by Sarah Ahiers
I sighed and picked at the hem on my cloak. My shoulder ached and itched. I stifled a yawn under my mask. If my uncle had been in Ravenna, I could’ve found him immediately. Rafeo would’ve known what to do. Rafeo would’ve found Marcello by now.
Below me a man stumbled out of the inn despite the late Yvain hour. He tripped and laughed uproariously. I frowned. I’d never alter my state of mind so much. Someone could be watching from the shadows, knife in hand and poison in their pouches.
On a rooftop across the street a shadow moved. I stilled my body, sinking deeper into myself. My spine pressed against the chimney of the inn as my cloak obscured my outline. I waited.
The shadow moved again and revealed itself to be not a shadow but a person, hiding in a hooded cloak similar to mine.
My uncle, Marcello Saldana.
He crouched on the edge of his building. The moonlight reflected brightly off the silver buckles on his boots and the weapons on his belt.
I frowned. Sloppy. Amateur mistakes. The cloak was to prevent accidental reflections and no clipper would ever leave the shadows if they had a choice.
Marcello watched the drunken man below. For a moment I recalled a similar night when I’d watched my own “drunk” stumble in the streets while Val snuck up on me.
Val. My heart clenched at the memory of his hazel eyes, his bright smile, the feel of his breath on my skin. But there was no Val here. And this time I was the hunter.
My uncle jumped off the building in a brazen move. He was either crazy or idiotic, and I scrambled from my post to peer down into the street.
Marcello landed directly on his target, slipping his knife into the man’s neck. The mark barely had time to react before he was dead on the ground, my uncle standing over him.
I quietly slid off the roof. No need to give away my advantage. Marcello nudged the dead man with a boot and grunted in satisfaction. He flicked his cloak over his shoulder and returned his knife to his belt. He froze at the prick of my dagger against his windpipe.
“So sloppy,” I whispered, loud enough to be heard through the mask.
Tension rippled across his body. He was taller than me by quite a bit, taller even than Val, but I’d spent enough time sparring with Val to handle someone with height on me.
His left hand twitched, and he moved it slowly toward his belt. A lefty then.
I tapped his wrist with a second dagger. “I wouldn’t try it.”
He opened his palm and raised his hand.
“Who are you?” His voice rasped as he tried to disguise his anger.
“I am death,” I whispered. “I am Safraella, come to collect what I am owed.”
He tried to turn his head.
“Ah, ah.” I pressed my dagger into his skin. His hood slipped, and the corner of his face caught the moonlight.
He wore no bone mask.
He wasn’t a true clipper then. He wasn’t my uncle. Just someone playing at murder.
Heaviness spread through my limbs. This had been my only lead. And now it was nothing.
I used my foot and shoved the false clipper in the back of his knees. He stumbled away from me. I wasn’t threatened by this fool.
He got his feet under him and pulled out his own knives. He eyes widened as he took in my leathers and the bone mask hiding my face.
My own eyes widened behind my mask. It was the boy from the market, who had stolen the fruit for me.
“You’re a clipper.” His mouth tilted in a crooked smile. He looked down at the knives in my hand, then returned his own knives to his belt. He held his hands before him, weaponless. Dumb, to trust me. Still, I relaxed my stance.
“You could teach me,” he said.
I wasn’t a nursemaid. I was a clipper. I didn’t have time to teach anyone anything. I needed to find my uncle, and though I’d missed my mark with this false clipper, I was willing to bet he knew where my uncle was. “I won’t be teaching anyone anything.”
“That’s unfortunate.” His eyes flicked to the left. Right. He was stalling.
I pointed my dagger at him. “Don’t move.”
Around me flashes of light burst in the night: pop, pop, pop, pop.
Smoke gushed from four different spots on the street until I could see nothing.
I spun around. He hadn’t thrown any smoke bombs. He had to have people with him, helpers.
But there was no one. No sounds, no movement, no attacks from different quarters.
