Assassin's Heart (11 page)

THE WATER WAS FREEZING FROM SPRING RUNOFF, AND
it saturated my clothes. My cloak and boots weighed me down. I struggled, kicking against the fabric as I reached for the surface.

I broke through and took a deep breath. I grabbed the edge of the canal and searched the alley, but Alessio had fled. He seemed to enjoy starting things, but never stuck around to see them through.

“Typical.” I pulled myself from the canal, grimacing at the muck now coating my leathers. I squeezed my hair to prevent it from dripping into my eyes any further.

Damn him.
Damn everything in this whole damned city. This whole country!

I'd been on my own for days now and nothing had gone right.

My shoulder bled. I pinched my eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. My chest felt tight against my leathers. My eyes
stung.
Don't think about it, Lea. Don't think about anything. Just get to your safe house, get clean and dry. Things will look better.

On the way back home I scoured the street where I'd confronted Alessio. Casings from the smoke bombs he'd somehow managed to use against me littered the cobblestones. I picked one up and sniffed. It smelled strange, a chemical I didn't recognize. The casing was surprisingly brittle, and it crumbled between my fingers with barely any pressure. How did he stop them from breaking in his pouch? And how had he thrown them without me seeing him do so?

I remembered the flash, too, at the very beginning. I'd never seen smoke bombs put off any light before.

Mysteries. He had cloaked himself in mysteries. I would have to keep my eyes wide open when I dealt with him again.

At my safe house, I removed the boards blocking the window and climbed in tugging the boards back into place. I dripped filthy, smelly canal water across the dusty floor. At a stack of old crates I slipped off my wet leathers and cloak. I yanked my mask from my face. It stared at me with Rafeo's tiger stripes. I set it gently on the ground.

My shoulder burned with fresh pain. Where some of the stitches had popped, my flesh looked red and inflamed, though any bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Removing the bandages, I prodded the wound gently and was rewarded with a pinch of pain. Wonderful.

I hung my bandages up to dry and returned to my monastery
robe before collapsing onto my saddle-blanket bed.

I'd only had a single lead, and it turned out to be nothing. Well, not nothing. A false clipper with a crooked smile. But not my uncle, whom I still needed to find.

I rolled onto my side, the heavy key around my neck resting against my chin. This wasn't working—what had made me think it would be easy to find someone who'd remained hidden for decades? I couldn't do anything right, starting with keeping my Family safe or trusting someone I'd believed I loved to not murder my Family while we slept.

Thinking about Val made my chest tighten, my skin flush. I shouldn't have spared a single thought for him. His Family killed my Family. He should be dead to me.

But maybe
he
didn't have anything to do with it. Yes, he'd lifted my key, but maybe he wasn't even there.

He had to have known. He could've stopped it, or at least made an effort.

He could've warned me.

I probably wouldn't ever be sure.

I rubbed my face with the palm of my hand, my calluses dragging against my skin.

There was no point in wondering about things. Val was a Da Via. Even if he wasn't involved, he hadn't done anything to stop what had happened. We were done, he and I. I had to kill his Family. I
would
kill his Family. I would make them bleed and choke and beg for mercy. As for him, I'd cross that crooked bridge later. Right now I needed to come up with a new plan.

The fake clipper was the key. He wasn't the lead I'd expected, or wanted, but he was still a lead. He could bring me to Marcello, even if he didn't realize it.

All right. I'd been delayed only a few days. And yes, the Addamos were after me, and I'd be a fool to think the Da Vias wouldn't be after me soon, if they weren't already, but I needed to keep my head down and find my uncle. And when I did, he would help me find and kill the Da Vias. Everything else was just distraction.

I didn't know anything about my uncle. My father refused to speak of him, and all my mother ever said was he'd been exiled from the Family for killing his uncle, the head of the Saldanas at the time. Killing your own Family members was an anathema, so it was no surprise he was banished. And none of the other Families would take in a cast-out clipper.

Why he had killed his uncle, his own flesh and blood, was a mystery to me. The Da Vias and Maiettas were somehow involved.

He'd murdered his own blood, but I couldn't help but think about how much I wanted to see him. Not just for my plans, but because he was all that was left of the Saldanas besides me. He was a link to everyone and everything I'd lost. I closed my eyes and clenched my hands to my chest. My grief was all I had left of my Family.

I exhaled slowly and released my fists. My burned palm ached.

I hadn't gotten any real sleep in much too long. I'd need to catch up if I wanted to accomplish my plans for tomorrow.

I tucked my legs underneath my robe and thought of a boy with a long neck and a crooked smile.

Tomorrow, false clipper.
Tomorrow I'm coming for you.

