Assassin's Heart (6 page)

“Lea, I cannot interfere in Family politics. I cannot show bias. The other Families would come for my head, and then where would the country be?”

“It wasn't his fault! It was my fault. I trusted . . .” My words caught in my throat, and I clutched the key at my chest. “Didn't you love my father?”

“Of course.” He sighed. “Dante Saldana was a brother to me. I would've done anything he asked.”

“Then help me with this!”

“No. This is something Dante would
never
have asked. He helped put me on the throne for the good of everyone, not for himself or his Family. And I'm not sure how he would feel about his only daughter planning to take on the most powerful of the Families.”

“I have no choice. Safraella demands it of me.” Did She?
Because maybe I was actually doing this for myself. It didn't matter. I'd murdered in Her name before, and I would do so again. The only difference this time would be that I'd take personal satisfaction in sending the Da Vias to face Her.

“Be that as it may, there are other ways you could appease Safraella. You could pledge yourself to the church. Or you could continue on as a clipper.”

“Live my life cloistered away? Never. And the Families—the Da Vias—would never allow me to continue to serve Her as a clipper. They would not rest until I was dead.”

“You could marry into another Family. Surely one of them would be glad to have you.”

“I have no rank now, no status. And any Family that took me on would have to face the wrath of the Da Vias.” I shook my head. “None of them will take that risk for me.” And they couldn't be trusted.

“No, this is what I must do. Alone, if need be. I'm the only Saldana left, anyway.”

He shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers together. “Fine. I see you cannot be dissuaded from your path. And that is your right. But you don't have to do it alone. You are not, in fact, the only Saldana left.”

My heart skipped a beat. I leaned forward.

“If you're interested, I can tell you where your uncle, Marcello, hid himself after leaving Lovero.”

My uncle Marcello. My stomach knotted. No one else had survived then. The king was referring to my traitorous uncle, who was better left forgotten. We did not speak of him.

I was truly alone.

The king leaned back in his chair. “The Da Vias and possibly even the Maiettas would pay dearly to learn where he is—”

“I will not sell out my uncle, estranged though he may be, to the Da Vias to save my own life. I will not give them the opportunity to shed any more Saldana blood.”

The king held up a hand. “You misunderstand. I offer you his location only if you wish to seek him out for help or
Family obligation. Nothing more.”

“No,” I said. “I could not trust him.”

The king sighed. “Lea, I know the disaster surrounding Marcello was before your time, but I knew him quite well, and Marcello Saldana
was
trustworthy.”

I'd thought Val was trustworthy. I stood and picked up my mask. I was done. There was nothing the king could do for me.
Would
do for me.

He took a quill and a scrap of parchment from a drawer, as well as an inkpot. “If you change your mind, last I'd heard, this is where you can find him.”

He passed me the slip of parchment. I read the words. The city of Yvain in Rennes, Lovero's neighboring country. I dropped the scrap into the lamp, and the flame burned it to ash.

The king stood and walked to the hidden door. He pressed on a latch and slid the door open before he stepped through. He paused, looking back at me.

“Besides,” he added, “Marcello Saldana would know how to find the Da Vias' Family home.”

He closed the door, and I was left alone.

I WALKED THROUGH THE STREETS OF GENONI, AVOIDING
the large crowds this time of night. Maybe the king couldn't help me, but calling on him had been the right thing to do. Even if I'd thought of Marcello, I hadn't known where to find him, or that
he
knew how to find the Da Vias.

Marcello had to help me. We were blood, after all, family, even if I'd never met him, even if he was disgraced. And he'd once been Family, too.

Yvain, a tiny city, sat on the border of the country of Rennes, Lovero's nearest neighbor. It would take a day to reach it, but if I traded off between Butters and Dorian, I would make better time. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. I'd reach the city of Yvain, find Marcello Saldana, enlist his help in destroying the Da Vias, then return to Lovero together and burn them out like the rat's nest they were.

I closed my eyes and pictured them dying, their leathers
soaked with blood, their eyes sightless, their breaths stilled. My vision drifted toward Val, and I snapped my eyes open.

I'd have to be quick about this. Sooner or later the Da Vias would learn I'd survived, and then they'd be after me. And if they chased me to Yvain, it could lead them right to Marcello. If the Da Vias could find him, they would kill him, too.

I'd collect the horses, find somewhere to hide for the rest of the night, and head out at first light when it was safest. If I had to stop, there were monasteries scattered on the dead plains.

