Assassin's Heart (19 page)

I whispered in his ear, pulling him tighter against me, trying to keep him still. If we could hide here until the lawmen left, we could escape to somewhere safer.

I closed my eyes.

At this point, anywhere would be safer.

WE HID IN THE CUPBOARD LONG PAST THE TIME WHEN
the alley emptied. I didn't trust that the building wasn't being watched. I didn't trust that Lefevre would let this go.

Finally, we had to take our chances. We couldn't stay hidden in this cramped cupboard. Les kept falling in and out of consciousness. He needed help.

I pushed the door open and tumbled into the dusty room.

My limbs and joints screamed at the sudden freedom. I struggled to my feet, groaning and stretching before I pulled Les out.

He grunted and stirred. “Where are we?” He barely opened his eyes.

“We were hiding.” I crouched and helped him to stand. He hunched over, hands on his knees.

“We have to go now. It's not safe, Alessio.” I ducked my head beneath his so he had to focus on me. “I need you to help me now. I need you to stay awake.”

He moaned and we trudged through the home, his feet tangling in debris.

We were close to my safe house, only a few blocks away. But I couldn't convince Les to climb to the roofs, and there was no way I could get him there alone. That left only one place.

We reached the other side of the building. I released Les and left him to lean against a wall while I scouted our path.

A cart vendor selling fish blocked the front of the empty alley. Finally, a bit of luck.

I scurried to the canal and leaned over its waters. A canal boat bobbed calmly, secured to a building on the other side. I gripped the wall and climbed across its crumbling surface to the boat. The boat rocked. I took a moment to capture my balance before untying it from its mooring. I used the long pole to push it to the alley entrance and Les.

He leaned against the wall and sighed, his eyes closed tight. He'd vomited while I'd been away.

“Come.” I guided him out of the house and to the boat.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, and my heart sank. He shouldn't have to apologize. This was all my fault. Like everything else.

“It's all right,” I murmured. I helped him step across the gap. He almost toppled, but I kept my grip on him until he settled in the middle.

“Lie down,” I encouraged him. I covered him with both our cloaks so he looked like a pile of goods or laundry instead of an injured person.

I removed my mask and tucked it carefully beside him.
There was nothing I could do to disguise my leathers, but I'd simply have to hope I wouldn't encounter any lawmen patrolling the canals.

I pushed the boat away from the alley and used the pole to steer it north, the slight current of the canal helping to ease us along as I silently thanked Les for showing me how to use the boat and which canal led to their home.

How had I gotten myself into this mess?

The same way I'd gotten myself into all these messes since the attack. I didn't stop and think things through. No matter how many times I remembered I wasn't in Lovero, I kept making mistakes over and over. I trusted people, and it led to more trouble.

I'd trusted that Lefevre was the kind of lawman I'd find in Lovero, but instead he'd proven to be crooked. I'd trusted Les, but he'd gotten me so angry that I'd left my sword behind when I chased after him. And why had I even bothered to chase him in the first place? Because I needed him.

My stomach jumped, and I swallowed.

But it was true. I
did
need him. He was my only link, now, to Marcello, and Marcello was my only link to the Da Vias. It was nothing more than that.

Everything in my body froze as my thoughts twisted and turned. Les had been understanding, though. He'd seen his mother murdered, had been orphaned like me. He knew how it felt. And he hadn't cared, when I'd told him about my shame. He hadn't turned away in disgust and in fact had offered help.

Being around him eased the loneliness that had been threatening to drown me since the night of the fire. I missed Rafeo. I missed everyone. I missed Val and I
hated
Val and everything just hurt all the time. But Les somehow made that pain fade, at least for a little while.

I gave the boat another push. Maybe I'd lost sight of things. My goal had to be killing the Da Vias. I looked down at Les, hidden in the boat.

He stirred. “Where are we going?”

“I'm bringing you home.”

“Marcello will be angry.”

“He's always angry.” I paused. “Why did you do it? Why did you tell Lefevre you were the murderer?”

Les rolled over. “It was the right thing to do,” he mumbled.