The next night my newly bandaged shoulder felt bulky and awkward under my leathers. I ignored it and instead relished the feel of the tiled rooftops beneath my boots as I headed north once again.

My uncle lived somewhere in this city. Alessio knew where. All I had to do was find him and follow him until he led me to Marcello.

Alessio thought he was a clipper, and maybe he had some natural talent for it, but he had no idea what it was like to deal with a
real
Loveran clipper. Probably even fumbling Alexi Addamo could've given Alessio a fight.

I reached the street near where I'd found him yesterday. I crouched behind a chimney, arranging my body and legs so I'd be ready to spring at a moment's notice. No more taking things easy. This was a job. Alessio was my mark.

Patience was the first thing I'd learned as a child. Even before I began my training as a clipper at age six, my parents and nursemaids and tutors spent what seemed like hours each day, teaching me to wait quietly for the things I wanted. Looking back, I appreciated this early lesson. Especially since the streets of Yvain were so quiet and still once the sun set.

If I ever had children of my own, I'd definitely make them sit quietly before they got to have fun. All day long if I had to.

Of course, that life was over. When I found Marcello and killed the Da Vias, I would probably die in the fight. There was nothing left for me anyway.

It was a few hours past midnight when a man appeared below me. He hastened across a central square, pulling his felt hat low against the breeze.

It was strange to see someone out on the streets at night, but perhaps he had an emergency, something worth braving the ghosts for. The man walked quickly, trying to stay within the lights of any street lanterns that remained burning.

Run home, little man. There are worse things out tonight than angry ghosts.

The man vanished down a dark alley, his footfalls on the cobblestones quickly disappearing with him. A moment later a shadow appeared down the street, cast from above.

I shifted my position quietly and watched.

Alessio crept about on the roofs.

I exhaled behind my mask; my muscles trembled.

Alessio followed the man who'd crossed the square. And I followed Alessio, careful to keep him in my sight, but far enough away to keep his attention off the roofline.

He took his time as he stalked his prey, content to wait in the shadows as the minutes ticked by.

Damn. He wasn't actually that bad at this, the stalking part anyway.
Maybe he was unfinished, but he was a better clipper than I'd given him credit for. Of course, my uncle had trained him, so he had to have some Saldana skill.

The man walked across the street, following the light of
the streetlamps until they ended and he was forced to walk in the shadows.

Something flashed on the street. The man shouted but was immediately engulfed in smoke.

Alessio once again performed his showy trick of leaping blind from the roof. He disappeared into the smoke, landing presumably onto his mark to kill him with a single stroke.

The smoke cleared.

Alessio knelt beside the corpse. As he rifled through his mark's pouches, robbing the man, a bitter taste crept across my tongue. Robbing the dead was deplorable. Not even the lowest of the nine Families would sink so far.

Of course, in Lovero the coin flowed more freely to clippers. Maybe Alessio didn't have many contracts to fulfill.

Alessio dragged the body deeper into the shadows. After a quick look around, he climbed to the roofs and headed north.

I smiled behind my mask. Finally! He had to be heading home, and his home had to be with my uncle.

I trusted that Marcello, banished or not, still kept to the clipper ways. And clippers didn't live by themselves. It simply wasn't done. There was no safety in it. If my uncle was Alessio's trainer, and I didn't think Alessio had been lying, then they had to share a home.

Alessio led me deeper into Yvain, where the buildings were not as well maintained and only every other lamp had oil enough to light the streets.

I wrinkled my nose. My uncle must have truly fallen low
if he couldn't find better accommodations.

I thought of my own abandoned building. That was different, though. I'd had no choice. Alessio dropped off a roof and entered an alley. I waited another moment before doing the same.

The alley was empty. Alessio had disappeared.

I searched the roofs above me, making sure he hadn't doubled back, but no, the roofs were as empty as the alley. He'd vanished like an angry ghost at dawn.

I walked farther into the alley, carefully examining the street. There. A sewer grate suspiciously clear of debris and filth. The Saldanas had always used tunnels to reach their home, and old habits died slowly, if they died at all.

I squatted beside the grate. There didn't seem to be any lock. I tugged on the bars and it swung up easily, its hinges well oiled.

I guessed if they were the only clippers in a city, they didn't need locks.

I dropped into the tunnel. It wasn't anything like our tunnels in Lovero. Those had been designed to confuse and kill intruders. This one seemed to travel in a straight line. I trailed my right hand across a smooth surface until the tunnel ended at a ladder and another grate.

I climbed the rungs and carefully peeked out.

The grate opened into a small room, similar to the tunnel room in my home. The room was dim, the floor, walls, and ceiling nothing more than the stonework of the tunnel, but past a doorway a fire roared in a large hearth.

