Assassin's Heart (13 page)

Wait.

“They flashed when they first went off.”

He nodded. “The time bombs use a different chemical reaction than the regular smoke bombs. It's actually a small fire that's extinguished by the smoke. They're mostly free of danger.”

A small fire extinguished by the smoke. “Could it be a bigger fire?” I asked. “Something that isn't extinguished? A kind of firebomb?”

His eyebrows creased, and he stared at me. “I don't know. Maybe. Why?”

“You asked me if I would train you that first night. Isn't my uncle training you?”

“This seems an abrupt change of topic.”

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to respond. He took another sip of water, organizing his thoughts. “My master hasn't been a clipper in close to thirty years, and I had to beg him to teach me,
beg
him. Finally he relented, because he thought it would
keep me safe. When he discovered I'd started taking jobs last year, he stopped all my training. He doesn't approve, thinks I'll get hurt or worse. When I saw you that first night . . . you're the only true clipper I've ever met.”

He watched people as they walked past our table. “All I've ever wanted to be was a clipper. And I thought, here's someone who can teach me.
Truly
teach me, if she's willing.”

“Why would you want to be a clipper?” I asked. I'd been born into this life. And, yes, in Lovero most people would claw at the chance to join a Family, for the power and wealth and status. But there was no prestige for clippers here.

His eyebrows twitched. “When I was a boy,” he started slowly, weighing his words, “my mother was robbed and murdered. And I was orphaned and living on the streets, hiding in dark corners once the sun set, raging over the man who had taken my family from me, terrified of the angry ghosts and despairing of loneliness. And then my master found me.

“He brought me to his home, a hidden palace beneath the streets of Yvain, and he fed me and clothed me and kept me safe. And as we grew closer he told me about his life before, and of Safraella, and I knew that was where I belonged. Serving a goddess who would promise me another life after this one, if I followed Her dark design. If my mother had been Her follower, I would've slept easier after her death, knowing she had been granted a new life.

“This is why I want to be a clipper. My master, he gives me glimpses of what that life can truly be, but he keeps me
from fully embracing it. You could give it to me. You could teach me. We could rebuild your Family.”

Rebuild my Family. All I'd been thinking about was destroying the Da Vias. I'd assumed I'd die in the process. But if I didn't and I killed them all and still lived, if Alessio was right, maybe the Saldanas could still be one of the nine Families.

It wouldn't be the same, without my mother and father, my brothers, my cousin and nephew. And the Saldanas would never be the first Family again, not in my lifetime. Not even with the king's good graces. But maybe we could reclaim our territory, return to our duties of serving Safraella. Move past the horror of that night.

No. It wasn't possible. My Family was gone forever. Destroying the Da Vias was my only goal. Recapturing all I'd had before was a daydream, nothing more. There was no point holding on to that dream.

But without Marcello's help, it would be impossible to take down the Da Vias alone.

I glanced at Alessio. He was unfinished, but he'd shown some skill. And he knew the secret to making those timed smoke bombs, which could maybe be modified to better fit my needs. He had offered to help me kill the Da Vias. He said it was for no ulterior motive, but I couldn't trust him. He wasn't Family or family. If he was going to help me, it needed to be some sort of equal exchange. No one was owing anyone in this city of flowers and debts.

“I came here for two reasons,” I said. “The first was to
locate the Da Vias' Family home, and a means to get inside. The second was to convince my uncle to help me kill them all.”

“I already told you, he won't help.”

I held up my hand, forestalling him. “Maybe I don't need him.”

Alessio blinked. “Well, what's the alternative? Sit here until they find and kill you?”

“What you said earlier—”

“About me helping you?”

“I'm not a charity case. It would be an equal exchange. I could train you. . . .”

Alessio leaned forward. “If you train me, I will help you kill the Da Vias.”

I ignored my churning stomach, the part of me that said he wasn't good enough, that it would take time to prepare him to fight so many Da Vias, time I didn't have. That I would be training him to greet his death. He desperately wanted to be a clipper, he'd said so himself. And what was I, if not a bringer of death?

Most importantly, I needed him. I would make the Da Vias pay, no matter who fell along the way.

