Death Marked (16 page)

Irritation prickled Ileni. But he had promised to show her the lodestones’ source, not to be nice about it. “I’d like to see the Merchants’ Triangle,” she said. “Will you take me?”

“No,” Arxis said.

“What?”

“Find your own way. Just head straight into the city, away from the mountains. You can’t miss it.”

Ileni stared at him incredulously. Evin cleared his throat. “She’s never been here before, Arxis. Maybe you should—”

“She’s meeting someone at the Triangle,” Arxis said.

“What?” Ileni said again.

“An old friend. I saw him earlier, and I suspect he might be interested in seeing you.” His eyes bored into hers.

The lithe, graceful figure disappearing behind a building.
If you need me, I will come.
Ileni drew in her breath.

Reluctantly, Evin said, “I suppose I can take you—”

“No,” Ileni said. “I can find my way.”

Evin frowned. “I don’t want you to get lost. Parts of the city are dangerous.”

“
I’m
dangerous,” Ileni said. “And I won’t get lost. I’ll be fine.”

The gleam in Evin’s eyes reminded her of Sorin, when she had surprised and impressed him. The difference was that she didn’t care what Evin thought.

But she wanted to see that expression on Sorin’s face again.

“If you’re sure . . .” Evin looked back at his brother.

“I am,” Ileni said firmly, but she had the distinct sense that he was no longer listening.

Arxis, Evin, and Girad strolled away, around the dancing fountains and toward the stone building. Only then did it occur to Ileni that if this
was
a trap, it might not be for her.

But Arxis and Evin did things together all the time. If Evin was Arxis’s target, there was no reason to think today was the day he would die.

Or if it was, that there was anything she could do to stop it.

Ileni turned on her heel and strode down the street.
When she glanced back, neither Evin nor Arxis was anywhere in sight, and the black walls were back in place.

Heading “straight into the city” turned out to be less simple than it sounded. The city was a maze of streets, and not one of them was straight. Ileni walked somewhat randomly, counting on Sorin to find her, keeping track of her twists and turns so at least she would be able to find her way back. She had once done the same in the labyrinthine Assassins’ Caves, in dark, narrow passageways far more convoluted than these crowded streets. She had done it alone and she had done it with Sorin at her side, his hand barely brushing hers, his feet soft and silent on the rock.

When she came across a small garden, flowering bushes spilling over colorful rocks, it seemed as good a place as any to be found. She took a seat on the single narrow bench, closed her eyes, and began practicing the lead-up to one of the spells Cyn had shown her last week.

She didn’t hear him coming, but the bench shifted slightly as he settled beside her. She forced herself to finish the mental exercise, layering its even, flowing rhythm over her racing pulse, and then she opened her eyes and said, “Don’t think I’m not happy to see you. But you shouldn’t be here.”

The young man on the bench smiled at her, the expression making his round cheeks puff out, his face flushing to match his auburn hair.

“There is no place an assassin shouldn’t be,” Bazel said. “You of all people should know that by now.”

CHAPTER

14

I
leni’s heart froze, then went on beating, loud and slow. She could hear it, an echo in her head, overwhelming the silence on the bench.

It was a moment before she recovered her voice enough to say . . . what? She had to speak, to cover up the disappointment that must be burned into her face, to say anything other than,
I thought you were Sorin
.

What an idiot she was.

“I could tell people what you are,” she managed finally, in an almost steady voice. “I could scream
assassin
right now.”

“You could. I don’t think you will.”

“Are you sure?” Ileni said. “Don’t forget, you tried to
kill
me.”

“It was necessary at the time. But I’m not trying to kill you anymore.”

“I’m so glad.” Her disappointment ebbed slowly away, and rage rushed in to replace it. She remembered lying trapped on the bed, her finger broken, choking on the thick gag. “I can’t say the same.”

Bazel shrugged. “When it comes to killing, you’re an amateur. I’m not surprised you would take it personally.”

She remembered driving the knife into Irun’s back. The moment she had realized how easy it was to take someone’s life, and how little separated her from the killers around her.

