Assassin's Heart (12 page)

A RAGE FLARED ACROSS ME, SO BRIGHT IT BLINDED ME.
I lunged to my feet, the heavy oak chair screeching like a cat in an alley as it slid across the stone floor.

Alessio jumped to my side, hands at the ready to stop me from grabbing my weapons. But I didn't need a weapon for this.

I slapped my uncle across the face.

The crack echoed dully against the stone walls until the only sounds remaining were the popping of the fire and Alessio's sharp intake of breath.

Marcello's face was streaked red where I'd struck him. He gingerly brushed it with the tips of his fingers before he faced me.

“Get out of my home,” he said quietly.

“How dare you.” My voice scratched against my throat. “You weep for my Family,
my
Family, and rage at the Da Vias, but when I call on you for help, you laugh in my face?
You are not a Saldana. You were not there when we needed you the most. You gave away your name when you murdered your own uncle.”

“I said get out!” Marcello screamed.

I raised my hand to strike him again, but Alessio grabbed my wrists, dragging me away. He was stronger and taller than me. And I was full of grief and rage, and Father always said strength comes only with a cool mind and heart.

“Come.” Alessio pulled me toward the entrance, not roughly, but with a firm grip.

I yanked my hands away from him and jerked my mask down so he couldn't see the tears struggling to fall from my eyes. “I know the way,” I snapped.

He followed as I entered the tunnel room and lifted the grate.

“You shouldn't come back, Lea,” Alessio said. “And—”

I slammed the grate behind me, cutting off whatever he planned to say. I didn't care to hear it. Damn them both to the dead plains.

I ran through the tunnel, trying to burn the anger and pain out of me with every step. I flung myself into the darkened alley.

The sun would be up in an hour or so, and I needed to get home.

Home. If I ever had another one. Would I ever be able to return to beautiful Lovero and live the life I'd once had?

There was no turning back, now that I'd started down this dark path. I had to continue on. I had to kill the Da Vias.

I reached my safe house, feeling the stretch and pull in my shoulder as I climbed to the safety of the roof.

I sat on the edge of the roof, mask pushed to the top of my head, knees pressed against my chest, and tried not to think about how badly things had gone. If I hadn't been so quick to anger, so quick to let grief consume me, maybe I could've convinced my uncle to help. Instead, I'd been brash and bold and
entitled
, and there was no way he'd help me now. And I needed him. I couldn't face the Da Vias alone, not if I actually wanted to succeed.

I dropped my head onto my knees.
Rafeo . . . what do I do now?
I blinked rapidly at the tears welling in my eyes.
I wish you were here. You'd know how to fix this.

Across the canal flashes of white between the buildings illuminated the ghosts prowling the streets. They were terrible, the ghosts. I knew this firsthand, but in the earliest hours of the morning, when everything was still and with enough distance between us, they had a sort of beauty about them as they floated quietly on their way.

Back home I used to sit on the roofs whenever I was upset and couldn't bring myself to go home. It was how Val and I had started our secret relationship. During the plague there were so many common asking us to release their loved ones. And I'd spent the night sneaking through open windows, finishing people who were delirious and coughing up blood, finishing children or babes still in their cribs, and though I knew it was a mercy I performed, the children always weighed the most heavily on me.

I couldn't go home, not and face my cousin whose parents were dead, my brother whose wife lay feverish in her bed as she slowly succumbed. And so I sat on the roof and watched the stars quietly until I heard a noise behind me. I turned and saw a figure standing on the other side, lost in his thoughts. After a moment I realized his shoulders shook not from the cold, but from tears.

I'd tried to leave quietly, to let him have his privacy, but he heard me and turned. I recognized his mask right away—Valentino Da Via—and though his mask hid his face, his eyes were lined with red.

We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

And then I realized my own throat was tight, and tears slipped quietly down my cheeks.

“I just couldn't go home yet,” I said to him, my voice breaking.

