Death Marked (Death Sworn #2)(39)

“I know you’re not familiar with our customs,” Arxis said. “But if you want to stop and stare at nothing, the middle of the street is not the best place to do it.”

Ileni tried to breathe. There were plenty of thin young men in the capital. There might be some who moved with that sinuous grace. She had only seen that sort of swift, flowing movement among the assassins; but obviously, she hadn’t seen much in her life.

And she had been daydreaming about Sorin so often, it was no wonder she was imagining glimpses of him.

Arxis was leaning back, watching the street. If he had seen anything, he was hiding it well. Of course, if he had seen anything, he would be hiding it well.

“Sorry,” Ileni muttered, and started walking again. She looked around carefully as they made their way down the street, less overwhelmed by the sheer number of people now that she was looking for a single one. But she saw no hint of that familiar form, that swift liquid movement.

When Evin stopped in front of a high black wall surrounding some sort of compound, she forced herself to stop looking. It probably hadn’t been Sorin at all. And she should be glad it wasn’t—it would mean nothing good if Sorin was here.

She wanted to see him so badly she didn’t care.

Evin put one hand on the black wall and murmured a short spell. A surge of power almost knocked Ileni over, and then the wall shimmered and vanished, and she could see right through it to the source of the rushing sound.

All thoughts of Sorin fled her mind as she gaped. Arcs of white spray rose from a flat pool of black water, twisting back and forth in sync with each other, swaying and rising and falling. White mist rose to fill the spaces between the columns of water, and then vanished, in perfect harmony.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Evin said.

“Yes,” Ileni breathed. “How—”

“It was made back in the days of conquest, when we took power from captured enemies. They say the high sorceress killed ten thousand enemy soldiers to create these fountains.”

She blinked at him, then at the water, so clear and elegant. And still so beautiful.

She remembered the cavern of stone pillars in the Assassins’ Caves, and the Elders’ warning: Parts of the caves are very beautiful, but don’t let that distract you from the evil within them.

“Back in the days?” she said finally. “So you don’t do it anymore?”

Evin gave her a horrified look, which made her bristle. “It wasn’t our proudest moment. That particular high sorceress was somewhat . . . excessive.”

“And also,” Arxis said, “they ran out of captured enemies. One of the downsides of having conquered almost everything in sight.”

Ileni glanced at him, startled; that seemed like an unwise thing to say. But Evin, of course, just laughed. As Arxis must have known he would.

“What is this place?” Ileni said.

“A home for orphans.” Evin gestured at the bland, dust-colored stone building behind the dancing fountains. “The Sisters of the Black God run it.”

How many colors of gods were there? Once again, Ileni was overwhelmed by how much she didn’t know. The compound was large, but at least half of it was taken up by the fountains. That building couldn’t possibly hold all the orphans in the city. How did they decide who got to live in it and who ended up starving on the street?

“All right,” Evin said. “If you want, I can meet you—”

A wordless shriek pierced the fountain’s music, and a tiny form barreled past the water and threw itself at Evin.

Ileni flung out an instinctive shield, using much of the magic she had pulled in before they left. The shield shot across the space between her and Evin, shimmering white, and enveloped a . . . child. A small, broad-cheeked, brown-haired boy, who struggled for a moment, with his arms and legs thrashing, then shouted an insult and repelled the spell back at her.

The backlash sent Ileni staggering into the street. She collided with a large man, who swore in a language she didn’t recognize and shoved her. Still dizzy, Ileni pitched onto the cobblestones, landing on her hands and knees.

Arxis laughed, longer and harder than was really necessary. So did a couple of passersby. Suddenly, being an unknown didn’t seem like quite such a terrible fate. Ileni scrambled to her feet, cheeks burning.

The boy who had undone her spell was on his feet, glaring at her. He looked almost exactly like Evin: deep brown eyes, jutting chin, unruly tufts of hair, all in a rounder, softer, smaller version of Evin’s face. The main difference was the complete seriousness with which he stared her down.

Ileni tried to think of something to say and came up with nothing better than, “I’m sorry.”

The boy glared at her. He couldn’t have been older than five or six. “You’re not supposed to use magic on people for no reason.”

“I thought you were . . . uh . . . attacking Evin.”

She braced herself for a why? that she would have no answer for. Instead the boy tilted his head to the side and said, “I wasn’t. This time.”

“Er—” Ileni said.

“He didn’t hurt me, so I won’t hurt him.”

“Don’t be so sure you could hurt me,” Evin said, grinning. “Training matters more than raw power, Girad.”

“Got it,” Arxis said. “You can hurt him more than he can hurt you. Probably. Now, if we can move past this tender brotherly moment—”