Girad let out a loud and very fake snore.
Ileni risked a glance at Evin. His brow was furrowed, but he didn’t look angry. Yet.
“You saved Girad’s life,” he said finally. Not to her so much as to himself. “You didn’t know what you were doing when you put him at risk. But you knew what you were doing when you saved him.”
It was partly true. She didn’t quite have the courage to say, I thought it was your life I was risking.
“They’re fighting the Empire,” she said instead. What did it matter if Girad heard this? He, of all people, should know the truth about this fight. “I’ve seen where imperial power comes from. The entire Academy is fueled by death. You know that, don’t you”
It came out savage. Evin shrugged. “Of course I know. I still don’t see being conquered by assassins as a better alternative.”
“But there’s another way.” She realized she was squeezing the armrest, and loosened her grip. “You gave me your magic, and I used it to heal you.”
“Thank you again.”
“Don’t you realize what that means?” She swiveled in her chair to face him. “It means the ill, the dying—they don’t have to give their lives to the Empire. They have another option. Once people realize this is possible, why would anyone give their power to a lodestone? When they know that same power, given to a sorcerer, could be used to heal them?”
“Ah,” Evin said neutrally.
A shiver of doubt ran through Ileni. Evin was part of the Empire, and always would be. It was the only world he knew. Perhaps she shouldn’t tell him she had planted the seed of its destruction.
But she knew, now, that doubt didn’t mean she was wrong. It just meant she had considered that she might be.
“And I,” Ileni said, “will make sure they know about it.”
Evin lowered his head slightly, eyes searching her face. “How?”
“I haven’t worked that out yet.” Ileni sat back against the hard wood of the chair. “But most basic healing isn’t difficult. Even low-level sorcerers can be taught. If there are enough healers, and if the word is spread . . .” The enormity of the undertaking—and its slowness—overwhelmed her. She remembered, suddenly, the scorn in Evin’s voice when he’d said, I have great and noble ambitions. I want to save the world.
She stopped talking.
Evin waited, patiently, for several seconds. Then he said, “Sounds like you could use some help.”
For a moment Ileni couldn’t breathe. “Probably.”
He reached for her hand. Ileni fought her first impulse, which was to pull away. His fingers curled protectively around hers.
Hope could hurt as much as fear. She forced herself to say, “You don’t owe me anything. I told you.”
“All right, then.” Evin shrugged. “I suppose you’ll have to owe me.”
He looked back at Girad, and so did she. She watched the small body curled in the bed, each breath making his torso rise and fall.
Thinking would have disturbed this moment of peace, this odd creeping happiness, so she let her mind smooth into exhausted blankness.
She was still holding Evin’s hand when she fell asleep.
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The black room was heavy with smoke and ashes. Shards of rock lay strewn across the ground, and in the corner, the master’s chair had been reduced to a few blackened fragments of wood. But in the center of the room, a jagged chalk pattern surrounded a smooth black circle unmarked by destruction. Absalm had drawn his protection spell just in time.
Sorin knelt in the center of the circle, crouched over the mirror on the floor. It, too, had been protected by the spell that had kept him—and Absalm—alive. It was flat and shiny, unbroken.
He stood, leaned back, and smashed his foot into the center of the mirror.
Glass shattered outward. One shard hit Sorin right below the eye, and a trickle of blood ran down his cheek. He stamped on the largest piece. It cracked loudly, tiny slivers cascading across the floor.
Careful. But there was no one to see him. Absalm had raced off to control the fire, as best he could, and check the damage to the rest of the caves. Sorin should be with him. Not that he could do much to help, but he should see the destruction that had resulted from his foolishness.
His muscles were so tight they hurt. He got lithely to his feet and walked to the small square window. Black soot covered new hairline fractures on the stone windowsill.
From here, he could see the path winding through the hazy mountains. For a moment, he fancied he saw a slim gray figure walking down that path, away from him, her brownhair swinging against her hood. He blinked, and there was nothing but the road, long and empty, stretching to the horizon and beyond.
And that was as it should be. He dug his knuckles into the sill and let go of his unworthy desire. A pang went through him, so sharp it seemed like physical pain.
But it wasn’t pain. It was relief. She had been a vulnerability, nothing more. He saw that now. And finally, that weakness was gone.
I’ll be here, he had told her. When you do come back.
But she was never coming back.
He turned away from the window and headed toward the door. A large broken glass lay in his path. He ground the heel of his shoe into it, rubbing it back and forth until the crunching sounds stopped, and then he kept walking.
He hesitated, for just a second, at the threshhold. His shoulder twitched, as if he was about to look back.
Instead he started down the stairs, deeper into the interior caves, and kicked the door shut softly behind him.
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Ileni’s eyes snapped open to the sight of Karyn looming over her. The sorceress’s eyes were black, and blue-white light crackled between her fingers.
Ileni jerked upward in the chair. Her hand had dropped out of Evin’s while they slept, and she clasped it now around the armrest, steadying herself.
Wake up, she thought at Evin. But his lashes rested against his cheeks, and his breaths were soft and even.
