Death Marked Page 6

  Killing was one thing. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that, not unless she was absolutely sure she had to. But maybe she could bring down the Empire without killing a single person.

  She could almost see Sorin’s sneer, but she pushed it to the back of her mind as she got dressed and stepped out into the hall.

  A quick spell, a nudge of power, and she could see in the dark. Everything looked hazy and red, as was usual with this spell, but it was more than enough to make her way through the corridors unobserved. She crept through the dark curved passageways, using more power to keep the glowstones on the wall from flickering on. Finding her way was no problem. The power from the testing arena was a roaring fire, pulling her toward its warmth and brightness.

  The testing arena was empty. Ileni paced slowly around its edges, touching her fingers to the lodestones imbedded in the walls. There were hundreds.

  Power stolen, power misused, power drawn from pain and death. How many times had she chanted that Renegai children’s song? She found herself humming the familiar tune as she paced, as that same power surrounded her and filled her.

  She put her hand on one lodestone and tried a spell—a small, simple one, that would have cracked a piece of ordinary glass. She didn’t really expect it to work, but it would give her a sense of what she was up against.

  The lodestone grabbed the spell and sucked it in, so fiercely Ileni cried out. Her scream echoed in the large cavern. A sharp pain pierced the center of her chest, as if the spell had gouged out some of her flesh.

  She waited, teeth clenched, as the echoes of her scream died. After several moments passed and no one came, she forced herself closer to the stone. Time for a more complex attack. She called up a piece of chalk, drew a swift pattern around her feet, and began a chant. It wasn’t one of the silent spells—her words rang musically in the stillness of the cave, echoing back and forth—which meant that if someone did come, she wouldn’t be able to hide what she was doing. But it was the most powerful spell she knew for dissolving magical wards and protections. She chanted as fast as she dared, the magic twisting and bending, forming an intricate pattern. Despite the danger, she lost herself in its creation, and regret twinged through her when it was done.

  The spell strained within her, beautiful and dangerous. She glanced back at the wooden door—not that it mattered, now, if anyone came—and let it go.

  She was prepared, this time, for the lodestone’s reaction. She gasped, but didn’t scream, when the magic was ripped out of her. She bit her lip hard, tears filling her eyes, and doubled over. But she didn’t make a sound, and finally the pain faded.

  She had planned to try a third time, but she didn’t need to. No matter how much power she threw at them, the lodestones would do exactly what they were made for: pull it in. They were indestructible.

  If it had been a ward, or a defense, she could have tried to figure something out. But the Renegai didn’t believe in changing the intrinsic nature of things. Nothing she had ever learned could be used to destroy these stones.

  Well. So much for that.

  “Satisfied?” Karyn inquired archly.

  Ileni jumped, but managed not to scream again.

  “There are quite a lot of them, aren’t there?” Karyn said. The sorceress was leaning against the wall across the cavern.

  “Yes,” Ileni said. She tried to say it neutrally, but some of her revulsion must have shown, because Karyn stiffened.

  “We need every one,” the sorceress said. “Without magic, the Empire would disintegrate into a thousand warring nations—the way it was hundreds of years ago. Far more people would die than the number of lodestones in this cavern. And they would die in far more terrible ways.”

  “But you wouldn’t be the one killing them,” Ileni said.

  “That might make me feel better. I suspect, however, it wouldn’t help the dead.” Karyn straightened. “But let’s not pretend you’re here to engage in moral debates. If you want a lodestone of your own, I’m the only one who can give that to you.”

  Ileni concentrated on slowing her breathing. This wasn’t as bad as she had feared. If Karyn didn’t realize that Ileni was trying to destroy the lodestones—if she thought Ileni just wanted power of her own—she would let Ileni stay.

  Ileni rubbed out the chalk pattern with her foot—no point in leaving clues to enlighten the sorceress—then braced her legs apart.

  “What do I have to do,” she said, “to get one?”

  Karyn shook her head, slowly and smugly.

  Ileni strove to keep her voice steady. “I told you I’d give you information.”

  “And that will be a pleasant conversation, I’m sure. But you could be so much more useful if you were working with us.”

  I never will. She managed not to say it, but she couldn’t stop her chin from going up. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Not yet,” Karyn said. “I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

  “When I’ve been away from the assassins longer,” Ileni said, “and am more willing to betray them?”

  Karyn’s smirk turned into a grin. “Exactly.” And at Ileni’s suspicious glare, it became a laugh. “I see no reason to lie to you. You must realize I’m not letting you stay here for whatever tidbits of information you learned from your assassin lover. You can be far more valuable than that, once you’re willing.”

  It was stupid to argue—she wanted Karyn to let her stay—but Ileni dug her fingernails into her palms. “And you assume I’ll be willing because you’ll give me power?”

  “Yes,” Karyn said. “That tends to be effective.”

  “In the Empire, maybe.”

  “Oh, right,” Karyn said. “I forgot. The assassins murder out of pure idealism. They’re not after power.”

  The savagery in her voice shocked Ileni into silence. Karyn kept her smile, but it seemed more like a thin veil for a snarl.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I hate them. Every bit as much as your people hate us. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to put an end to them.”