I poled us under a bridge. He'd put me before himself. I'd never known anyone who helped people just because he wanted to help them, and yet Les did so again and again. And it wasn't just me he helped.

He made me want to . . . I wasn't sure. Do something or be someone different.

To trust him fully, anyway. It was the least I could offer him in return.

Somehow I managed to reach Marcello's. I helped Les off the boat, my arms aching from steering it down the canals.

Getting Les into the tunnel was easy. Getting him up the ladder at the other end was not. His feet slipped off the rungs
and he kept apologizing. He sounded so genuinely ashamed that guilty tears came to my eyes until finally I called for help.

The tunnel room above us flared with light, and a shadow stepped into the room.

“I thought I said you weren't welcome here,” Marcello said from out of sight, his voice stern.

“It's Alessio,” I said. “He's hurt.”

The grate opened and Marcello leaned over us, lantern in hand, looking so much like my father. He glared at me, but then Les apologized again and I almost went berserk, prepared to scream and threaten my uncle, anything really, to make him
help
us.

Marcello set his lantern on the ground. He crouched, and together we lifted Les up the short ladder into the room.

He vomited again, and Marcello looked worried. I pulled myself out of the tunnel and into the room.

“What happened?” he asked me.

“We were attacked. He cracked his skull on a stone wall.”

Marcello swore. He used his shoulder to escort Les out of the tunnel room and into their great room. He gestured at the lantern. “Bring the light.”

We walked past the fireplace to the curtained-off bedroom area. Marcello helped Alessio to a bed, and Les sat on the edge.

“Hold steady,” Marcello said. He bent Les's head forward and prodded the back of his skull.

Les flinched, but Marcello forced him still and continued
to feel beneath his dark hair.

Finally, he stood, satisfied. “The bone isn't fractured. He'll heal with some rest. Help me get him to bed.”

I unbuckled his leathers and pulled them off his arms and chest, being careful not to bump his head or snag his pendant.

When I'd seen him shirtless before, I'd stared. Now he looked so tired and hurt that there was no excitement in seeing him, only more guilt.

Marcello tugged off Les's boots and pants while I removed the tie in his hair. I always hated sleeping with my hair pulled back. It gave me a headache.

His hair was soft and smooth as it slipped through my fingers. Les lay down, and my uncle covered him with a blanket.

“Sleep for now, Alessio,” Marcello murmured, pushing the hair off Les's face. It was a surprisingly gentle and loving gesture from a man I'd seen mostly rage and anger from. “I'll have to wake you occasionally, to make sure you're healing right.”

Les mumbled something in a language I didn't speak, and my uncle leaned closer. When Marcello looked at me with a calculating expression, I turned away, giving them their privacy.

“Yes, I understand.” Marcello kissed Alessio's forehead, and we left him to rest.

I walked to the fireplace and collapsed into a chair. Fatigue covered me like a shroud. Since the fire it seemed I always
found myself on the edge of exhaustion.

I set my mask on the table and rubbed my face. My hands were filthy, but I didn't care. It was time to stop caring about a lot of things.

Marcello handed me a glass with amber liquor. I drank it and it burned down my throat until it settled into a deep warmth in my stomach. He took a seat, eyeing his own glass before drinking.

I placed the empty glass on the table, and my left shoulder burned with pain. I gasped and sat back, bringing my hand to it.

“You're injured.” Marcello stood.

“No, it's nothing. I just . . .” I closed my eyes and sighed. “Can you help me remove some stitches? They've mostly snapped at this point.”

He set his glass down and walked away.

I undid the buckles of my leathers, letting them slide around my waist. I sat half-dressed, wearing only my leather trousers and my under-leather camisole, but I was so tired it didn't matter. The fire kept the room warm, and more than anything I wished to bathe, to curl up in a bed somewhere and maybe never wake.

My shoulder was red and inflamed, but the wound in front appeared closed, a pink scar stretching smoothly across the flesh. I looked down and gasped.

Beneath my loose camisole and across my chest, from below my breastbone and up to my clavicles, stretched a violent purple bruise from when the giant had rammed into me.
I pressed against the bone, and pain flowed across my tissue. I bit back a whimper.