Alessio stood just a few feet away from me. Only my many years of training prevented me from rapidly closing the grate. The movement would attract his attention faster than the slight gap I peered through.

He stood before a small altar, dedicated to Safraella. He used a knife to cut his finger. When his blood welled up, he rubbed it over a coin and placed it on the altar. It was an old way of worship, but perhaps it was all he knew.

He left, disappearing into the room with the hearth and fire. I watched quietly. Rushing things would only lead to mistakes.

Alessio passed in front of the tunnel room. He'd removed his cloak and was unlatching the buckles securing his leather vest across his chest. He stepped out of sight, and I took the moment to slip out of the tunnel, hiding in a dark corner.

“He didn't have much,” Alessio said, but from my corner I couldn't see whom he addressed. I needed to make some decisions about how to proceed. I could simply walk in and announce myself. Or wait until the fire died down and ambush them. No, that would be dangerous, and I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted what I came for, the location of the Da Vias' home and Marcello's help.

I slid to the edge of the doorway, pressed against the wall. In the other room, coins clinked as they dropped into a dish or bowl. A sigh followed, and I could imagine Alessio stretching his arms the way Rafeo used to, when he had finished a job for the night and was glad to be home.

“Any troubles?” It was a man's voice, low and gruff. Marcello?

Alessio hesitated. “No. It's been quiet these last few nights.”

Liar.

“No trouble at all?” Footsteps clicked on the floor of the room.

“I'll be right back,” Alessio said. I heard the sound of splashing water.

Strange. Alessio was keeping me a secret.

The tip of a knife pricked against my throat and I froze. I turned my head, but the pressure increased and I stopped.

“Come out slowly,” a voice said from the other side of the doorway.

I'd lost my advantage.

I COULDN'T SEE HIM, THE PERSON WITH THE KNIFE
against my throat. He hid on the other side of the doorway.

I stepped from the tunnel room, my hands held before me as the knife pressed on my throat. The light from the great room burned brightly against my eyes. I shut them against the glare until the pain passed.

The hearth with a fire was in the center of the massive room. The areas surrounding it were broken into sections, each “room” separated by tapestries and silk screens decorated with dancing women, Loveran fountains, and masks.

In front of the fire rested two chairs and a sofa, as well as a small table where a book lay facedown, its spine protesting the treatment.

An unmade bed hid behind a tapestry displaying blond and brown wirehaired retrievers, and behind the fireplace sat weapons racks, clipper training tools, and stands. I hadn't been gone from Lovero for long, but seeing these little
reminders of its rich culture made my stomach coil with longing for the home I'd left behind.

“Keep moving,” the voice said behind me.

“What's going on?” Alessio stood in front of the hearth, wearing only a pair of trousers and a pendant around his neck, his damp hair dripping across his bare chest. I looked away from him and tried not to think about Val or Val's bare skin.

“Look what I found sneaking about.”

“How did she get in?” Alessio stared at me with his mouth agape.

“I came through the tunnel.”

The knife pressed tightly against my throat. “I don't remember saying you could speak.”

“But how did you find it?” Alessio asked me.

“Alessio!” my captor snapped.

“I followed you,” I answered.

My captor inhaled, then shoved a fist into my spine, marching me forward. Did he really think he could handle this situation with a single measly dagger? Time to regain my advantage.

I dropped, bending backward. The top of my head shoved against his chest.

He stumbled away, his dagger scraping across my mask.

I yanked out a dagger of my own. Alessio stared at me, in shock. My captor climbed back to his feet. He turned to confront me.

My breath caught in my throat. I lowered my weapon.

It was like seeing a ghost. Tears filled my eyes as I raised my weapon again. I'd given a lot of thought to little Emile, Jesep, and my parents. And Rafeo, who'd died in my arms. I'd grieved for them, but seeing this man before me, this man who could've been my father, showed me how much I wasn't done grieving for them. Showed me I'd never be done grieving for them.

He resembled my father, but the lines on his face were deeper, his hair longer and grayer, and he didn't wear my father's glasses.

“Is that any way to greet family,
Uncle
?” I asked.

“Family? Pah.” He spat to the side and slapped aside Alessio's offered hand of assistance. “I have no family.”

I closed my eyes. I'd expected him to be difficult. I just hadn't expected him to get the drop on me.

“Uncle?” Alessio looked between me and Marcello. He settled on me. “You didn't tell me you were related.”

“It was none of your business,” I snapped. “And you never asked.”

“You've been fraternizing with her?” Marcello sneered at Alessio. “How quickly the apprentice turns on the master.”

“I haven't done any such thing.” Alessio scowled at Marcello, then walked to a chair in front of the fireplace and pulled a worn cotton shirt over his head.

“This is why I said no jobs. This right here.” Marcello pointed at me. “And now you've brought trouble back to our home.”