  Ileni bit her lip. It was like talking to Sorin . . . or to the master. Was everyone in the world full of passion and certainty except for her?

  Once, she had hated the Empire—and everyone in it—just as much. Things had been a lot simpler then.

  “I spent months infiltrating the caves.” Karyn rubbed her thumb over her wrist, where her lodestone bracelet would have been. “I gave up more than you can imagine to do it—people in my position don’t normally go out on spying expeditions. But Arum and I were the only ones willing. Now, thanks to you, Arum is dead, and the assassins are aware that there’s a back way into the caves. I’m sure they’re guarding it now, so I’m right back where I started. Unless you can help me.”

  Arum. The blond man, Karyn’s companion, who had died in a spray of red blood on white stone. Ileni found her voice. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “No. You led your assassin friend to him instead. Do you think that makes you innocent?”

  “I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t know—”

  “That things would get messy, once you started exposing secrets to killers?” Karyn’s laugh, too, sounded like a thinly disguised snarl. “Are all Renegai as deliberately simpleminded as you?”

  Rage came to Ileni’s aid, wiping away her uncertainty. “If by simpleminded you mean pure, then yes. We don’t need elaborate explanations of whose fault murder is or when it’s justified.”

  Karyn’s face went blank, just for a moment. Then her lashes swooped down to shield her eyes. “Well,” she said, “I envy you that.”

  She sounded sincere, which was not what Ileni had expected. Sorin would have responded with scorn.

  When Karyn’s lashes swept up, though, her expression was speculative. “You should be getting back to bed. I have something to take care of tomorrow, so I won’t see you, but you’ll still get to play with magic all day. Have fun.”

  Ileni tried not to react, though she wasn’t entirely sure wh
at she was concealing. Guilt? Joy? Anticipation?

  Whatever it was, she knew by Karyn’s pleased expression that she had not succeeded in hiding it.

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  In the large, echoing training cavern, dozens of assassins whirled and lunged at each other, wielding swords and garrotes and metal discs. But Irun, as he advanced on Ileni, bore only a knife. It was already dripping with her blood.

  Kill him, Sorin whispered. He stood behind Ileni, hands firm on her waist, lips pressed to the nape of her neck. Ileni leaned back into him, resting against his chest. Kill him, and prove that you are one of us.

  Ileni woke with a start. Confusion swirled as she blinked at walls that were not slick black rock but pink-speckled gray stone.

  “Sorry,” Cyn said from Ileni’s chair. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Ileni shrieked and whirled. The blanket tangled around her legs, and she nearly pitched sideways off the bed. She caught herself on the edge of the mattress and struggled to sit straight, kicking the blanket away.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped with all the dignity she could muster. Which wasn’t much.

  Cyn shrugged, pretending not to notice Ileni’s display of grace. She was wearing a shockingly bright red gown. “Karyn couldn’t come. I was sent to tell you.”

  I have something to take care of tomorrow. Ileni tried to sound surprised. “Really? Why can’t she come?”

  “She had to go deal with the Gaeran rebels.”

  Ileni had no idea what that meant but couldn’t bring herself to ask. She’d had enough of displaying her ignorance the day before.

  “Do you know,” Cyn said, “what she wants from you?”

  “You heard her,” Ileni replied as nonchalantly as she could. “She wants to learn healing.”

  Cyn laughed. “I doubt that. We don’t spend much time on healing.”

  “Among my people,” Ileni said, “we believe healing is the most important use for magic.”

  “How nice,” Cyn said. “But you’re here now.”

  “And so are you, apparently.” Ileni swung her legs over the side of her bed. “Why?”

  Cyn stood, pushing the chair back. “I was thinking we could spar, before anyone else gets up.”

  Danger bells went off all over Ileni’s mind. “Why?”

  “Apparently you’re good enough to be placed in our advanced group.” Cyn’s tone made it clear just how likely she thought that was. “I like to check out my competition.”

  “Competition for what?”

  “For being the best,” Cyn said with a calm assurance that sent a pang through Ileni. Cyn sounded like Ileni would have, once. When she had been the most powerful of her people, with a future and a destiny and no reason or desire to question either of them.

  But the thought that Ileni could be competition—even without her own power—sent a sharp, half-pleasant thrill through her.

  “The best? Is that what you are?” Ileni said, and her tone made it clear just how likely she thought that was.

  Cyn leaned back on the polished wood desk. “Oh, yes. Not that there’s much competition. Just Evin and Lis. And now, maybe, you. We’ll see.”

  “So it’s really just the four of you?”

  “Since the Battle of Rinzo.” Cyn lowered her voice, though she didn’t entirely lose her grin. “Before that, there were ten.”

  So much for not displaying her ignorance. “Why?”

  “Because the Rinzoans tricked us into an ambush and caused an avalanche.” Now the grin was gone. “It was five years ago. Evin, Lis, and I were too young to be there, and Karyn was on one of her missions to the mountains. All the sorcerers there died. We still haven’t recovered.” Her smile turned hard and brittle. “Of course, the Rinzoans will never recover.”

  Questions beat against each other in Ileni’s mind. She went with, “I meant, why so few?”

