Sword and Verse by Kathy MacMillan Read Free Book Online Page A

leave me alone out of fear, plain and simple. I couldn’t feel guilty for wanting to avoid the kind of horrible execution that Tyasha had suffered. Still, Jonis was right—I’d had no intention of telling anyone about his visit.
    But the thought of Mati being in danger from the Resistance made me half want to report them to the guards. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with Jonis or his messengers again, I thought, with mingled relief and self-loathing. But how could I report Jonis without getting Kiti into trouble, and without saying what he’d asked me to do? They had indeed trapped me neatly; I’d be accused of working with the Resistance. I hadn’t called for help at once—that would be enough to condemn me.
    â€œMati’s a good actor, isn’t he?” said Patic.
    I realized he was talking to me. “Yes, I suppose,” I replied vaguely.
    â€œAlways has been.” Patic’s grin was impish, a bit like theprince’s. “When we were little, Mati would stay with us in the rainy season. He loved our cook’s pomegranate tarts. Once he sneaked off and ate five before I found him. There he was, covered in sticky red filling, insisting with every breath that I’d eaten the tarts. My father believed him too.”
    I couldn’t help smiling. “Well, he’s the prince,” I said.
    â€œHe was also very convincing in his indignation. I learned to watch my back with him.” Patic nodded affectionately. “He’s lucky my aunt married the king. He wouldn’t last five minutes in the country.”
    â€œOh, yes,” I said. “He mentioned that you live in the Valley of Qora.” With a pang, I remembered the day Mati had described the other players while teaching me the second tenset of the higher order symbols. His impression of Soraya Gamo’s reaction to Patic’s country accent had made me laugh so hard I’d nearly knocked over an inkpot.
    â€œI run the operations for my father’s olive farm, so I’m often back and forth to the city on business,” said Patic. “Do a decent side business in message delivery too.”
    â€œThat reminds me,” said the War Minister’s son, drawing Patic’s attention back to himself. “I have a scroll for you to deliver on your way home.”
    I glanced at the prince as the conversation moved away from me. Patic was right—Mati was a good actor. The way he’d delivered his lines so naturally, the way he spoke deferentially to Penta Rale even though I’d often heard him mock the man in the Adytum. The way he laughed with the others now, as if nothing had happened behind that stage . . .
    With sudden clarity, Patic’s voice came to my ears.
    â€œThe wind has shifted. The rains soon will come from the ocean, I think.”
    I froze, my fork clanging against my plate. I forced myself to spear a piece of goat cheese and chew it, giving myself time to think.
    But those weren’t the words Jonis had said I would hear, were they? Not exactly right . . . but so close.
    Beneath my fear fluttered something else, something that seemed to say, “At least the Resistance is fighting back.” But what good had that ever done the Arnathim? My brother had fought back, and the raiders had skewered him.
    All I had left of my family was my life and my heart-verse, and I wouldn’t throw either of them away.
    I swallowed the cheese and looked up. Patic was drinking from his goblet, watching me over the rim. I couldn’t tell if his gaze was expectant or not.
    â€œReally?” I said. “I didn’t feel it.”

From time to time, the gods descended from the mountain to visit the sea or hunt in the western forests. From their footsteps sprang creatures like in form to the gods, but far smaller and weaker. At first the gods paid no more attention to these mewling pests than a rich man does to the dirt he tracks upon the floor for a