Death Marked (Death Sworn #2)(31)

Evin laughed. There was something odd in it—almost bitter, and very unlike him. But his voice was lazy and relaxed. “Well, you might die. That bothers some people.”

“I’m sure it does.” The scorn in her own voice surprised Ileni. She sounded, just then, like Sorin. “Shouldn’t you be glad to die for the Empire?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Evin rolled onto his stomach and clambered to his feet. “Why would anyone be glad to die?”

Ileni opened her mouth, then closed it.

“Don’t pay too much attention to Cyn.” Evin spread his hands apart, making twines of colored light dance between them. “She likes fighting, and she doesn’t mind killing as much as she should, but even she would prefer to avoid dying.”

Ileni didn’t doubt it. Cyn was fierce and violent, and cruel in her anger, but she was no assassin.

Evin studied her face, his broad brow creased. “I don’t know if you realized what you were getting into when you came here. I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Ileni said.

In the silence, she heard the echoes of her nastiness and winced. She tried to think up an apology, hoping she could manage to get it out once she did. But Evin didn’t look hurt or angry. He frowned at her, and all he said was, “Are you going to tell me why you’re always angry at me?”

It sounded so reasonable. But what could she say? If I were you, I would do so much more with what you have.

She couldn’t say that, and she couldn’t bear the patient, open expression on Evin’s face. She whirled on her heel without a word and walked across the plateau and over the bridge.

As she reached the middle, the sky above her erupted in streaks of fiery green light. They danced in the sky, shifting and wavering, widening and narrowing, eerie ghosts that turned the entire sky unearthly.

Ileni didn’t stop. Whatever Evin was trying to say, however beautifully he was saying it, she didn’t care. It was nothing but an illusion, and she wasn’t in the mood for illusions.

She had been living with them long enough—since she was old enough to be told them. But she knew better now. She had no power and no destiny, and she didn’t even have anything to believe in. There was nothing worth fighting for, nothing good and pure, no path that didn’t end in pain.

It was her illusions that had brought her to this point. And she was going to need more than illusions to get past it.


Ileni learned fast that the casual nonchalance of the first few days had been an anomaly. With Karyn back, the training was more intense than anything she had experienced among her own people. Ileni threw herself eagerly into the mental focus, the grim dedication, the constant tension. It kept her too occupied to think.

At least, when she was sparring with Cyn. Which was most of the time.

Lis was sometimes intense, too, but spent most of her time deep in a sulk that nobody seemed inclined to rouse her from. Evin was, even in Karyn’s presence, a slacker: refusing to take anything seriously, so powerful it didn’t matter. Sometimes Ileni admired him for his self-confidence, the ease with which he ignored Karyn’s anger and Cyn’s contempt. Other times, she hated him so much she could barely breathe.

But that wasn’t his fault, not really. So two days later, when she found herself alone on the training plateau with him, she said, “I’m sorry.”

Evin glanced at her over his shoulder. They were supposed to be practicing a ward Karyn had taught them that morning, but he was twirling a cloud of colorful sparkles around his hand, stretching and closing his fingers, playing with the ephemeral colors as if they were putty. “About what?”

“The day before yesterday, when you were doing that thing with the colors. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He regarded her through long-lashed dark eyes, and for some reason she felt compelled to add, “I’d just come from talking to Karyn. I was in a bad mood.”

He snapped his fingers, and the colors twirled. “Well, that would do it.”

Ileni hesitated. But he seemed genuinely unresentful. “Cyn said . . . is Karyn your aunt?”

Something dangerous dropped over his carefree features, then was gone almost before she had noticed it. “Yes. My mother’s sister.”

Every social grace Ileni possessed was screaming at her to drop this topic. But she was not here to be liked. And she didn’t care what Evin thought of her. “I’ve never seen your mother here.”

“No, I would imagine you haven’t.” He closed his hand, and the colors coalesced into a tight, swirling ball. “Why does it matter?”

Ileni didn’t know why it mattered, but she suspected it did. The assassins were known to kill people as punishment—or warning—for their relatives’ actions. And Karyn had infiltrated and attacked the Assassins’ Caves.

Evin opened his hands wide, turning the sparkles into many-hued streams. He traced them lazily through the air, forming a series of shimmering curlicues. “It doesn’t give me any sort of extra privileges, if that’s what you think. Karyn finds me quite a disappointment.” He twirled his finger, tightening the colors into a long spiral. “Of course, you agree with her.”

“No,” Ileni said, utterly unconvincingly. “Where are your parents, then?”

“Dead,” Evin said.