Assassin's Heart (9 page)

The ghost's screams reverberated loudly. My head pounded with the beat of my heart.

In the middle of the canal a boat floated listlessly, loosely
moored to my right. It was far. Too far to reach, but I had no other choice.

I whipped my bags across the water. My shoulder burned with fresh pain, but both bags landed in the bottom of the boat with a loud
whump
.

I jumped.

My body crashed into the boat. My arms barely managed to grasp the side. My legs and hips splashed into the water, almost capsizing the boat. My shoulder screamed in agony, but somehow I managed to pull myself over the edge, crashing into the bottom.

I cradled my shoulder, biting my lip beneath my mask. I rocked back and forth, trying to prevent the tears that threatened to escape.

This was just physical pain. It was nothing. I would not waste my tears on it.

I took a few deep breaths, then pushed my cloak off my mask. I peeked over the edge of the boat.

The ghost floated at the end of the alley, stopped by the flowing water of the canal. It moaned steadily, staring at the boat. Like the ghosts at the monastery gates, it would wait for me all night.

I leaned back, slumping against the boat. Finally, I rolled over and covered myself with my wet cloak. It seemed I'd found my place for the night.

I AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF CANAL BIRDS SQUAWKING
in the air and voices drifting over the water. I was lost, but then I remembered the murdered boy and the ghost and my restless night in the boat.

I groaned and rolled over. Above me, the gray of early morning blanketed the sky. I'd wasted the whole night, but at least the ghost would be gone.

The voices came again. I blinked, trying to focus, and then peeked over the edge of the boat.

Three men in the alley stood over the body of the boy. They wore gray-and-blue uniforms with round hats. Yvain lawmen.

I couldn't make out their muffled words, but it suddenly seemed important to find out what they were saying.

I reached my arms over the boat and grasped the moor line. I dragged the boat closer to the alley.

“It's different from the others,” one lawman said. “I think
this was just a regular robbery gone wrong. Nothing else is missing but the coins.”

“Not all the coins, though,” another lawman said. They turned to look at the third lawman, who held a gold coin in his fingers, examining it. My gold coin. The one stamped with the Saldana Family crest that I'd slipped into the boy's mouth last night in a fit of exhaustion and stupidity. They didn't worship Safraella in Yvain, so chances were they didn't appreciate a murder.

“What do you make of it, Captain Lefevre?” one asked.

“It's Loveran.” He flipped the coin over. “See this stamp? It's a crest from one of their clipper Families.”

“Clipper?”

“Their assassin Families, who serve Safraella by murdering people.” One of the lawman spat to the side, but lawman Lefevre continued, “They clip people's lives short.”

Lawman Lefevre was either well educated in Loveran customs and culture, or he'd spent some time in my country.

“Then what is it doing here?”

Lefevre whistled a short tune, turning the coin in his fingers again. “They only leave these coins on someone they've killed, so it means this boy wasn't killed by our mysterious serial murderer, but instead by a Loveran clipper.”

I hadn't killed the boy, though. I'd only tried to make his passage to his next life easier. It was a kindness, what I'd done for him.

The third lawman grunted. “So, not only do we have our own serial murderer on the loose, but now we have a
Loveran one as well?”

“Seems so,” Captain Lefevre said. “And the clipper will be a professional killer, proficient in all manners of murder.”

Beside me, a canal bird landed on the edge of the boat. I looked at it, and my movement sent it skyward in an explosion of feathers and shrieks.

All three lawman looked up at the sound. Their eyes followed the bird before settling on the boat. Where I lay hidden, arms grasping the moor line to keep me in place, masked face peeked over the edge to eavesdrop.

One gave a wordless shout. All three rushed to the end of the alley and the canal I floated in.

I swore and dropped the moor line. The boat began to drift away.

“Stop right there!” one shouted.

I declined and instead grabbed my closest weapon, my favorite stiletto hidden in my boot. I sliced and sawed at the moor line, but the rope was thick and crusted from the canal water.

The two junior lawmen found a boat pole in the alley and used it to snag the moor line. They hauled on the rope, and my boat jerked toward them.

