Death Sworn(22)

“It’s adorable,” she told Irun, “that you think anything that comes out of your mouth could bother me enough to count as an insult.”

His face went blank with shock, as if a dog had started lecturing him.

“If you’re done eating,” Ileni added, “you should spend your time working on your hand motions for the fifth exercise. They were quite sloppy.”

In the utter silence, she got to her feet and started toward the door. She hadn’t gone two steps before Sorin was beside her.

She managed to walk steadily until she reached the hall outside, and then the rubbery feeling in her legs was too much. She knew, dimly, that she should keep up the pretense in front of Sorin, but she couldn’t. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

No tears. She at least wasn’t going to do that in front of him. She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly it made her head hurt.

After a few moments, while Sorin did nothing—what had she thought he would do?—she opened them again. He was leaning across the opposite wall, which seemed as far from her as he could possibly get.

“That wasn’t wise,” he said.

“Which part?”

“Any of it.”

“Including calling Irun an imperial dog and telling him you would fight him over a coin?”

A smile seized Sorin’s mouth and was gone, so fast she wasn’t sure she had seen it. “I tend not to be at my wisest around Irun.”

Ileni wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think he likes me.”

Sorin laughed, startling her. The laugh was astonishing. It softened the sharp lines of his face, just a little bit—but it was enough. Suddenly he didn’t look dangerous at all. He looked . . . handsome. In another time, another place, he might have looked a bit like Tellis.

But it was an illusion, Ileni reminded herself.

Sorin shifted his weight away from the wall. “He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and then realized she shouldn’t thank him. He was following orders.

“Try to make my task easier, by keeping your . . . opinions . . . to yourself. Especially about the master.” He lowered his voice as he mentioned his leader, reverence slipping into his cool tone. “You can’t say things like that. When you’ve been here longer, when you see how his plans unfold and realize what he’s capable of, you’ll understand why we follow him.”

“Sorry,” Ileni said, before she had time to wonder whether she should. Even she could hear the lack of sincerity in her voice.

Sorin’s long jaw clenched. “You asked, last night, if I am just his tool. The answer is that I am. We all are, and we’re proud to be. Whatever he demands, whatever he does, it’s worth being part of.” He did look at her then, and a self-mocking expression crossed his face. “Never mind. You don’t need to understand. You don’t need to know anything, really.”

She slid across the wall, farther away from him.

Sorin looked at her carefully, his face . . . not softening, exactly, but becoming a bit less harsh. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

It would be extremely stupid to believe that, no matter how badly she wanted to. Ileni met his eyes.

Sorin blinked. Then he held his hand out abruptly. “Here. A peace offering.”

At first she couldn’t see what was in his palm. Something small and round and dark. She looked up at Sorin’s expectant face, trying to guess how that could be a weapon.

“Dessert,” he said. She thought she read a challenge in his eyes.

“Poison?” she said, as archly as she could. She wondered if her ward would react if it was. Probably not. He must know a dozen subtle ways to kill her without triggering the ward.

Sorin snorted. “Your class wasn’t that bad.”

What game was he playing at? She reached instinctively for magic, to tell her what he held, and the master’s voice whispered in her mind: You’ll need to preserve your power, won’t you? For as long as you can.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. She reached out, plucked the ball from his hand, and popped it into her mouth.

It tasted bitter and sweet, solid and melting all at once, and lingered in her mouth as if she would taste it forever. She gaped at Sorin. “Chocolate?”

“You like it?” Sorin said.

This wasn’t a gift. It was a bribe—or a promise of future bribes. What did he want from her?