After a moment he'd nodded, and we'd sat side by side, watching the stars, listening to the sounds of the sea, saying nothing. And everything.

I swallowed and took a deep breath. Yes, everything was my fault. Again. But this time I could fix it. I would win over Alessio and then return with him to Marcello and ask him to reconsider. I would make my case. I would not let Marcello anger me. With Alessio on my side, I would urge him to see reason and to help me kill the Da Vias.

The sun crested the horizon, turning the twists and bends of the canals golden with its light.

I used the rope dangling from the hole in my safe house
and slipped inside to change out of my leathers. I would take a short nap, then return to Marcello's home with the sun. Apologies were always easier in the dark, but I had no choice. I was running out of time.

I dreamed of the fire. Only this time the smoke was a living thing, its tendrils shaped into the hands of infants, their tiny fingers grabbing onto my nightgown, trying to pull me deeper into the chalky darkness of the ashes.

I woke and found my room dim, hidden from the dawn sun.

My muscles ached and my eyes were heavy. My encounter with Marcello had drained me more than my most difficult job as a clipper.

I ran my fingers through my hair and threw on my single dress before I made my way outside.

I took backstreets whenever I could. After Lefevre had followed me from the market, he could be watching for me. To do what? I wasn't sure. But I didn't trust that he wouldn't follow through on his threat and send the letter to the Da Vias. Better to stay hidden.

When I reached the alley with the secret grate, I leaned against a wall, determined to wait as long as it took.

The alley, the street leading to it, and the nearby canal were particularly quiet. No people about their business cast suspicious eyes on me, nor were people using the canals for travel or trade. Marcello had picked his home well.

The sun had climbed to midmorning before the grate in
the alley opened slightly. It stopped, but then a hand pushed it open the entire way.

Alessio pulled himself through and got to his feet, brushing off his clothes. He'd layered a brown vest over a hunter-green tunic in the outdated style of Yvain. His pants and boots were serviceable and clean, and the threads on his vest, while simple, were carefully stitched. Not a lot of money, then. But enough to keep him looking respectable.

I tried to tuck the stain on my skirt behind other folds.

At least Alessio hadn't shaved. The stubble across his jaw and cheeks gave him a rakish, instead of sloppy, appearance that matched his seemingly carefree smile.

A smile he kept to himself when he discovered me waiting. “You came back.” His shoulders slumped. “Just go home, Clipper Girl.”

I pushed myself off the wall. “I have no home to go back to.”

His face flushed at his gaffe, but he didn't say anything. He left the alley and I followed after, rushing to catch up. His long legs made his stride much lengthier than mine.

“And I can't go anywhere until I get what I came for,” I continued.

“What do you even need his help for anyway? He's an old man and you're a real clipper.”

I couldn't ignore the stress he'd put on
real
. But there was no point in keeping anything secret anymore. Without Marcello, I had no plan. And with no plan, the Da Vias would win.

“He's not that old. And I need him to tell me how to reach the Da Vias in Ravenna. To help me kill them all. I can't do it alone.” Whether I could do it even with help remained a mystery. But once I got Marcello, we could work on a plan together.

Alessio looked at me, a strange expression on his face. We left the backstreets and entered a main road, with people heading to the nearest square and day market. Alessio fell in line behind the crowd, and I followed.

“I could help you kill them.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

“Because you need the help.”

No one simply offered to help without an ulterior motive. “Acacius is the god of debts. Are you sure you're not trying to accrue some favor?”

He frowned. “I'm devoted to Safraella.”

I pursed my lips. There was nothing he could gain from helping me.

“When I was young,” he interrupted my thoughts, “someone once helped me for no other reason than just to help me. I try to do the same when I can.”

“You don't know what you're offering. What you'd be getting yourself into.”

“Well, my master won't help you. At least, not with killing the Da Vias. He doesn't leave the tunnels anymore. Not for the last few years.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He's worried people are searching for him. He stays hidden.”