I returned to the garden and found the horses waiting patiently. I freed Butters from the pergola and tied him to Dorian again.

I paused, the back of my neck shivering beneath my hood. Someone was watching me.

I scratched Dorian's chin, my actions casual and unconcerned. Three of them, at least. Two on the roof of a nearby house and the other on the ground, hiding, poorly, behind a bush near the entrance. Terrible skills. Even Val could get closer to me, and he barely tried.

I bent over, lifting Dorian's hoof, to give the appearance of freeing a wedged stone. I slipped my hand under my cloak and secured a pair of daggers. I didn't have room in the cramped garden to unsheathe my sword.

I waited, certain one would make a move while I was “distracted.” It was what I'd do. Nothing happened.

Time to take the lead, then.

I stood and faced the entrance and the clipper hiding there. “Well come on, then!” I yelled. “You're here for me, aren't you?”

The two on the roof looked at each other. The third revealed himself at the entrance to the garden. They watched me silently. I'd taken them by surprise, and they seemed unsure how to proceed. Rank amateurs.

The clipper before me stepped closer. The light from the moon showed brown splotches, reminiscent of ink blots, decorating his mask. Family Addamo, then. Alexi, to be specific. The other two I didn't recognize. Mother always tried to get me to memorize every mask, to be able to recall every clipper in every Family by their masks alone, but I could only remember a select few from each. Unlike Rafeo, who knew every single one.

I loosened my spine. I could take Alexi, even with two others backing him.

Alexi lifted a knife and tapped it against his mask.

“You've taken us a bit by surprise,” he said. “We expected Rafeo.” He pointed his dagger at my mask.

I shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say we're disappointed. The Da Vias will want to hear that a Saldana survived, and whether that's Rafeo or you, doesn't really matter to us. Either way, the Da Vias will be the first Family, and we'll have earned their favor. And you'll be dead.”

Above me, one of the Addamo clippers slid closer—a move he probably thought I wouldn't notice. No wonder
they were only the seventh Family. I tightened my grip on my knife. “You can give it your best attempt.”

I whipped the knife at the two on the roof. The first clipper dodged, but the one behind was midstep. My knife struck the tile roof at his feet. I grimaced behind my mask. Knife throwing had always been my weakest skill. But the Addamo clipper lost his balance on the steep roof. He stumbled, tripped, and fell off the edge, landing with a loud thump on the flagstones below. He rolled onto his side and lay still, the ground spreading with blood beneath his head.

One down, even with my feeble knife toss.

Alexi rushed me, switching his grip on the knife in his left hand. He jabbed. I blocked and kicked at his knee. He twisted, but not fast enough. My foot hooked behind his ankle, and I pulled him off balance. He stumbled behind Butters, who swung his rump, excited by the commotion. Alexi fell to his knees.

I sliced through the rope securing Dorian. I was holding my own, but I didn't want to be denied a quick escape.

The remaining clipper jumped to the pergola and dropped behind me. He aimed a kick at the back of my knees. The kick connected, but I rolled with my knees bent, freeing myself from the close confines of the garden.

Finally, in the street, I found space to unsheathe my sword. I let it ring against its scabbard. The sound bounced off the brick walls of the houses around me.

Alexi, on his feet again, and the other Addamo approached
me cautiously from the garden. I waited, steadying my staccato breathing.

I twirled my short sword in my hand, a move of bravado my parents would have been disgusted to see.

Behind them, Butters and Dorian wandered into the street.

“Come on.” I gestured the Addamos closer with the dagger in my left hand. “Or do the Addamos lack the edge to take a lone clipper outside her territory?”

My taunt did its job. Alexi charged, freeing his sword, the other clipper a step behind. Alexi lunged sloppily at me. I leaned away, dodging the swing, and jerked my knee into his gut. His breath left him in a whoosh. He stumbled, barely managing to keep hold of his sword. The other clipper rushed at me. This time I twisted inside his reach. A quick jab at his throat with my left hand and his life was over. He stumbled backward. His sword fell to the street with a clatter as he struggled to keep his life's blood from pouring out of his neck.

Movement behind me. Dumb, to be distracted by my kill. But dumb of Alexi to come at me with such an obvious move. The Addamos had no grace.

I twisted. Alexi raised his sword over his head. Again, I stepped closer, and thrust my sword up under his ribs. He coughed, sword tumbling from his fingers.

I jerked my sword from his body as he collapsed to the street.

I wiped my sword and dagger clean as I caught my breath. It had been easy to kill them. Much, much too easy. I sheathed my weapons.