How . . . ?
I charged through the smoke, my mask mostly protecting me from the bitter taste and smell. I dashed left, down an alley, the route I would’ve chosen had I been him.
I’d picked correctly. The fake clipper stood at the end of the alley, canal at his back, trapped.
His teeth flashed. He was missing his first molar on his right side. “You found me.”
His tone reminded me of Val, all cockiness and self-assurance. Tricking me once was not a cause for so much bravado. If he kept it up, he’d wind up dead.
“It wasn’t hard.”
“After meeting you in the market today, and then seeing you here, I think I prefer you without the mask. Much prettier.”
My throat tightened. He knew who I was?
He pointed to his left hand. I glanced at mine and the burn on my palm. I flushed. I’d skipped my gloves because they’d been rubbing painfully against my still-healing palm.
Seventeen years in Lovero and never once had anyone seen my face unless I’d wanted them to. And now, after only a short time in Yvain, some faker had seen me. My parents would’ve been ashamed. Rafeo and Matteo, too. Not that Rafeo would have said so to my face.
I ground my teeth together. “I can tell you’re not a real clipper,” I said.
“How’s that?”
“To a real clipper, the bone mask is the most beautiful face of all.”
He blinked. “My name’s Alessio, by the way. Les.”
He waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t, he continued. “It appears I just keep running into you, Clipper Girl. I think it’s a sign from the gods. A sign you are meant to teach me your ways. Invite me into your Family.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. He seemed so serious, but any Loveran knew you couldn’t simply be invited into a Family.
His smile collapsed, and I felt a twinge of sympathy. Why did I even care? He was no one to me. I needed to focus. The only thing that mattered was making the Da Vias pay.
“You’re right,” I said. “I think it is a sign from the gods.”
He cocked his head.
“It’s a sign you need to tell me where to find your teacher.”
He tensed, his body taut with energy and danger. I tightened my own muscles, prepared to match him. Clearly I’d struck some sort of nerve.
“Are you even sure I have a teacher?”
“You’re sloppy. You have no grace about you, and you’ve displayed, more than once, your ignorance regarding clippers. But you aren’t untrained, only unfinished. Someone had to teach you the basics. Maybe someone who didn’t want to talk about his former life as a clipper. Someone who felt betrayed and hurt by his Family. Someone named Marcello Saldana.”
He held his breath, studying me. He exhaled. “He never told me he was a Saldana.”
I lowered my knife. I’d done it! I’d found my uncle. “I need to speak with him urgently.”
He shook his head. “No. He doesn’t see anyone.”
I pointed my dagger at him, staring him in his eyes. They were dark, and he had surprisingly long lashes. “I could make you tell me.”
He shrugged and raised his arms. “Then what are you waiting for, Clipper Girl?”
I slid my right foot forward, weapons held before me. “Have it your way.”
I dashed at him. His eyes narrowed before he dodged away. I swiped with my left knife. My shoulder erupted in pain, and a few stitches popped. The copper scent of blood seeped into the night air. I hissed, missing my strike.
He pushed him
self off the wall and twisted closer to the canal, facing me. He held his own knife in his left hand now, a monstrous cutter almost eighteen inches long and slightly curved. Where in the hells had he hidden such a large weapon?
Blood soaked through my leathers, and he glanced at my shoulder. Concern flashed in his eyes. “You’re hurt.”
I used his distraction to strike at his ribs. “Worry about yourself!”
He glared and hooked my ankle with his foot, a move I knew only too well. A wolfish grin spread across his face.
“Wait!” I shouted.
He yanked and I fell, plunging into the dark waves of the canal.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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fifteen
THE WATER WAS FREEZING FROM SPRING RUNOFF, AND it saturated my clothes. My cloak and boots weighed me down. I struggled, kicking against the fabric as I reached for the surface.
I broke through and took a deep breath. I grabbed the edge of the canal and searched the alley, but Alessio had fled. He seemed to enjoy starting things, but never stuck around to see them through.
