They both looked at her, Evin with bleary confusion, Ileni with sharp dread.
“You know we are preparing to attack the assassins,” Karyn told Evin. “We will kill their leader and scatter them, and then they won’t be able to do this to anyone, not for a long time. You can be part of accomplishing that. You could even lead us.”
“Yes,” Evin said. Just the word, but Ileni’s dread spread through her body.
“It’s the only way to save your brother.” Karyn walked across the room and placed one hand on the headboard of Girad’s bed. “If the assassins are left intact, they will keep coming after him until one of them succeeds. If you want to save Girad, if you want to put an end to the assassins—you will have to be better than you have been.”
Evin nodded. He rose, facing Karyn, and Ileni couldn’t see his expression. “I will be training, then.” He turned. Now Ileni could see his face, but she barely recognized it.
“Evin,” Ileni said. “Wait.”
He clenched his jaw, his long mobile face made alien by the grimness around his mouth, the hardness in his eyes. She thought he wanted to say something, but instead he walked out of the room.
Ileni was left staring across the stone floor at Karyn. Girad breathed slow and deep.
“You . . .” Ileni tried to gather her thoughts, the reasons for her fury.
Karyn laced her fingers over the headboard. Ileni thought of a spell Cyn had taught her that would slam that hand off Girad’s bed. “In times such as these, someone with Evin’s power cannot waste it weaving pretty colors together.”
Once, Ileni had thought almost the exact same thing, with the exact same edge of scorn. Once . . . about a week ago. It felt like much longer. “Evin doesn’t want to use his power to kill people.”
“Anyone can want to kill, given enough motivation.”
Ileni could hardly argue with that. She swallowed hard and said, instead, “Why haven’t you blocked me from the lodestones yet?”
“Because I think,” Karyn said, “that you’re ready to choose a side now. Do you really want to save Girad’s life? Betraying the assassins is the only way to do that.”
Ileni couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and—despite all her agonizing, all the thoughts that had worn grooves into her mind—couldn’t think of a thing to say.
So instead of saying anything, she went after Evin.
She caught up with him at the beginning of the bridge, where he was walking instead of flying, his steps slow and heavy. She ran the few steps to catch him, making the bridge sway wildly beneath them, and grabbed his arm.
“Evin, wait—”
He whirled, eyes wide. “Is Girad—”
“No! Girad is sleeping. Still.”
Evin let out a breath, and Ileni stood staring up at him, trying to think of something to say. The moment stretched on and on.
“Don’t cry,” Evin said.
She hadn’t been aware, until he said it, that she was crying. She tasted salt on her lips.
“I mean—I’m sorry. What a stupid thing to say. Of course you can cry.” Evin reached out and, with his thumb, blotted a tear on her cheek. His other hand was still clutching his brother’s wooden dog. “I’m going to change it. I’m going to make sure they never kill again.”
“No.” Ileni tightened her grip on his forearm. “Don’t. Nobody can change the way things are.” Nobody but me. “Girad needs you, and you—you shouldn’t have to be something you’re not.”
“If I change,” Evin said, “that will be what I am.”
And it would be. No one could force themselves back into innocence. She searched Evin’s eyes for a hint of the wry, careless humor she had once despised.
She would never forgive Sorin for killing this.
“Don’t worry,” Evin said. “I’ll still be the best at whatever I end up being.” His smile was small and forced, but in it, Ileni saw a flicker of his old self.
Above them, a sound, so faint it might have been the wind.
Evin followed Ileni’s gaze and sighed. He stepped back. The bridge tilted beneath them.
Lis dove headfirst and straightened when she was hovering beside them. She put one hand on the rail and said to Evin, “I’m sorry.”
Bleakness settled on Evin’s face, wiping away that brief glimmer. “Thank you. He will—I’m sure he will be all right.”
But he didn’t sound sure at all.
Lis drew in a breath, and her face twisted with an expression Ileni recognized.
Guilt.
I know exactly who Arxis is, Lis had said.
Ileni met Lis’s eyes, and Lis whirled so fast her hair whipped audibly through the air. She leaped upward, arms tight at her sides, and streaked across the pink sky.
“I should go,” Evin said. He lifted his hand toward Ileni’s face, then let it drop. “I should train.”
“Yes,” Ileni said. She curled one hand around the railing. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean—I—I have to go, too.”