Captain Lefevre stood at the edge of the canal and stared at me, twisting the coin in his fingers.

I eyed the rope, and then the water. There was no guarantee if I jumped into the canal that they wouldn't follow me. And I had two bags of weapons and belongings that would weigh me down.

I used all my strength and pressed the edge of my stiletto
into the fraying rope. My shoulder stretched painfully.

The rope snapped. I almost fell into the canal at the sudden freedom. Shouts erupted from the alley, and I scrambled to my knees. The sudden slack had caused the junior lawmen to tumble to the ground.

My boat drifted downstream. The fallen lawmen scrabbled to their feet and ran out of the alley. Captain Lefevre continued to stare at me, a slight smirk on his face.

“I'll be seeing you later, clipper,” he shouted. He turned and walked away, whistling a tune that echoed around him.

I somehow managed to steer the boat down a side canal away from the lawmen. As soon as I could, I pulled myself to the streets and escaped the boat, shoving it on its way.

The lawmen would still be looking for me. They didn't know my identity because of my mask, so I'd be safe without it, but they'd surely recognize my mask again if they saw it. I'd need to be careful, stay in the shadows. Which meant I needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere I could stash my belongings to keep them secure.

My shoulder ached. Everything about me ached after the night spent in the boat, but getting to the rooftops was the safest option. The lawmen likely wouldn't look there.

I scurried down the dark alleys, avoiding the main streets and the people starting to fill them. I wore my leathers and cloak and mask, and even if I hid my mask and cloak in my bags, my clothing would still look odd. And people remembered oddness and would talk. Better to wear the mask and
have people remember that than take it off and have people remember me.

Down another alley, bordered by a canal, leaned a pile of pallets and refuse against a single-story building. I rotated my arm and grimaced at the pain, but this would be the most help I'd find.

I once again tied my bags to me, and then tested the resiliency of the pile. It wobbled with my shoves but seemed fairly stable. I'd have to take care and take my time.

The pile turned out to be easy to climb. The nooks and crannies of the refuse made for plenty of hand- and footholds. And though my shoulder protested the entire time, my night of sleep must have done some good, because I was able to keep going until I found myself at the top of the pile.

From there I could reach the rooftop with my fingertips. I threw my bags up and then pulled myself after them. I sat down to catch my breath and let my pounding shoulder rest.

Where Ravenna's roofs had been angled and tiled, Yvain's roofs were flat and uneven, the difference in height between each building varying greatly.

I grabbed my bags and headed for another roof, jumping the gap easily. I landed hard. The roof creaked below me. I stumbled away just as a rotten part of the roof collapsed. A puff of dust erupted from the new hole.

I set my bags down and approached cautiously.

The rest of the roof seemed stable. I peered past the dust and darkness to find an empty and abandoned room. Maybe this was just what I needed.

I dug through my bag until I found my grappling hook, and then used my rope to slide down into the dark room. If this didn't work out, I'd face a hard climb back up. . . .

The room was empty and abandoned. The windows and door had been boarded up, the floor and walls covered in dust and cobwebs.

It was perfect.

No one had been in here for a long time, which meant no one would start poking around now. The boards covering the windows were rotted and they easily popped off the nails holding them in place. It would be simple to slide them on or off the nails, to replace them while I was inside or gone to make it look like nothing had changed. I arranged my two bags in the corner. Then I stared at them.

Now what?

I'd found somewhere safe to stay. Well, safer anyway. A ghost wouldn't find me in here. But there were lawmen after me now, for a crime I didn't commit. And I couldn't walk around Yvain dressed as I was.

My stomach growled. I sat on the dusty floor and went through my things. I had two purses of coins, but one contained my holy coins, which weren't for spending. I poured the money from my other purse into my hand and counted. I had maybe enough to buy some food and local clothing but not much else.

I'd thought I was poor before. But the hard times my Family had fallen on were nothing to what I was feeling now. I'd never gone hungry at home. I'd just always compared myself
to Val and the wealth of the Da Vias.

I swallowed and returned the coins back to their bag. The Da Via wealth would only grow, now that they didn't have to compete with the Saldanas for jobs.

