Death Sworn(36)

“Then let’s get that knife.” He held out his hand, and she stared at it until he dropped it. “You’re going to do the spell, and I’m going to see the results. Don’t even try to trick me this time.”

“I won’t,” she whispered.

Sorin hesitated, and she thought he would say something else. Instead he turned and led her out of the cavern.

It was a long walk to Sorin’s room, and on the way they passed numerous boys Ileni had never seen before, most of them younger than her students. Some were mere children. She should have pitied them—would have, an hour ago—but every time one of them glanced at her, her skin shrank inward. One was a child who looked no older than six, his face round and unformed, in contrast to the determined set of his mouth. She looked at him, at his smooth cheeks and soft chin, and thought, Enemy.

Despite the healing spell, she still felt as if her whole body was damaged from Irun’s attack: her neck, her jaw, her side. Her sense that there was something sacred and inviolable about her own skin.

Was attack even the right word, when it had been so easy for him?

She found herself drawing closer to Sorin, even though he was the same: a killer, strong enough to snap her neck, trained to do so without compunction. Her ward might protect her, but she had no doubt he could find a way around that, given time. The only difference between him and the others was a command. And that command could be withdrawn at any time.

She drew near to him anyhow, until she was so close her sleeve brushed his. He moved his arm away, and she felt briefly bereft. For a ridiculous moment she wished he would take her hand in his, hold it tight, and make her feel protected.

It would be an illusion, but it would be better than nothing.

A few seconds later they were in his room, which was even smaller than hers. No tapestries or rugs softened the austerity here. The entire inside of the room was smooth black stone.

Sorin knelt, reached under his bed, and pulled out the knife. For some reason, the fact that they had the same hiding place struck Ileni as funny. She giggled, hearing the edge of hysteria in it, and Sorin turned and looked at her.

“Never mind,” Ileni said, though he hadn’t asked. “Are you going to tell me now how you got the knife?”

He nodded. “We keep all our blades in the knife-training room, and rotate them so they can be regularly sharpened. Any missing one would have been noticed eventually, so I knew the one that killed Cadrel had to have been returned there. I used a spell to find out which one was blooded at the time Cadrel died.”

He sounded very proud of himself. It was an easy enough spell, but Ileni didn’t find it difficult to say, “Very good.” If he had asked her to do it, she might not have been able to.

She went to his washing bowl and spilled some of the water onto the stone floor, where it spread slowly and irregularly. Then she knelt and used her finger to trace a pattern around the shallow puddle. “Give me the knife.”

Sorin knelt beside her, knife hilt out. Ileni laid it carefully in the center of the puddle and waited until the ripples had subsided.

“Absalm never showed us how to do this,” Sorin said.

Ileni gathered in her power, pushed away her fear that it wouldn’t be enough, and unleashed it with a word.

The puddle shrank in toward the knife, gathering around it as if toward a whirlpool. They both leaned forward at the same time, and their heads almost cracked together. Sorin pulled back just in time, but remained so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

For another moment the water was still again, and then it rippled and shimmered, gently at first, then so violently the knife began to shake. Ileni leaned closer, frowning, and the water spurted from the floor and hit her directly in the face.

It wasn’t a lot of water, but the surprise knocked her backward. Sorin reacted with a single leap that took him to the corner of the room, but by then the water was gone, splattered all over the floor and walls. A drop fell from the ceiling and landed on Ileni’s shoulder. The knife remained where it was, motionless on the floor, completely dry.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Sorin inquired, from his position in the corner.

“No,” Ileni said, and burst into tears.

It was difficult to say who was more horrified, her or Sorin. Ileni tried to gain control of herself, but it was all too much. Nothing, nothing, was going the way it was supposed to. She wasn’t supposed to be this helpless, or this scared. She was supposed to have her magic to protect her. She wasn’t supposed to be forced to the ground like a hunted animal, waiting to find out whether she would suffocate before her neck snapped.