“According to her they would, for profit.”
“She doesn’t do it for profit. She does it for adventure.”
“And you admire that?”
“I envy it,” Bazel said.
Surprised, Ileni stumbled over a loose stone. “Because your life is so lacking in adventure?”
Bazel said nothing. Thinking it over, Ileni realized that it very well might be. He had probably lived in these caves for as long as he could remember, and lessons in how to kill people were, after all, still lessons. The life of an assassin-in-training might actually be incredibly boring.
There was always the threat of imminent death hanging over his head, but that probably didn’t improve his outlook much.
“Perhaps you’ll be sent on a mission soon,” she said.
In the long silence that followed, Ileni realized she had suggested he could improve his life by going out to kill someone.
When Bazel finally spoke, his voice was so bitter it made her wince. “Haven’t you been paying attention? No one has any intention of sending me on a mission. I’m going to die here.” He gave her a flat look. “Like you.”
Ileni decided that a change of subject was in order. “Karyn didn’t seem happy to see me.”
“She’s obsessive about secrecy. She wants me to be the only assassin who has any hint of their existence.”
“I can’t say I blame her,” Ileni said dryly. “I wouldn’t imagine the master taking kindly to your little arrangement.”
“No,” Bazel said.
Ileni glanced at him sideways, trying to read the taut lines of his face. What she saw wasn’t fear. It was guilt. “What would you do if he discovered you?”
“Hope he likes chocolate, I suppose.”
By the time Ileni adjusted to the fact that Bazel had actually made a joke, they were back in the occupied parts of the caves and she didn’t dare speak. Bazel walked her to her door, then turned and vanished down the corridor.
Ileni listened for his footsteps but heard absolute silence. She put out a hand to push her door open.
Just as her fingers touched the smooth wood, someone grabbed her from behind.
Chapter 13
Ileni whirled without thinking, jabbing her elbow back in one of the moves Sorin had taught her. Her assailant twisted aside to avoid the blow, and she threw her body sideways and backward, pulling out of his grasp. It almost worked; his fingers slid away, but he followed the motion of her body and grabbed again. Rough hands closed around her wrists, one foot hooked under her ankle, and Ileni slammed down on her back with her arms held together, a dark wiry form kneeling above her.
She knew who it was. She had known since the moment he reacted to her defenses. Yet her ward hadn’t reacted . . . so despite her pounding heart, she had stopped being afraid once she realized it was him.
That didn’t mean she should have.
She drew in a breath and said, “I’m surprised I broke your first grip. You must be tired.”
Sorin’s face was shadowed, so she couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but there was no answering amusement in his voice. “I wasn’t prepared. I was expecting you to react with magic.”
But she hadn’t. Instead she had instinctively reached for her limited fighting skills. The realization felt like being slammed into the ground a second time. Ileni tried to pull her arms away, but his grip was like iron, his body a solid length of coiled power above her.
“This isn’t a practice session.” Sorin’s voice was soft, but it wasn’t a comforting softness. “You should use your magic in a real fight.”
“This is a real fight?” She tried to sound haughty and unafraid, casting about desperately for something to distract him. What possible reason could she give for not using magic? “I don’t usually find them so enjoyable.”
He released her abruptly and stood. Ileni pushed herself up on her elbows, her heart still pounding but her fear gone. Was he actually blushing? She couldn’t tell in the dim light.
“Where were you?” Sorin demanded.
“I don’t think I’m required to tell you.”
He leaned forward. If he had been blushing, he no longer was. His face was grim and merciless. “You’re wrong.”
So much for having the upper hand. “I, uh—there are certain magical rites that require privacy and space. I went deeper into the caves to—”
He knelt and ran a finger over her hair, shocking her into silence. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Your hair is frizzy,” Sorin said. “You were near water.”
“Um.” She tilted her head away from his touch, which suddenly felt cold and impersonal. “Some of the rites also require proximity to moving water.”
He lowered his hand. “And you found the Black River on your own? I doubt that. Who took you there?”
Ileni scrambled to her feet and faced him. “Why?” she asked, before she could stop herself. “Are you jealous?”
“Was it Bazel?”
“He is ready for those spells. I’m giving him private lessons.” That didn’t sound remotely believable, but maybe Sorin would think they were meeting for secret trysts. She didn’t know the punishment for that, but it couldn’t be as bad as the punishment for meeting outsiders within the caves.
Unless the punishment for both was death.
She also hoped—stupidly, and hating herself for it—that Sorin would be jealous. But when he stepped closer, the only expression on his face was disbelief.
“How can you be so stupid? Don’t you realize Bazel could kill you as easily as look at you?”
“Isn’t that true of all of you?”
