Death Sworn(84)

“Sorin,” she said. It wasn’t hard to sound hurt and confused, but his expression didn’t change. “Can I . . . can we talk, before I . . . in private?”

Sorin exchanged a glance with Absalm, who nodded.

The smug expression on the Elder’s face made Ileni want to hit him as she and Sorin walked past. She had been right, back in the training cavern. Absalm did know about her and Sorin.

What fools they had been, thinking they were keeping a secret from the master. This had been part of his plan all along, just like everything else. Her feelings for Sorin were yet another of his tools, a backup in case she needed extra convincing.

Did Sorin realize it? She couldn’t tell, when they finally stopped around a bend in the passageway, out of hearing distance of the others. His face was soft, his mouth gentle. But his eyes remained dark and cold.

“Ileni,” he said. His voice made a shiver run through her, and she realized abruptly that the master had been right about this, too. He could convince her. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t,” Ileni said, and threw herself at him, fingers curled into fists.

Her attack was slow and clumsy. Sorin moved under the blow easily, lightning fast and deadly, and sliced a hand at her hamstring.

His hand never connected with her body. The air around Ileni exploded in a flash of green light, throwing Sorin backward. He landed against the rock wall and slid gasping to the ground in a cascade of rocks and dirt.

She was past him then, and running. Only when she reached the next bend in the passageway did she glance back, briefly. Sorin was getting slowly and painfully to his feet, small bits of rock scattering away from him. He didn’t try to chase her; he must have figured out that even if he caught her, there was nothing he could do to her.

“How?” Sorin demanded. His eyes were wide and a bit wild. “You said you got rid of the warding spell!”

“I lied.” She smiled at him. “I love you, Sorin. But I’m not stupid.”

The gentleness was gone from his face, his mouth hard with betrayed fury. But there, for just a moment, in the depth of his dark eyes, was a gleam of admiration.

Ileni turned and kept running.



Ileni ran out of breath when she reached the Roll of Honor. She stopped, panting, leaning against the rock wall. It didn’t sound like anyone was following her. Which didn’t mean much; Sorin could probably run silently, and certainly could catch her, even with her head start. But if he tried, her ward would protect her.

The column rose through the center of the cavern, covered with small carved names. Ileni hated it. If she’d had the power, she would have melted the outside of the stone, blotting out all those proud names carved into its whiteness.

She gasped in air and kept running, past the Roll of Honor and toward the steep stairs, up to the black room where the master of assassins was waiting.

Waiting for her.

He sat in his chair, hands clasped in his lap, completely calm. As if he had known she was coming; as if this, too, was part of his plan. Ileni hesitated then, but it was far too late to turn back. She bent, hands on her knees, fighting for breath. When her heartbeat no longer hurt, she straightened.

“I won’t do it,” she said flatly, before he could speak. “Even if they all die, I won’t take their power. Everyone tells me you don’t deal death for no reason. Go ahead with this, and you will be wasting all their lives.”

The master laughed. It was all she could do not to shudder at the sound.

“I’ll take that gamble,” he said. “If I order them to die, it will be your decision whether to waste their deaths or not.”

The silence stretched, long and dreadful. Within it, the narrow empty window seemed filled with the echo of screams. Death is simply one of his tactics.

He’s bluffing, Ileni told herself. But he wasn’t. He knew what she would do. He knew what everyone would do, and he had planned this to perfection. Jastim had died so that, at this moment, she would believe him.

And she did.

She tried her own bluff anyhow. “That would be a good thing, I think. The death of a group of murderers.”

“Yes.” The master leaned forward. “Each and every one of your students, dead.”

She shouldn’t care. They were killers. But she did care, and he knew it.

“Every one,” he said. His mouth lifted in a half-smile, coldly amused. “Including Sorin.”

Her insides twisted, and she struck back. “I wouldn’t be so sure Sorin will follow that order.”