They had so much money already, though. Of course, I didn't know the other Da Vias. I only knew Val, and he wouldn't have been part of murdering my Family just for the chance at more wealth. Or, at least, I'd
thought
I knew Val.

But the Da Vias had gotten in somehow, and I kept picturing Val returning my key to me after he'd lifted it at dinner.

I clutched the key against my chest. The house was gone, of course. The key was useless, with nothing left to lock, nothing left to protect. But I couldn't give it up. It was all I had left of my home. And its weight served to remind me what I needed to do.

I needed to find my uncle, enlist his help and his knowledge of the Da Vias. And then kill them all.

IT TURNED OUT FARADAY AND THE OTHER PRIESTS HAD
done more than just pack my belongings. I found some bread and hard cheese, a skin of wine, and Butters's saddle blanket all tucked inside. I wished I'd known about the saddle blanket before my cold night in the boat, but now it would serve as a bed.

I made a quick meal of the food and mapped out my next steps.

I would go out when the sun set—sticking to the roofs as much as possible to avoid any more ghosts—and begin my search for my uncle. The lawmen had mentioned the mystery of a serial murderer. If I were a gambler, I'd put money on it being my uncle. He must have created some way to find jobs. One didn't give up being a clipper just because he'd been ousted from his Family and home.

The second plan, though, the most important one, was
harder. I had to find the Da Vias' Family home. Then I had to find a way to get inside. Both of these were things my uncle could help me with.

There were over fifty Da Via clippers, which didn't even include those who were too old, or women who were pregnant or had recently had a baby, or even younger children who weren't clipping on their own yet. Somehow my uncle and I would have to kill all of them before they dropped us.

I closed my eyes and pictured slipping my knives into their hearts, cutting them down with my sword, forcing them to drink my most painful poisons. They deserved it and worse for what they'd done to the Saldanas.

I took a nap, using the robe I'd worn to escape the monastery as a pillow. I slipped off my mask, tucking it safely beneath the robe, my fingers tracing the crack along its surface. My injured shoulder pulsed with the beat of my heart, lulling me to sleep.

I dreamed of Val. His lips on my skin, his calloused hands on my flesh, and when I woke, my body burned, missing him. But my heart burned more with missing my Family.

My muscles creaked, still stiff and sore, but the nap had helped to clear the last bit of cobwebs from my head.

I tightened my cloak around my shoulders and loaded up my weapons. The empty room had grown even darker with the setting sun. It couldn't be that hard to find one old clipper in a city that abhorred death.

I slipped out the window. It was time to hunt.

Nothing.

I found nothing in my night of hunting.

I'd traveled along the rooftops, searching the dark alleys and streets for signs of my uncle, for bodies or sounds of death or any clue, really, that somewhere in the city a clipper conducted business. But all I found were ghosts, lazily traveling the streets, doubling back when they came to a canal or crooked bridge.

I clutched my hands into fists. My burned palm ached.

As sunrise approached, I headed back to my safe space, dejected that my plan of
find my uncle
wasn't as simple as I'd initially hoped. He could have easily been out and our paths could never have crossed. I needed to know where to search.

Secure inside my empty room, I changed from my leathers into the only other clothing I had: the robe given to me by Brother Faraday. I would draw attention, but I had no other choice.

When the sun rose, I slipped outside again. The brown robe tangled in my feet, and I stumbled in my secluded alley. I brushed my hair out of my face and strode down the street like I was of noble birth, instead of a dirty girl in an ill-fitting robe.

People were about their business early in Yvain. I garnered a few strange looks, but I just concentrated on blending in with the crowd, searching the shops and wares. Many of the clothing shops looked too expensive. I clutched my purse in my hand. Val had so easily lifted things off me, I couldn't risk an actual pickpocket stealing my remaining funds.

I discovered a store with simple dresses and stepped inside. It didn't take long to find something I could afford—a plain purple dress, with no real shape—and though the shop owner offered to tailor it so it fit better, I couldn't justify the cost.

It didn't matter anyway. So Lea Saldana was walking around the streets of Yvain in an ill-fitting dress barely adequate for the common—who was left to care? All my beautiful things were gone with my home, with my Family. I didn't deserve anything more.

