Death Marked (Death Sworn #2)(41)

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.