Marcello returned with a medical kit. He glanced at me. “What's the key to?”

I looked at my key hanging around my neck. “My home.”

He didn't comment. Instead he pulled out a small scissors and examined my shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked gruffly. He began to snip and pull out the threads on the back of my shoulder.

“I was arrow shot, crossing the dead plains. The damn Addamos were chasing me and were too cowardly to follow me past the river.”

“That's not what I meant.”

Oh. I sighed. “I don't . . . I'm not even certain where to start.”

“How about you start with how you let my boy crack his thick skull almost wide open.”

I held back a laugh. I didn't think my uncle would appreciate it. Not that I thought Les would appreciate Marcello calling him a boy. Or thickheaded.

“We were training. But then he was angry at me and tried to leave, and I followed him.”

“Les does not have a temper. What did you do to anger him so?” He clipped out another stitch.

“I don't know. And before I got a chance to question him further, we were confronted by a ghost.”

Marcello's scissors hovered over my shoulder. “In the streets?”

I nodded.

“How did you get away?”

I paused. If I told him the truth, it would lead to more questions. Questions I couldn't answer. But I knew he'd be able to tell if I lied. And remaining truthful with him was probably my last chance to get into his good graces. I couldn't afford another misstep.

“It vanished before it could hurt us. I can't really explain it.”

“It vanished in the sunlight, perhaps?”

I shrugged, and my uncle grabbed my shoulder, holding me in place. “In the sunlight, they simply fade away. This was something else. This was violent. I sent it away, somehow. Or Safraella did.”

He grunted disapprovingly and glared at me until I turned away. He moved to the stitches on the front of my shoulder.

“We were foolish,” I continued. “We'd left our weapons behind and were arguing in an alley and a lawman, a crooked lawman named Lefevre, found us. He'd brought men, and they attacked.”

“You were unarmed?” He stopped in his ministrations. He took a few steadying breaths. “How could you be so incompetent? How did you even earn your mask?”

My turn for a deep breath. I had stay on his good side. I needed him more than ever now. “I already said it was foolish. This place, this city, it pushes against me. It makes me sloppy.”

He snorted. “And this lawman attacked you because . . .”

“Captain Lefevre wanted to give me to the Da Vias for
coin, and he wanted Les for his murders. I warned him away, but he didn't listen. There is no respect for clippers in this city. No respect for Safraella.”

He set his scissors down and I examined my shoulder. It looked much better. Marcello sat in his chair and returned to the liquor in his glass. “Well, what did you expect? That you'd come here and the people would fall to their knees at the sight of you? That they would turn their eyes to Safraella and forsake their own gods? You are a foolish child.”

My cheeks burned. “Foolish I may be, but I am no more a child than Alessio is a boy. I am the head of the Saldana Family, and though I receive no respect from the people of Yvain, I command it from you, Her disciple. And someone who should know better.”

He rolled his eyes and sipped his drink before he motioned for me to continue with the story.

I took a moment to calm myself. I didn't know this man who shared my blood. I didn't know if he purposely aimed to anger me or if he truly meant the things he said.

“I tried to keep Les safe. I kept him out of the fight, though I knew he would not thank me for it. But when the giant attacked me, I crashed into Les and he took the brunt of our fall. After that we had to hide from lawmen until I could get him here.”

“What happened to the men you fought?”

“I stopped them.”

“How many were there?”

“Six. Though one fled, injured. And I can't be sure the
ones I dropped were all dead. I didn't have time to check.”

“Six men. And you were unarmed and trapped in an alley.”

“I had a stiletto.”

He stared at me, then downed his drink in a single gulp. “Who was your teacher?”

“My brother Rafeo. And my father and mother, of course.”

“Your brother.”

I nodded. “Matteo, my other brother, wouldn't bother. Sometimes I would spar with Jesep, too. Or Val.”

“Val. I do not recognize this name.”

“Valentino Da Via. He's my suitor.” What I said hit me like a punch to the gut. “Was my suitor.”