Death Sworn (12 page)

“How often do you do this?” she asked Sorin when they stopped to rest. They sat side by side against the wall, him in a crouch that was simultaneously relaxed and ready, her with her skirt spread over her outstretched legs. Sorin wasn’t touching her, but she could feel him, inches from her skin.

“Like it, do you?” Sorin tilted his head down at her. His arms rested loosely on his knees. “There will be more, though not very often. We celebrate every time one of us returns alive from a successful mission.”

A successful mission.

All at once, everything came rushing back: where she was and who she was dancing with, her past and her present and her narrow bleak future. And what she was celebrating, what all this joy was about. The death of someone, far away in the Empire, a dagger stained with blood. The knowledge rose around her, threatening to overwhelm her, to engulf her again in a black fog of misery.

No.
She focused on the present, on the music and laughter, on Sorin’s face as he watched her. She reached out recklessly and closed her hand around his.

“I want to dance again,” she said.

Sorin’s fingers pressed, very slightly, against hers. “Already? Are you sure?”

“
Yes,”
she said, and scrambled to her feet. He stood up too, looking bemused, and followed her back out onto the training floor.

Chapter 11

T
he next morning, Ileni woke with a throbbing headache she suspected was a hangover. She’d heard some of the Renegai commonfolk talking about hangovers once. Until now, she had assumed they were exaggerating.

“It’s not a hangover,” Sorin said unsympathetically when he arrived to pick her up. “You’re just tired. You didn’t drink enough to have a hangover.”

But she
had
drunk enough, she suspected, to make a complete fool of herself. Her face burned as she leaned weakly against the wall. Another good reason not to leave this room ever again.

Except, of course, that she had no choice.
Small freedoms.
No matter the illusion created last night, her life here was not her own, and she had better not forget it if she wanted to stay alive.

In the dining hall, Sorin sat across from her, leaving an empty seat at his table—no, not just one. Ravil’s seat was also still empty. “Was it Ravil who came back? From his . . . from his mission?”

“No. It was someone else.”

“Where is that person?”

Sorin jabbed his spoon into his porridge, which he had retrieved from his own table before coming over. “With the master, reporting on what he learned. And what he will not realize he learned, until the master points it out.”

His voice was terse. Ileni put her own spoon down. “You’re jealous.”

He stirred his porridge, then spooned some into his mouth.

She remembered how he had held her last night, controlled and wild. But most of all, joyous. She remembered her questions the first night, about how all these young men could be forced to kill. How incredibly stupid she had been. “You
want
to be sent.”

“Of course I do.”

Ileni picked up her spoon, slowly. “To kill someone you don’t even know.”

“Easier than if I did know him.”

She swallowed a mouthful of porridge. It went down in a hard lump.

“That wasn’t a joke. The noble I killed was a quick job—into his room and out in less than an hour. If you have to befriend someone before you kill him . . . those are the most difficult missions, the ones the master assigns only to his most trusted students.”

Ileni looked down at the rest of her porridge, mostly so she could look away from him, from the longing clear on his face. She had to stop forgetting what he was.

Even though she was hungry, the sweet, thick smell from her bowl made her stomach turn over. She forced in a few more spoonfuls, then put her spoon down and endured until the meal was over, closing her eyes periodically.

It didn’t improve her mood to find that her students—most of whom had been dancing all night, and had drunk
far
more than she had—were as attentive and disciplined as ever. Her attempt to get through class without expending any power seemed even more pathetically obvious than usual, and she braced herself for a challenge from Irun. But he said not a word. He just watched her grimly, his silence more menacing than an outright confrontation.

By the time she was finished with her first lesson, her mind had begun to work again. As her students rose to their feet, she said, “Sorin. A word.”

The two boys next to Sorin exchanged glances, which reminded her that they had seen her display of . . . whatever that had been . . . last night. Her cheeks heated up. By the time Sorin obediently came to stand in front of her, they felt beet red.

He waited patiently, as if he didn’t notice. She cleared her throat. “Did Absalm and Cadrel go to the celebrations?”

Sorin blinked, then rubbed the side of his neck. “Absalm did, yes. I don’t think we had any celebrations while Cadrel was here.”

“For two whole months?”

“It’s not unusual. Our missions depend on events in the Empire, on who wants to hire us, and on the master’s plans. Sometimes nobody gets sent for years.”

“How boring for you all.”

“It makes for better training.” He glanced over his shoulder at the now-empty cavern. “But since Irun’s success, our missions will probably be far more frequent.”