Time to reel him in. “Will my uncle let you just leave? And I still don't know how to find the Da Vias. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

Alessio waved his hands. “Don't worry about that. If you train me, I will get the information you need from him.”

“And you'll need to teach me how to make those smoke bombs.”

“Absolutely.”

“But they need to be firebombs instead of smoke bombs.”

His smile faded as he scratched his jaw, thinking. “I don't know . . .”

“I need them. It's no deal without it.”

He shook his head. “It's not that I'm unwilling, I've just never attempted it before. It's going to take some trial and error on our part.”

“How long will it take?” I asked.

His eyes connected with mine, dark brown even in the morning light. “How long will it take you to train me?”

“A lifetime.”

Alessio paused, thinking this over. “You train me, and when the time comes, you take me with you to help kill the Da Vias. I get the information from my master somehow, and we work together on making those firebombs.”

“As soon as you can. The longer we stay here, the more likely we won't ever leave.”

He nodded, lost in his own planning. I stood, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Clipper Girl . . .”

“I'll see you on the rooftops near your home at sundown for training.”

I SAT ON THE FLOOR OF MY HIDING PLACE, THE EVENING
sun prodding its way past the boards in the windows. I'd slept through the afternoon, but I didn't feel well rested. I never felt well rested anymore.

Three things I needed. Three things before I could return home: the location of the Da Vias from my uncle, at least one working firebomb from Alessio, and help from either. Or both. But preferably help from my uncle, who had at least been a real clipper in his youth.

Three things reminded me of the children's stories my father used to tell me. It seemed those characters always needed three things too: three kisses, three magic cakes, three breaths from a corpse. But the heroes of those stories always succeeded, and I'd already failed my Family. And I didn't think there'd be a happily ever after at the end of my tale.

When dusk arrived, I changed and climbed to my roof.

Alessio waited for me, dressed in his full leathers. I scowled behind my mask. “How did you know where to find me?”

He shrugged. “I followed you that first night to your . . . home. After you climbed out of the canal.”

“I watched my back. You couldn't have followed me.”

“I can tell you're not from around here,” he said. “You forgot to watch the canals.”

My eyes flicked to the canal behind me. Damn. He was right. I
had
ignored them.

“That one there”—he nodded—“actually leads to the one near my alley. It's much quicker to travel by canal if you know your way around them. Safer too.”

“People could see you if you go out too early,” I said. “You should wait until the sun sets.”

He shook his head. “The only people left out at dusk are drunks and prostitutes. And they stay away from the canals. Now, what are we going to do tonight? Pull a job? Race across the roofs? Spar?” He rotated his shoulders, loosening his joints.

His excitement grated on me. “I want to see your weapons.”

“What? Let's work one of my jobs or something!”

“You asked me to train you, so we're doing it my way. Let me see your weapons.”

He sighed and took a seat on the roof, folding his long legs beneath him. I did the same, sitting across from him.

He emptied his pockets of small throwing knives and needles made for quick punctures. He pulled out wire for
garroting and a stick used to assist in a fight. The last weapon was his huge knife, the one he'd brandished in the alley. It was close to eighteen inches long, and judging by how carefully he set it beside his other weapons, it was his favorite.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“Isn't that enough?”

I poked through his collection. Everything was serviceable and well maintained, but his collection was limited.

He chuckled in disbelief. “What else could I need?”

I dug through the pouches and pockets in my leathers and cloak and through my sheaths and weapons bags, which held much of what he'd laid before me, but also included brass knuckles, multiple knives, daggers and stilettos of varying weight and length, a collapsible blow dart tube and darts, a set of bolos on the off chance my mark fled, my sword, and of course, my large pouch of poisons.

“Why would I ever need all of this to drop a mark?”

“Not all of this is for marks. Some of this is for other clippers.”

His eyes flicked to mine. “Is that a common problem in Lovero? Clippers killing clippers?”

I wiped a speck of dust off the blade of my sword. “I'm here in Yvain, aren't I?”

He nodded and returned to examining my weapons. “And this?” He pointed at the pouch.

“My poisons. Where are yours?”

He shook his head. “Master refused to teach me. He said I was more likely to poison myself or him than a mark.”

