Death Sworn(8)

He was only inches from her when the air around Ileni exploded, and Sorin shouted. The dagger flew out of his hand, bouncing off one of the craggy walls of the cavern, and his body flew in the opposite direction, crumpling against a particularly jagged outcropping of rock. He did not land on his feet this time.

Ileni stepped forward, afraid she had killed him. As her wards had reacted, she’d realized the dagger was slicing at her hair, not her throat. But then he leaped to his feet, one hand pressed to his side, staring with an expression that should have gratified her: astonishment and fear.

Except he wasn’t staring at her.

Ileni followed his gaze. The cacophony of clinks and thuds and grunts from the main training area had gone silent. A cluster of assassins stood in the arched cavern entrance, staring, the pretense of disinterest wiped off their faces.

Her role as their tutor, apparently, was off to a great start.





Chapter 3

Despite her exhaustion, Ileni had no trouble forcing herself to stay awake that night. The tiny chamber felt small and heavy, as though the mountains of stone pressing around her compressed the very air. It was cold, though not as cold as she would have expected—an effect of the glowstones, probably, that dimmed and brightened over the course of the day, following the rhythms of a sun whose light never touched them. Ileni lay in her narrow cot, staring up at the utter blackness, trying not to imagine the mountains suspended above her head.

She’d had a lot of practice, over the last few weeks, in not thinking about things. About the life she had lost, and the life she now had, and the overwhelming probability that life was not going to be a relevant concept for her much longer. She focused instead on the task immediately ahead: finding out if Sorin had been telling the truth about Cadrel’s death.

She wove a spell to enhance her hearing, paying special attention to the accents of the ancient words. This was a tricky one, and even some of the advanced Renegai students had never mastered it. She chose it because the concentration it required left no room for her own thoughts.

There were two aspects to working magic: the power she drew from within herself, and the skill required to weave the spell. Her strength was dwindling, but her talent was the same as it had ever been . . . which was achingly frustrating, but also useful. With her skill, she could craft the magic to require as little strength as possible, and keep the dregs of her once-abundant power for as long as possible.

Pathetic, that she should be reduced to this. A familiar fury flared in her. How could the Elders have made this mistake? The whole point of the childhood Test was to confirm that a novice’s power was permanent, not merely the bright energy of childhood. They had based her life on that mistake, raising her in the sorcerers’ compound, training her in the spells and techniques that would soon be all she had left. That would be useless once her power was gone.

But they weren’t useless yet. She finished the spell with short, precise hand movements, then sat and listened with sharpened ears to the silence that echoed against the thick stone surrounding her.

When she stood, the glowstones flickered softly in response to her movements, and she startled in reaction. Her breath caught, excitement and fear making her skin tingle. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, exactly. But it was a feeling, piercing the dull, numb fog she had been wrapped in for months, and she clung to it as she pulled her door open and stepped out into the hall.

The glowstones flickered on as she passed them, though not as brightly as during the day. She reached out and used a nudge of power to stop them. She wanted no sign of her passage.

With her enhanced hearing, she could use the echoes of her footsteps to sense where the walls and openings were despite the complete darkness. That, combined with her memory of the walk with Sorin earlier, got her to the spiral stairs with only a few bumps and bruises. Once there, she had no choice but to let the hearing spell fade so she could call up a light.

She tensed all over as brightness flared around her, feeling horribly exposed. She strained her ears for the sound of footsteps, even knowing that she would never hear a trained assassin coming.

The stairs stretched steeply below her, their edges worn into round smoothness. Her light was small, and below her, all was dark and silent. Suddenly dizzy, she braced one hand on the wall. So this was where Cadrel had died.

If Sorin had told the truth.

She descended slowly and carefully, keeping her hand on the smooth, cool wall for support. When she got to the bottom, where the stone widened into a large cavern, she leaned against the wall. She was so tired. Maybe she should have given herself a night to sleep, and to adjust, before attempting this.