Death Sworn(17)

“I . . .” She tried to think. “Not . . . not really.”

“That’s unfortunate.” He swung his head back toward her, but this time the effect of his gaze was muted—deliberately, she thought, and was grateful despite herself. She had no desire to be trapped again in that black stare. “Sorin is in many ways the best of my pupils. He has influence with the others. You are at a disadvantage to begin with, being so young. . . .” And female, he didn’t add. “How do you plan to deal with the fact that your students will not respect you?”

A flash of defiance made it through her fear. “I plan to not care.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure you have that option.”

Ileni managed a shrug. Her voice emerged slightly firmer. “Even if one of them is going to kill me, that doesn’t mean I have to care what he thinks.”

For the first time, she thought she got a reaction out of the man. Nothing obvious, no movement or actual change of expression, but his face went still for a second.

“You don’t want to be here,” he said, his voice gentle, “but you are. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you.

Ileni set her jaw. “I volunteered to come.”

“Did you?”

“I was chosen, and I did not refuse.”

He studied her, and she felt pierced, as if he was seeing through her words and through her skin. “But you would have, if there was anyplace but here you could get away to.”

How could he possibly know that? She hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t until the journey was nearly over that she had realized it herself.

“I want to be of service to my people,” she said. Her voice sounded shrill and childish in her ears.

“Even though you hate them?”

Her hands came halfway up, as if she was defending herself against a physical blow. That, she hadn’t even admitted to herself.

The master chuckled, low and dry. “I am not calling you a liar. You can want more than one thing at once. You can desire the respect of people you resent. You feel that way about Sorin already.”

Stop, she thought. When someone knocked on the wooden door, she almost gasped in relief.

The master didn’t take his eyes off her as he raised his voice. “Come in.”

Sorin pushed the door open and stepped into the dim room. A short, thin boy followed him.

Finally, the master turned away from her. He sat back down, placing both forearms on the arms of his chair. “Jastim, is it?”

The boy nodded stiffly, his face bleak as stone. Terror radiated from him so palpably that Ileni nearly backed away.

“You honor our cause.”

It wasn’t a question, but the pause that followed seemed to demand an answer. The boy jerked his head in another nod.

The master’s voice turned rhythmic—almost lyrical. “You honor it more subtly than others do. But you honor it nonetheless. Your courage will be remembered.”

The boy met his master’s eyes, and some of the terror went out of his face. He lifted his chin, and this time, his nod was smooth and firm.

“Please show the sorceress,” the master of assassins said, “how completely my commands are obeyed in these caves.”

Sorin stepped back, and Jastim moved across the room, straight toward Ileni. He was short, but ropy muscles twisted through his arms. His mouth was a thin, determined line, and his eyes were shining. With fear . . . no, pride. Or at least, mostly pride.

Panic gave Ileni strength to pull up a defensive spell. It wavered unevenly, a lack of finesse that would have been unthinkable for her a year ago, but it held.

He walked right past her, his face exultant, and vaulted onto the windowsill in a fluid movement. He poised there, crouched, his body taking up all the space in the square opening. He didn’t have enough room to look back in at them, had he wanted to.

“Jump,” the master said.

Jastim launched himself into the night.

Ileni screamed. She was at the window instantly, half-expecting to see a slim, dark shape soaring up toward the stars.

Far below, something hit the ground with a distant, sickening thump.

Bile rose in Ileni’s throat, and she forced herself to swallow it. Her fingers dug into the stone windowsill so hard they hurt, but she didn’t turn around, and she didn’t—she didn’t—look down. She stared straight out at the black mountains and blacker sky, at the view that no longer looked like freedom.