Bazel was one of those killers. Yet here he was, trading barbs with her on a park bench. Bazel might be the least competent of the assassins, but he still knew a dozen ways to murder her before she could move. And all the assassins now knew it was possible to kill a sorceress. Someone must have ordered him not to.

It wasn’t hard to guess who.
Sorin.

“Of course,” Bazel added, “if you
do
reveal my identity, I’ll have to tell your new sorcerer friends all about it. About the time you spent in our caves helping us learn to kill them.
About your skulking in dark corners with our new leader.”

Ileni flushed. “Why are you here, Bazel? Who are you on a mission to kill, since it’s obviously not me?”

Bazel got to his feet, like a snake uncoiling. “Surprised, are you? I’m sure you thought I would never leave the caves.”

She had, and for good reason. The thread of pride in his voice made her stomach twist, and the way he loomed over her made her intensely aware of his physical presence and strength. Once again she felt Irun’s hand on the back of her head, the sudden pain and the gush of blood. . . .

She closed her eyes as the garden whirled around her. It had been Bazel’s fault, but he hadn’t been the one to slash her throat. That had been Irun, and she had killed Irun, with far less magic than she had right now.

“Nobody thought you would leave the caves.” She said it scornfully, to remind herself that she didn’t have to be afraid. She opened her eyes in time to see fury flare on Bazel’s face. Oddly, that made her braver. “And frankly, I didn’t think Sorin would ever let you leave alive.”

“Our new master—” said with a tinge of bitterness—“is not about to waste an assassin for the sake of an infatuation. We are too valuable for that. Even I am.”

Infatuation
was his way of striking back. Ileni dug her
fingernails into the bottom of the bench. “But if this involves me, it’s a rather important mission. Why would Sorin choose
you
?”

His jaw pulsed—a movement so slight that no one but she, who had spent weeks among assassins, would have noticed it. He said tightly, “Sorin designed the mission. Absalm is the one who chose to send me.”

“Was he trying to get you out of the caves before Sorin killed you?”

Bazel leaned over, placing both hands on the back of the bench, on either side of her. Ileni cringed away from him despite herself. “You
killed
the
master
. Do you think Sorin could get away with punishing me for trying to kill
you
? The last thing he can afford is to reveal how much his obsession with you is skewing his judgment.”

Despite the fear roiling through her, Ileni couldn’t help a surge of satisfaction. So much for
infatuation
. “He’s just biding his time, then, before he makes you pay.”

Bazel leaned closer. She turned her head to the side, and his breath wafted hot against her cheek, stirring stray strands of hair. “Don’t count on him. He might be the new master in name, but he’s made mistakes. He’s not powerful enough to pursue vengeance.”

Ileni pressed against the bench so hard that tiny splinters dug into her back. She shifted sideways, then lifted her chin and looked Bazel straight in the eye. “Yet.”

Bazel’s jaw clenched. He straightened. “I’m here to show you something. Come with me.”

Ileni remained seated. “Come with you where?”

“My mission is to show you, not tell you. Come.”

Ileni bit her lip. But if he wanted to kill her, he would have done it before she had time to get suspicious. Besides, Sorin would not have ordered him to do anything that could cause her harm.

She was almost completely certain of that. Which was certain enough to get her off the bench when Bazel walked away.

“How did Arxis know you would find me?” she said as he led her down a long, slanted street and through a crowded market.

Bazel didn’t react.

“Now that Sorin is your leader,” Ileni said pointedly, “you might want to start being a little nicer to me.”

He turned fully to face her, stopping in the middle of the street. “Why? It’s not exactly your
opinion
he values.”

Ileni’s skin shrank inward at the scorn in his voice.
She couldn’t even deny it. Her opinions had never had the slightest impact on Sorin’s firm, clear faith.

“He’ll kill you if I ask him to,” she said finally.

“Are you going to ask him to?”

He waited until it was clear she had nothing to say, then strode forward.

