Death Sworn(2)

It was probably better than anyone back home expected of her.

The Elders had explained, kindly but bluntly, that they were sending her because she was expendable. If she managed to find out who had killed her predecessors, that would be helpful, but if not—and they didn’t hold out much hope—at least she would buy them time. She supposed she should feel grateful to them for not lying, for granting her that much respect, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Her bitterness was a barrier against any conciliatory thoughts.

More than anything, she was tired of being bitter. Bitter, and sad, and angry. She missed her former self—a self she barely remembered, even though it had vanished only six months ago—and a life that had been happy and filled with purpose.

The assassin walked with a steady, implacable stride. Ileni refused to go faster to keep up with him, so within seconds he had disappeared into the blackness ahead of her. The magelight traveled with her, casting enough light for her to see jagged rock walls on both sides of her. Stalactites jutted from the low ceiling, like blades, just high enough that they didn’t touch her head—but low enough that she worried they were going to. They had probably been designed this way on purpose, to frighten anyone who dared enter the Assassins’ Caves. She did not duck her head.

Around the next bend of the tunnel, the darkness disappeared. She stood at the threshold of a large cavern filled with a maze of unearthly pillars and lit by dozens of glowing stones set into the arching walls. Fingers of multicolored stone hung from the ceiling and rose from the ground, reaching toward each other. It was like a majestic hall, except that the eerie shapes of the stones and their unexpected shimmering colors were nothing a human mind could have invented.

The assassin crouched atop one of the shorter, thicker pillars, his body a curve of taut muscles beneath nondescript gray clothes. He looked more like a weapon than a person. “Pretty, isn’t it?” he said. “Didn’t the Elders tell you about this?”

“Of course,” Ileni said stiffly, letting the magelight vanish. (What they had said, actually, was, Parts of the caves are very beautiful, but don’t let that distract you from the evil within them.) “I didn’t realize I would see it so soon.”

“We built the entrance here on purpose,” he said. “It impresses the . . . impressionable.”

“Such cutting wit,” Ileni said. “You had better take me to my rooms so I can recover.”

He blinked. Perhaps the other tutors, despite their status and supposed immunity, had been reluctant to openly insult trained killers. But Ileni had been riding a fatalistic recklessness for the past six months. A large part of her didn’t care if he killed her.

The rest of her was greatly relieved when he merely inclined his head and said, “Of course. I’ll walk more slowly this time, but let me know if you have trouble keeping up.”

She lengthened her stride as he hopped from his perch, and when he reached the other side of the cavern, she was only one step behind him. She flicked her fingers against the back of his neck, pulling out a tiny strand of hair. He whirled with lightning swiftness, one hand clamped around her throat before she even realized he was moving.

His fingers curled around her neck without exerting any pressure at all, but she could see, in his merciless eyes, how easy it would be for him to tighten his grip. It took every ounce of courage to keep her voice not just even, but irritated, distracting him while she slipped the piece of hair into the sleeve of her tunic. With luck, he would think she had only flicked him to get his attention. “Attacks at knifepoint are one thing. Impudence is another. I won’t tolerate that from my students.”

He released her, his hand falling back to his side. “It is not wise to surprise an assassin.”

“Sometimes I’m not wise.”

He evaluated her coldly, as if deciding whether to kill her after all. Then he turned his back on her and resumed walking.

Ileni touched her throat gingerly and followed. “Are you taking me to . . . to the master?”

He bowed his head slightly without turning to face her. “No. I am taking you to your room.”

Ileni shivered in relief. The Elders had warned her about the master of the assassins, who knew everything that happened in these caves and wielded absolute control over his disciples. He was so old nobody knew when he had been born, and was called by many names—the Wielder of a Hundred Living Blades, the Puppetmaster, the Architect—but when people said “the master,” everyone knew who they meant, even among the Renegai. He was the most dangerous man alive.