“What people?”

Alessio didn't respond. We reached the square and broke free of the crowd. He led me around the market.

“And where are we going?” I asked.

“Breakfast.” He waved his hand at a small café before us.

My stomach grumbled at the smell of warm baking bread. I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I don't—”

“Judging by how desperately you eyed that fruit the other morning,” Alessio interrupted, “I'm betting you haven't taken time to enjoy the finer points of Yvain, one of which is our food. And it's my treat.”

“Why did you steal that fruit for me?”

He shrugged. “You looked hungry. Like you do now.”

He pulled out a chair for me, and I hesitated. My funds were so low, and I
had
been neglecting regular meals. But I didn't want to be beholden to him. I already needed his help with Marcello. . . .

“I don't bite, Clipper Girl,” he said.

“That's not my name.” I sat down. It would be stupid of me not to take advantage of the free food. The Da Vias would be well fed when I faced them.

“
Kalla
Lea, then.”

I ignored his correction. I had to remain on his good side. “He could be right, you know.”

Alessio sat across from me and signaled a waiter. “Who?”

“My uncle. People could be looking for him.
Are
looking
for him actually, just not very actively.”

Alessio snorted.

“It's true,” I said. “The Da Vias have never really stopped their search for him. Which is another reason why he should help me.”

“If he stays put, he's hidden.”

“The Da Vias are after me. It's only a matter of time before they realize I'm here. And once they do, they'll be crawling all over this city. It won't be safe for anyone.”

He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “I don't think that will convince him. Once he's made up his mind, he rarely budges.”

I could be stubborn too, though.

The waiter delivered some sort of pocket bread stuffed with meat and fruit. I wrinkled my nose.

“Trust me on this,” he said. “It'll change your view of Yvain.”

Good food, and it was good food, always put me in a better mood. The lamb had been perfectly seared and seasoned with lemons, olives, and unfamiliar spices that left a pleasant, sweet taste lingering in my mouth. The fruit had been soaked in wine and burst with flavor. Alessio was right. I'd been missing out on some of Yvain's finer points. There may not have been many, but the food might have been one. And maybe the flowers, too. They smelled nice, after our meal.

“Didn't I tell you?” Alessio smiled as I licked my fingers clean.

“Yes, you did. You were right. I haven't eaten this well
since before . . . well. Since before.” It had been with Val, actually. At Fabricio's.

I would never again dine with Val. Our secret meals, filled with laughter and flirting and stolen kisses, were gone forever, like my Family. I pressed my hand against my stomach, the Yvanese food like a stone in my gut. It wasn't fair, that I could miss him so much.

“Sorry,” he said.

“What do you have to apologize for? You didn't kill my Family.”

“This is the second time this morning I've said the wrong thing to you, and there you are, lost in your memories.”

I shook my head. “It's not your fault. Almost everything reminds me of them. And that night.”

Like how Rafeo would've taken huge bites of this pocket bread, while Matteo would have picked it apart and eaten only the bits he liked. And how none of them would ever get to taste it, and how I couldn't even tell them about it, couldn't tell anyone about it because there wasn't anyone left to tell. It was just me, alone, desperately trying to get some fake clipper to like me so he would put in a good word with my uncle, who'd turned out to be nothing like the Family I'd lost.

“Still,” Alessio said, pulling me from my thoughts. “I meant no harm.”

I cleared my throat. “The other night. And last night, too, you used some sort of smoke bombs. But I never saw you throw them. And they were different, too. They flashed.”

Alessio smiled widely. “That's my own invention. It's effective, isn't it?”

“But how did you throw them without me seeing?”

He took a sip of his water. “I didn't. They were in place beforehand. They're timed to go off. Actually, the ones you saw firsthand were a little late.”

Timed smoke bombs. My mind raced, thinking through ways they could be of use. The possibilities were astounding. Especially if they could be rigged for something other than smoke—