  “I just told you—”

  “But even before—there were ten? Out of the whole Empire?”

  Cyn’s snort was surprisingly loud and indelicate. “How many people do you think are talented at magic?”

  Among the Renegai, it was generally ten percent of the population—though that was people with skill and power. Then again, the Renegai had started out as a community of exiled sorcerers.

  “There are plenty of beginner and intermediate students,” Cyn said. “They help with minor skirmishes, and of course they have plenty to do aside from war—communication, mostly. Without magic, it would take several weeks for a message to get from one end of the Empire to another. Some of them will become advanced enough for combat, eventually. But for now, it’s just us.”

  Just us.

  And all at once, Ileni knew exactly what Absalm wanted her to do.

  This was how assassins worked: targeted strikes aimed exactly where they would do the most damage. Without these four people, the Empire would be weakened enough for the assasssins to go in for the kill.

  They would do what assassins did best, spread panic and terror, and the people of the Empire would no longer believe that magic could keep them safe. It would be chaos and destruction.

  It would be the end of the Empire.

  Cyn stepped forward in a swirl of red fabric, eyes sparkling, and Ileni’s stomach twisted. She didn’t have to do it. There could still be a better way, even if the lodestones were indestructible. If most of the sorcerers’ magic came from lodestones, they must go through thousands and need to replenish them constantly. And that was why her people had left: because of those hundreds of thousands of people who were imprisoned and enslaved and tortured until they agreed to give up their lives. Whose power, at the moment of their deaths, was sucked into lodestones and stored there for other people to use.

  Maybe there was a way to stop that. Free the slaves, cut off the flow of power to the lodestones, without killing anyone.

  From his place at the edge of her awareness, Sorin laughed at her.

  “How many lodestones do you have?” Ileni asked.

  Cyn’s smug expression slipped. Was that suspicion on her face, or was Ileni imagining it? Hastily, Ileni added, “It sounds like you must use up a lot of them.” A lot of lives.

  “Not us,” Cyn said. “Lower-level magic users need a constant supply. But lodestones last a long time if you have the skill to craft spells with a minimum of power. Karyn’s bracelet lasted her seven years before she took it off to go infiltrate the assassins, and she was never exactly a light user of magic.”

  “She only has one lodestone? Even though she’s the head teacher?”

  “No one can handle power from more than one lodestone at once.”

  That’s not true. Ileni had already drawn power from more than one at once, without even needing to. She looked away to hide her expression, not sure what it would be. The Renegai Elders had always claimed they were the masters at magic, more skilled than the imperial sorcerers despite having fewer sources of power. It was nice to know something she had been taught was true.

  It also meant she had a better chance of striking at the Academy. If she could draw on a hundred deaths at once, and each imperial sorcerer could only manage the power of one lodestone at a time, it evened the odds. A bit.

  Cyn’s eyes narrowed, and Ileni realized that she had been silent for too long. She searched her mind for something to deflect Cyn’s attention, then had an inspiration. “And Lis? She must not be as skilled as you.”

  It worked. Cyn’s face changed entirely, and when she spoke, her tone was scornful and superior. “Lis goes through a lodestone every two years or so. The lower-level sorcerers do, too. They’re not as skilled, so their spells cost them more power.”

  “Then you must need a constant supply of new lodestones. Where do you get them?”

  “That’s a question you should ask Lis.” Cyn tilted her head to the side, sle
ek hair falling over one blue eye. “The question that interests me is, what are you?”

  A weapon. Ileni crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean?”

  “The Academy trains sorcerers to help uphold and expand the Empire. We don’t have many applicants from rebellious fringe groups.”

  Under other circumstances, Ileni might have found this directness charming. At the moment, she did not. But she summoned up her best approximation of a friendly smile, and said, “I’m unique.”

  “If you say so.” Cyn leaned forward. “What made you see the error of your people’s ways?”

  Ileni’s breath hissed through her teeth. She was about to say something extremely injudicious when she saw the glint in Cyn’s eyes.

  “I haven’t,” she said with her own shrug. It wasn’t quite as insouciant as Cyn’s, but it was passable. “I don’t care about the Empire. I just want to be powerful. I came here to continue my training in magic.”

  She suspected Cyn would have no trouble believing that.

  Cyn paced across the room, and even though she only took three steps, Ileni felt like she was being circled. “So your people don’t use lodestones, and your power faded after you were already trained? How often does that happen?”

  “Never. Childhood power doesn’t always last to adulthood, but we have tests that can determine whose power is permanent.” The old fury rose in Ileni. Absalm had faked her test, given her a place in the world, and then ripped it away, on purpose. “Usually, only those with lasting power are trained. In my case, someone made a mistake.”

  Even now, it was hard to say

  “Ah. Too bad.” The sympathy in Cyn’s voice was equally hard to hear.

  “And no, my people don’t have lodestones.” Because lodestones are evil. “So this is the only place where I can still use magic.”

  Cyn crossed the room and plopped down next to Ileni on the bed. “It will be all right. Wait until you see how much magic you can wield now that you’re drawing from lodestones.” She leaned back on her elbows. “I’ll show you.”