“Come with me,” Karyn said.
Both Evin and Girad were peacefully slumbering. Ileni swallowed. “I don’t think so.”
Karyn curled her fingers together. Light sputtered between her knuckles. “Why not?”
“Because,” Ileni said, “I’ve noticed an interesting thing about you imperial sorcerers. You don’t like to kill when people are watching.”
Karyn let out a breath. She opened her hands and spread them to her sides. The blue-white light stretched between her palms, becoming more and more translucent, then disappeared.
“You really need to stop assuming,” Karyn said, “that people want to kill you.”
“No,” Ileni said. “Actually, I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.”
She reached for her magic—still gone, of course—then kicked the side of Evin’s chair. His body slumped over sideways, but he went on sleeping.
“I just want to talk to you.” Karyn’s voice was silk sliding over steel. “Without interruption. Things yesterday did not go as planned, and I want to know why.”
“Mostly,” Ileni said, “because your plan wasn’t a very good one.”
“Really.” Karyn crossed her arms over her chest.
“Really. What would killing him have accomplished?” Her throat almost closed up when she said killing him. She forced herself on. “I already killed their leader once. It didn’t stop them.”
“Because another leader was ready to step up, and they all knew who it was.” Karyn shook her head. “That’s not the case this time. It will take them years to regroup.”
“But they’ll do it,” Ileni said. “You don’t know them. Even if he was dead, it wouldn’t end th
is forever.”
Karyn gave her a pitying look. “Nothing will end it forever. But for now, they wouldn’t be a threat.”
Ileni didn’t know if Sorin was dead—she didn’t want to have to hope he was. But she knew what kind of devastation that fire must have wreaked in those dry, narrow stone passageways. Many of the other assassins must be dead, and their stronghold nearly destroyed. Even if Sorin was alive, it would be years before they were at full strength again. Years before they could resume their missions.
Which meant for now, Girad was safe.
Karyn’s lips thinned. She brought her hands together and clasped them in front of her chest. Ileni braced herself.
A low, clear laugh rang through the room.
“Well,” Cyn said from the doorway, “nobody can say the Renegai aren’t brave. Stupid, yes. But that’s an entirely different argument, don’t you think?”
She was leaning against the doorpost, wearing a fluttery bright green dress. Her hair shadowed one of her eyes, but the other was faintly narrowed.
“What plan were you talking about?” Cyn went on, as calmly as if Karyn wasn’t looking daggers at her, as if the air around the sorceress’s hands wasn’t sizzling with power.
Silence. Cyn tilted her head to the side.
“We had a chance to trap and kill the master of the assassins,” Karyn said finally. “But he was prepared. Someone warned him.”
Cyn’s face went very still, and Ileni wondered if she knew—or suspected—her sister’s true allegiance. Cyn knew about Lis’s entanglement with Arxis. And by now, everyone knew what Arxis had been.
Yesterday, Ileni would have been glad to see Lis punished for this. Even if it wasn’t her fault, so many other things were. But now, watching fear transform Cyn’s face, she hesitated. Then she threw her head back and, very deliberately, laughed.
It sounded fake and wooden, but it got their attention.
“No one warned him,” Ileni said. “He is always prepared.”
“Even for treachery from someone he loved?” Karyn said.
Ileni managed not to flinch at that—though Cyn did, so slightly that only the quivering of her hair gave her away. Ileni knew, then, that she was right. Cyn did know about her sister’s treachery and was keeping silent about it.
“Especially for that,” Ileni said. “That was your mistake yesterday. And if not for me, you would have died for that mistake. Sorin would have killed you while you lay there unconscious.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you stay,” Karyn snapped, and the edge in her voice sliced through the air.
Ileni glanced swiftly, again, at Cyn. Then she focused on Karyn. “You’ll let me stay,” she said, “because I can teach your students something you can’t. I can tutor them in healing.”
“And why,” Karyn said, “would I be interested in that?”
Ileni crossed her arms over her chest. “Because the assassins are no longer an immediate threat. So you won’t need as much power any more. Will you?”
Karyn came to attention, and once again doubt stabbed Ileni. She took a breath. “Evin sent a fireball into the caves. The assassins will be rebuilding for a long time. And when Evin was dying, he gave me his power—”
“Evin appears rather not dead,” Cyn observed.
Karyn was perfectly still. Ileni couldn’t tell what she was thinking. So she spoke to Cyn. “That’s right. He’s not. Because instead of taking his power, I used it to heal him.”
Silence. Karyn’s mouth tightened, the only sign that she understood. Cyn was still staring, not at Ileni or Karyn, but at Evin.
“It didn’t even take all his power.” The words spilled out of Ileni in a rush—not careful, controlled, the way she wanted to tell it. “Healing spells almost never do. And whatever I used, it’s not lost to him forever. He’ll get it back. His power will grow back, because it’s his.”
“Good to know,” Cyn said. Ileni couldn’t read her voice.
“I could do the same for others,” Ileni said. “I could train other sorcerers to heal as well. We could save lives instead of ending them.”
