Death Marked (Death Sworn #2)(51)

But nobody did. Perhaps her confident stride warned them, marking her as an imperial sorceress, not to be trifled with.

A vague sense of disappointment pricked her, and she squashed it swiftly. Was this what she had become—someone who wanted to use combat magic, just because she practiced it every day? If the Elders could see her now, they would be horrified.

If Sorin could see her, he would be proud.

The memory of his glittering eyes was still in her mind when, with a flicker of power, she unlocked the narrow door on the stairway. Darkness and silence wrapped around her as she crept down the stairs. But in the large fetid room, labored breaths and groans filled the stillness, and a few glowstones in the walls were alight, casting a dim grayness that illuminated rows of narrow beds.

Ileni bit her lip. It seemed wrong to intrude upon all these suffering people. But Lis’s challenge rang in her ears, mingled with the image of Sorin’s face. She had to know the truth. She could change everything—make things better for all these people. Maybe. But first she had to understand what was going on.

She crept silently between the rows of beds, trying not to look too hard at the figures in them. A man tangled in a blanket, moaning in his sleep; a woman, still as stone, hair sweat slicked over her forehead; a curled-up bundle of blankets with only a wizened hand sticking out. She glanced at the bed where the old man had been tortured, but he was gone. There was a younger man there now. She wondered if the old man had given in, in the end, or if he had died naturally.

Or if he had been thrown out into the street for refusing.

At the end of the room was a shut door. Ileni pulled together magic for an unlocking spell, but the door opened without any need for it. Another staircase descended on the other side, steeper and narrower than the first.

Go deeper. Ileni licked dry lips and descended the stairs.

At first glance, the room at the bottom was identical to the one above. Rows of beds, the stink of sweat and pus, the occasional moan. Glowstones flickered sporadically on the walls, casting a dim shifting light, and in it, Ileni saw the difference.

This room was filled with children.

Like the people upstairs, they all had power. But they weren’t all sick.

One boy, sitting up in bed, cradled a twisted arm but otherwise looked healthy. Another, a girl, had a cleft lip, a gaping empty space connecting her mouth to her nose. In the corner, a boy of about twelve stared at the ceiling with his tongue lolling out, emitting the occasional giggle.

In the bed nearest to the stairs, a girl who looked just a few years younger than Ileni sat with her back propped up against her pillow, ash blond hair falling to her waist. She was staring straight at Ileni, blue eyes unnervingly direct in a face so pale it was nearly translucent.

Ileni froze. But when the girl’s voice emerged, it was a whisper. She shivered as she spoke, a series of tremors from head to toe. “Are you here for me?”

Ileni shook her head.

“Please.” The girl’s teeth chattered. “I’m ready.”

Ileni braced herself and stepped forward, next to the bed. The girl was so hot Ileni could feel it without touching her, and she reeked of sweat.

“Why—” Ileni had to stop and clear her throat. “Why are you here?”

The girl’s eyes dropped, and her cheeks reddened. “My baby. I got sick right after she was born, and I can’t . . .” She had to stop to catch her breath. “I want the Black Sisters to take her. You can have my life if you promise me that.”

“Um,” Ileni said, and shifted her weight to back away.

The girl grabbed Ileni’s wrist. Her grasp was so feeble Ileni could have shaken it off without trying. “Please. I would wait for a Gatherer, but I don’t know if I’ll last that long. Please.”

The last word was a sob, and the girl had to stop so she could keep breathing, fast and shallow. Ileni did shake off her grasp, and grabbed her wrist instead.

“You’re not going to die,” she said.

The girl flinched at the fury in her voice, and Ileni probably should have explained that it wasn’t aimed at her. But she was busy calling up her magic as she focused on the girl, confirming her guess.

Childbed fever. It was common, and the Renegai had half a dozen spells to counteract it. None of them were simple or easy, but Ileni had healed this malady dozens of times in training. She could do it again.

She also thought she remembered being told that if childbed fever wasn’t healed swiftly, it would be too late, and the attempt would only hasten the inevitable death. Who had told her that? Tellis? Or maybe he had been talking about some other illness. . . .

She couldn’t remember. And anyhow, she couldn’t tell whether it was too late for this girl.

Ileni gathered up her power and placed her hands on the girl’s stomach. The power spread, pulsing, to her fingers. The girl jerked, but didn’t protest. Ileni closed her eyes and felt the girl’s swollen womb, the wrongness within it.

The infection was widespread and strong. Most fevers could be cured with a simple, easy spell, but this would take every bit of power Ileni still had stored within her. She took a deep, hopeful breath and whispered the spell.

The magic shot from her fingertips into the girl’s body, a series of painful surges. Finally, when she had given all she had, Ileni let go and stepped back. Emptiness clawed at her from the inside. The girl blinked at her, confused, and her hand dropped limply to the bed. She looked even weaker than before. Possibly she didn’t even realize what Ileni had done.