Assassin's Heart

by Sarah Ahiers

I closed my eyes, sifting through memories of the fire, and the clippers in the smoke. Masks definitely, blank of any features. One side white and the other mottled with dull color. It was no use. The smoke had been too dense to identify the Family.

  Of course, Rafeo might have been addled from blood loss. But he might have seen clearly. Maybe Val had been part of it. Maybe Val had snuck into my home while I slept to murder me and my Family.

  No. No, it wasn’t possible. A vain, selfish show-off he might be, but he loved me. He wouldn’t betray me. . . .

  I shook my head.

  I’d find answers about the attackers later. First, I needed to discover if my Family had made it out. My mind flashed to little Emile, his long, curly hair and his bright smile. He must’ve been so scared. Surely, even the members of another Family would pause before slaughtering a child of only four years. . . .

  I needed answers. I grabbed my mask, my thumb rubbing over a split on its surface.

  I flipped it over and traced the crack near where the mouth would’ve been.

  Rafeo’s mask. I’d taken Rafeo’s mask instead of mine in the dark of the tunnel.

  Gone were my black flowers and vines, replaced by tiger stripes.

  I bit my lip against the building tears. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe this way Rafeo could live through me.

  From the front of the safe house a door opened, followed by the sound of shutters banging aside as the shop owner prepared for business.

  I thrust the mask over my face. Time to go.

  I stepped away from my cabinet as the shopkeeper pushed his way into the room.

  His mouth dropped open before he lowered his gaze. His face blanched white. “Oh! I’d heard you were all killed! That the home had been discovered and the Saldanas slaughtered. Oh, it does my heart good to find you here!”

  Word traveled quickly in Ravenna, especially when it involved a fire that could easily spread to other buildings.

  I freed a knife and pressed it against his throat. “No one must know I was here, do you understand?”

  “Oh! Yes, I do. I will protect your appearance here as surely as I protect this location.”

  Someone had sold our Family out to the others. I stared him in the eyes, searching for a hint of betrayal.

  No. None of the shopkeepers knew the location of our home. They only kept our belongings safe, to gain favor from Safraella.

  I sheathed my knife. It was a testament to the man’s loyalty that he didn’t check his neck for blood.

  From the hidden entrance, I slipped into the alley.

  I spent the entire day traveling shadow to shadow, searching the hatches for signs of my Family. The first I checked was the entrance the attackers had used, the one hidden by the church.

  I didn’t get too close. Someone would be watching, waiting to see if anyone would appear. I wasn’t stupid.

  I clutched the key hanging from my neck and examined the entrance from a hiding spot. The bush that hid the hatch had been hacked apart, and the door had been chopped into slivers of wood.

  Last night Val had dangled my key before me. And then hours later my Family was dead. Or, if Rafeo was wrong, and it wasn’t the Da Vias, then I must have left the hatch into our house unlocked. Either way, everything had happened because of me.

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to calm my twisting gut. Answers could come later. I lived. It was up to me to try and save what was left of my Family. Failing that . . . I’d cross those fields when I reached them.

  The other tunnels remained undiscovered. I traveled through each, following them until I reached the hatches at the other end that led into the house. None would open, even with my key. No one had escaped through them.

  I was the only remaining Saldana.

  I sat at the bottom of a hatch and removed my mask, breathing freely in the damp air, which stank of smoke and burned things.

  I pictured the house. A burned-out wreck, down to the beams. Or maybe the fire had somehow been contained, only burning everything inside. The plush carpets. The furniture and our belongings.

  The people . . .

  No. Don’t think about it, Lea. Don’t think about them. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me.

  I rubbed my eyes and pulled my mask down. Crying wouldn’t lead me anywhere. I needed a plan. I needed to fix this!

  My joints creaked as I stood. I also needed sleep. And food and a bath. Those were the first things. Then I’d choose my next steps. Decide who to kill first, and how.

  Because someone would die for what they’d done to the Saldanas. And this time I wouldn’t kill just in service of Safraella. No. This time it would also be for me.