“Hmm.” A lot of clippers disdained poison, thinking it weak, or requiring no skill. But the truth was the opposite. Poison took more skill and knowledge than any of my other weapons. And often it took much more skill to get close enough to a mark to poison them, unseen, and escape, than it did to, say, leap off a roof, land on a mark, and sink a needle into their heart. “Where's your sword?”

“I don't have one. Just my cutter.” He tapped his knife affectionately.

“Well, if we're going to make a true clipper out of you, you're going to need a sword at the least. Every other clipper will have one, and I don't care how long your arms are, that cutter's not going to pull it off against them.”

He probed at the gap in his teeth with his tongue. “Master has a few in our weapons storage.”

“Then I'll expect you to bring one tomorrow.”

He smirked, then turned away.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, hiding his smile. “It's nothing.”

I felt my cheeks redden beneath my mask. “Tell me!”

“It's only . . . look, it's nothing. You just sounded like my master right then.”

“Oh. Well, our Family's training has been handed down through the generations, so I'm sure what I'm telling you is very similar to what he was told. He's been stopping himself from teaching you too much. Which is stupid. Why would he teach you enough to get in trouble but not necessarily enough to get out of trouble?”

His eyes narrowed. “I can get myself out of trouble.”

I waved my hand. “That's not what I meant and you know it. I simply mean, it seems sloppy to train someone without finishing them. It's dangerous. And cruel, too.”

“He's an immovable rock when he wants to be. There was no changing his mind no matter how hard I pushed.”

If Marcello was really so stubborn, then how would Alessio get the Da Vias' location from him? How would I change his mind and convince him to join me?

Les continued, “And then I'd start to worry he'd grow so angry that he'd leave me like he'd left his family in Lovero, and I . . . I couldn't have that.”

I had a hard time believing my uncle would abandon Alessio over an argument. “He didn't leave his Family. He was banished. Didn't he ever tell you?”

Alessio shook his head. “No. He just said there was a falling-out with his Family and that he couldn't ever go home again. Will you tell me?”

“I don't know.”

His eyebrows creased. “How can you not know?”

“It was before my time. All I know is he was forced out for killing the head of our Family, his uncle. I don't know why he did it, what could have driven him to take his own Family's blood, but we weren't allowed to speak about him.”

“Ever?”

I shrugged. “Ever.”

“That seems cruel.”

“He killed his uncle, his own flesh and blood. There is cruelty in that, too.”

We stared at each other. We had reached an impasse. This training session wasn't starting as I'd imagined. One more thing I couldn't do right.

Rafeo would make a joke, but I didn't know any jokes. Father and Matteo would've known better and wouldn't have found themselves in this place of pregnant silence.

“Can I see your mask?” Alessio's question jostled me out of my rumination.

“I suppose.” I lifted it off my face and handed it to him.

He examined it closely in the fading light. “It's cracked.”

I nodded. “I think it happened in the fight. Or the fire. I'm not sure which.”

He rubbed his thumb against the crack and across the eyeholes. I was glad of the darkening sky so he couldn't see me blush.

“Why did you pick these stripes?” He traced the black marks on the left side of the mask.

“I didn't.”

“Don't you choose the pattern? Or am I mixing it up with the color?”

“No, you're right. The color is signified by Family. Black for Saldana; red for Da Via; orange for the Accurso in the region of Brescio; gray for Bartolomeo, who cover Triesta to Parmo; purple for Caffarelli in the city of Lilyan; yellow for Maietta in Reggia, Calabario, and Modeni; brown for Addamo in Genoni; blue for Zarella in the farmlands; and
green for Gallo in the far south. Sapienza, the royal line, has gold, though they don't actually clip people. Their masks are for ceremony only.

“The patterns are up to each individual, but the slashes aren't mine. The mask isn't mine.”

“Do you often trade masks?”

“No, we don't trade masks. It's my brother's mask. Rafeo. I got them . . . confused.”

My chest tightened at the memory of the dark tunnel, and my brother alone down there, my mask resting beside him. Maybe my mask comforted him the way his mask comforted me. I hoped Safraella had given him a fast rebirth. He had probably been reborn already and was being cradled warmly by his new mother. I hoped his new life offered more peace than his last one.

