Death Sworn(7)

“We don’t know where he died. We only know where we found his corpse.”

Before she could ask the next obvious question, he turned his back on her and continued walking.

Ileni resisted the urge to look back toward the stairwell. Even if Sorin was telling the truth about where Cadrel had died—and it seemed like a silly thing to lie about—he had to be lying about how. Cadrel would have been very careful, a mere two months after arriving at the caves.

They emerged at the top of another staircase descending into a large cavern, this one brightly lit by hundreds of glowing stones set into the walls. Ileni had never seen so many glowstones in one place before. She let the white light go, and forced herself not to sigh with relief as the effort of holding it eased and the passageway went black behind them.

The walls of the vast cavern were raw and jagged, and the high ceiling dripped with stalactites. The glowstones illuminated dozens of young men, stripped to the waist and gleaming with sweat, attacking each other with swift, deadly movements. No one ever made contact, so despite the jabs and kicks clearly meant to cause harm, the bouts resembled dances more than fights. It was terrible, graceful, and oddly beautiful.

It also, Ileni discovered when she got close enough, stank.

The assassins ranged in age from as young as ten to as old as . . . not very old; none of them was even close to thirty years of age, as far as she could tell. The rank smell of sweat was almost enough to take Ileni’s mind off the weapons they were training with. Not one of them held a sword or dagger. Instead they danced at each other with circles of metal, pieces of rock, wooden staffs, whirling strips of rope—the variety was as mind-numbing as it was frightening. Another myth confirmed: assassins could kill with anything.

Some of them were practicing with no weapons at all.

The Elders had told her that she would be safe, that the assassins’ discipline and obedience were strong enough to protect even a lone girl trapped in their caves. And of course, they all thought she was powerful enough to defend herself with a word. That should help. Even so, she found herself walking as close to the wall as she could.

Sorin moved the way they fought, with graceful purpose, every part of his body taut and controlled even though he was merely walking. He lifted an eyebrow at her, and Ileni attempted—too late—to look unperturbed. He led her around the edge of the cavern, far too close for comfort to several of the duelers—none of whom glanced in their direction, even though they must never have seen a girl here before.

On the other side of the cavern, several narrow archways had been cut into the wall. Sorin led her through one of them into a smaller cavern, as craggy as the one they had passed through, but completely empty.

“This is where you’ll be giving lessons.” Sorin turned in a tight circle, his eyes darting swiftly across every surface in the room, as if searching for danger. “Absalm would only train one pupil at a time here, to avoid injuries. Though you can do what you like.”

Absalm had, no doubt, made up that rule to slow down his pupils’ advance. At home they had all trained together, in a large stadium surrounded by majestic trees. The memory cut through Ileni’s defenses, quick and sneaky, and for a moment she couldn’t speak.

Sorin looked at her sideways, and she said swiftly, “I won’t be teaching spells that can cause injuries.”

The side of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’m told that’s what Absalm thought, too, when he first came here. It didn’t take him long to learn that to an assassin, anything can be a weapon. It might take you a little longer.”

Ileni turned and scowled at him, feeling dangerous. “I would advise against comparing me to your previous tutors. You might be in for some unpleasant surprises.”

He just looked at her. The expression on his face was intolerable. It said, You’re not dangerous at all. I see right through you.

He knows . . . but no, he couldn’t. If they knew how useless she was, she would already be dead.

So Ileni closed her eyes and reached for the memory of the last spell she had learned. She hadn’t mastered it fully yet, but she didn’t care. She spat out the words of the spell, flung out her hand, and unleashed all her fury on the smirking, self-important killer in front of her.

A flare of green light hit Sorin in the chest and threw him backward, flipping him head over heels. To Ileni’s amazement, he landed on his feet, dagger in hand.

And then he was in the air again, flying toward her with the blade pointed straight at her.