Assassin's Heart (27 page)

BRAND SHOWED US TO AN INN LOYAL TO THE CAFFARELLIS
that would let us stay for free.

The simple room had two small beds, a wash table, and a desk. We hadn't rested since the fight with the Da Vias, and until I saw the beds, it hadn't occurred to me I should be tired.

“We've been going without stop for over a full day.” Les dropped his pack to the floor. “And I just now realized I'm exhausted.”

“I think it was like with the food.” I set my mask aside and unbuckled my leathers. They stank. I could clean them before we confronted the Da Vias. No. It didn't matter if my leathers were soaked in blood and sweat. There was more to come.

“It was as though, for a moment, we were brand-new.” Les sat on his bed to pull off his boots and remove his own leathers, stripping down to his linen pants. “I'm kind of sad it's gone.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” I murmured, then dimmed the oil lamp on the table. The sun would be up in an hour or two, and I wanted some sleep before we left for Ravenna to find the Da Vias.

I climbed into the small bed, its wooden frame creaking loudly under my weight. The rushes in the mattress were lumpy, but they smelled clean, and the sheets felt smooth and soft against my skin. I lay on my side, facing the wall and its peeling plaster.

The last time I'd gotten any sleep had been in the jail cell in Yvain. Before that, the couch in Marcello and Les's home. And being dead, if that counted. I'd probably never again have a safe home or regular sleep. All I could do was count the beautiful things remaining in my life: the clean sheets on this rented bed, that the Caffarellis hadn't tried to kill us on sight, the cool night air on my skin.

The floor creaked. Chill air brushed across my back as Les lifted the covers and slid in behind me. I made room for him. He pulled me close, and the warmth from his skin soaked into me. Somehow, he'd read my mind, had understood my desire even though I hadn't spoken it aloud.

He brushed the hair from my face and kissed me on the neck beneath my ear. His mother's pendant pressed against my back.

“Les,” I said. He kissed my neck again, his hands sliding around my ribs to my stomach. “My brother's still alive.”

His hands paused. “Rafeo?”

I shook my head. “My other brother, Matteo. I heard
Claudia say it in the fight. After they . . . after Val killed you.”

He breathed quietly behind me. “What does that mean?”

My throat tightened. I shrugged. “I don't know. I think it means he's a Da Via now. I think I'll have to kill him.”

Les sucked in a breath.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's . . . nothing.”

He was keeping something from me, something he didn't want to discuss. But we were both in this together now, our fates intertwined when She'd resurrected us.

“He's not my brother anymore, anyway, if he's a Da Via.”

“He's still your blood, Lea.”

“No. The bonds of Family are stronger than the bonds of family. That's the way it's always been. That's why my mother turned her back on the Caffarellis when she married my father. It has to be that way, or no Family could ever trust another enough to arrange a marriage. And Matteo was always a stickler for rules and tradition.”

“Hmm.” Les trailed his lips to my shoulders, his hand slipping the strap of my camisole down my arm before he slid around to my stomach again. I placed my hand over his and guided him lower.

“Lea,” he murmured against my flesh, “are we going to survive tomorrow?”

My skin fluttered beneath his fingers, and heat spread across my body before journeying higher to meet the heat of his lips.

“No,” I answered, my voice breathy. “No.”

He nodded, his loose hair stroking my shoulders. He trailed his other hand across my back. The whisper of my camisole as it slipped across my skin was loud in the still room. His fingers hesitated, brushing lightly below my shoulder blades. I shivered.

“Lea . . . ,” he said, his voice no longer soft, but questioning. He removed his hands. “What is this?”

“What?” I twisted my neck.

He held me in place and ran his fingers over the same spot on my back. “You have a mark here.” He pressed his fingers against my skin.

The warmth that had built in my body vanished. I shouldn't have a mark. . . .

“Was this where you were stabbed?” he asked.

I rolled over to face him. I moved his arm and pendant and examined his chest. There, where Val had driven his sword through Les's body, was a white mark.

“You have one too,” I said.

I traced it. Shaped a bit like a starburst, it was smooth, completely unlike a scar. More like a discoloration of his skin.

He trembled, and I snatched my hand away. “Does it hurt?”

He captured my fingers and brought them to his lips. “No. Just a mark to remember that night by.”

He leaned over and kissed my shoulder, my collarbone.

I ran my hands across the skin of his chest. “I don't
think I'll ever forget,” I said.

