by Sarah Ahiers
This was my punishment. My terrible secret. Val had brought about my Family’s death. They were gone forever and I was alone and this was my burden to bear.
I shook my head, freeing it from heavy thoughts, and found a dark alley to hide in. Safe from prying eyes, I changed out of the garments the monastery had provided and slipped into my familiar leathers. My boots buckled tightly against my calves and the belts fit snug around my waist, though they were too light without their customary weapons. I opened my second pack and slipped on every knife I could fit around my waist, in my boots, and on my arms. I sheathed my short sword and filled a pouch with a fair selection of my favorite poisons. After a moment of thought, I included a few smoke bombs as well. This was a new city, a new country. Better to carry a bit of everything and not need it than to regret something left in a pack.
There were no clippers in Rennes, or anywhere else other than Lovero. There were only nine Families, and we all called Lovero home. Maybe one day, if worship of Safraella spread past Loveran borders, there would be clippers in other cities, but for now I was alone.
I pulled on my cloak, fingering the small stitches a priest had used to close the arrow hole. My shoulder ached fiercely. Finally, I slipped on Rafeo’s mask, inhaling deeply the smell of fresh oil used to clean it. I was safe now, behind the mask. And it was time to get to work.
I tied a rope around my bags so they would hang below me, then approached a nicely pitted wall, easy for climbing. I’d get to the roof, stash my belongings for now, and then explore the city and try to learn its ways. Maybe, if I was truly lucky, I’d actually find my uncle tonight and I could be back on my way to Ravenna with him tomorrow morning. Of course, chances were it would take a few days of searching and questioning the right people. After all, he’d been a Saldana once and could hide effectively.
I yawned. Or maybe I could just find somewhere to get some rest first. Yes, I wanted to find Marcello as soon as possible, especially since the Addamos were after me—and it was only a matter of time before the Da Vias learned about me, too—but I would be of no use exhausted.
I tightened my grip on the wall and pulled myself up.
My shoulder exploded in pain. I gasped, dropping to the street. I clutched my shoulder and closed my eyes until the pain faded to a steadier ache.
Damn it. I was too tired, and not thinking straight. My shoulder couldn’t support me so soon after being stitched up.
I looked up at the roofs. I would find no sanctuary among them tonight. I’d have to find somewhere else, somewhere other than the churches or inns where the Addamos would be sure to look.
As much as a bed called to me, I couldn’t take the risk.
I leaned against the alley wall, my muscles sagging, my body begging me to rest, to sleep.
The city remained empty except for a few people heading quickly to their destinations. It was so unlike Ravenna, where there was nothing to fear in the night. Well, except for the clippers. But now, with the hush and the quiet floating across the streets, gooseflesh broke out on my skin. I’d never seen people live this way.
A scream stabbed the night.
That was more like it. I turned, trying to pinpoint the sound. Muffled shouts were followed by scuffs on cobblestones. I grabbed my bags and rushed down the streets, my fatigue forgotten in the moment.
The noise stopped.
Ahead of me, a man stepped out of an alley, rubbing a hand through his white hair. I paused and he turned, catching sight of me. His face blanched and he shouted, then fled.
In Ravenna, people feared my mask, but they also respected me. Here, the man had just reacted in terror.
I let him race away. I had no reason to chase him.
I stepped into the alley, and there lay a body.
I approached it, waiting for any movement, but none came. I knew now why the man had fled so quickly.
The body was that of a young man, not much older than me. He had smooth brown skin and a dusting of hair over his lip. He had been stabbed in the chest three times, and his blank eyes stared at the dark skies. His coin bag lay beside him, torn during the struggle and empty.
He had been murdered for money.
A sudden surge of anger filled my chest. I should have chased after that man. I should have made him pay for what he’d done to this boy. I was a murderer, yes, but I murdered in the name of a god, and the deaths I brought came with the promise of a new life. What did this boy’s death grant him?
He had been killed for no higher reason. He had been murdered in cold blood for a few coins.
The boy’s blood seeped into his linen shirt, and I remembered how Rafeo’s blood soaked his leathers, his hands weak and cold in the tunnel.
My leathers felt suddenly tight around my chest, and I fumbled around in my pocket until I pulled free one of my remaining Saldana Family coins.
My burned hand ached when I looked at it, but I leaned over and placed the coin in the boy’s mouth, humming my song. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe he followed Acacius and his soul had already been reborn as a shrub or something. But if he hadn’t, then maybe Safraella would see my coin and give him a new life.
Behind me, I heard a noise, like a puff of air, or a loud exhale. I turned.
A ghost floated at the entrance to the alley, staring at me.
My blood froze and my hand instinctively dropped to the sword strapped to my hip. Not that the sword would do anything.
The ghost charged, its high-pitched shrieks bouncing off the walls and filling the alley.
I grabbed my bags and ran. After the dead plains I knew the ghost was faster than me, but the alley ended at a canal, and maybe a crooked bridge stood nearby.
I reached the canal. My boots slid to a stop at the edge. I looked left. Right. No bridges. Nothing. I was trapped. The ghosts couldn’t cross the water, but neither could I.
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.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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twelve
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 import
ant 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 foot-holds. 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. I popped off the boards on one of the windows. I could 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 le
ft 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.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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thirteen
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.
