Author: Leah Cypess

“Will we?” the master said.

His voice was smooth and level, but the thin man cringed slightly. “I mean—I would suggest that we don’t allow any interest to develop. It could be dangerous.”

“Or it could be useful.”

The thin man tugged at his earlobe, and immediately regretted it. It was a nervous habit of his, and he wished to appear calm . . . not that he thought he could fool the master. But there was no need to be obvious. “I know your pupils’ reputation out in the Empire. But this girl is no easy picking. And it would not be wise to encourage your students to . . . think of her that way. It’s risky enough as it is, bringing a girl into these caves.”

“Is it?” The master smiled faintly, and the thin man bit his lip. He knew that smile. It meant he had fallen prey to the master’s misdirection, had missed some crucial part of his plan. Or plans. The master always had more than one. “I don’t think so. My students are, as you have seen, well trained in controlling their natural instincts.”

“Not that it wasn’t impressive.” The thin man cleared his throat. “But killing yourself takes only one second. Control takes every second. Your students are extraordinarily disciplined, but they are still boys beneath it all.”

“True enough.” The master seemed to be considering this, though the thin man knew, from long experience, that he must have already considered it. Now he couldn’t tell if the master was truly reconsidering, or just testing him in some way. He waited, resisting the urge to fidget.

Finally, the master nodded. “If necessary, someone other than Sorin can be assigned as her guardian.”

“Who would you trust more than Sorin?” the thin man objected. “He is a perfect assassin.”

“Yes,” the master said, almost to himself. “But there is a part of him that wishes not to be.”

The thin man blinked. “A part of him that objects to killing?”

The master smiled faintly. “Of course not. He is far beyond that. But there is a part of him that objects to perfection.”

The thin man did not understand, but he was used to that. He had seen the master’s plans turn out successfully too many times to worry—much—about what he didn’t understand.

The master turned his attention back to the window. “I believe I will take the risk.”

“We should not take any risk,” the thin man said. “Not with this. Not with her.”

“Don’t grow too attached to your plans, old friend. She is a useful tool. But if a tool turns out to be flawed, one discards it, yes?”

The thin man lifted his hand toward his earlobe, then caught himself and scratched his chin instead. He bowed his head briefly, then turned and left.

The master of assassins thought for a long time, his fingers drumming steadily on the arm of his chair, his eyes on the bruised purple hues the sky took on with the fading of night.

Chapter 6

Much to her surprise, Ileni fell asleep instantly after she crawled into her cot. She dreamed of falling, of toppling over the edge of a stone windowsill, of the master’s cold eyes watching her from the hard ground below. She woke up sweat soaked, sandy eyed, and in no mood to tutor a group of killers who would die as easily as they would kill.

Sorin, when he arrived, looked as rested as if he had spent the entire night asleep in his cot. With him was a boy, wearing the assassins’ typical gray clothes, who couldn’t have been more than eight years old. Without a glance in her direction, the boy went to her bedside, picked up her chamber pot, put an empty one in its place, and left the room.

Sorin made no mention of last night’s events as he led her to the dining cavern for breakfast. Ileni kept glancing at him sideways, searching for a trace of the vulnerability she had seen—or imagined—at the Roll of Honor. She might as well have been looking at a marble statue.

Like the day before, he left her at a small round table on one side of the rectangular cavern, then crossed to where twenty young men sat together at a long table. There were five such tables, all occupied by the older assassins, and one of them must have an empty seat today. Did the other assassins know yet what had happened to Jastim? That his life had been ended for her benefit?

Was that something the master of assassins did for every new Renegai tutor? Sacrifice one of his killers to show how absolute his control was?

If that was even why he had done it. I can’t fathom his reasons, Sorin had said. Remembering those dark eyes, that cold, knowing smile, Ileni believed him.

She stirred her spoon through the thick porridge she couldn’t bring herself to taste. The students probably had no idea, but maybe one of the teachers would know if this was standard procedure or a special performance staged just for her.

At the sixth table sat a dozen older men, some of whom she recognized from the training arena, some of whom she didn’t.

A fit of recklessness came over her. She was a teacher, wasn’t she? She should sit with the teachers. Tell them what had happened, see how they reacted. She certainly wasn’t going to learn anything by sitting here alone, watching her porridge grow cold.

She picked up her bowl and was about to swing her legs over the bench when the door opened and a tall man walked in, so lanky his arms seemed awkward despite his assassin’s grace. He was older than any of the teachers at the table, with white-flecked gray hair. Ileni had never seen him before.

“A summons from the master,” he said, and the room was instantly silent. Every person in it bowed his head briefly.

Ileni fought an urge to bow her own head with them, and even that small defiance made her heart hammer as if she was doing something wrong. Her glance darted toward Sorin, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the tall man, and for once his expression was transparent: hope, so intense it was almost painful to see.

That same hope was mirrored on every boy in the room. With some, there was a bit of trepidation too. But not with Sorin.

“Ravil,” the man said, and the black-haired boy next to Sorin leaped away from the table, his face shining.