She threw it out like a challenge. Go on, Karyn. Let your most important sorceress hear that it’s their deaths you’re interested in. That you don’t care about lives.
Karyn looked at Ileni, her fury almost palpable. The air around her sizzled—and then, slowly, went still. Karyn smiled, and the smile was more frightening than the power gathered within her.
“Well,” she said slowly. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”
Cyn flung out one arm and shouted, a short, savage spell. A beam of silver sparkles shot from her hands, whizzed past Ileni, and exploded in an iridescent shimmer against Evin’s slumbering form.
Evin jerked awake, eyes wide. He looked first at Cyn, then at Ileni, then at Girad, and—finally—at Karyn. “What—”
“Ileni was telling us something interesting,” Cyn said sweetly. “I thought you might want to hear it.”
Karyn pressed her lips together. Evin straightened, ran a hand through his rumpled hair, then rubbed his bleary eyes. “Okay?”
“That was hardly necessary, Cyn,” Karyn said. “I understand perfectly what Ileni is saying. And it’s wonderful.”
Ileni went very still.
“No one has to die,” she repeated. But it came out uncertain.
“Of course not,” Karyn said smoothly. “It was always regrettable, that people had to die to give their power to the Empire.”
Evin tensed, as if he knew where Karyn was heading. It took Ileni a few moments longer, and then a slow cold dread settled in her stomach.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
But she did. She just didn’t want to.
Karyn looked at her through hooded eyes, as if she knew Ileni understood, but would condescend to explain anyhow. “I am sure they would much rather give their power in exchange for their lives.”
“No,” Ileni said.
“You don’t see how it would work?” Karyn wasn’t bothering to hide her smirk. “It doesn’t have to be their power that heals them, does it? It can be a simple exchange. Power into a lodestone, at the moment of death, in exchange for last-minute healing from a sorcerer. You told me once you could heal dozens of people with one lodestone. We would still gain far more power than we lost.”
“That seems risky,” Evin observed, his voice cool but nonchalant. “Waiting for the moment of death.”
Karyn shrugged. “It’s a chance to live. People will take it.”
“No,” Ileni said again. Her voice caught. “It’s not—that’s not what I wanted.”
Karyn sighed. Her voice turned gentle—as if she was talking to a child. “It doesn’t matter what you want, Ileni.”
Ileni wasn’t aware that she was moving until she heard the chair thud to the floor behind her. The passageways blurred around her as she ran, feet pounding and stumbling on the stone. She didn’t stop until she was on the ledge outside the mountain, staring at the brilliant blue sky, at the spire where Sorin had stood, at the distant plateau where Evin had lain dying beneath her hands.
She should have known better than to think the Empire could be brought down by an act of healing. She should have taken the only chance she’d ever had to change things.
Sorin had been right. She never should have come here in the first place.
“It will be all right,” Evin said behind her.
She faced him, putting her back to the drop, heedless of her lack of magic. She knew Evin would catch her if she fell.
“Don’t be stupid,” she said with a savageness he didn’t deserve. “Nothing will be all right. They’re just going to keep taking magic from people, in exchange for healing them.”
“It’s still better, isn’t it?” Evin said. “Better than killing them.”
It was. Of course it was. But she had thought . . . she was suddenly ashamed to tell him what she had thought. That she would singlehandedly change everything, make it not ju
st better but actually good.
“Besides,” Evin added offhandedly, “they need you to teach them to heal, don’t they? It’s not as if you have no power here.”
Said by someone who didn’t understand power. Even so, a glimmer sparked in Ileni—just for a moment—before it was buried under the knowledge of what she would be up against.
“Nothing is going to change,” she said wearily. “It doesn’t matter what I try to do. They’re going to win.”
“They’re going to win some of the time.” Evin grinned. “I bet we can win some of the time, too.”
He said we so naturally, without even a pause. Ileni did hesitate, though, before she met his brown eyes.
“Actually,” she said, “I’d bet most of the time.”
“Well. You are the ambitious one.”
Ileni swallowed hard.
“Yes,” she said. “I am. But it’s all going to be the same, for a very long time. The sorcerers will have all the power, and the assassins will eventually regather and start attacking again . . . and I haven’t made any difference at all.”
“Well,” Evin said, “I think you’ve made quite a bit of difference to the people whose lives you saved. Speaking as one of them.”
She stepped away from the edge, closer to him.
“Do you regret it?” he asked evenly.
His face was half-shadowed, but his eyes were bright and piercing. Not wide with pain and devoid of hope. She felt again his hand, limp and helpless in hers. Felt it tighten as Sorin plummeted past the gray rock.
“No,” she said. And for at least that moment, it was entirely true.
Because this, as it turned out, was her destiny. Not to be the powerful sorceress her people had been waiting for, not to be the ruthless killer the assassins needed. Her destiny was to save one person at a time, change things one tiny step at a time
It still hurt, a tinge of loss. Her life wouldn’t be grand, or dramatic, or momentous. There would be no great choices to make, no moments when everything would change. It would make a dull story if she was ever called upon to tell it.