Assassin's Heart (16 page)

“These are the combinations we're going to try, to see which ones will make the biggest fire that will burn the longest.”

Les grinned and I did too, though my grin came from picturing the Da Vias, trapped behind the flames of their burning home.

WE SPENT HOURS TRYING DIFFERENT COMBINATIONS,
our hopes high. But after a few hours of frustration and frayed tempers, we decided to try again later and went home for some much-needed sleep.

In the morning I headed to a different market to look for clothes. The old one had good prices, but I didn't want to face the women of Acacius again.

It didn't take me long to find a shop. I bought two dresses and changed immediately. I was almost tempted to throw out the stained one, but even if I didn't wash it or ever wear it again, I could use it as a blanket or a pillow on my saddle-blanket bed. There was no point in being wasteful.

I used some of my coins to buy a filling lunch, one that would hopefully last me the rest of the day. Then I headed to the mail office. Faraday had said he was going to send me another letter, so I wanted to keep checking.

It was the same postman as before, and he bobbed his head
as I entered. “Oleander, right?”

I nodded and he flipped through the envelopes in the bin. He pulled one out, then glanced at me over his shoulder before returning to the letter.

“Is it for me?” I asked.

He faced me, letter held at his thigh. “Do you go by any other names?”

Another name. Of course I did, but why would Faraday use it when he'd used Oleander before? “Lea,” I said. I would've forsaken the letter before I risked giving him my last name, too.

The postman set the letter on the counter. He pulled out his ledger and made a mark on a line. “Two gold again.”

I passed him the coins and he slid the letter over to me.

“Thank you.” I walked out of the shop into the bright afternoon sun.

The letter was addressed to me, but I understood why he'd hesitated before handing it over. It had my name, Oleander, written on the front, but someone had crossed that out, a single black line through the letters, and replaced it with Lea.

I sat on a bench outside and cracked the seal of the letter, the pages unfolding in the gentle breeze.

A pressed white poppy fell into my lap.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't feel my heart beating, couldn't do anything but pinch the poppy between my two fingers.

I opened the letter and read.

Maybe this will find you. If you're even in Yvain. If you're even still alive. I don't know. I must be an idiot to think this letter will go anywhere. But I found this flower in a saddlebag kept at a monastery, and I couldn't believe it was simply a coincidence.

Maybe it is, though. Maybe I'm just crazy.

But if you are alive and do get this letter, I want to say . . . I want to say a lot of things, actually. And I wish I could say them to you, but I guess if this is the only chance I have, then I'd better take it.

I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything, and maybe it doesn't even matter because you're dead anyway and this letter will go nowhere.

But if you are alive, and you do get this letter, please be careful. I've spoken to the Addamos, and they've scoured the dead plains. Yvain is the only place they haven't searched yet. It won't be long before the rest of my Family catches on. We're close. We won't give up. Better for you to disappear, to vanish and never come back.

That was it. No signature. Nothing to tell who had written it, but I knew the letter came from Val. If he'd found the flower in Butters's saddlebag, it meant the Da Vias were closer than I'd thought. If the Addamos had steered Val to Yvain, enough to send a blind letter anyway, then the
others would be close behind.

Dumb. I was so, so dumb. I should've destroyed the poppy when I'd found it after the fire, should have crushed it. But I'd kept it, put it aside somewhere I wouldn't have to look at it anymore, so I wouldn't have to feel the things it brought to the surface. And now here it rested in my fingers, a reminder of all the mistakes I'd made, that I continued to make, and the consequences that seemed to never end.

A shadow fell over the letter. I looked up. Les stood before me, blocking out the sun.

I squinted. “What are you doing here?”

He glared at me until I shifted. “You stole from us.”

I narrowed my eyes. So that was the way this conversation was headed. I took a breath. “I needed the money. It was just sitting there. You weren't using it.”

“Oh, of course,” he scoffed. “You
needed
it, so you just took it because
we
weren't using it. It all makes sense. I thought you were a thief, but now that you've explained it, I see I was mistaken.”

“That's not—”

“I don't even know what's worse,” he interrupted, arm cutting through my words. “The fact that you're still going to want me and my master to trust you, to help you, after all this, or that you didn't trust
me
enough to just ask for the money in the first place.”

I blinked. If I had asked him for it, I would have been beholden to him. I couldn't let him hold that over my head. We had agreed to an even exchange.

“My master will never help you now.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “I would've given it to you,” he said. “I wouldn't have even asked why you needed it.”