“Who invited Absalm to the celebrations?”

“I did.” Sorin shifted his weight slightly. “Why does it matter whether he went? Nobody killed him for
that
.”

“I don’t know,” Ileni said. “But there must have been
something
they did that led to their being killed. I won’t know what it is until I find it.”

Sorin considered her. “Ileni—”

But then the next group of students began filing into the cavern, and he stopped talking and turned away.

Ileni wondered what he had been going to say for most of the second class. By the third class, she had turned to the more productive question of what other small rules her predecessors might have broken. She had seen only one other illicit activity last night, and while she couldn’t imagine someone being killed over chocolate, either, it was the only avenue she had to explore.

She waited until she and Sorin were at the entrance to the dining cavern, with Bazel only a few yards behind them. Then she turned and said, “Bazel. Sit with me, please. I want to talk to you.”

Bazel blinked at her, then darted a nervous glance at Sorin, whose expression was flinty. Ileni turned her back on both of them and made her way to her table. As she sat, Bazel headed toward her, exuding reluctance. Sorin started as if to follow, then turned on his heel and stalked to his own table.

The midday meal was some sort of clawed, buglike creature that had been served once before—a delicacy in the Empire, Sorin had informed her then, and therefore something the assassins had to learn to eat with pleasure. Ileni looked at the red legs and antennae splayed out on her plate and decided she didn’t have to learn any such thing. She folded her hands together on the table and looked at Bazel, who was methodically taking apart his own food, keeping his eyes on the scaly red limbs. When she said his name, he looked up, stony resentment in his pale blue eyes.

She resisted the urge to apologize. Instead she said, “I want to offer you a trade.”

He chewed and swallowed before he replied. “Thank you, Teacher. But I don’t think you have anything I want.”

“Then you lack imagination. Wouldn’t you like to know how you can beat Irun next time he decides to attack you?”

Silence. Bazel looked down at his plate, rigid and unmoving. When he spoke, it was in a near whisper. “Irun has a lot of magical power, too.”

“He does. But power without knowledge isn’t very useful. With the spells I would teach you, you could humiliate him.”

Bazel’s hands twitched. “In
your
class,” he said finally. “I would pay for it later, in our next weapons drill. Pay heavily, I would imagine.”

A fatal accident,
Sorin had said. Ileni repressed a shiver. “Possibly,” she said. “Of course, that wouldn’t change the fact that Irun had been humiliated.”

Bazel smiled. It wasn’t a smile she wanted to return. It was grim, deadly, and so implacable that she suddenly wondered if this was a good idea.

Too late to reconsider. “Of course, I would have to tutor you privately. It would take a lot of my time.”

“You have something better to do?” Bazel said.

Just because someone was being victimized did not, necessarily, make him likeable. Ileni lifted her chin, trying to look mysterious rather than irritated. “A great number of things.”

“Like allowing Sorin to drag you along as the special entertainment for one of his parties?”

Was that why he had brought her? “What do you mean,
his
parties? You were there, too.”

Bazel’s face twitched. “Didn’t he tell you? The parties were Sorin’s idea, and he’s the one who organizes them. They’re not exactly sanctioned by the master.”

“He does things of his own volition?” Ileni’s voice emerged sharp. That
special entertainment
still stung. “How remarkable. I’m surprised he can get away with it.”

Bazel smiled bitterly. “Sorin’s the sort of person who likes to find out what he can get away with. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

She hadn’t. She had thought he was a perfect assassin, that he kept any rebellious impulses under strict control. And she still wasn’t sure she was wrong. A party and a dance . . . permitted transgressions, she was willing to wager. Deliberately overlooked, like her own use of sleep spells or excursions with Tellis. It didn’t mean Sorin would ever dare anything truly forbidden. That occasional gleam in his eyes, the wildness she sensed simmering beneath the surface, could be safely dissipated in a few nights of celebration. The master
was
wise, at least when it came to controlling his students.

She leaned forward. “These lessons wouldn’t be at your master’s command, either. They would be for you.”

Bazel rubbed the back of his neck, but all he said was, “And what you want in return is chocolate?”

“Not quite. Though I wouldn’t say no to a few pieces.” Ileni pressed her hands hard against her knees, under the table where Bazel couldn’t see. “I want to know where you get the chocolates.”

He hesitated for so long she was afraid he was going to refuse. She took a risk. “Did you get them from Absalm?”

“What? No.”

She couldn’t tell if he was lying. She bit the inside of her lip. “But you must have used magic. I don’t believe the other assassins would give you spoils from their missions.”

