Death Marked (Death Sworn #2)(16)

“Which,” Cyn said smugly, “is more for some people than for others.”

“But . . .” Ileni couldn’t find words for her horror. “Don’t you . . . don’t you mind?”

Evin’s eyes darted to her swiftly, and away, and Ileni wished fervently that she had thought before she spoke. The last thing she wanted was to give away just how much she minded. She was done with being pitied.

Cyn laughed. “I can’t answer that for you, and neither can Evin. But Lis . . .”

Lis made a rude gesture at her sister.

Cyn blew her a kiss, then turned her attention back to Ileni. “Right now, the only advanced sorcerers with their own power are me and Evin. Is it more common among your people?”

“Is it . . .” Ileni was still struggling to catch up. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Lis snorted. “I guess that’s what happens when most of the sorcerers in the Empire go off to the mountains and spend a few hundred years inbreeding.”

“There used to be more of us,” Cyn said. “But not many. I’m told there are a couple of fourth-levels, and even more second-levels, who might have enough power to be worth training. But most of our sorcerers rely on lodestones. It’s more efficient that way, really.”

She sounded absolutely sincere, but her words passed through Ileni’s mind like a swift breeze, too foreign to leave an impression.

“You obviously don’t have your own magic anymore.” Cyn said it casually, but Ileni flinched. “It really doesn’t matter. You’ll see.” She flicked a strand of hair away from her face. “But it does mean you had better stay on Karyn’s good side—which means doing as you’re told. Let’s go.”

She walked off the end of the plateau and lifted gracefully into the air. Lis watched her sister fly away, then held a hand out to Ileni. Her expression was indecipherable. “You can fly with me.”

“How will that—”

Lis turned her arm over. Her forearm was covered with a faint tracing of scars that Ileni hadn’t noticed before. Set into the underside of her thick bracelet was a small round globe with colors swirling in its depths.

“Lodestones to spare, remember? I’ve got my own portable source of magic.” Her tone was slightly bitter. “This stone is almost drained, which is why you can’t feel it. But get close enough and you should be able to borrow some.”

Ileni could feel the magic coming from the stone, but only faintly; Lis was soaking it up through her skin, leaving nothing Ileni could have grasped. Even if she wanted to. She bit her lip. “Did you lose your own magic?”

Lis’s laugh was more than just slightly bitter. “Cyn and I are twins, but we aren’t very alike. I never had any.”

Like Karyn. People who would never have tasted magic on their own, being trained to use power stolen from others.

Ileni pulled her arm back to her side. “Thank you. But I think I’ll use the bridge.”

Lis pivoted and flung herself upward, a swirl of white cloth and black hair.

“Go,” Ileni snapped at Evin. She wanted desperately to be alone. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“That’s good to know,” Evin said, “since I wasn’t planning to.”

Within seconds, he had caught up to the two girls, looping and curling elaborately through the air. Tears stung the backs of Ileni’s eyes, and she turned away, not wanting to admire the grace and joy of his body in flight.

It was just as well that she had fallen. How close she had come to forgetting that this magic wasn’t hers. That just because something felt good didn’t mean it was good.

That she wasn’t whole, and never would be again.

The bridge swayed unsteadily as she walked, death yawning below her on both sides. Fragments of mist swirled far beneath her feet, drifting across the distant treetops. Far ahead, she saw two white figures touch down on the mountainside and a third swoop effortlessly around the bridge.

Ileni set her jaw and walked, placing her feet slowly and carefully on the slats and keeping her hands tight around the rails.


When she got to her room, there was something new there. A mirror, large and oval, standing in the corner on an ornate silver base.

Ileni recognized that mirror.

She walked over and touched it, tentatively, as if Sorin was still watching from the smooth glass. But she saw only her own face, wide brown eyes and trembling chin, and the fingertips she touched were her own.

Sorin.

The remnants of the spell he had used to reach her shimmered in the glass. The portal was still there. Given enough power, she could open it again.

And she had all the power she could ever want.

But someone had brought the mirror here. Who, and why? Did someone want her to reopen the portal, to talk to Sorin?

She could. It would take just a few minutes, and she would be talking to him, watching his rare, subtle smile warm his face. Reminding her that somewhere, far away from this world of stolen power and lodestones, she was loved. If she opened the portal far enough, she could step right through and touch him. . . .

Her fingers pressed hard on the glass. She curled them into a fist and made her way to the bed. She had nothing to say to the new master of the assassins.

Not yet.





CHAPTER

6