's why I didn't believe it. But he was right there with you on the hunt, Mati. It would have been easy for him to poison your father.”

“Still . . . there's no proof.”

I looked down, choosing my words carefully. Did Mati know that I did that when I lied? No time to worry about that now. “I saw him tonight with a man from the Resistance—one of his slaves. They sneaked into an alcove, and when they came out, Patic was saying how everything was going as planned, and talking about you announcing the council position. He's still working with them. And now they may be after you.”

Mati shook his head. “Patic wouldn't—”

“Would you have suspected him capable of assassinating your father? Or joining the Resistance in the first place? I know you grew up admiring him, but you can't let that blind you to the danger.”

Mati stood and paced to the window and back. He stopped and looked me in the face. “How could you have known this for so long and not told me?”

“I hoped it wasn't true . . . but when I saw him tonight, I knew it was.”