Page 94

“These are Lasreen, the two sides of the goddess. Sun and moon, life and death. I carry them both in my hands.” She turned her palms over, thoughtful. Her voice softened. “All the Amhara have them.”

The assassin traced the sun on one palm, then the moon on the other.

Corayne watched her for a long, quiet moment. She felt herself edging out onto thin ice.

“Are you all right, Sorasa?”

Sorasa’s hands dipped back into the water with a splash. “I’m perfectly fine,” she snapped.

“You didn’t speak for a month,” Corayne said gently. She took a seat by the bath, perching on a small stool.

“I’m speaking now.” The assassin sounded more like a petulant child than a killer. She turned her attention to the soap, running it over her arms. “And I say I’m fine.” Her teeth gleamed in the firelight. “The Amhara made me what I am. I only did what they taught me.”

It was a precarious balance, Corayne knew. Every question could push her—or Sorasa—over the edge. But she wasn’t asking for her own curiosity, not anymore. She saw the pain behind Sorasa’s eyes, burning even behind the wall in her mind.

“Did you know them?”

Sorasa sucked in a breath. Her eyelids fluttered. She balanced too. “Every single one.”

Firewood splintered in the hearth and Corayne flinched, her gut twisting.Every single one.She knew little of Sorasa’s life in the Amhara Guild, but enough to understand. The assassins had been her family once, whether she would admit it or not. And now twelve of them lay fallen in her wake, twelve brothers and sisters who had lived at her side and died by her hand.

“Why were you exiled?” Corayne’s throat was dry.

Sorasa smoothed back her hair, pressing it away from her now-clean face. Without the dirt and black powder, the assassin looked younger. She fixed Corayne with a bold stare. “I thought you said that was my business.”

Corayne shrugged out of the blanket and went to the clothes on the bed. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wonder,” she said.

In the bath, Sorasa said nothing.

Corayne expected no reply and pulled the clothes on. She shivered at the feel of soft linen on her skin. Like everything else, it felt foreign after so many weeks in worn traveling gear. The dress fit snugly over the underclothes, skimming the curves of her body, with the neckline arcing below her collarbone. In Lemarta, Corayne hardly wore dresses at all. There was just no reason to, even for festivals. But she did not dislike them.

She watched her own reflection in the small looking glass. It was barely bigger than a piece of parchment, the glassy surface pitted and cloudy, but she swirled the skirt back and forth, admiring what she could see.

“A man hated his wife, and wanted to destroy her.”

Turning, Corayne raised an eyebrow. Sorasa didn’t react, staring into the fire, the soap forgotten, the waters of the bath swirling with road dust.

“He took out a contract,” the assassin said, the flames jumping up. Heat pulsed through the room.

“But not for her,” Corayne whispered.

“I’ve killed children before.” Sorasa’s eyes mirrored the hearth, dancing with hot red light. “But this—it felt wrong. And very little feels wrong to me.” One of her hands dipped below the water, to her ribs, touching a tattoo Corayne couldn’t see. “I went back to the citadel. But Lord Mercury had to make an example.”

“Because you failed to kill the child?”

“Because Irefused,” Sorasa said. Her expression hardened, a flicker of anger crossing her face. “Failure is acceptable, but not disobedience.We serve.That is our deepest teaching. And I did not serve, could not serve. So Lord Mercury marked me asosara, and cast me into the sea.” Memory welled in her eyes, and she tsked under her breath. “Men are so unsuited to power.”

Corayne laughed darkly. “Women aren’t terribly good at it either.”

“Erida is a specimen all her own. And your uncle too.”

It was Corayne’s turn to harden, a terrible shiver going down her spine. She picked at her gown, trying not to think of Taristan and his army. His eyes an abyss, the memory of them frightening even now.

They would swallow her up if given the chance.

And swallow the world too.

The Spindleblade lay across the foot of the bed, nearly as long as the bed was wide. The sheath hid some of its magic, dulling thecall of Spindleblade to Spindleblood, but Corayne could still feel its echo. She drew a finger over the leather. By now she knew each scratch and dent, the cracks and worn places, battered by her journey, by Andry’s. And by Cortael’s. Her thumb worked over the hilt of the sword, as if she could feel his fingers there.