Alessio sighed and waved his hand in my direction. “Clipper Girl, you can lower your weapon.”

“A clipper never lowers her weapon while a weapon is trained on her,” I quoted my father, and nodded toward the dagger still gripped in Marcello's hand.

“Master, please.”

“A clipper never lowers his weapon while a weapon is trained on him.” He mocked me.

Alessio threw his hands into the air. “By the gods, it's like reasoning with stubborn tigers! Master, I'll vouch for her. And Clipper Girl, you are a guest in our home.”

He was right. It was incredibly rude to draw weapons on the lord of a manor. And besides, I hadn't come here to fight. I'd come here for help.

I kept my eyes trained on Marcello as I slowly lowered my weapon. He sheathed his dagger and I followed.

“I won't deal with anyone hiding behind a mask,” Marcello announced.

I hissed. My mask was a holy symbol of Safraella Herself! “You blaspheme.”

He smiled slowly. “No masks allowed in our home.”

Alessio sighed. “Clipper Girl, please humor him. I've seen your face before, and apparently he's your family.”

I hated them. I hated that they had so much power over me, that because I needed them, I had to do what they said. I was powerless, like the night of the fire.

Just give them what they want.
The faster I cooperated, the faster I could get back to the plan
.
And I didn't have time to waste. I pushed down my hood and slid my mask to the crown of my head.

I stared at them, daring Alessio to brave a cocky comment, daring my uncle to gloat. A single wrong word and I'd show them what someone behind a mask could
truly
do.

“You are Bianca's daughter, Oleander,” Marcello said. “I can see much of her in your face. Not so much my brother Dante.”

“Oleander.” Alessio smiled slowly, and no matter how hard I searched I couldn't find malice or jest in his grin. “One of the prettiest of the poisons.”

“Lea,” I snapped. “Only my mother called me Oleander.”

Alessio inclined his head. “
Kalla
Lea.”

Marcello glowered, and I agreed. I didn't approve of Alessio calling me something in a language I didn't speak.

“And why have you come here?” Marcello strode to the kitchen. He lifted a carafe of amber liquor and poured a glass. “Has Dante come to his senses and sent you to fetch me home? Surely if you've come to end my life you would've done so by now. Unless the Saldana standards have fallen so low?”

I glared at him. Anger seeped through my limbs like hot honey. My cheeks burned and tears pricked my eyes. I blinked them away. “My father is dead.”

Marcello exhaled through his nose. “I see.” He took a drink. “Was it illness? An accident?”

“It was the Da Vias,” I spat. “They killed us. Everyone. My father and mother. Rafeo, Matteo, Emile, and Jesep. Even the servants. I am the only Saldana left.”

Marcello stared at me blankly. Tension coated the air as
Alessio glanced between the two of us.

Marcello looked at the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid slide across its surface as he rotated it in the light. His breath sounded rapid and harsh.

He screamed, a loud, guttural noise from deep in his body. He threw the glass across the room to shatter in the fireplace, the liquid hissing and sputtering in the flames.

Alessio covered his head when the glass soared past his face. He spun toward Marcello. “Gods, Master!” he shouted, but the anger leaked out of him as he saw my uncle's state.

Marcello stood unmoving, but his body shook as tears poured down his cheeks, tracing the lines of his face like a river through sand.

He wept for them. He wept for our Family. Would he weep so easily if he knew it was my fault? If he knew I'd trusted Val, which brought about their deaths? I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the key tucked beneath my leathers.

“Gods damn the Da Vias.” His voice hitched in a sob. He sank his face into his hands. “Gods damn them all.”

Alessio approached my uncle and, when he met no resistance, escorted him to a chair in front of the fire. I followed quietly behind and sat in the other chair while Alessio visited the kitchen and returned to my uncle with another glass of liquor.

“Drink this, Master,” he said quietly, pressing the glass into my uncle's hand. There was real tenderness in how Alessio cared for him. They must have been together a long
time, only the two of them, a sad little clipper Family in a country where the people feared the night. It must've been lonely.

“So this is why you came, niece?” Marcello's voice was gruff with tears and grief. “To torture me with memories?” He drank, the liquor splashing against the whiskers on his chin.

I shook my head. “No. Truthfully, I did not come for you at all. I came for me. I seek help.”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, then returned to staring at the fire. He took another drink. “And what could I possibly have that you would value? Tell us,
kalla
Lea
,
” he mocked. “Tell us what it is
you
need.”

As if he had the right to be angry. He wasn't there when our home burned. When Rafeo's blood spilled across my hands.

“The Da Vias,” I said. “You're going to help me kill them.”

He turned to me, surprise flashing in his eyes. And then he laughed in my face.