“Clothing,” I said. “And food.”

He shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

Of course it mattered. It wasn't as though I'd stolen the money to spend on frivolous things like necklaces or lace. I had spent it on things I truly needed.

“I trusted you.”

My body froze at his words. He had trusted me. What had I done to engender such blind faith?

But maybe the better question was, why had I broken it? I'd become a thief, something I would have never done before.

If I looked in a mirror at this moment, I didn't think I'd recognize the girl who looked back.

“We're done, Lea.” Les turned his back on me.

“But—”

He didn't even wait to hear what I had to say. He just walked away, slipping into the crowd.

A gust of wind swept through the square. It tore the pressed poppy from my fingers and sent it after Les until it, too, had vanished.

That night I waited for Les on the top of my safe house.

He never showed.

Sometimes I found it hard to sleep at night. I was so used to later hours working as a clipper that when I didn't have to
work—or like tonight, when I'd made a mistake and driven Les away—the still quiet of the night wasn't the lullaby I sought.

Especially in my little safe house, where my bed was a saddle blanket on the hard floor, and the old, rotting walls creaked and groaned with every breeze.

I rolled over, trying to cover my ears, to give me some peace from the noise. But the groaning grew louder.

A white glow seeped in, past the gaps in the boards, followed by a slow, soft moan.

It hadn't been the wind or the wood making the noise.

A ghost hovered outside my window, and though it couldn't see me, didn't know I was inside, I still tucked my knees against my chest.

The ghost moaned again, and my stomach tightened. Ghosts were terrifying. And malevolent. And this one would rip me from my body if it could catch me.

But they were also heartbreakingly sad. Who knew what this one mourned? The loss of its body, of course, but maybe it, too, mourned the loss of something more. A mother or father. A husband or wife. A child. Maybe just the sun, or the light, or something I couldn't even understand, being alive.

“Ohhhhh,” it moaned again, like the women who wept and wailed at the cribs of the infants I had released during the plague. Like Rafeo when his wife had taken her last breath.

I shut my eyes and covered my ears, but no matter how hard I tried to hide myself from the ghost, that sound crept into me, filling me up, until I knew I would never be free of it.

I had to make things right.

As the morning sun slipped past the slats of the walls of my safe house, I pulled on one of the new dresses, then thought better of it and slipped back into my stained one.

I would return to Marcello's home, and though I couldn't repay the money I'd spent, I could at least return what I had left. And then I would beg for their forgiveness. No matter how I tried to rationalize my actions, Les was right—it was thievery, plain and simple. I'd already lost so much, and I refused to lose any more of myself. I wouldn't be a thief.

I climbed out the window. The day had dawned cool, and a soft mist floated above the canals, drifting into the alleys and streets.

I'd have to wait for Les to come out. I couldn't just barge into their home or let myself in.

I walked through a square, and even though it was early enough that the market hadn't fully opened, the common of Yvain were already about their errands and plans for the day.

I cut through the crowd, ignoring the bakers with their iced buns and sweet rolls for breakfast. Ignoring the looks my stained dress garnered from the better dressed women. None of that mattered. Only one thing mattered, and that was killing the Da Vias.

The crowd thinned around me and I slipped into a side street, following it along the canal that led to Les and Marcello's alley. I turned down the dead end and stopped, prepared to wait all morning if I had to.

The grate above the ground squeaked. Maybe I wouldn't have to wait long after all.

“Miss Lea,” a voice called to me.

I spun. Lefevre waited at the entrance to the alley.

“Captain Lefevre.” I glanced at the grate, but if it had been about to open, it was now still. Lefevre seemed to be everywhere I went, always present, always spying on me. It made the back of my neck crawl.

“I thought it was you.” He stepped into the alley, walking closer. “I could tell by your dress. It has a stain on it, by the way.”

I blushed, wanting to cover the stain with my hand. “An unfortunate accident.”

He nodded. “It's early in the morning to find yourself lost in an alley.”

I smiled. “I just get turned around easily,” I said. “I can hear the market but I can't seem to find it.”

“Ah. Then let me escort you.” He held his arm out for me.

I would have done almost anything to avoid taking his arm, but I had to keep playing this role of innocence, even if he didn't believe me. And I had to lead him away from the entrance to Les and Marcello's tunnel. If he found them, it would put an end to all my plans.

I clutched his arm and he led me from the alley.

“You were really quite near.” He leaned close to me. His warm breath brushed against my neck. “Just a few streets off.”

