Author: Leah Cypess

Bazel’s face twitched. “Didn’t he tell you? The parties were Sorin’s idea, and he’s the one who organizes them. They’re not exactly sanctioned by the master.”

“He does things of his own volition?” Ileni’s voice emerged sharp. That special entertainment still stung. “How remarkable. I’m surprised he can get away with it.”

Bazel smiled bitterly. “Sorin’s the sort of person who likes to find out what he can get away with. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

She hadn’t. She had thought he was a perfect assassin, that he kept any rebellious impulses under strict control. And she still wasn’t sure she was wrong. A party and a dance . . . permitted transgressions, she was willing to wager. Deliberately overlooked, like her own use of sleep spells or excursions with Tellis. It didn’t mean Sorin would ever dare anything truly forbidden. That occasional gleam in his eyes, the wildness she sensed simmering beneath the surface, could be safely dissipated in a few nights of celebration. The master was wise, at least when it came to controlling his students.

She leaned forward. “These lessons wouldn’t be at your master’s command, either. They would be for you.”

Bazel rubbed the back of his neck, but all he said was, “And what you want in return is chocolate?”

“Not quite. Though I wouldn’t say no to a few pieces.” Ileni pressed her hands hard against her knees, under the table where Bazel couldn’t see. “I want to know where you get the chocolates.”

He hesitated for so long she was afraid he was going to refuse. She took a risk. “Did you get them from Absalm?”

“What? No.”

She couldn’t tell if he was lying. She bit the inside of her lip. “But you must have used magic. I don’t believe the other assassins would give you spoils from their missions.”

Anger flashed across his face. She added, “Yet. I can help you change that.”

He laughed shortly. “Even if I beat Irun, that won’t turn me into a different person, Teacher.” He blew out a short breath and nodded. “I’ll show you how I get them. But I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

Was she supposed to know who they were? Ileni decided the safest thing to do was nod.

Bazel inclined his head back, a barely discernible motion, then swung his legs over the bench and hurried away, leaving an uneaten jumble of claws and jointed legs on his plate.

Almost as soon as he was gone, Sorin slid into his place. Ileni braced herself. But all he said, after a glance at her full plate, was, “Are you done eating? I think it’s time you learned something new.”

He didn’t mention Bazel as he led her away from the table and through the corridors, walking instead in silence. Ileni, prepared for a challenge and rehearsing a dozen different retorts in her head, didn’t realize where they were going until they were there. Then she stopped so short she almost fell, staring at the racks of shiny knives in the cavern where Irun had almost killed her.

“What is this?” she demanded. “A reminder of what I owe you?”

Sorin gave her a look that was half-amused, half-reproachful. “We’re here for weapons training.”

“Why?”

“Because, as you pointed out, the hand-to-hand lessons are somewhat pointless.” He walked over to the racks, pulled a knife, and threw it over his shoulder without looking. It landed in the center of one of the targets. “With a weapon, you can be far more effective.”

“Or I could cut off my own hand by mistake.”

“We’ll practice not doing that. It will be our first lesson.”

She didn’t laugh. She kept looking at the knife he had thrown, which still quivered in the center of what would have been a person’s heart. “When you and Irun . . . when you took the knives . . . he said it was dangerous.”

“Because those were poisoned knives.” That wild gleam leaped briefly back into his eyes. “I like to take unexpected risks, once in a while. It’s dangerous to be predictable.”

“Um,” Ileni said.

“Most of us aren’t permitted to use the poisoned knives. It requires training and preparation.” He looked at the shiny blades proudly. “The poison is called vernath. There is no antidote, so we have to take care.”

“Marvelous,” Ileni muttered.

“Don’t worry. We’ll start with unpoisoned ones.”

“Start?”

“First, let’s see if you have knack for throwing—”

“No,” Ileni said.

He blinked at her. “Why not?”

“Renegai don’t use weapons.”

“You’re not exactly a Renegai anymore, are you?”

She should have seen that coming, but she flinched anyhow, so violently that Sorin saw it. He looked at her in silence, his dark eyes slits above his sharply planed cheeks, and she felt her heart thud against her ribs. He was going to figure it out . . . he was smart, she should have been more careful. . . .

But when he spoke, his voice was soft. “You could be happy here, you know.”

Her laugh sounded like a sob. “I doubt that.”

“You should know . . .” He trailed off, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “That you have choices. Even here. I understand what it’s like to grow up outside and then know you’ll spend the rest of your life underground. I used to be angry, too.”

“Oh?” This time it sounded more like a laugh. “And who were you angry at?”

“Nobody. Everybody. Just like you.” He walked to the target and pulled out the knife. “Undirected anger accomplishes nothing. Anger can be a powerful tool, but only if you treat it like one.”

By the practiced rhythm of his words, she knew that was another of the master’s sayings. “I’m fine with my anger as it is. But thank you.”

“You don’t have to be resentful all the time. Once you understand that your life here has a goal, and a purpose . . . you could be happy. I am.” He drew another knife. The blade looked natural in his hand, like it belonged there. “Absalm was, too.”