While I paid, the shopkeeper and her assistant gossiped steadily about the city and people they knew. At a break in their conversation, I made my move.

“I heard some lawmen say they found a body the night before last.”

The shopkeeper clucked her tongue. “It's been terrible lately, I swear.”

Her assistant shook her head. “It must be that serial murderer everyone's talking about.”

“Serial murderer?” I prodded.

The shopkeeper rolled her eyes. “Nothing but rumors, my dear. No need to worry your pretty head.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” her assistant said. “There have been a lot of bodies found in the north corner, and not all of them are ghosts or robberies. My brother said people have been sliced open. I don't know of any street thug who carries a sword.”

She was right—that didn't sound like a robbery gone wrong. It certainly didn't match the robbery and murder I'd seen.

“It's a shame. Even if we didn't have the ghosts, good people still wouldn't be safe at night.”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “The solution is the same as always: stay inside after dark.”

Her assistant hummed an agreement.

I collected my change and bag and thanked the women.

Outside, I bumped into a plump woman in a yellow robe. She faced me and smiled brightly, her cheeks rosy, her brown eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight. “Hello, child! Have you come to hear the word of Acacius?”

To the right stood two other women in the same robe, holding baskets filled with fruit.

“No, thank you. I follow a different god.” I clutched my bag and tried to step around.

She turned with me. “At least take some food.” She forced three pieces of fruit into my hands, their thin lilac skins bruising and splitting with her verve.

The fruits were heavy in my hand, probably filled with sweet flesh and juices. My stomach groaned. “You're just giving away this food? To anyone?”

“Acacius loves his children, and his love provides us with food to fill our stomachs and our souls.” Her smile could have scared away the night.

A pair of large hands clasped over my fingers and the fruit.

I turned, yanking my hands free from the boy who now stood beside me, abandoning the fruit to him in my anger.

Long, dark, wavy hair—fighting to escape from a tie—brushed against his tan skin. A strong jaw was hidden behind
a short beard on his chin, and a neck that was too long offset a nose that was too large. Maybe not so much a boy, actually.

“What they don't tell you”—he leaned closer to me—“is that Acacius is also a god of debts, and taking the fruit is an act of worship. You will owe them a debt.”

The woman smiled tightly. “Lending to someone and having them give back what was given to them are all ways to show Acacius our devotion. He rewards us with this bounty.” She held the basket out to me, but I kept my hands away from the fruit.

“The devout of Acacius always collect on their debts,” the boy said quietly, “because collecting the debt is also an act of worship.”

“I follow a darker god,” I said to the woman.

She frowned, and the boy replaced the fruit into her basket. She turned her back on us, and just like that, I was forgotten.

My hands were sticky from the fruit, and it took almost all my willpower not to lick my fingers.

The boy placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to lead me from the Acacius women. I jerked away from him. “Don't touch me.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I meant no disrespect.”

Whatever else he might have said remained unspoken as he looked over my head. He narrowed his eyes. I turned.

There, in the center of the street market, walked the lawman from the other night—Lefevre. He scanned the crowd, examining each person as he passed. He was searching for
someone. Me, maybe. Or perhaps the serial murderer.

The crowd gave Lefevre a wide berth. It was a warning to me that the people he was supposed to protect did their utmost to stay away from him.

Lefevre's eyes swept over the women of Acacius and then me. He couldn't have recognized me without a mask, but his gaze lingered. I dropped my eyes. Let him think me demure, weak. If he thought I was just a poor girl on the streets, he wouldn't pay me any mind.

Lefevre continued on his way.

I exhaled and turned to the boy, but he had vanished.

I frowned. He'd moved surprisingly quietly for someone so tall. He'd both appeared and disappeared without my notice.

Hunger must have driven me to slip. I would need to get myself under control.

It wasn't until I'd left the street market that I discovered the three pieces of fruit hidden in my bag with my dress. The juices had stained the fabric.

I headed to the north corner of the city where most of the bodies had been found. Not that I expected to discover anything during the day, but if I familiarized myself with this part of the city now, it would be easier to search for my uncle once the sun set.