I was sure he could hear my teeth grinding. “I would have stumbled my way there eventually.”

“And I don't know that you should be walking about on your own. There's a serial murderer on the loose.”

“Is there?” I played dumb. It was clear Lefevre suspected I was the clipper he'd seen my first night here. But I wasn't sure if he suspected me of also being their serial murderer.

“I only arrived a few days ago,” I said, “so I hadn't heard anything about it.” That should clear me of any suspicion.

“Yes. When the priests lent you a robe. I spoke with them, though, and they don't seem to remember anyone arriving in the last few days.”

He'd been checking into me, asking around. He was dangerous, in more than one way.

I bit my lip in fake concern. “It was a visiting priest from a monastery. His name was Faraday. He can provide you more information, if you'd like.”

“I'll seek him out, then.” He led me around a corner and the market spread before us, the crowd growing.

I released his arm and fought the desire to wipe my fingers on my dress.

“Thank you, Captain Lefevre.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Lea. I'll be seeing you around. Stay safe from the ghosts.”

It was a common Yvain good-bye, but Lefevre made it seem like a threat. I bowed my head and pushed my way into the crowd. I couldn't return to Les and Marcello now, not with Lefevre so clearly watching for me during the day. I could feel his eyes on my back, and it took all my willpower to calmly stroll through the market.

I was frightened of very few things, but Lefevre was slowly making his way up the list.

THE SUN SET, AND I CLIMBED TO THE ROOF OF MY SAFE
house. Lefevre wouldn't be watching for me at night, so I was hoping to return to Les and Marcello's and ask for their forgiveness. Time was running out.

A thump behind me. My hand dropped to my stiletto, but then I realized it was Les. I grunted and got to my feet.

He stared at me, his hood casting his eyes in shadow. My mask covered my face, but it didn't hide my eyes.

“You came,” I said.

He didn't say anything. Finally he sighed. “I saw you this morning. With that lawman. Lefevre.”

“I didn't mean to draw him to your entrance,” I said. “I was coming to apologize. To give back the money. But he's been trailing me since I arrived. I led him away as best I could.”

“I followed you two. You could have told him the truth. About his serial murderer. About me.”

Lefevre was after me for the murders Les had committed. Lefevre had the right motive in mind, but the wrong clipper.

I paused. This could be some sort of test for me. If I said the wrong thing, maybe he would leave again. “Why would I do that?”

“Who am I to you? And telling the truth would make things easier for you.”

He was right. Telling Lefevre that Les was his serial murderer, and even where he could find Les, would get Lefevre off me. But I needed Les and Marcello, more than I needed to be free from Lefevre.

“I need you,” I said.

He dropped his head, but not fast enough for me to miss the twitch of his lips. “All right. You give me the coins back, and I'll still help you.”

I shoved my hand into my purse and scooped out the remaining coins. I poured them into his palm.

“Is this all of them?” he asked.

“Everything I didn't spend.”

He nodded and slipped them into his own pouch. “Then we're back on equal footing. At least between you and me.”

It was so easy for him to forgive what I'd done to him and Marcello. I wish I could forgive as easily. But all I could do was remember the horrible things done to me and my Family and focus on my revenge. It had been my fault, though, what had happened. And maybe Les wouldn't be so forgiving if he knew the truth about me.

I sighed. “Les, I—”

Les held up a hand, cutting me off. “I said we're good. I don't need another explanation. Let's just get back to work on the firebomb.”

He watched me and I watched him until finally I dropped my head and nodded. It didn't matter if he knew the truth about me, or what he thought about me. All that mattered was killing the Da Vias.

False dawn crept over us, and I stifled a yawn.

“Maybe this is hopeless.” Les ran his hands through his hair before he retied it out of the way. “Maybe I was wrong to think this would work.”

“No. It's not hopeless. We just need to keep trying.” I sprinkled a little bit of a gray dust into a mound. “Don't give up on me yet.”

Les shot me a sideways glance and I flushed. Why I had said that, I had no clue.

“What is the purpose for this firebomb anyway?” Les asked. “I mean, I'm guessing you want to set fire to somewhere without having to be there?”

I measured out some of the acid, careful not to spill any on my hands or leathers. I had long since put my mask aside. “I'm going to burn the Da Vias out like they did to us. I'm going to sneak into the center of their home, leave this as a present, and then just wait at the exit for them.”

Saying it out loud felt good. And if I was lucky and it worked like that, there was a chance I might emerge from this plan alive. At the least, I probably wouldn't burn to death.