“I am honored to serve,” he said.

The gray-haired teacher turned and walked out, and the young assassin followed, ignoring the envious and speculative glares aimed at him. Ileni watched him, too, her whole body tense with the excitement thrumming through the air.

As soon as the door closed, the cavern exploded with noise: “I thought it would be Jadbez—” “Do you think he’s being sent to the Imperial Academy? I heard—” “He’s been doing extra training in Tanfirian. His target must be—”

Sorin’s face had gone stony, and he was staring at his bowl without eating. Every line of his body was rigid with tightly controlled . . . not anger, exactly. Rebellion?

It seemed impossible, but once she thought the word, she recognized it. She had felt the same herself, when her destiny started slipping away, wanting to strike out and change the path narrowing in front of her. Wanting to be free of her own future. She, too, had always controlled herself.

Something sharp and daring surged through her. She picked up her bowl, walked over to the place Ravil had vacated, and pushed his abandoned bowl away to make room for hers.

Everyone stared at her, but it was Sorin’s eyes she met. “Am I allowed to sit here?”

“I don’t know,” Sorin said evenly.

“So I suppose I should play it safe?” She made it a challenge.

He looked back at his own plate, but not before she saw the gleam in his eyes. It was the sort of gleam that, on anyone else, would have been accompanied by a smile. “You should,” he said. But it didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like an invitation.

She slid onto the bench next to him, her sleeve almost brushing his. The boy on her other side, gangly and blond, watched with thin lips pressed together. “Where is he being sent?”

Sorin spooned some porridge into his mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Why weren’t you sent?”

Only the faint rippling of muscles beneath gray sleeves gave his tension away. He chewed and swallowed before answering. “I don’t know that either. But if the master believes Ravil is best suited for this mission, he is right.”

Ileni raised her eyebrows. “How trusting of you.”

He shot a sideways glare at her. The gleam was gone. “You’ve met him. Do you think he’s a man who makes mistakes?”

Ileni swallowed. The tingle of daring vanished as fast as it had come, leaving only the sour taste of fear in her mouth. She moved her arm, which had almost been touching Sorin’s, closer to her body. She had been reckless enough for one day, and obviously this was a conversation best backed away from. “How many missions have you—”

Sorin moved like a snake uncoiling, lunging forward. She jerked to the side instinctively, and his arm brushed her hair as he grabbed the upraised arm of the blond boy on her other side.

“Don’t,” Sorin said. His voice was low and perfectly calm.

The other boy did something complicated with his wrist, almost pulling his arm free. Sorin did something equally complicated, and his grip held. The other boy glared at him. “She insulted the master!”

His voice was deliberately loud, and once again the room was dead silent. Everyone was looking at Ileni, a hundred pairs of hard eyes and faintly curled lips. The weight of their disgust was palpable, making her small and loathsome.

So they kill me now, Ileni thought, and was surprised by her sudden, fierce desire to live. She gathered up what magic she had, knowing it was not enough.

“She asked a question.” Sorin, too, raised his voice. “She has been answered. It’s over and done.”

“She spoke of the master with no respect at all,” the boy hissed. “You’re going to allow it?”

“I am,” Sorin said. “Because the master commanded me to allow it.”

The blond boy stared, breathing heavily. But he leaned back a fraction.

“What were his exact instructions?” Irun asked lazily, from the far end of the table. “That she be kept alive? Or that she also not be chastised for even the most filthy speech?”

The blond boy looked up eagerly, and Ileni made the mistake of meeting his gaze. The hatred in it took her breath away. The Renegai respected their Elders, too, and Ileni would never have spoken of one of them so dismissively. But if she had, she would not have been afraid for her life.

“If any of you try to chastise her, the master will hear of it,” Sorin said. He sounded almost bored, but he was still gripping the blond boy’s wrist, despite the other assassin’s obvious attempts to pull away. Sorin’s arm was still inches from Ileni’s cheek, and she could feel his muscles trembling slightly with the strain. “He commanded that she not be harmed.”

“Well. That’s not precisely true, is it?” Irun stood and sauntered closer. He was on the opposite side of the table from them, but Sorin transferred his focus immediately to him, as did everyone else at the table—everyone else, Ileni realized, in the cavern. Irun was the center of attention. “He didn’t command any of us not to harm her. He just commanded you to protect her.”

“Which is,” Sorin said, “what I’m doing.” He twisted his hand. The blond boy let out a muffled whimper.

“Ah, yes. Because you’ve always been so obedient.” A ripple of laughter went through the cavern. “Your dedication does you credit.”

“Thank you.” The words were a snarl.

Irun grinned. “Will you fight me for her?”

Sorin dropped the blond boy’s arm and sprang into a crouch on the bench. His spine formed a taut curve, pulling his gray shirt tight. But his face was completely calm. “I’d fight an imperial dog like you for a copper coin.”

Irun stalked closer, moving like a hunting cat, and the assassins on his side of the table sidled away. “How fortunate for you, then, that I don’t consider the foul-mouthed whore worth even that much.”