  I slipped through the streets, passing through shadows cast by lamplight until it grew dark enough to travel by rooftop. It was quicker to travel above, especially early in the night when the streets were crowded with people. I stopped at every safe house, collecting all my spare money and anything else I might need, and then I headed southeast, toward the border of the city of Ravenna. The closer I drew, the sparser the buildings. Finally I had to climb down to the street level and make my way between shadows and trash-filled alleys. The streets weren’t safe.

  Around the corner a group of revelers blocked my way. Their raucous laughter echoed off the snug walls of the garden I slipped inside to hide. A wrought-iron bench further blocked me from their view. I pulled my cloak tight as they traveled past the gate. The women wore luxurious dresses, made from the finest velvet and lace, their collars reaching to the tops of their heads and their hair wrapped intricately with ribbons, beads, and gems.

  I’d never wear anything like that now. Not that I’d ever had an opportunity to own something so fine, even for the balls at the palace where we were often invited. There would be no more balls for me. No more beautiful things.

  I glanced out from my hiding spot. At the rear of their group I caught a quick flash of a man in a cylindrical hat, staff at his side. I looked again.

  Nothing. Only my tired eyes playing tricks.

  When the group turned a corner, I escaped my hiding place, staring in the direction they’d gone. Echoes of their revelry reached me in staccato bursts. It must’ve been easy, to be a commoner. To know if they were murdered at the hands of a clipper, they would be reborn as an infant into a better life. To know there was someone who would seek vengeance on their behalf or take their life if their sadness was too great. To not worry about gods and their demands and Family ranks.

  This far south I could smell the brininess of the sea on the air. I inhaled deeply and pictured throwing myself into its depths, letting myself sink to the bottom and the peace and quiet found there.

  I shook my head. A common life wasn’t for me. It never had been. I just needed some sleep. Things always looked different when I was well rested.

  Before me stood an inn tucked away in a corner of the city. I hid my mask in my cloak, but it would be clear to the inn owner I was a clipper. I didn’t have any common clothing. I’d have to be gone as soon as possible in the morning before the owner had a chance to wag his tongue.

  I used part of my money to rent a room for a night and asked that a hot bath be drawn. I smelled of smoke and fire; this was obvious even before the innkeeper wrinkled his nose. It was on my hair, my skin, inside of me. Maybe I’d never be clean of it.

  My room was small, but the mattress was free of bugs and lice. The innkeeper offered me a key to the bathing room, and after I stashed my belongings, I went straight there.

  The tub was dented and rusted in spots, but hot steam rolled over its edges. I climbed in and sank up to my chin, letting the water soak away my aches and pains. I scrubbed my skin with rough soap, concentrating on my hair, which stank the most.

  Once out of the bath I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.

  I still looked the same. Everything had changed. Everything. And yet my face stared back at me the way it always had. My eyes were still brown, my hair was still lo
ng and blond.

  I ran my fingers through the strands, pulling apart any tangles. It wasn’t fair. I was different on the inside. I should look different on the outside.

  I dug through my leathers until I found what I was searching for.

  The knife sliced my hair easily and the chunks fell across my bare feet, piling to my ankles before I was finally done.

  I left it long enough to pull back to keep out of my face when I wore my mask, but barely.

  There. Now the girl who looked back was someone different. Just like the girl on the inside.

  In my room I crawled under the blankets, pulling my knees up against my chest. My muscles still ached, weary from everything, but my mind wouldn’t be still.

  All I could picture was Val in the alley, dangling my key from his fingers before I’d snatched it back. He had taken it from me at the beginning of dinner, at a restaurant his Family owned. Anyone could have made an imprint of it while we dined, while he stroked my fingers. And then we’d fled to the alley and he’d kissed me, all while his Family plotted to destroy mine.

  My fault. All my fault.

