Ileni felt ridiculous.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She wasn’t truly here to teach; turning these dangerous young men into sorcerers was far from her goal. She simply had to get through the class while using as little of the power remaining to her as possible. That meant a lot of theory—unfortunately, the Renegai didn’t care much about theory, so she would have to make some up—and a lot of practice exercises.
She wished she knew what they had already learned.
Sorin sat at the rightmost edge of the back row, as poised and alert as the other students. Last night, he had led her back to her room in silence, and this morning, as he led her to the dining cavern for breakfast and then to the training area, he had said nothing that wasn’t strictly necessary. Ileni carefully avoided his dark eyes as she began.
“My name is not important. You may address me as Teacher.” That was how the Elders had advised her to begin, though it made her feel even stupider. “I am here as required by the truce between our people, to school you in the art of magic so you may better accomplish your missions. Much as I abhor your ways, I will faithfully fulfill my people’s part of the bargain.”
No one moved or blinked. They had, of course, heard this before. The introduction had been composed by the Elders long ago, apparently with no thought of what it might feel like to recite it to a roomful of trained killers.
She took a deep breath and continued. “Four hundred years ago, when most sorcerers swore their allegiance to the Rathian Empire, my people separated from them. We were labeled renegades and hunted down. We fled here, to these mountains, to maintain our ways, build our strength, and wait for the right time to return. In exchange for my presence here, your master will leave my people in peace to pursue our task.”
The wall of blank stares was not encouraging. So much for the official speech. “I don’t know how much my predecessors taught you,” Ileni said, “so we’ll start with a simple demonstration of skill. Please observe carefully.”
With a dramatic flourish, she held out her hand, and a light appeared above her palm. It was the same spell she had used in the passageways yesterday, a minor magic that didn’t even require speech. She muttered a short spell to add a little dazzle to it, making the light shoot off sparks as if its power was difficult to contain.
“Can any of you duplicate that?”
The silence stretched—did it feel heavy, or was that simply the weight of solid rock above them? She closed her fist and banished the light with a frown that hid her relief. “Well. We had better start with the basics, then. Do you know the eight preparation exercises?”
“Of course we do,” one of the boys said. He was taller than the others, with the almond-shaped eyes and blue-black hair of imperial Rathian blood. How had one of the high nobility of the Empire ended up training to be an assassin? “If we are taught something, we know it. Not just because our lives may depend on it someday, but because we would disappoint the master if we didn’t. We do not disappoint the master. Don’t insult us with stupid questions.”
Ileni had no patience for smug, narrow-minded, overconfident enthusiasts. She had been one herself until half a year ago, which did nothing to increase her tolerance. “Your name?”
“Irun.” He leaned back on his hands, posturing for the other students, who were watching him. All except one; Sorin’s eyes were still on her. “And Absalm didn’t waste time on flashy light tricks. He was teaching us things that would actually be useful to us. Like fire spells.”
“You’re not ready for fire spells,” Ileni said.
“Aren’t we?”
His snide tone was all the warning she needed. She flipped up a defense spell, spitefully adding a mirror-aspect that would double whatever he threw at her before bouncing it back at him.
But he didn’t aim his attack at her. Instead he half-turned and, with a flip of his hand and a sharp, vicious phrase, sent a bolt of green fire directly at one of his classmates.
Ileni dropped her shield and, with a word, threw her own bolt of pure white fire. It shattered Irun’s attack seconds before it would have hit its intended victim. The two spells formed a blazing ball of energy, and she had to cast another spell to keep the impact contained. The ball collapsed in on itself and disappeared, leaving the cave looking even darker than before, and Ileni barely able to stand.
She hissed between her teeth. She had better things to spend her strength on than protecting killers-in-training. She whirled on Irun.
“What exactly was that?”
“A demonstration,” he said, “of what we have learned. Though none of your predecessors taught us that defense. Perhaps that could be our next lesson?”
His tone was . . . no longer snide. And though his eyes were still on hers, his head was slightly lowered, enough to give the impression that he was looking up at her. Ileni quickly scanned the others’ faces and saw no shock or outrage on any of them. Was there respect, or was she imagining that?
She focused on Irun’s intended victim—who would certainly have been badly hurt had she not stopped the attack spell. He looked young, with round cheeks and red-brown hair. He sat as still as if the attack hadn’t happened, his hands rock steady. But when he met her gaze, his eyes were those of a hunted animal.
Ironically, he practically blazed with magical power—power that her training allowed her to sense, but that his training, obviously, hadn’t equipped him to use. She had noticed him as soon as she entered the room.
Ileni drew in a deep breath, gathering energy with it. With luck, she could remain upright long enough to finish the lesson.
“The first thing I teach,” she snapped, “will be control. I’ve never seen such a waste of power.” Here, she realized suddenly, was the excuse she had been looking for. “The most important part of your training has been sorely neglected. Before you can perform any act of magic, you need to strengthen your minds. That requires daily practice. We’ll begin with the nine-pointed meditations.”