“Typical.” I pulled myself from the canal, grimacing at the muck now coating my leathers. I squeezed my hair to prevent it from dripping into my eyes any further.
Damn him. Damn everything in this whole damned city. This whole country!
I’d been on my own for days now and nothing had gone right.
My shoulder bled. I pinched my eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. My chest felt tight against my leathers. My eyes stung. Don’t think about it, Lea. Don’t think about anything. Just get to your safe house, get clean and dry. Things will look better.
On the way back home I scoured the street where I’d confronted Alessio. Casings from the smoke bombs he’d somehow managed to use against me littered the cobblestones. I picked one up and sniffed. It smelled strange, a chemical I didn’t recognize. The casing was surprisingly brittle, and it crumbled between my fingers with barely any pressure. How did he stop them from breaking in his pouch? And how had he thrown them without me seeing him do so?
I remembered the flash, too, at the very beginning. I’d never seen smoke bombs put off any light before.
Mysteries. He had cloaked himself in mysteries. I would have to keep my eyes wide open when I dealt with him again.
At my safe house, I removed the boards blocking the window and climbed in tugging the boards back into place. I dripped filthy, smelly canal water across the dusty floor. At a stack of old crates I slipped off my wet leathers and cloak. I yanked my mask from my face. It stared at me with Rafeo’s tiger stripes. I set it gently on the ground.
My shoulder burned with fresh pain. Where some of the stitches had popped, my flesh looked red and inflamed, though any bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Removing the bandages, I prodded the wound gently and was rewarded with a pinch of pain. Wonderful.
I hung my bandages up to dry and returned to my monastery robe before collapsing onto my saddle-blanket bed.
I’d only had a single lead, and it turned out to be nothing. Well, not nothing. A false clipper with a crooked smile. But not my uncle, whom I still needed to find.
I rolled onto my side, the heavy key around my neck resting against my chin. This wasn’t working—what had made me think it would be easy to find someone who’d remained hidden for decades? I couldn’t do anything right, starting with keeping my Family safe or trusting someone I’d believed I loved to not murder my Family while we slept.
Thinking about Val made my chest tighten, my skin flush. I shouldn’t have spared a single thought for him. His Family killed my Family. He should be dead to me.
But maybe he didn’t have anything to do with it. Yes, he’d lifted my key, but maybe he wasn’t even there.
He had to have known. He could’ve stopped it, or at least made an effort.
He could’ve warned me.
I probably wouldn’t ever be sure.
I rubbed my face with the palm of my hand, my calluses dragging against my skin.
There was no point in wondering about things. Val was a Da Via. Even if he wasn’t involved, he hadn’t done anything to stop what had happened. We were done, he and I. I had to kill his Family. I would kill his Family. I would make them bleed and choke and beg for mercy. As for him, I’d cross that crooked bridge later. Right now I needed to come up with a new plan.
The fake clipper was the key. He wasn’t the lead I’d expected, or wanted, but he was still a lead. He could bring me to Marcello, even if he didn’t realize it.
All right. I’d been delayed only a few days. And yes, the Addamos were after me, and I’d be a fool to think the Da Vias wouldn’t be after me soon, if they weren’t already, but I needed to keep my head down and find my uncle. And when I did, he would help me find and kill the Da Vias. Everything else was just distraction.
I didn’t know anything about my uncle. My father refused to speak of him, and all my mother ever said was he’d been exiled from the Family for killing his uncle, the head of the Saldanas at the time. Killing your own Family members was anathema, so it was no surprise he was banished. And none of the other Families would take in a cast-out clipper.
Why he had killed his uncle, his own flesh and blood, was a mystery to me. The Da Vias and Maietta were somehow involved.
He’d murdered his own blood, but I couldn’t help but think about how much I wanted to see him. Not just for my plans, but because he was all that was left of the Saldanas besides me. He was a link to everyone and everything I’d lost. I closed my eyes and clenched my hands to my chest. My grief was all I had left of my Family.