Ileni shook her head violently. “No. He wasn’t. Maybe you thought—”

“We’re trained to recognize truths, Ileni. No matter how unpleasant.” Sorin was watching her so intently it made her feel almost panicked. “He wasn’t an outsider. He didn’t feel like an exile. We considered him one of us.”

“Quite the honor. I’m sure he was overwhelmed with pride.”

“He was a good teacher. A wise man. Even the master respected him.”

“Don’t you understand?” Ileni clenched her fists. “Absalm was an Elder of our people before he volunteered to be the next tutor. So you respected him. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe the respect of a group of student killers wasn’t all that important to him.” She spoke as hotly as if she had known the man. She hadn’t known Cadrel, either. But she knew that both of them, like every tutor in the past two centuries, had viewed their sojourn in these caves as forced labor, a lifelong sacrifice made for the good of all Renegai. As she did, and would, however long she managed to survive.

No matter how tiring it became, being miserable all the time.

You could be happy.

“This is because of last night.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You think I’m one of you now. Because I celebrated a murder.”

Sorin said nothing. So he wasn’t denying it.

“I’m not one of you,” she hissed. “I never will be. And neither was Absalm.”

Except Absalm had betrayed the Renegai, at least once. He had told his strongest students the truth about their magic.

Ileni drew in a dry, painful breath. She had been here less than twenty days, and last night she had danced with killers and not cared why they were rejoicing. She hadn’t cared because no one else in that cavern had cared. Absalm had been here for a decade. Who was she to judge him?

“It wasn’t murder,” Sorin said suddenly.

She blinked at him, startled by the anger in his voice. “What?”

“You keep calling it murder.” He drew another knife from the rack and walked toward her, holding it out hilt first. “This is a war, Ileni. Between us and the Empire. In war people die. You have to accept that, if you’re going to fight.”

“But you don’t,” Ileni said through gritted teeth, “have to celebrate it.”

Sorin looked at the rows of shining knives. Then he said, slowly, “It makes it easier, though.”

Ileni didn’t doubt it. She thought of the pillar carved with names, stretching up almost to the ceiling. The way they had danced last night, the exhilaration filling the cavern, the weapons piled on the sides.

She thought of the fact that she had been calling him a murderer for weeks now, and he had never before seemed to care.

“Didn’t you ever wonder,” Sorin said, turning back suddenly to meet her eyes, “what your people could do if they were willing to fight? Instead of sacrificing one of your own to be our tutor, you could turn your magic against us. Or you could battle the imperial sorcerers themselves. Magic against magic.”

“The imperial sorcerers are far more powerful than we are,” Ileni snapped. “They gather power from other human beings. That’s dark magic that we would never touch.”

“Exactly.” Sorin was still holding the knife out, his hand rock steady. “What makes us stronger than you is not our training. It is our willingness to kill.”

“Then you’ll remain stronger than us,” Ileni said flatly.

“And so will the Empire.”

“If we do exactly what the Empire does, what right do we have to fight it?”

“If you don’t, you can’t fight it. And it will go on conquering and destroying and killing, while you sit in your mountain village and congratulate yourselves on how virtuous you are.”

Their eyes locked. His were fathomless as dark water, unyielding as marble. Ileni knew he was wrong, knew there must be a dozen things she should say in response, and couldn’t think of a single one.

“All right,” she said finally, and closed her fingers around the hilt of the knife. It felt as if a part of herself was falling away. “Show me.”

Two weeks later, as Ileni was drifting off to sleep, someone knocked on her door. She had been lying in bed for an hour, thinking—again—of Tellis. When she tried not to think about him, she found herself thinking about Sorin, and that was even worse. It didn’t hurt the same way, but it was far more dangerous.

So the knock was a welcome reprieve. She scrambled off her bed, pulled on a skirt, and hurried across the room to open the door.

Bazel stepped into the doorway. “Rather trusting, aren’t you? You might at least have asked who it was.”

“What difference does it make?” Ileni retorted, trying to keep her face blank. She crossed the room before he could advance farther—that way it wouldn’t seem like she was retreating—and took a seat on the edge of her bed. Disappointment formed a hard knot in her stomach; she had expected Sorin. Careful, Ileni. “Is there any one of you I should trust more than another?”

“A valid point.” Bazel leaned against the doorpost. In the darkness, alone, he looked far more dangerous than he did in her class. “I’m here to show you where those chocolates came from. Are you going to put on shoes?”

Bazel led her through a series of passageways, then turned through a square entrance into a tunnel that was unfamiliar to Ileni. The ground was uneven and littered with pebbles, and there were no glowstones. Stalactites dripped down the walls like lines of paint.

To her relief, Bazel called up a magelight on his own. It wasn’t very bright, but it was sufficient for her to see the ground in front of her. Even so, she twice sent rocks skittering along the tunnel floor. Bazel walked with his head up, arms swinging by his sides. He looked like a different person.