Death Sworn(5)

He had guessed wrong—something that rarely happened to him anymore. He could smell the damp sweat clinging to the boy’s tunic as Sorin crossed the small room and bowed low. “Master.”

“Sorin,” the master of the assassins said, and his disciple rose from his bow with sinuous grace.

“The new Renegai tutor is here,” Sorin said. “I was watching the entrance when she arrived, so I escorted her to her room.”

His voice revealed no anger over the fact that he had not been told to expect a sorcerer, which pleased his master. Sorin must realize that this was a test: that he had been assigned to watch the entrance this week, and not told what to expect, on purpose.

“What do you think of her?”

“Nothing,” Sorin said instantly. “I interacted with her for no more than a few minutes. Any thoughts about her now would be premature, and merely prejudice me later.”

“Very good,” the master said. “That is the correct response. Now, tell me what you really think.”

Sorin turned, young dark eyes staring straight into old blue ones. Not many students in the caves could hold their master’s gaze for more than a few seconds. “That is what I really think, Master,” he said.

The master believed him, and that made the second time he had been wrong in the space of an hour. A lesser man might have been irritated, but he was intrigued. There was very little that could still take him by surprise. “You will rise high, Sorin,” he said. “And there will come a day when you will not be able to gather all the information you require, and will have no choice but to guess, based on nothing more substantial than what you saw today.”

“Of course,” Sorin said. “But I have no reason to believe that this is that day.”

The master smiled, pleased and amused. “Well, gather information as swiftly as you can. I am making her your responsibility.”

“Yes, Master.”

The old man regarded him, wondering how much the boy suspected. He still remembered the day Sorin had been brought into these caves, half-crazed and all-wild, willing to die for the sake of nothing but his fury. Now that anger had been channeled and focused, making Sorin an exemplary assassin—one of the best, but still a tool, even if a finely honed one. Sharp, deadly, but very straightforward.

So his master thought, most of the time. But then there were those moments when his guesses turned out wrong.

He still hadn’t figured out why, so he kept throwing tests Sorin’s way. If nothing else, this assignment should provide him with new and interesting information about the boy. Even if Sorin died, that information would be useful.

Information always was.

“Go, then,” he said. “Make sure you take her to the training area while the advanced students are practicing, so she can see what we are capable of.” He chuckled, more to himself than to the boy. “Or rather, some of what we are capable of. The rest can wait a few days.”

“Yes, Master.”

Sensing a note of doubt in Sorin’s voice, the old man stopped smiling and met his eyes. Sorin jerked, then bowed his head as if under a sudden weight.

“Go,” the master said coldly. “She is your charge. Take this assignment very seriously. I don’t want what happened to the others to happen to her.”



What did one say when strolling through an underground corridor with a trained killer? As she followed Sorin through a passageway lit by glowstones, Ileni came up with and discarded several possible openings, ranging from The weather down here is surprisingly pleasant to So, how many people have you killed? Sorin, striding grimly a step ahead of her, showed no inclination to start a conversation on his own.

The corridor sloped downward in a steady curve, which made Ileni feel vaguely nauseated. By the time they encountered an actual staircase, they had walked in what she was sure was a complete circle, which meant they were a full level below her room. And now they were going even lower. The stone walls closed in on her. Her vision blurred, and she couldn’t breathe.

Stop it. She would be underground for the rest of her life. She had better get used to it.

The staircase was a steep spiral of rough white rock, so narrow that at times Ileni had to slow down to squeeze herself through. At irregular intervals, the stairs were interrupted by equally narrow passageways, each with several sharp turns. The way was well lit by the glowing stones set in the walls, but the effect was still macabre. Every time Ileni turned, she had to keep herself from cringing, her body expecting someone—or something—to be waiting for her.