  Tears soaked into the pillow beneath my head. I wept steadily. My grief stretched on and on, endless. When I’d manage to regain control of myself, my body, I’d remember someone I had lost: my father, my mother, Matteo, or Jesep. Emile. Rafeo. Then the tears would start again.

  I’d left Rafeo in the tunnel, and I’d left my mother in our burning home. I was alone now. The only Saldana remaining, and I’d gotten my Family killed because I’d loved a boy in secret who used that love to destroy me.

  I cried until my cheeks burned from the salt, until my skin chapped and my head pounded. Then, finally, my body empty, I slept.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  seven

  STALL OWNERS CLOSED UP SHOP BELOW MY OPEN window. I’d slept through the rest of the night and the day. My eyes were sticky and sore with dried tears. My muscles begged me not to move.

  I’d never slept so heavily before—like I’d slept for years. I scrunched under the blankets. Maybe I could simply not wake up. Ever.

  Footsteps pounded outside my room as other guests went about their business. It was no use. I couldn’t stay like this. I couldn’t give up.

  I climbed out of bed, the wooden planked floor rough beneath my bare feet. I stood in front of the mirror over the bureau and smoothed my newly shorn hair.

  What would I do? The only thing I could do.

  Kill everyone responsible.

  I jerked on my hair, pinching my scalp. I pictured Val in his leathers, leaning against an alley wall as he kissed me. I saw him laughing, his smile lightening the mood. Then my chest constricted as I pictured Emile as he tried to outrun bedtime. And my father, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose where they always rubbed him sore.

  I pictured Rafeo dead in the tunnel, his leathers soaked in blood, his skin cold.

  My throat burned. I coughed, then swallowed. If Val had been a part of the fire, I’d have to kill him. If he’d helped kill my Family, then he deserved to die. It was that simple.

  Even if I loved him.

  Even if more killing wasn’t the answer.

  I paused, my fingers entangled in my hair. “I’m a clipper, a disciple of Safraella,” I said to my reflection. “Murder is always the answer.”

  I pulled out my leathers and set about dressing myself. I needed to verify that it was the Da Vias who’d attacked us. Then I’d make a plan. The Da Vias numbered over fifty active clippers. I couldn’t take them out one by one. They’d catch on.

  No, I needed to kill them the way they’d killed us.

  If I found their home, I could burn them out.

  If only I had help . . .

  The Caffarellis. Maybe I could reach out to them. There had been the marriage prospect, and my mother had belonged to them, once.

  But why would they offer aid? The Da Vias were now the most powerful Family. The Caffarellis ranked fifth. They couldn’t defeat the Da Vias even if they agreed to help me.

  Probably they would just hand me over to the Da Vias to curry favor.

  I tightened the buckles on my boots until my calves ached. No other Family would assist me. Not now, even if they hated the Da Vias.

  No. I couldn’t trust them. I couldn’t trust anyone ever again.

  I could give it all up. Bury my clothes, the mask. Become a different person. I could be a glassblower. A seamstress. No one need ever know who I was, what I could do.

  Safraella would know. I couldn’t abandon my duties to Her and Her subjects.

  I paused. My mind turned. I did need help, though. Someone who couldn’t abandon me. Someone who could help me fix things.

  Time to visit the king.

  The three Loveran cities that bordered the fields in front of the dead plains, Ravenna, Lilyan, and Genoni, pressed against one another like drunks in a barroom, their boundaries blurred by buildings that spilled across the city lines. Lilyan was smaller than Ravenna, but because the Caffarellis didn’t have to share territory, like the Saldanas and Da Vias in Ravenna, they had more space. The southern cities and territories spread out more freely, with farmland and room between them.

  The king’s palace, located in Genoni, sat in the center of Addamo territory. Even if I could avoid the Addamos, and they were lacking in the skills of stealth and fighting technique, it would take too long to travel on foot. I’d need my horse if I wanted to speak to the king, Costanzo Sapienza.

  As we did with our myriad safe houses, the Saldana Family hid stables throughout the city, moving our horses between them as needed. I headed to one as the shadows and dark night kept me hidden from the common. And the Da Vias.