Anger flashed across his face. She added, “Yet. I can help you change that.”

He laughed shortly. “Even if I beat Irun, that won’t turn me into a different person, Teacher.” He blew out a short breath and nodded. “I’ll show you how I get them. But I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

Was she supposed to know who
they
were? Ileni decided the safest thing to do was nod.

Bazel inclined his head back, a barely discernible motion, then swung his legs over the bench and hurried away, leaving an uneaten jumble of claws and jointed legs on his plate.

Almost as soon as he was gone, Sorin slid into his place. Ileni braced herself. But all he said, after a glance at her full plate, was, “Are you done eating? I think it’s time you learned something new.”

He didn’t mention Bazel as he led her away from the table and through the corridors, walking instead in silence. Ileni, prepared for a challenge and rehearsing a dozen different retorts in her head, didn’t realize where they were going until they were there. Then she stopped so short she almost fell, staring at the racks of shiny knives in the cavern where Irun had almost killed her.

“What is this?” she demanded. “A reminder of what I owe you?”

Sorin gave her a look that was half-amused, half-reproachful. “We’re here for weapons training.”

“Why?”

“Because, as you pointed out, the hand-to-hand lessons are somewhat pointless.” He walked over to the racks, pulled a knife, and threw it over his shoulder without looking. It landed in the center of one of the targets. “With a weapon, you can be far more effective.”

“Or I could cut off my own hand by mistake.”

“We’ll practice not doing that. It will be our first lesson.”

She didn’t laugh. She kept looking at the knife he had thrown, which still quivered in the center of what would have been a person’s heart. “When you and Irun . . . when you took the knives . . . he said it was dangerous.”

“Because those were poisoned knives.” That wild gleam leaped briefly back into his eyes. “I like to take unexpected risks, once in a while. It’s dangerous to be predictable.”

“Um,” Ileni said.

“Most of us aren’t permitted to use the poisoned knives. It requires training and preparation.” He looked at the shiny blades proudly. “The poison is called vernath. There is no antidote, so we have to take care.”

“Marvelous,” Ileni muttered.

“Don’t worry. We’ll start with unpoisoned ones.”

“
Start?”

“First, let’s see if you have knack for throwing—”

“No,” Ileni said.

He blinked at her. “Why not?”

“Renegai don’t use weapons.”

“You’re not exactly a Renegai anymore, are you?”

She should have seen that coming, but she flinched anyhow, so violently that Sorin saw it. He looked at her in silence, his dark eyes slits above his sharply planed cheeks, and she felt her heart thud against her ribs. He was going to figure it out . . . he was smart, she should have been more careful. . . .

But when he spoke, his voice was soft. “You could be happy here, you know.”

Her laugh sounded like a sob. “I doubt that.”

“You should know . . .” He trailed off, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “That you have choices. Even here. I understand what it’s like to grow up outside and then know you’ll spend the rest of your life underground. I used to be angry, too.”

“Oh?” This time it sounded more like a laugh. “And who were
you
angry at?”

“Nobody. Everybody. Just like you.” He walked to the target and pulled out the knife. “Undirected anger accomplishes nothing. Anger can be a powerful tool, but only if you treat it like one.”

By the practiced rhythm of his words, she knew that was another of the master’s sayings. “I’m fine with my anger as it is. But thank you.”

“You don’t have to be resentful all the time. Once you understand that your life here has a goal, and a purpose . . . you could be happy. I am.” He drew another knife. The blade looked natural in his hand, like it belonged there. “Absalm was, too.”

Ileni shook her head violently. “No. He wasn’t. Maybe you
thought
—”

“We’re trained to recognize truths, Ileni. No matter how unpleasant.” Sorin was watching her so intently it made her feel almost panicked. “He wasn’t an outsider. He didn’t feel like an exile. We considered him one of us.”

“Quite the honor. I’m sure he was overwhelmed with pride.”

“He was a good teacher. A wise man. Even the master respected him.”

“Don’t you understand?” Ileni clenched her fists. “Absalm was an Elder of our people before he volunteered to be the next tutor. So you respected him. Maybe he didn’t
care
. Maybe the respect of a group of student killers wasn’t all that important to him.” She spoke as hotly as if she had known the man. She hadn’t known Cadrel, either. But she knew that both of them, like every tutor in the past two centuries, had viewed their sojourn in these caves as forced labor, a lifelong sacrifice made for the good of all Renegai. As she did, and would, however long she managed to survive.