His lips pushed against mine and he rolled on top of me, his weight pressing down as he continued to kiss me deeply, fervently. I returned the kisses, my hands sliding across his back, his muscles, his skin, imprinting the feel of him on my fingers.

If I died tomorrow, at least I had one last beautiful thing remaining in my life.

Fabricio's looked dull in the early evening light. The restaurant opened once the sun set, since most of their clientele were those who spent their daylight hours in bed.

The restaurant was as far north as the city allowed, pressed against the crumbled city walls. I imagined the ghosts pushed against Fabricio's after sunset, trying to reach me. Les and I hid in a shadowed alley, Les with the firebomb and extra materials in a satchel strapped to his back. I watched the front of the restaurant until he started to fidget.

“No one's come in or out,” he said. “At some point we're just going to have to take a stab at it and see if it bleeds.”

I tapped my mask and sighed. He was right, though I wished for more certainty about our task. My plan consisted of finding the Da Vias' home, saving Marcello, and killing them all. The how of it still eluded me other than
use the firebomb to set the place on fire
.

Whatever we decided, we needed to strike soon. It had taken more time than planned to make the firebombs this morning and the longer we took now, the less chance we'd
find Marcello alive. Most of the Da Vias would be asleep until dark. Once the sun set, we would encounter more resistance.

I waited until a street sweeper passed by before I dashed out of the alley toward Fabricio's. Les followed quickly behind, and we tucked ourselves against the south side of the building.

Les whistled like a bird. He gestured at a window and mimed breaking it. I nodded and checked the street. No one had noticed us.

The clinking of shattered glass erupted behind me.

Les knocked the broken panes out of the sill, then climbed through. I followed, and we found ourselves in the dim dining room of Fabricio's.

The tables and chairs had been cleaned and perfectly arranged. The empty room seemed a dead place.

“Now what?” Les whispered.

“There can't be a secret entrance in the dining room,” I whispered. “Too many witnesses to see them coming and going. Let's try the kitchen.”

We walked through the maze of tables and chairs, careful to make as little noise as possible. Once we reached the kitchen, we searched the space, but there weren't any obvious trapdoors or signs pointing to where the Da Vias lived.

I tapped my mask, thinking.

“Over here.” Les leaned across a barrel of wine.

I scurried over. Behind the barrel was a small door in the northern wall, hidden from sight.

Les rapped a knuckle on the barrel, and it echoed back. “I think it's fake.”

Together we pushed on the wine barrel. It swung easily away from the wall, installed on hinges.

We stared at the hidden door. “It might be nothing,” Les suggested.

“If it was nothing, they wouldn't hide it behind a fake barrel.” I took a deep breath, then pushed the latch on the door. It swung outward, the hinges well-oiled and quiet.

I slipped through the door and found myself outside once more, in a tiny, hidden courtyard.

In front of me lay a crumbled section of the city wall, a gap open to the dead plains stretching behind it and the river glowing gold beneath the quickly setting sun.

To the right was the corner of Fabricio's, pressing up against the city wall, but to the left was another door. A door that led into the manor house next to Fabricio's. It was the only way to go, unless I wanted to cross the crumbled city wall and enter the dead plains, or go back into the restaurant. The courtyard led directly to the dead plains, the Da Vias' own secret entrance. They didn't even have to enter the city to get to their home from the dead plains.

Les squeezed himself out of Fabricio's. I stretched my neck and looked up at the four-story monstrosity of a house that towered over us. Everything about it spoke of the richest of inhabitants. I shook my head.

“What is it?” Les peered past the gap in the city wall to the dead plains.

“It's only . . . of course the Da Vias live in a giant mansion, displaying their riches for all to see. I don't know why I ever assumed they'd have tunnels like we did. They're too much in love with themselves to think of safety.”

“To be fair, the tunnels didn't save your Family. Or my master.”

I nodded. “You're right. Come on.”

The door to the manor was unlocked, and I pushed it open quietly. Before us extended a hall bathed in darkness. Les pulled out his cutter and held it loosely beside him. I left my sword on my hip, but selected a stiletto. I was finally here to avenge my Family. To end my guilt and shame.

We slipped into the dark hallway, letting our eyes adjust. Les reached behind him to shut the door and I grabbed his arm.

“Leave it open,” I said.

“Why? If someone comes across it, won't it make them suspicious?”