Irun’s chin came up, and she met his defiant eyes squarely. She didn’t have to feign her lack of fear. She was too exhausted to feel much of anything. After a moment he looked down again.
“Absalm didn’t teach that way,” he muttered.
“He would have, if he’d had time to finish his teaching. He certainly did not expect you to use that spell without adequate preparation. You will not attack one of your fellow students again without my permission. Is that understood?”
He nodded curtly.
“Good.” She swept her gaze around the rest of the room and saw that everyone’s eyes were respectfully lowered. Maybe that expenditure of power had been worth it after all. Or would be, once she could breathe without effort again.
Later that night, as she slept fitfully on her narrow bed, someone touched her elbow. She rolled over and murmured sleepily, “Tellis?”
And thudded off the bed onto the floor.
The fall drove the breath out of her body, leaving an empty space that was immediately flooded with grief. She gasped, not caring that she was flat on her stomach, completely vulnerable—
—to whomever had woken her in the first place.
She scrambled to get to her feet and turn around at the same time. Sorin took several slow strides back, his hands held up before him.
After a moment, Ileni decided to be furious rather than frightened. If he had come to kill her, he wouldn’t have bothered to wake her first. “What are you doing here?”
By the faint light of the glowstones, Sorin’s face looked sharp and feral. “Who is Tellis?”
“No one you have any right to ask about. Any more than you have a right to be here, in my room, in the middle of the night! How did you open the door?”
He smiled at her, a quick flash of white teeth. “It was already open.”
She stalked past him. There—a thin wedge of cloth, jammed into the corner between the doorpost and the floor. It would have kept the door from closing completely, and, therefore, the wards from working.
Furious—mostly at herself, for not being more careful—she kicked the cloth out into the corridor before turning back.
Sorin was watching her in a way that made her suddenly remember she was wearing only a long sleep-tunic. He was in the same gray tunic and gray pants he wore during the day. She fought not to blush, failed, and lifted her chin.
He spread his arms out from his sides, in a manner she suspected was supposed to look innocent. It didn’t. Like every move he made, it radiated honed menace. “It is not your room. You have been given the use of it, that is all. Everything in these caves belongs to the master.”
“Thank you for the lesson in assassin ideology—”
“And he wants to see you,” Sorin said. “I was sent to summon you.”
In the ensuing silence, Ileni discovered that it was possible to be simultaneously furious and frightened. “All right,” she said finally. “Will you wait outside while I dress?”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“The master wants to see you immediately.”
“I think you’re being a bit too literal—”
“He said specifically that you weren’t to get dressed first.” Sorin’s face was like stone, all hints of emotion wiped from it. Did that mean he was embarrassed?
“Does he think I have spells woven into my clothes?” But even as she said it, Ileni knew that wasn’t it. He wanted her vulnerable; wanted her to understand that she was under his control. That, as Sorin had pointed out, everything in these caves was his. Including her.
She understood it perfectly. But she would be buried before she paraded the fact in her nightclothes.
Sorin was silent, waiting. She said, “All right, then, don’t leave,” and walked past him to the clothes chest near the far wall.
His eyes widened slightly as she pulled out a skirt. She could practically see him running his options through his mind. He didn’t have many—at least, she didn’t think he did. She hoped he wasn’t coming up with any she hadn’t considered.
Apparently not. As she reached down to lift the hem of her sleeping tunic over her head, he spun around and stared hard at the wall.
Ileni dropped the hem, instead pulling the long brown skirt over it and lacing on her scuffed leather shoes. She did it so quickly that the right felt too loose and the left too tight, but she didn’t take the time to fix them. Impatience and disapproval radiated from Sorin’s tight shoulders. “I’m done,” she said.
“Then come,” Sorin said tersely, and strode out the door without bothering to turn around.
He walked fast, making Ileni scurry to keep up. She considered demanding that he slow down, but having won the argument about her clothes, she wasn’t about to start another, especially one she would probably lose. The top of her left shoe cut into her ankle with each step, which did nothing to improve her mood.
Sorin led her through the dark corridors, in the opposite direction from the dining cavern and training area. The faint light of the glowstones was barely enough to let her see his back and the ground in front of her. She concentrated on memorizing the way.
After numerous twists and turns—some of which, she darkly suspected, were unnecessary—Sorin paused in an irregularly shaped cavern. Masses of thin stalactites hung from the ceiling like tiny knives, the dusky light of the glowstones reflecting off them as if they were macabre chandeliers. In the center, a large stalactite hanging from the ceiling and an equally large stalagmite growing from the ground had met and fused together, forming a long column of almost pure-white rock, thick at its base, narrowing at its center, and then thickening again when it met the ceiling. Hundreds of little marks were carved into the sides of the natural pillar.
“What is that?” she asked, glad of an excuse to pause and lean against a wall. Sorin’s quick pace, and the itching pain in her left ankle, had drained her surge of adrenaline.