Death Sworn(73)

Except Irun had also cut through the gag.

The panic of death fueled her remaining power in one final, focused effort. The spell was short, a single word. She opened her mouth and screamed it, through the blood choking her, through the agony and terror of her death. The word rushed out of her slashed throat and into silence.

A new torrent of blood followed it, spilling between her fingers; but then there was air instead of blood, filling her dying lungs and forcing its way through her body. She didn’t even stop to take a deep breath. She leaped to her feet, grabbed the knife held carelessly in Irun’s hand, and plunged it into his back.

It wasn’t hard. Physically, it took all her strength, but it was still one of the easiest things she had ever done. He wasn’t on guard—he thought she was dead—and she wanted him to die with every fiber of her being, wanted it so badly that when he screamed, she shoved the blade in farther. He half-turned and fell, and the knife, still embedded in his flesh, was wrenched out of her hand.

She went after it. She was going to kill Bazel, too.

She should have known better. Like her, Irun was a danger even when he was dying. He grabbed her wrist and flung her—only halfway across the room, but now Bazel was closer to the knife than she was. Ileni snarled up at Bazel from the floor, her hair clinging to her face in tangled sticky strands. He didn’t need a knife; even he could kill her with his bare hands.

But he didn’t have to know that.

“Araskinbalum,” she shouted, lifting one hand as if to throw something at him. And she realized she wasn’t pretending. She was reaching inside herself for whatever magic was left to her, ready to spend it all on Bazel’s death. She didn’t care. She wanted him dead. She wanted him dead now.

Except there was nothing left.

Not weak dregs of power, not pathetic scrapings of magic. Nothing. An emptiness that, as soon as she realized it was there, rose from within and engulfed her completely.

Her magic was gone. And this time, it was gone for good.

She dropped her hand, too sickened to go on pretending. It didn’t matter. Bazel was gone, a flash of terrified eyes and auburn hair. The door slammed shut behind him.

I’ll kill you anyhow. She threw the thought after him, and her fingernails scraped against the rock floor.

She got slowly to her feet. Irun lay twisted on his side, completely still. She looked at his dead body, at the knife she had used to end his life, and felt a sweet, savage joy. Even now that he was dead, she hated him. She wished she could kill him again.

She should have been horrified at herself. She wasn’t.

She went over to the corpse, moving with ease. The healing spell had also knitted her bones and skin. Blood was drying on her neck and tunic and hair, and her throat ached, but otherwise she felt fine. Better than fine; even her muscles weren’t sore, as they had been constantly since she’d started training with Sorin. She knelt by Irun’s corpse, rolled him onto his stomach, and eyed the dagger hilt protruding from between his shoulder blades. She might need it.

She closed her fingers around the hilt. She looked down at her hand, at her slim fingers covered in blood. She felt herself smile.

And all at once, she knew who had killed Cadrel.





Chapter 17

“Absalm!” Ileni shouted. “Show yourself!”

Her voice echoed in the large, empty training area. She stormed through it, her shoes hitting the stone floor in short, hard thuds.

“Absalm. I know you’re alive, and I know you killed Cadrel, and I know you’re here. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll—”

She strode into the smaller training room, and there he was.

Ileni stopped in the entrance. Absalm sat cross-legged in her spot—in the teacher’s spot. He turned his head slowly and nodded at her.

She recognized him at once. Not by his face, but by his age. She had spent so much time surrounded by young men and children that she had almost forgotten what old age looked like: wrinkled and spotted skin, deeply lined brow, hunched shoulders.

“Ileni,” Absalm said. He held his palm out in the traditional gesture of greeting, Elder to student.

She almost stepped forward to lay her hand in his, but stopped herself. Traditional or not, Elder or not, she was not going to greet him with respect.

He had no right to any Renegai greeting at all.

“I should have known.” She tried to sound frigid, but her voice shook. “From the moment I found out Cadrel was killed by sorcery, I should have realized who murdered him.”