“Bazel is desperate. That makes him dangerous.”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” She turned and shoved her door open, making no objection when Sorin pushed past to precede her into the room. The glowstones flickered to life. “Isn’t a willingness to risk my life something you should admire?”
“I suppose so.” Sorin’s voice was suddenly soft. “I just didn’t expect you to be quite so . . . enthusiastic . . . about it. What was so important about this spell?”
Ileni turned to shut the door, her mind working fast. “It told me where Absalm died.” It sounded weak, even to her. She swiveled to face him, putting her back to the thick wood of the door. “I thought it would tell me more, but there was nothing else. I have no idea why Absalm was at the river when he died.”
“I know why he was there,” Sorin said.
She lifted her chin. “Tell me.”
“Tell me the truth about what you were doing there,” Sorin countered.
Ileni bit her lip. She could guess what would happen to Bazel if his secret got out. But Bazel was an assassin, one of the enemy, and in exchange she would get a piece of the answer she had come looking for.
It should have been an easy decision.
“One condition,” she said.
As far as she could tell, Sorin hadn’t moved a muscle, but suddenly, instead of just standing, he looked like he was about to spring at her. “You’re not in a position to be making demands.”
“Aren’t I? You want to find out who killed Absalm and Cadrel, too, so you can figure out how the master is testing you. Helping me serves your own interests. Whereas I gain nothing from answering you.”
A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You would make a great assassin.”
“I thought you didn’t train women.”
“We don’t. That wasn’t an offer; it was an observation.” He rolled his shoulders back. “All right. What’s the condition?”
“That you leave Bazel alone. Don’t punish him, and don’t tell anyone.”
Anger flared in Sorin’s dark eyes. If Ileni hadn’t already been pressed against the door, she would have stepped back. But all he said was, “Fine. He’s safe. Now tell me.”
She had to look away from him before she could say, “No. You first.”
Sorin sketched a mocking half-bow. “Of course.”
Ileni swallowed hard, feeling her shoulders relax a little. “All right. How did Absalm find that . . . Black River?”
Sorin’s shoulders rose and fell. Shadows gathered in his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was a near whisper. “I took him there.”
“You did?”
“I found the Black River soon after I was brought here. I used to like to explore the wilder parts of the caves. To go places only I knew about, so no one knew where I was.” He said it tightly, his eyes darting briefly away from hers. “I didn’t have an easy time adjusting, from being a wild street child to this life.”
Something other than shame colored his voice, something like pride, or longing. Had he ever truly adjusted to this life? “But you told Absalm?”
“He asked me about underground rivers. He said what you said—that there are spells that require proximity to running water. Is that true?”
If the spell involved manipulating the water, or breathing underwater. The sorts of spells that could only have one purpose: escape from the caves. Ileni folded her arms over her chest. “It’s not your turn to ask questions yet. Was Absalm the only person you told?”
In the moment of silence that followed, she was acutely aware of the strength of his body, of the short distance between them.
“Yes,” Sorin said curtly.
“Then Absalm must have been the one who told Bazel about it.” Had he told Bazel about the traders, too? How had the traders known there would be someone waiting for them on that flat rock? Ileni dared one more question. “How do you know Absalm drowned there?”
“One of us found his body downstream, while coming back from a mission.”
“Who? Can we ask him—” The expression on his face stopped her. Her next sentence wasn’t a question. “Whoever it was is dead.”
“It was Jastim,” Sorin said.
The silence stretched. Ileni had a brief, vivid memory of a wiry body leaping through a small dark window. Then Sorin crossed the room and sat on her bed, without asking.
“My turn,” Sorin said. “Tell me what you were doing at the river with Bazel.”
Ileni tried to think about what she should leave out, what she could get away with, what it would be advantageous for Sorin not to know. But she couldn’t work through all the tangles—and besides, she wasn’t sure she could get away with lying to Sorin just then.
So she told him everything.
When she was done, he leaned back on his hands. Even in repose, his body seemed clenched, ready to strike.
“You,” he said finally, “cannot possibly be as stupid as you seem.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Ileni said coldly.
He shook his head and got to his feet, shoving her crumpled blanket to the side. His eyes were hot as coals. “They’re not traders, Ileni.”
“Of course they’re—”
“They’re spies.”
She was shocked into silence.
“Spies for the Empire. They’ve been trying for centuries to find out more about us, to find a way to stop us. And Bazel gave them a way in.”
Ileni remembered Karyn asking, with elaborate casualness, where Sayon had been sent. And the blond man goading Bazel with questions about the succession. And Bazel—at ease, trying to impress Karyn, unafraid for one of the few times in his miserable existence—letting slip one piece of information, and then another.
“I don’t think Bazel knows,” she whispered.
“But he should have.” The lines of Sorin’s face were hard and uncompromising.
Ileni took a deep breath and stepped away from the door. “So should I.”