I glanced out the door and past the broken wall to the dead plains. “It's my backup plan.”

We walked quietly down the carpeted hall. There were no rooms or doors, only a straight path that led to a set of stairs and another door.

The stairs were solidly built and didn't creak as we climbed them. At the door I glanced at Les. He tightened his grip on his cutter and gave a quick nod.

I slid Marcello's key into the lock and turned. It clicked. I pushed the door open, and light spilled over us.

We'd entered the Da Vias' home.

THE INSIDE OF THEIR HOUSE WAS AS LAVISHLY DECORATED
as I would have expected of the Da Vias. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, as did painted portraits of Family members throughout the ages. Les and I walked across the thick carpet. I should've been watching our path, listening for people, but I couldn't help but stop and stare at a portrait of Val. He looked so stern in the painting; the artist had failed to capture his smirk of arrogance.

“Lea,” Les hissed. I abandoned the portrait to follow him.

The hall opened to a large grand room, the floor tiled in marble, columns supporting the ceiling that soared above our heads. I'd been to balls at the palace that didn't have rooms as decadent as this one.

There was another door across the room from us. I felt exposed, stepping into the giant, open room, but we had to keep going.

We scurried across the room, keeping our footfalls light
and searching the space around us. We reached the door and paused only a moment before we opened it and left the grand room behind.

Another hallway. This one had doors set in the walls. We stood before the first one, made of heavy oak.

The mark on my back twinged.

The door could have led anywhere, to a kitchen, a bedroom, another grand room. We could open the door and find it packed with Da Vias. But it was on the north side of the building, which was pressed up against the city wall outside.

“Do we open it?” Les asked.

We needed to stick with the plan. To find Marcello and then to burn the whole place down with the firebomb. Our time was limited, and if it ran out, I would have to make decisions I didn't want to make.

But there was something about this door. Even if it was simply a bedroom, maybe we could find someone still sleeping and convince them to tell us Marcello's location. It could be worth the delay.

I nodded. Les turned the door handle. My heart thudded in my chest and everything seemed too silent, too still. The door swung open.

It led to a bedroom, dark and empty.

There was no reason to explore it, to go inside and see what we could find. None. But my hand twitched. I crossed the threshold, slipping into the dim room.

There was nothing in it, only a canopied bed, unoccupied
and rumpled. I faced Les and shrugged. Maybe my instincts had been wrong.

A figure launched out of the shadows, tackling me before I could bring my stiletto up. I was slammed to the floor. Hands scrabbled for my neck. Fingers dug into my throat, choking me. I bucked, trying to break free of him. Another shadow raced into the room. Les.

My attacker rolled off, dodging the slice Les had aimed for his head. I rolled toward Les and got to my feet, coughing.

“Are you all right?” Les kept his eyes on the Da Via, who circled us in the shadows.

I nodded and unsheathed my sword. Sloppy of us, to think the room was vacant. But if my attacker was armed, he would have pulled a weapon by now. It was two against one, and we were prepared for a fight.

I nudged Les, and we sprang at him together. Les swung left. I dashed right.

The Da Via swiveled his head and made a quick decision. He lashed out at Les with a bare foot, connecting with his thigh. It wasn't enough to do more than bruise, but it caused Les to lose his footing. He stumbled, missed his swing.

The attacker turned toward me. I lunged, sword in my right hand, stiletto in my left. He dodged and grabbed my left wrist, squeezing my tendons. I jerked him forward, trying to free my hand. We stumbled into the light spilling from the hallway.

The Da Via was shirtless, dressed only in a pair of sleep
pants. His sandy blond hair lay disheveled about his head. I gasped. Matteo.

My hesitation cost me. He ripped the stiletto from my fingers, flipping it around and brandishing it before him.

Les circled back to me.

“Come on then!” Matteo snarled.

I stepped away, breathing heavily. I pushed my mask to the top of my head. Matteo stared at me for a moment, his expression of rage slowly replaced by astonishment.

“Lea.” He lowered his weapon slightly.

“Surprised to see me?” My heart pounded in my chest, and not from the fight. I'd known he was alive. I'd
known
it. But I'd hoped I wouldn't have to face him. I'd thought Safraella had been urging me into this room, but maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe it had been a warning instead.

Matteo swallowed loudly. “You're supposed to be dead.”

I pulled my mask down so he couldn't see my emotions flashing across my face. “You're supposed to be dead, too. In our house, burned like the rest of our Family.”

