Sword and Verse by Kathy MacMillan

him,” Mati went on. “He thinks they’re taunting him.”
    â€œWhy . . . why did they give it to him?”
    Mati paused, and I realized that I was rubbing my wrists again. I stilled my hands in my lap.
    â€œThey . . . want him to send raiders to the Nath Tarin,” said Mati. “They think it’ll be a message to the Resistance.”
    I stared at him in horror. Did Jonis have any idea what he and his people had done?
    Mati swallowed. “He won’t do it, though. He says it’s . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Wasteful. That there are . . . plenty of slaves here, and cheaper too. That breeding slaves here is more . . . economical. And he can’t spare the men, with things so tense on the Emtirian border.”
    He looked so miserable that I took his hand. “But he’s not sending them,” I whispered. “That’s the important thing.”
    He sighed, and we sat there in thoughtful silence until he said soberly, “Who gave you the quill?”
    I tensed at his tone—did he suspect something? “I don’t know. Laiyonea thinks it was Rale or one of the priests, playing some kind of joke.” She’d said so when we’d gotten back to our sitting room, right after she’d said how stupid Mati had been to criticize the soldiers in front of his father.
    Mati was silent. My stomach dropped a little—and then I realized what my own paranoia had been keeping me from seeing. “Mati,” I said slowly, “are you . . . jealous?”
    â€œNo!” said Mati at once. But he looked away awkwardly and leaned back on the bed. I stared at him until he finally sighed. “Yes,” he said. “ I want to be able to give you gifts.”
    â€œBut I can’t give you anything either.” I leaned over to kiss him. “Besides, you already gave me you.” I nestled beside him, resting my head on his arm.
    He winced. Remembering how his father had gripped him, I lifted his sleeve. Bruises blossomed on his upper arm—one ugly purplish-black mark for each finger. I kissed each one, thinking how different he and his father were, and how much better a king Mati would be because of that.
    The next morning, Laiyonea told me that Mati was sitting in on an important negotiation with his father, and went to join them. She had me working on the life symbol with all its variants again; I was still struggling with it. Mati arrived in the Adytum an hour later, grinning giddily.
    â€œAre the negotiations going well?” I asked as he put his arms around me. I didn’t really care. I just wanted to hear his voice.
    â€œWell enough,” he said absently. “I have something for you.” He blushed as he held up a small, flat beige stone, irregularly shaped, with a leather thong threaded through a hole at one end. “It isn’t much, but I thought it was pretty. I found it this morning on the beach and I decided to make a necklace for you.” He laid it in my hand, and I saw faint lines etched into one of the flat surfaces, lines that might have been deeper once, but had long since been made smooth by the ocean current. Mati ran one finger over the rock, then took my hand and sketched a shape into my palm. “It almost looks like a symbol. It’s nonsense though. I don’t know why, but it made me think of you.”
    I had to hold the stone right up to my eye to see the lines. Ialmost dropped it when I made out the shape—three wavy lines joined by a straight one. Sa. The first symbol of my heart-verse, which I had yet to find in the language of the gods. The second part of my name, as my father taught me to write it so long ago. It was a sound, but also a word unto itself: light of wisdom.
    Mati didn’t recognize the symbol—had said it was nonsense. It didn’t mean sa to him; it didn’t mean anything to him. Which meant that it couldn’t be a higher order symbol.
    It had to