  I reached the stable and slipped inside.

  Surrounded by the sweet smell of hay and the sounds of sleeping horses, I made my way into the secret stalls where three horses were kept well groomed, exercised, and fed.

  My gray gelding, Dorian, nickered softly as I tacked him up. In the next stall Rafeo’s stallion, Butters, stomped his hoof, anxious for a night ride himself. Rafeo never believed in giving animals serious names. The final horse was Matteo’s gelding Safire, who ignored us all in an attempt to sleep.

  I led Dorian out of his stall. Butters whinnied loudly.

  “Butters!” I whispered. “Quiet yourself!”

  He kicked at the stall door, the loud banging waking the other horses. If he kept up, he’d wake the whole neighborhood. Better to bring him along, even as just a packhorse.

  I tied Dorian to his stall door and tacked Butters up as well. He barely calmed, even when he realized he was coming. Rafeo thought . . . had thought . . . spirited horses were funny. I just thought they were a pain.

  I threw the extra bags and weapons onto Butters but kept my spare money on Dorian.

  Something slipped from a saddlebag and drifted to the ground. The white poppy Val had left me.

  I stared at it between my boots. My throat tightened. It would be so easy to crush it beneath my heel, to grind it into the ground until it was dust.

  But maybe Val hadn’t done anything. Maybe Rafeo had been wrong.

  I picked it up, then replaced it in Butters’s saddlebag. I could deal with it later, once I had some answers and some help.

  We left the barn, Butters tied behind Dorian. I smacked Butters when he tried to bully his way to the front, and he finally got the message.

  The horses’ hooves clopped loudly on the flagstones as we took darkened backstreets. Butters grazed from any gardens we passed.

  We crossed the city line into Genoni. I exhaled. The Addamo Family was smaller than the Da Vias, so chances were slight that I’d meet one of them, even though Genoni was half the size of Ravenna.

  The palace sat on a hill in the center of the city, lit with giant lanterns, glowing brightly even against the light
s of the city. It looked warm and welcoming, like a single coal burning in a brazier, but I’d be turned away if I approached the front gate at this hour.

  They were not clippers, the Sapienzas, not part of the nine Families. The king was a disciple of Safraella solely to keep the angry ghosts outside the crumbled city walls.

  My father had explained that before the Sapienzas had seized the throne in a coup, the cities had been overrun by angry ghosts. The only things that could stop the ghosts were moving water, sturdy walls, and extreme faith in Safraella. People were afraid to leave their homes once the sun set.

  The common people worshipped dozens of gods, though there were six predominant Loveran gods, including Safraella. Countless gods promised afterlives, some more desirable than others, but not many offered such a fair trade as Safraella: a new life in return for a death.

  Finally, the Sapienzas managed to gain the support of the most powerful of the nine Families, and together they took the throne for the Sapienzas. Costanzo’s agreement with the Families was that he would follow Safraella, building altars for Her throughout the country and donning his own bone mask—the royal family’s color was gold, of course. And the common followed suit, abandoning their gods and turning to Safraella, the god their new, just king worshipped.

  So pleased was Safraella by the king and the country’s devotion to Her that She drove the ghosts out onto the dead plains, granting Lovero Her patronage, and Ravenna had become a city that thrived on nightlife and entertainment for those who had spent so long locked behind doors.

  I stashed the horses in an abandoned garden, tied to a pergola, and gave each a bag of grain to keep them occupied. They were trained to wait patiently for their riders.

  The palace was massive, as any good palace should be. Its walls soared into the sky, flecks in the stone sparkling against the lamplight like stars. The palace was the crown jewel of Lovero, set against the rubies and emeralds of the cities and cradled by the sea.

  I waited for the patrolling guards to turn their backs before I scaled the wall and dropped into the courtyard. I was allowed to be here; I just couldn’t let anyone see me. Guards’ tongues wagged as much as courtesans’.