At the end of the street, Bazel turned down a wide set of stairs that descended to an alley below. Paper and debris littered the steps, and signs inked with symbols Ileni didn’t recognize hung crookedly on the stone walls. By then, Ileni had thought things through, and she hesitated before following. Bazel must know he would never be safe from Sorin . . . assassins could be very patient, but they never gave up. Which meant Bazel’s loyalty—to the extent he had any—was to Absalm, not Sorin.

But Absalm didn’t want Ileni dead, either. Not when he had been molding her for more than a decade. She was too valuable.

She hurried to catch up. They crossed the alley at the bottom of the stairs and continued down yet another stairway to the next street, and then the next. A line of guards wearing lodestone bracelets crossed in front of them, and Bazel paused, waiting for them to pass with apparent unconcern.

Four streets later, Ileni’s knees hurt, and the stairways had grown noticeably rougher, with cracks and loose stones that forced her to pay close attention to her footing. Halfway down the fifth flight of stairs, a large crate leaned against a wall, cutting the width of the steps in half. An old man huddled against the crate, wrapped in a bundle of foul-smelling rags. He watched them pass with pus-filled eyes.

How much longer?
would sound like an admission of weakness. But maybe
Is this where we’re going
. . . yes, she could say that. Ileni cleared her throat, but just then Bazel stopped short. He gestured at a narrow brown door in the stone building on their right.

“Side entrance,” he explained.

Well, that cleared everything right up. Still determined to show no hesitation, Ileni placed the flat of one hand on the door and pushed. The door didn’t budge.

She reached for magic, then stopped herself. This far from the Academy, there were no lodestones she could use to replenish her power. Impressing Bazel was not worth the risk of being left defenseless.

“After you,” she said.

Bazel reached under his tunic and pulled out a thin metal wire. After a few seconds of swift, silent work, the door
swung open, revealing yet more stairs, narrow and dim.

“Not that I haven’t enjoyed all the mystery and drama,” Ileni said, “but I’m not following you down there until you tell me where we’re going.”

“Death’s Door,” Bazel said.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t blame me; that’s what they call it. It is over-dramatic, I agree.” He stepped through the door. “It’s a sickhouse.”

“Then why—”

But he was already halfway down the stairs, moving without making a sound.

Ileni hesitated. The wise move would be to turn around and make her way back to the upper part of the city. She had followed Bazel through unknown passageways before, and that had not ended well.

She started down the stairs.

He was waiting for her at the bottom. By then her eyes had adjusted to the near darkness, so she saw at once he had been telling the truth: this
was
a sickhouse. A large square room stretched in front of her, lined with cots and filled with a thick, sour smell. Most of the figures in the cots were unmoving, lumps under blankets, but a few tossed and
turned, and enough of them were moaning to make the air quaver discordantly.

Ileni’s stomach twisted, shaming her. She had never been drawn to healing, the most important magic of all. Sick people made her feel slightly ill herself. And she had never seen this many sick people in one place before.

She glanced sideways at Bazel, and caught his expression a moment before it slid off his face—a faint grimace that matched her own unease. Bazel, too, was uncomfortable around this much illness. This much
weakness
.

She squared her shoulders. “What’s important about—”

Bazel put a finger to her lips. Ileni jerked away from his touch and rubbed the back of her hand against her mouth. Bazel smirked.

Somehow, that smirk—its assurance, its superiority—was the last straw. He was acting like she was still powerless, like she was someone to be toyed with. He didn’t know what she had learned over the past two weeks.

Ileni coiled her power within her, flicking her fingers in the beginning patterns of a spell—a combat spell. One that would take only a minimal amount of power, but would hurt nonetheless. Bazel’s smirk faltered and vanished.

Then a familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the
room: “He said it was urgent. He’s usually right.”

Ileni almost let go of the spell—but Karyn would have felt the magic being released. Instead, she pulled it tight within herself as Bazel grabbed her hand and yanked her beneath the stairs. The empty space under the staircase was filled with boxes, but the two of them squeezed in.

Footsteps clattered down the wooden steps above them. Ileni’s head hurt. Holding magic in was a basic Renegai exercise, once practiced daily. But that had been months ago, and the combat spell she was holding was sharper and more slippery than any spell she had held as a Renegai, like gripping a tangle of fragmented glass shards.