I ate the fruit as I went. It was as sweet as I'd imagined.

To my left a woman sold flowers. “Roses for love,” she called. “Pennyblooms to keep the ghosts away!”

She had a bundle of Tullie blossoms, and their sharp fragrance caused me to gasp, fruit forgotten in my hand. My mother had worn a Tullie blossom perfume. I stood in the middle of the street and inhaled deeply until I became inured to the scent of them. My eyes burned with tears. I didn't know if I wanted to purchase the flowers and bring them back to my dusty, hidden space, or if I wanted to hack and slash at them until they were nothing but scattered petals on the cobblestones.

I walked away, finishing the last piece of fruit.

A shadow flitted across the wall of the building to my left. Then again, a moment later. Someone was following me. He wasn't being sly about it either. I glanced over my shoulder. A tall man casually strolled behind me, hands in his pockets, face hidden in the shadows.

I chose a side street. He turned as well.

I scanned my surroundings. I could lose him on the rooftops, but it would draw attention. The wrong kind of attention.

I traveled deeper into the maze of buildings stacked on top of one another. The cramped streets were filled with cascading flowers in window boxes, as if the Yvanese couldn't have enough flowers in their lives.

I could kill the man. It was within my skills as a clipper. But the lawmen were already searching for me for a murder I didn't commit.

Another turn. A canal stretched before me, the road ending at its murky waters.

I needed to get out of this dead end before I was trapped.

The man turned the corner, blocking me in.

Too late.

I faced him, my back straight, chin held high. He didn't frighten me. If he saw this, he would think twice about whatever he had planned.

I let a dagger pocketed in my sleeve slide into my palm. I tucked it behind me, waiting for the man to step from the shadows.

He paused, then continued his casual walk in my direction, whistling an unfamiliar tune.

He stepped into a shaft of light. I released my breath. It was the lawman, Lefevre.

“Lawman.” I nodded in greeting. “I seem to have lost my way.”

“It's Captain, actually. And I suppose our ways can be rather confusing for a foreigner.”

I blinked.

He smiled, a glimpse of white against his olive skin. “Your accent and clothing give you away. Lovero, yes? Though I didn't know they had adopted the robes of their priests as fashion.”

I flushed. I hadn't known I had an accent.

“I lost my belongings, and the priests were kind enough to clothe me temporarily.” I raised my dress bag in front of me. “But I'm afraid I find your streets and canals most confusing.”

“Ah, I see.” He stepped closer. I clenched my hidden
dagger. “You must be new to town, if you're just now replacing your clothes.”

He hadn't worded it as a question, so I didn't respond. I held my eyes wide and innocent.

“I was born in Lovero, you know,” he said. “My mother was a devout follower of your death god.”

I held my tongue. Let him continue to fill the silence if he must.

“Perhaps you can help me with something, Miss . . .”

“Lea.” As soon as I said it, I cursed myself. I should've lied about my name, called myself Jenna or Marya or anything. He had an unsettling manner about him I didn't understand. It tripped me up.

“Miss Lea, then. It's been a long time since I've called Lovero home, and I have a few questions.”

There was nothing I wanted to help him with. “I must really be on my way. I promised I would return these robes to the priests, and the church is so far from here. I would hate to be caught on the streets when there are ghosts about.”

“I'm not afraid of the ghosts. It will only take another moment of your time, and then I will send you on your way.” He stepped closer still. My body tensed.

I didn't know what game he was playing, only that there
was
some sort of game. He couldn't know I was the clipper who'd fled from the body. I'd worn my mask.

I needed to get out of here. I could slide past him and run, but that would only indicate me as suspicious. Better to keep up with the act of a little lost girl, asking a lawman for
assistance. “How can I help?”

He reached into his pocket, and I held my breath.

His hand emerged. In his palm rested a gold coin, stamped with the Saldana Family crest. My coin. I flinched. A slow smile spread once more across Lefevre's face.

“Ah, I thought you might recognize this.”

“Any Loveran would. You should be rid of it. It does not belong to you.”

“Oh?” He flicked the coin between two of his fingers. “And who does it belong to?”