Author: Leah Cypess

She didn’t have the energy to argue. His voice was curt and remote. Already the memory of their frantic kiss was fading away.

“So what do we do now?” she asked. She immediately wished she had waited longer, until the tremor in her voice was gone.

Sorin stepped back, letting go of her, leaving her cold and alone in the vast cavern.

“Now,” he said, “we go back.”

Chapter 19

Sorin stared up into the darkness where the rope was dangling several yards above them, eyebrows furrowed. He must have expected that once they were done with Karyn, Ileni would be able to fly them back up. Ileni bit her lip, awkwardly silent, trying and failing to come up with a useful suggestion.

Finally Sorin strode over to one of the feathery rock formations at the side of the pool. He examined it for a second and then, with a swift, efficient kick, broke it off at its base. It cracked at once, shattering into a jumble of white rock. He dragged the larger pieces into the pool.

By the time he had constructed a haphazard mountain of stones, the chamber was full of broken rocks, scattered and shapeless, its ethereal quality gone forever. The destruction sent a pang through Ileni: a place of beauty and grace turned into a twisted, senseless mess.

Ileni climbed silently after Sorin to the top of his construction, not making a sound even when rocks fell away under her feet or when Sorin tied her into the harness and then shimmied up the rope so he could pull her up.

Sorin was silent, too, during the climb back down to the river and the laborious journey through the maze of boulders. It was more difficult than the way there had been. He lowered her down the cliffside and helped her over some of the more precarious rocks. But the few times he spoke to her—out of necessity—the neutral tone of his voice made her want to cry. Or hit him. Anything, to make him look at her with a real expression on his face.

“Sorin,” she forced herself to say when they dragged themselves through the narrow tunnel and crouched below the low ceiling at its end. He stopped. “What can the master do, even if we tell him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, in that same removed tone. “But he’ll figure something out. Something we haven’t thought of.”

“Sorin—”

He vaulted out of the tunnel, then stopped short, only his head visible to her. Ileni rushed after him, once again banging her head on the rocks above her.

Absalm was waiting for them in the cavern, his arms crossed over his chest.

And a caveful of assassins stood behind him.

Ileni stumbled to a stop next to Sorin. Absalm’s face was hard and angry, and the assassins were a mass of gray tunics and blank, intent eyes.

“How could you be this foolhardy?” Absalm snarled. “She’s an imperial sorceress!”

The Renegai part of her shriveled before an Elder’s wrath. “How did you know—”

“I have my magic,” he said pointedly. “But even if you did—even at the height of your power—she still could have killed you. And then your entire life, my entire life, all our plans, would have died with you.”

Fury lanced through Ileni, making her spit out her next sentence with vicious pleasure. “Your plans are already ruined. The lodestone is gone.”

Absalm stared at her for a long moment, and she glared back.

“The lodestone?” Absalm said. And smiled.

A cold foreboding rushed through Ileni. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She felt Sorin’s hand slide across the small of her back, supporting her despite his anger and hurt, and gratitude rushed through her. She leaned back into him.

Absalm saw Sorin’s hand, too. A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Do you know how many lodestones the imperial sorcerers have? They are powerful objects, yes, but very limited. One person’s power. One person’s death. What can that accomplish against the might of the Empire?”

From the assassins behind him came a soft, approving murmur. They know, Ileni thought, and a chill ran through her. Why would they know what Absalm had planned? Why were they all here?

She wrapped her arms around herself as the cold in her bones deepened.

“No, Ileni,” Absalm said. “We are going to need much more than that. Enough power to strike the imperial sorcerers at their base, blast through all their defenses. To cripple them so badly they won’t have the strength to retaliate.”

He was asking Karyn about the method for transferring power.

“You must have realized,” Absalm said, “that if magic can be drawn from death, there is another source of great power in these caves.”

Behind him, the faces of the other assassins were young, hard, and inexorable. Her eyes fell on one, who stood out because of his bright red hair: the boy who had played the flute so exultantly during the assassins’ celebration.

No.

“They are here willingly. They will sacrifice themselves, and their power will be yours.” Absalm’s voice was so soft that if not for the utter silence in the caves, she would not have been able to make out the words. “Imagine the power of a hundred willing volunteers. Imagine what you, the most skilled sorceress alive, could do with it.”

She did imagine it, despite herself. Power rushing through her, as she had once thought it always would. Magic rising in her, coursing through her blood. Hers to command.

And then it would be gone. But the Empire would be gone with it.

She could do it. She could fulfill the dreams of her people, exceed all the hopes they’d had for her, free them from their exile, finally bring an end to the Empire. Change the world.

The cavern was small and dim, deep beneath the earth, crowded with the faces watching her. Waiting for her to say yes. Wanting her to say yes.

She didn’t turn, but she knew Sorin’s expression was the same. Everyone she knew would want her to do it, even those far away from this cavern, up where the sun shone and people hesitated to die. The Elders. Tellis. The deaths of these killers, who they believed were evil, wouldn’t give them pause.

And the deaths of the imperial sorcerers wouldn’t give anyone pause. Because everyone knew they, too, were evil.

“No,” Ileni said.

“They want to do it.” Sorin’s voice was low and urgent. Pleading. “I want to do it. We are all marked for death anyhow. Let our deaths accomplish something.” She felt the brush of his fingertips and didn’t move as he closed his hand around hers. “Help us put an end to the Empire.”

She couldn’t look at him. She wished she didn’t have to look at any of them. Once she would have leaped at the chance to kill them all, put an end to these caves. Back when they had been made of stories and dark legends. Before she had lived among them and learned how much more complicated the reality was.

“I won’t do it,” she said. Her insides twisted with shame—coward, traitor. “I won’t.”

She looked at Sorin at last. He stared back, his eyes cold. He looked lean and grim and feral.

A killer.

“You will do as the master commands,” he said.

The bottom dropped out of Ileni’s stomach. She told herself that he was lying—that he was trying to protect her, that this was to fool the others—but his unwavering, closed-off expression told her otherwise. He had never been that certain about anything concerning her.

His face was the same as the others’, as Absalm’s, united in their vast purpose. She was the only one who was different, the only piece of the master’s brilliant plan that didn’t quite fit.

She wasn’t going to be given a choice.

“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.