Assassin's Heart

by Sarah Ahiers

  “Oh, Sister,” he said. “We already have.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  thirty-eight

  PURPLE FLAMES. CAFFARELLI COLORS. THE MASK TICKLED my memory. I knew who this was, if I could only remember.

  Three more clippers stepped from the shadows, each bone mask decorated with purple patterns that appeared almost black in the darkness.

  Four of them. Fighting them would create a scene, and our only advantage lay in the fact that the Da Vias thought us dead.

  “Brother.” I inclined my head respectfully. “We apologize for the intrusion into your territory. If you let us pass, we will leave and pay any restitution you deem necessary.”

  We had to take this carefully. The Da Vias were the first Family now, and the other Families could easily be under their sway.

  But my mother had been born a Caffarelli, so maybe that would be enough to buy us passage, if nothing more.

  The clipper in front tapped his mask with the long metal claws of his left hand.

  “What is it you’re doing in Lilyan? Surely there are celebrations in your own territory?”

  “We came from outside the walls.”

  He sighed. “Now you are lying.”

  “Brother,” one hissed to the clipper in front. Their leader leaned away without taking his eyes off us. When the whispers stopped, the leader examined us anew.

  “Come closer.” He gestured with his claws. “Into the light.”

  Les glanced at me. Whether we were standing in the shadows made no difference if it came to a fight. I slid into the beam cast by a lantern hanging from a balcony above us.

  Les followed and we stood beside each other, one hand holding the reins of our horses, the other concealing a weapon behind us.

  The leader shifted his weight, some of his tension receding. “We’d heard a Saldana survived, but here stand two of you. And I do not recognize your masks.”

  I slid the mask to the top of my head. “The mask is new.”

  He searched my face. “Lea Saldana, then.”

  He pushed the hood of his cloak off, displaying messy, short, white-blond hair. He slid his own mask up.

  He had a narrow face, with a nose that had been broken too many times. But he had laugh lines around his mouth, and his eyes looked relaxed and easy. He appeared to be a few years older than Les.

  “Brando Caffarelli,” I said.

  He gestured at himself. “Brand, cousin. My father was . . . grieved to hear of the loss of your mother.”

  Traces of my mother showed in his appearance, especially in his hair color. I didn’t know much about my mother’s brother. I hardly knew anything about the Family she’d left behind when she married my father. She’d made it clear that the moment she became pregnant with Rafeo was the moment she gave up being a Caffarelli and became a Saldana.

  Beside me Les pushed his mask to his head.

  “Though,” Brand continued, “now with you before me, perhaps I can bring him glad tidings?”

  I shook my head. “We are all that are left.”

  He looked to Les. “I don’t recognize you. You have the dark hair of some of the Saldanas but not much else. Certainly not their coloring or their stature.” Brand gestured at my diminutive height, and then flashed me a smile to show he meant no insult. I’d been short my whole life. So had my brothers and my father. I was used to the teasing remarks.

  “Alessio Saldana,” Les introduced himself. A flush of pride spread across my cheeks and trailed down my throat.

  Brand nodded and didn’t question any further. If Les said he was a Saldana and had the mask to prove it, the other Families would take it as truth.

  Brand spoke inaudibly to the three Caffarellis behind him. They disappeared into the shadows of the streets.

  “So.” He gestured for us to follow him into a quieter square, with a garden and benches. He took a seat and we tied the horses to a pergola, letting them graze at the grasses of the garden, before sitting across from him. “Are you here to deal with the Da Vias?”

  I folded my hands in my lap. “Yes. They’ve turned to another god. They’re false worshippers.”

  Brand hissed between his teeth. “How do you know this? That is a grave accusation.”

  “Witnesses in Yvain. And I’ve seen some minor blasphemies from a few of them. I’d thought they were just being . . .”

  “Cocky bastards?” Brand supplied.

  “Yes. But they crossed the dead plains at night with the help of a priest of Daedara.”

  Brand frowned.