Alessio looked at me. “He died in the fight?”

“Yes,” I whispered, not trusting my voice any louder.

He nodded. “I'm sorry. I understand what it's like to lose your family. Someday it won't be so hard, and you'll be able to think of them without the pain.” He handed the mask to me.

I held it in my lap. “When we were children, once, travelers passed through Ravenna with their menagerie. They had caged tigers. I'd never seen anything like them before, and never since. No books or tapestries could convey the colors, and the way their muscles rippled beneath their fur and stripes, and how their gold eyes stared at me. They were so beautiful.

“Rafeo . . . Rafeo could not stop talking about the tigers. I
think they changed him, changed the way he saw the world, saw his place in it. He earned his mask two months later, and it was no surprise when he requested a tiger's black slashes.” I rubbed my thumb over the black marks on the mask.

“My family were travelers,” Alessio said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

He smiled and gestured to his face. “Can't you tell from my handsome nose? My coloring?”

I looked at him closer. Of course I had noticed his skin color, his nose, but I hadn't known they were markers of some kind. I shrugged. “I haven't met a lot of travelers.”

Travelers were so called because they would travel across the dead plains without fear. One of their gods protected them from the ghosts. They were menagerie people, keeping dangerous animals and bringing them to cities for shows and viewings. Most of them hailed from Mornia, a country to the east, where they lived until they needed funds. Then they would gather and put on a tour until they made enough money to return home.

He glanced at the mask again. “What did your mask look like?”

“It had azalea flowers.”

“Because they're poisonous?”

I nodded. “Truthfully, they never meant as much to me as Rafeo's tiger stripes did to him.” I put it on and then slid it to the top of my head.

“When will I get a mask?”

I sighed. “I don't know. You should've had one by now.
As clippers, we're given one before we go on our first solo job. In Lovero, there are tradesmen who craft the masks for the Families. They're made from the bones of oxen that are raised on feed blessed and sprinkled with holy blood. It's a secret craft only they practice. I don't even know where to begin here in Rennes. Did you ever ask my uncle about it?”

“He refused. You heard him. He doesn't allow any masks around him. He wouldn't even show me his. Sometimes, when he's really drunk, I hear him cursing Safraella. Sometimes I hear him begging. I think the mask reminds him of Her and brings about dark thoughts.”

I shook my head. “He does himself no favors in Her eyes.”

“I don't think he wants to. He punishes himself.”

I understood that. But for my atonement I'd rather do something, work toward killing the Da Vias instead of getting drunk and raging at the night.

“Training me was a sort of penance,” Alessio said, “but he refused to train me all the way. Perhaps he looks at me and sees a path to redemption. Or maybe he was just a lonely man who found a lonely boy and figured they could find safety from the ghosts together.”

I smiled. “You could be a poet, with words like that.”

He returned my smile, and I felt it deep in my stomach. “
Kalla
Lea, I could be a lot of things, if I so chose. But I choose to be a clipper.”

I climbed to my feet. “We'll start with poisons.”

He smiled even more brightly and leaned forward. “Anything you can teach me, Clipper Girl.”

“As much as I can until we leave.”

His eyes darkened, but he climbed to his feet and nodded. “Until we leave.”

Behind him, a flash of white light appeared in the alley beside my safe house. The light moved, then vanished behind a building before reappearing.

I walked to the edge of the roof for a better look. I tightened my arms around myself, my fists clenching. The ghost was so close this time.

“Sometimes the streets are full of them,” Alessio said quietly as we watched the specter drift away, looking for a live body it could take as its own. “Even I don't venture out on nights like that.”

I remembered the horrible screams on the dead plain, the black emptiness of the ghost's open mouth as she reached for me, the iciness of her fingers as they slipped through my flesh, trying to claim my body as her own. I remembered hiding in the boat on my first night here, the ghost waiting for me.

I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

We watched the ghost together. Alessio began to hum a song under his breath. I glanced at him, but he didn't seem to notice. I forced myself away from the edge.

I thought I had conquered my fear of the ghosts, but when I opened my fists, my nails had dug grooves into my palms and I hadn't even felt it. Not even on my burned hand, which ached from the pressure.