If this was an accurate representation of the other, lower-ranked Families, then the king was right. The only Family who could've ever expected to take out the Saldanas was the Da Vias. And they'd only been able to do so because of me.

Above me, a boot scraped on tile.

On the roofs, more clippers stared at me behind their quiet bone masks. Addamos, each one. I couldn't take on the full dozen threatening me now.

The clipper in front, the leader and probably Alexi's father, Nicolai, stepped closer, his hand raised in a signal to the rest of his clippers.

I took a step backward, toward my horses waiting for me in the street. I slipped my fingers in one of my pockets, closing my fist around two small spheres.

The Addamos watched me. My muscles flinched. They were hesitating, and the tension burned through my limbs. I couldn't stand the waiting. . . .

I pointed at Alexi and the other clipper, dead at my feet. I shrugged. My flippant attitude would force their move.

Nicolai's hand dropped and the Addamos charged, jumping off the roof.

I cast the spheres at the ground. Smoke bombs. The thin ceramic casing shattered, combining the two liquids inside and creating a thick, gray smoke.

I turned and leaped onto the nearest horse—Butters. He
was still tied to Dorian's saddle. I swore as I sliced through the rope.

The first of the Addamos dashed through the smoke, but quick pressure to Butters's right side signaled him to kick out with his hooves, scattering the clippers.

Then we were free. Butters's shod hooves clattered against the flagstones, Dorian behind us, as we raced away from the Addamos.

Butters was fast, almost too fast, racing down an unfamiliar street in the middle of the night. Ahead, a group of revelers appeared. We ran through, dispersing them and their screams of alarm.

I aimed Butters straight, trying to get as much of a lead as possible. This was Addamo territory; they'd catch me, given enough time. I had to get free of Genoni. If I couldn't escape them, no one would make the Da Vias pay.

I shook my head. I'd killed three members of their Family, all while in their territory. They'd chase me even after I left Genoni. Simply leaving the city wouldn't be enough.

I glanced behind me. Dorian paced Butters, dutifully following. Maybe I could buy myself some time. . . .

“Dorian!” I called his name over the sound of their loud hooves, and his ears twitched in response. I shouted the command for him to turn right. He tossed his head, warring with his desire to stay behind Butters, but I had trained him well. He swung down a side street, away from us.

I lost sight of him.
This is their fault—the Da Vias. One more beautiful thing gone from my life.
Tears pricked my eyes.
Don't
think about it.
He was a good horse. Someone would give him a good home.

At the next fork, I swung Butters north, away from Ravenna and my home territory. Some of the Addamos would've gone ahead to the city limits to catch me there. Hopefully this change in direction would shave off a few pursuers.

There! Before me stood the old, crumbled city wall. Behind it lay the end of the tightly packed buildings of the cities and the start of fields, spread through the valley until the river cut across them. That was my destination—the river and the bridge that spanned it.

We hit the fields and I leaned forward in the saddle. Butters took the cue gladly and raced faster.

A shout from behind. I spared a glance. From two different streets Addamos poured from the city, seven of them, each mounted on a horse of their own. They whipped their mounts in a desperate attempt to catch me.

They could do it, too. Butters was fast and willing, but their mounts were fresher, and they knew the quickest path to reach the bridge.

A whistle shrieked above me. I hauled left on Butters's reins, and only my quick reflexes saved us from the arrow. Butters slid to the side, almost losing his feet. I kicked him to regain his lost speed.

I stared over my shoulder for the archer.

There were two of them, their horses moving slower as their riders used both hands to pull on their bows.

I kneed Butters farther left, placing myself directly in front of the closing front runners, blocking me from the view of the archers.

Only a few yards ahead stood the bridge over the river. They wouldn't follow me across it. They couldn't. Only someone with nothing to lose would cross the bridge at night.

Someone like me.

All bridges over the river were crooked, with sharp turns in the middle before they continued on.

Spirits, like people, need bridges to pass over rivers, but they could only cross moving water in a straight line. The bridges zigzagged, to prevent the ghosts from reaching the cities.

An arrow slammed into my shoulder. I slipped left and lost my grip. Only my thighs squeezing Butters's barrel kept me in my seat. He stumbled again, compensating for my sudden shift in balance. Then we were on the bridge. Butters cut the last corner with an awkward leap. He landed, and I slapped painfully against the saddle. We'd done it. We'd crossed the river.

I'd reached the dead plains, home to angry ghosts.