I exhaled slowly and released my fists. My burned palm ached.
I hadn’t gotten any sleep in much too long. I’d need to catch up if I wanted to accomplish my plans for tomorrow.
I tucked my legs underneath my robe and thought of a boy with a long neck and a crooked smile.
Tomorrow, false clipper. Tomorrow I’m coming for you.
The next night my newly bandaged shoulder felt bulky and awkward under my leathers. I ignored it and instead relished the feel of the tiled rooftops beneath my boots as I headed north once again.
My uncle lived somewhere in this city. Alessio knew where. All I had to do was find him and follow him until he led me to Marcello.
Alessio thought he was a clipper, and maybe he had some natural talent for it, but he had no idea what it was like to deal with a real Loveran clipper. Probably even fumbling Alexi Addamo could’ve given Alessio a fight.
I reached the street near where I’d found him yesterday. I crouched behind a chimney, arranging my body and legs so I’d be ready to spring at a moment’s notice. No more taking things easy. This was a job. Alessio was my mark.
Patience was the first thing I’d learned as a child. Even before I began my training as a clipper at age six, my parents and nursemaids and tutors spent what seemed like hours each day, teaching me to wait quietly for the things I wanted. Looking back, I appreciated this early lesson. Especially since the streets of Yvain were so quiet and still once the sun set.
If I ever had children of my own, I’d definitely make them sit quietly before they got to have fun. All day long if I had to.
Of course, that life was over. When I found Marcello and killed the Da Vias, I would probably die in the fight. There was nothing left for me anyway.
It was a few hours past midnight when a man appeared below me. He hastened across a central square, pulling his felt hat low against the breeze.
It was strange to see someone out on the streets at night, but perhaps he had an emergency, something worth braving the ghosts for. The man walked quickly, trying to stay within the lights of any street lanterns that remained burning.
Run home, little man. There are worse things out tonight than angry ghosts.
The man vanished down a dark alley, his footfalls on the cobblestones qui
ckly disappearing with him. A moment later a shadow appeared down the street, cast from above.
I shifted my position quietly and watched.
Alessio crept about on the roofs.
I exhaled behind my mask; my muscles trembled.
Alessio followed the man who’d crossed the square. And I followed Alessio, careful to keep him in my sight, but far enough away to keep his attention off the roofline.
He took his time as he stalked his prey, content to wait in the shadows as the minutes ticked by.
Damn. He wasn’t actually that bad at this, the stalking part anyway. Maybe he was unfinished, but he was a better clipper than I’d given him credit for. Of course, my uncle had trained him, so he had to have some Saldana skill.
The man walked across the street, following the light of the streetlamps until they ended and he was forced to walk in the shadows.
Something flashed on the street. The man shouted but was immediately engulfed in smoke.
Alessio once again performed his showy trick of leaping blind from the roof. He disappeared into the smoke, landing presumably onto his mark to kill him with a single stroke.
The smoke cleared.
Alessio knelt beside the corpse. As he rifled through his mark’s pouches, robbing the man, a bitter taste crept across my tongue. Robbing the dead was deplorable. Not even the lowest of the nine Families would sink so far.
Of course, in Lovero the coin flowed more freely to clippers. Maybe Alessio didn’t have many contracts to fulfill.
Alessio dragged the body deeper into the shadows. After a quick look around, he climbed to the roofs and headed north.
I smiled behind my mask. Finally! He had to be heading home, and his home had to be with my uncle.
I trusted that Marcello, banished or not, still kept to the clipper ways. And clippers didn’t live by themselves. It simply wasn’t done. There was no safety in it. If my uncle was Alessio’s trainer, and I didn’t think Alessio had been lying, then they had to share a home.
Alessio led me deeper into Yvain, where the buildings were not as well maintained and only every other lamp had oil enough to light the streets.