  “You could help us,” Les said.

  I made a small noise in the back of my throat, and Les glanced at me. Help. Help killing the Da Vias. It was what I’d always needed, always wanted. It was why I had traveled to Yvain to find my uncle. I had thought the Caffarellis would refuse me, would side with the Da Vias, who had all the power now that the Saldanas were dead, but maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe they would have helped me all along, if I’d only put my pride aside and asked.

  Brand leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers interweaving together. “I can’t see my father agreeing to that.”

  Les frowned. “Why not? The Da Vias are traitors to their masks. They lessen the status of all clippers.”

  Brand waved a hand. “It’s not that I don’t believe you.” He rubbed a knuckle down the bridge of his nose. “My father is a cautious man. He will not take a stance against the Da Vias, not with their numbers and their wealth.”

  “Not even as they worship another god?” Les asked.

  Brand shrugged. “He would take a stand against that. I think many of the Families would, especially if it meant destroying the Da Vias once and for all. And certainly the Sapienzas would order us to if they discovered the truth about them. But no one, including my own Family, will take a step against the Da Vias without hard proof. Not with the power they wield. Your word is not enough, cousin.”

  My hopes deflated. He was right. Even Costanzo Sapienza, the king, for all that he loved my father, wouldn’t take a stand against the Da Vias unless he had proof before him that they were traitors to our way of life.

  What they’d done was so dangerous and stupid. All those people the Da Vias had clipped, supposedly in the name of Safraella, had been during their secret worship of Daedara. Many now probably wandered the dead plains as ghosts. And since the Da Vias had been hiding such treachery, it would be easy for the common to believe it of the rest of the Families. Or the king. The common would turn on us, believing us to be indiscriminate killers. It would create pandemonium.

  The Da Vias played with fire and didn’t seem to care if the whole country burned for it.

  “If you could get the Bartolomeos and Accursos to agree to an attack,” Brand said, “I could probably convince my father then.”

  “There’s no time to speak to anyone else,” I said, “even if they agreed to meet with me. The Saldanas don’t share blood with them.”

  “My father won’t agree to just us, the fourth Family, alone.”

  “Fifth Family,” I corrected.

  Brand smiled sadly. “Fourth, cousin. We both know the Saldanas will never be the first Family again. At least, not in our lifetimes.”

  He was right, of course. But to be confronted so firmly with the loss of our status was to feel the pain of the loss of my Family again. Everything my Family had worked toward for generations, all the death and war faced by my father to put Costanzo Sapienza on the throne, ruined by the Da Vias.

  “Maybe . . .” Brand hesitated. “Maybe you should let your Family go. You could join another Family. You could marry into the Caffarellis. We would be happy to have you. I would still be happy to have you.”

  Beside me, Les bent closer. He stared at Brand with hard eyes.

  Brand leaned away, hands held before him. “I meant no disrespect. I didn’t reali
ze you had claims on each other. Adoption, then. My father would take both of you.”

  It would be so easy, to give it all up, to join Brand and his Family knowing that, truthfully, they were my blood family as well. To not have to be in charge, be the head of a Family, even though there were only two of us. Three if we saved Marcello.

  But I’d stood before Safraella, felt the divine pain when She’d kissed me back to life. Whoever said death wouldn’t hurt? She’d asked me. And truly, whoever said life was supposed to be free of suffering?

  If I gave up now, it would be to turn my back on Her gift of resurrection. To turn my back on Her. I would be no better than the Da Vias.

  I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. The offer is gracious, but we cannot accept. We must do this thing.”

  From a dark alley, a Caffarelli clipper appeared. He leaned over and mumbled something to Brand before disappearing into the busy streets once more.

  Brand stood. “My father says you are welcome to board your horses and to seek shelter in our territory through the end of Susten Day, tomorrow night. After that, he wants you gone.”

  Les scowled, but I nodded. We didn’t need more time.

  We’d make our move against the Da Vias tomorrow.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  thirty-nine

  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 as 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 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.