Sword and Verse by Kathy MacMillan Page B

that made for easy movement over land, and Qorana, named for Qora, god of the fields, wet and temperate and ideal for growing things.
    When the rains of Qorana came, parts of the city flooded, and the king ordered the floodwalls raised partway as a precaution. The gray wall loomed up between the arms of the mountains on either side of the inlet, cutting off our view of the sea.
    I worried that the rains would damage my heart-verse. I checked it daily when I went to the Adytum to tend to the asotis, but I still couldn’t make sense of the way the symbols had been strewn together, even the ones I recognized. What did cheese have to do with honor beside it? But I didn’t dare linger in the Adytum.We could not study in the outdoor courtyard during the rains, of course, and as it was against the law for me or Laiyonea to write anywhere else, lessons were put on hold until the sun shone again. On rainy days, I was imprisoned in the sitting room, cutting endless piles of quills. I didn’t know how I would stand not seeing Mati for days on end.
    Mati, however, found something better than the Adytum, better even than late nights in my room. He crept into the sitting room on an especially miserable, gray day, grinning from ear to ear. Laiyonea had gone to speak with the king. I was happy to take a break—my hands were stiff from the knife, as I’d already completed an entire basket of quills.
    Mati held one finger to his lips as he took my hand and led me down the deserted corridor. The lamps were all lit against the overcast afternoon. When I asked where we were going, he only shook his head.
    At last Mati pushed open a door. I balked as I realized that he was leading me into the king’s own chambers.
    â€œCome on,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”
    He tugged me inside and shut the door, then led me across an anteroom and into the bedroom. Gold-threaded tapestries hung from the walls, and the high bed, piled with pillows and thick blankets, was as large as a temple alcove.
    Mati opened a mirrored door, pushed aside his father’s tunics, and opened another, smaller door at the back of the closet.
    â€œPull that other door shut,” he whispered. He clutched my hand as he led me down a narrow staircase. We must have been close to the outer wall; I could hear rain pelting down as if itwere right above my head, and murky light came in through windows—little more than vertical slits—set near the ceiling.
    At the bottom of the steps, Mati pointed to a passage winding away to the left into the darkness. “That leads down to the dungeons and scribe rooms. There’s a branch up to the council chamber too,” he whispered. “But this is the best part.”
    He moved his hand along the wall before us. With a soft click, part of it swung open.
    We stepped into the Library of the Gods—though I hardly recognized it. I had never seen it with the furniture and carpets in place, the high friezes, white and pure and clean, shining in the light of the central firepit. Linti and the other children must have cleaned recently, because there was not a speck of dust anywhere. With all its finery, the Library of the Gods resembled a temple—except that a Qilarite temple would never have letters openly displayed.
    It flitted through my mind that this—a holy place full of writing—was exactly what a temple to Sotia would look like. But the goddess of wisdom would never stand for her gift of writing to be locked away from her people like this. And the Qilarites would never build a temple to a goddess who had been imprisoned by Gyotia himself since ancient times.
    Mati put his arm around me. “Father showed me this entrance a few days ago,” he said. “I’m not supposed to come without him.” He didn’t seem to regret his disobedience. When he nuzzled my ear, I didn’t either.
    He led me over to a soft bench near the firepit. A narrow desk