“You mean
we
, right?”

“What?”

“
We're
going to burn them out. And
we're
going to wait for them at the exit.”

I nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Les wrinkled his brow but didn't comment. I changed the subject.

“How do you get your jobs? I've seen you on two now. How did you know someone wanted those men clipped?” My pile of grains and acid flamed for less than a second, then fizzled out.

“There's a building near the town square with a single brick that's loose and hollowed out behind. Anyone who has a job can leave me a message and the money behind that brick, and I collect the jobs and there you go.”

“Aren't you worried someone will see you collecting the letters?”

“No, the letters drop down a hole. I'm sure people think the letters sit behind another brick, but they fall beneath the street. There's a tunnel that leads to them. I check it every few days.”

“But if it's illegal, how do people know about you?” I poured more gray dust and added some of the black powder. “Do you have a lot of jobs? Well, maybe that's a dumb question, since you're the
serial murderer
and all that.”

He grunted. “Sometimes I go months with nothing. Sometimes, like this week, I have two or three. Just because murder is illegal doesn't mean people aren't willing to pay to
put an end to someone for one reason or another. Most of my jobs are people who have caused a grave offense. How does it work in Lovero?”

“There's a guild with offices throughout the country. Anyone can walk in and request a job. They can open it to any Family or request a specific one. The guild contacts the Family when there's a personalized request. Otherwise, we can check with the offices when we're looking for work. The guild withholds payment until the job is completed. That way they can return payment to the client if a clipper refuses a job or it fails.”

He shook his head. “It's so strange to me, how candid your country is about murder.”

“Murder is worship. You either become a clipper and do it yourself, or you allow clippers to do it for you. And maybe one day it's your life they take. But if they do, you know Safraella rewards those who follow Her.”

“Rewards them with death, you mean.”

“Everyone dies. You could turn into an angry ghost and rage across the dead plains for all eternity. Or you could die at the hands of a clipper and Safraella will grant you the gift of a new, better life. Loverans understand this. And besides, you have a lot of murder here.”

Les guffawed, and I shot him a look.

“Oh, you're serious?” he said. “How can you even compare?”

“Loverans are generally safe from clippers if they don't anger someone enough to pay to have them killed. Here, I
could walk home in the evening and some stranger could murder me for my purse or any other reason.”

“I don't see how hiring a clipper in Lovero would curtail violence,” Les said.

“Because people talk. And if I wronged you, you would pay to have me killed and you would be right to do so.”

“Doesn't it just start a cycle of murder and vengeance? What if my family hired someone to kill you after you had me killed?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes that happens. More so before. Now people understand that the murder of a loved one is an act of worship, that they'll be granted a new, better life.”

Les shook his head. “You make it sound like Lovero is so morally superior, because everyone follows Safraella, but here you are, plotting to kill the Da Vias because they murdered your Family.”

I grimaced. He'd hit on an uncomfortable truth. “It's not the same.”

“Isn't it?”

“The Da Vias killed my Family, yes, but only a fool would think they did it as an act of worship. Maybe that's what they want the common to think, but the other Families know that the Da Vias attacked us because they were the second Family and we were the first and by killing us they got power. Anything else was just a bonus.”

“Won't the other Families punish them, then? Why wouldn't they just rise up together and put a stop to the Da Vias if they're so power hungry and less than faithful?”

“The others are cowards. Most of them, anyway. They feel safe at the bottom. And they'd need proof. Right now they may know the Da Vias killed more for themselves than Safraella, but without proof, they would never rise up against them.”

“Then it sounds like Rennes and Lovero have more in common than you thought.”

I ignored this barb and instead dripped a bit of the acid onto my dust pile. It flared up immediately into a bright flame.

I shouted and Les scrambled over. “What did you use?”

“Just the acid and those two powders!” I grabbed the jars and sprinkled a bit more of the dust onto the flames. They burned gleefully. With this mixture we could make a timed firebomb, not just a smoke bomb.

Les grabbed my hands and we jumped and danced around the fire, laughing and cheering. “Thank you,” I said to him.

He grinned. “For what?”

“For making me laugh.”

Together we watched the flames flicker in the early morning, and for a moment all the pain and guilt and loneliness from missing Lovero and my Family and Val just disappeared into the night sky with the embers of the fire—until it seemed the fire might burn another hole in my roof and we were forced to put it out with the bucket of water.

I clutched the jars of powder in my hands. This plan could work. This plan
would
work.

I would have my vengeance.