Death Marked (Death Sworn #2)(59)

“Shouldn’t you be careful with that?” Absalm asked. He had recovered his usual gentle cadence—what Sorin thought of as his wise teacher tone.

“Should I?” Sorin said. “Can’t the Renegai heal poison?”

“Not that poison.”

Sorin threw the blade up again, spun on his heel, and was facing the sorcerer when he caught it.

“So if I nicked myself,” he mused, “I would die. And what would you do, then?”

“Not heal you,” Absalm said. “Because I can’t.”

“I believe you. I meant, after I died.” Sorin’s arm tensed, wanting to fling the knife up again. Restraint, the master’s voice whispered, is more impressive than courage. “Who would become the new leader?”

Absalm tugged his earlobe, watching Sorin warily. “There is no obvious candidate.”

“No, there isn’t, is there? It was always going to be me or Irun. And Irun is dead.” He ran one thumb down the spiral design on the knife hilt. “So there would be chaos. Several hundred killers, trained to follow orders, with no orders to follow. Who do you think they would turn on?”

“I understand your point,” Absalm snapped. “I need you. So? You need me, too.”

Sorin moved like lightning. The sorcerer didn’t have time to utter the first word of a spell before the dagger’s edge was against his throat, so close it must feel like it was brushing his skin.

“Actually,” Sorin said, “I’m not sure I need you at all.”

Only Absalm’s mouth moved. “But are you sure you don’t?”

Sorin laughed, low and soft, then twisted sideways and threw the poisoned dagger. It landed in the center of the other three.

“No,” he said. “That’s why you’re alive. But if you ever contradict my orders again, I will change my mind.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“You met with Bazel, before he left on his mission.”

Sorin saw the sorcerer consider lying and decide against it. Absalm tugged his earlobe again. “How do you know?”

“You’re not asking questions right now, Absalm. You’re answering them. What did you tell Bazel to do?”

Despite Sorin’s best effort, his voice hardened, just a bit. It wouldn’t have given him away to most people, but Absalm had lived in the Assassins’ Caves for years. His gray eyes narrowed. “I think you know.”

Anger is a weakness. Sorin had to work to keep his face cool.

“You told him,” he said, “to kill Ileni.”

“Only,” Absalm said, “if he believes she’s going to betray us.”

“Bazel hates Ileni. I think he’ll find that easy to believe.”

“He’s an assassin. He won’t let personal feelings interfere with his mission.”

Sorin allowed his anger to show, and told himself it was a calculated decision. “How very subtle.”

“It was the master’s intent,” Absalm said. “To kill her if she wouldn’t go along with his plan. He didn’t leave loose ends.”

“She won’t betray us,” Sorin said. “She will see the truth about the Empire, and she will help us destroy it. She’s not a loose end.”

“If you’re so sure,” Absalm said, “why are you recruiting people to convince her?”

Recruiting, not sending. Sorin’s expression didn’t change, but Absalm looked satisfied anyhow. “Oh, yes. I know about the Renegai boy.”

“I’m reminding her who she is,” Sorin said. The edge in his voice made the sorcerer flinch, but not step back. The air between them felt hot. “But I’m not worried. She’s on our side.”

“In that case,” Absalm said, “she’ll be in no danger at all.”





CHAPTER

21

The front of Death’s Door was far more respectable than its side entrance. A fa?ade of pink-veined white marble stretched beside a narrow street, occupied only by a trio of slouching young men, a mangy dog, and an old woman squatting next to a basket of apples. None of them seemed startled when three sorcerers popped out of thin air in front of the imposing building.

They did glance over when Ileni pitched forward onto her hands and knees and vomited on the dirt street. But only for a second.

“Oh, good,” Arxis said. “That’s inconspicuous.”

“Too many translocation spells,” Evin said. “I wish I had Karyn’s silent-spelled boots—they’re the only thing that would make them easier. But you understand why I couldn’t put in a request.”

“I’m fine,” Ileni said through gritted teeth. Sourness burned her mouth, her face muscles hurt, and she was more chagrined than she wanted to admit that Evin was seeing this. Without thinking, she used a trickle of magic to clean her mouth and breath. As she did, the blond girl’s desperate eyes floated through her mind, reminding her what she was using. Where this power came from.

She got to her feet. Evin flicked his fingers at the small puddle of vomit, and it vanished.

An auspicious beginning. Cheeks hot, Ileni faced the front entrance of Death’s Door. Ironically enough, it consisted of two doors, austere and imposing, both built of heavy dark wood and inscribed with symbols she didn’t understand. Nothing like what hid behind them, the lines of beds with their suffering victims, waiting to be tortured and killed.