He tightened his jaw. “Claudia told me you died in Yvain.”

“She wasn't wrong. And which Da Via told you about the rest of our Family? Was it Nik? Or Val? Did they tell you how our mother died? Our father? Jesep?”

He narrowed his eyes and took a step back.

“You betrayed us!” I yelled. “Rafeo died in my arms because of you.”

“Don't talk to me about Rafeo. I loved him, too.”

“I loved him best! Where were you that night? Were you with them, or were you with us?” Beside me, Les dropped his free arm to his belt. I focused on Matteo.

“I was with them,” Matteo answered. “I've loved Claudia for years in secret. Years. But Mother and Father wouldn't agree to any sort of union between us and the Da Vias. So I remained discreet. Much like you with Val.” He sneered at me, and though there had never been much love lost between Matteo and me, his anger and bitterness poured through me like sour poison.

“When Claudia told me she was pregnant,” he said, “and offered me a place beside her, I knew where I belonged. You damn well know Family comes before family, and I was a Da Via as of the night of the fire. It was a test for me. It was prove I was one of them or die. So I told them how to traverse the tunnel, and they used the key you so helpfully provided to get inside. It wasn't just me, dear sister, who betrayed our Family.”

His words were another knife wound, this time in the heart. I couldn't catch my breath. My ribs pressed tightly against my lungs, and I struggled to make them obey, but they wouldn't. Ever since the night of the fire, I'd carried the blame of my Family's death. I'd given the Da Vias the means to reach my Family. But it hadn't been only me.

It had been Matteo who had killed us. My brother who had seen his Family murdered.

“You have a new mask,” Matteo said. He glanced at Les. “And a new Saldana. Though judgment has yet to be made
on whether he'll measure up to the reputation.”

I raised my sword. A gust of cold flowed through me, as if my blood had been replaced by a chill wind. “He's more of a Saldana than you ever were.”

Matteo snarled and twisted his wrist. I recognized the move. I pulled my sword back, prepared to defend myself, when something cut through the air, connecting with Matteo's neck.

A knife protruded from his throat. Blood poured down his chest as he stared at me in utter shock.

I looked at Les, his hand held before him from when he'd released the knife.

I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything but stare at my brother. Matteo gurgled and dropped the stiletto. He grasped the hilt of the knife, pulling it from his throat.

Blood poured everywhere. He took a step toward me. Another. He fell. I dropped beside him, pushing the mask from my face.

“Matteo.” I pressed my hands to his throat, his warm blood spilling over my fingers. There was nowhere I could put them to stop the bleeding. I'd been here before. There was nothing I could do.

Matteo coughed up blood. He blinked once, twice, and then his eyes went dark.

I groaned, pulling my fingers away. I stared at them. The life's blood of both my brothers had coated my hands. I'd never be clean of it.

“Lea.” Les spoke. I struggled to my feet, my hands leaving
bloody prints in the pale carpet beside Matteo's body.

“You killed my brother,” I said to him.

He handed me a shirt that had been resting over a chair. I took it from him, but I wasn't sure what to do with it. Les stepped closer and clasped my hands in his. He used the shirt to clean the blood from me.

“I had to,” Les said.

“Why?”

“Because She asked it of me. She told me that I couldn't let you kill your family, your blood. That I had to spare you that.”

I blinked as he scrubbed at my hands. Safraella had granted me that mercy, even though Matteo was a Da Via now. And She'd sent me here to kill the Da Vias, when She'd told me to return them to Her.

“Lea?” Les asked quietly, pushing his mask up.

I sank against Les. He wrapped his arms around me, and I held tight to him as thoughts tumbled through my head.

“It's all right,” Les said. “It'll be all right.”

I nodded against him, my eyes jumping down to Matteo's body before they flicked away. Behind Les, tucked in a corner of the room, stood another door.

I pulled away. “There's a door. . . .”

He turned. I walked to it. The knob twisted easily in my hand.

Les dropped his hand to his belt. “We're running out of time, and we don't know what's in there.”

I pushed the door open.

It was another bedroom. No, not a bedroom, a nursery. A crib stood to the side, and on another wall was a child's bed.

My arms shook. I clutched them to my chest. I stepped to the bed. A child lay in it, asleep. His cheeks were flushed with warmth, his black, curly hair resting against his face.

Emile.