Assassin's Heart

by Sarah Ahiers

  I used the rope dangling from the hole in my safe house and slipped inside to change out of my leathers. I would take a short nap, then return to Marcello’s home with the sun. Apologies were always easier in the dark, but I had no choice. I was running out of time.

  I dreamed of the fire. Only this time the smoke was a living thing, its tendrils shaped into the hands of infants, their tiny fingers grabbing onto my nightgown, trying to pull me deeper into the chalky darkness of the ashes.

  I woke and found my room dim, hidden from the dawn sun.

  My muscles ached and my eyes were heavy. My encounter with Marcello had drained me more than my most difficult job as a clipper.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and threw on my single dress before I made my way outside.

  I took backstreets whenever I could. After Lefevre had followed me from the market, he could be watching for me. To do what? I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t follow through on his threat and send the letter to the Da Vias. Better to stay hidden.

  When I reached the alley with the secret grate, I leaned against a wall, determined to wait as long as it took.

  The alley, the street leading to it, and the nearby canal were particularly quiet. No people about their business cast suspicious eyes on me, nor were people using the canals for travel or trade. Marcello had picked his home well.

  The sun had climbed to midmorning before the grate in the alley opened slightly. It stopped, but then a hand pushed it open the entire way.

  Alessio pulled himself through and got to his feet, brushing off his clothes. He’d layered a brown vest over a hunter-green tunic in the outdated style of Yvain. His pants and boots were serviceable and clean, and the threads on his vest, while simple, were carefully stitched. Not a lot of money, then. But enough to keep him looking respectable.

  I tried to tuck the stain on my skirt behind other folds.

  At least Alessio hadn’t shaved, but the stubble across his jaw and cheeks gave him a rakish, instead of sloppy, appearance that matched his seemingly carefree smile.

  A smile he kept to himself when he discovered me waiting. “You came back.” His shoulders slumped. “Just go home, Clipper Girl.”

  I pushed myself off the wall. “I have no home to go back to.”

  His face flushed at his gaffe, but he didn’t say anything. He left the alley and I followed after, rushing to catch up. His long legs made his stride much lengthier than mine.

  “And I can’t go anywhere until I get what I came for,” I continued.

  “What do you even need his help for anyway? He’s an old man and you’re a real clipper.”

  I couldn’t ignore the stress he’d put on real. But there was no point in keeping anything secret anymore. Without Marcello, I had no plan. And with no plan, the Da Vias would win.

  “He’s not that old. And I need him to tell me how to reach the Da Vias in Ravenna. To help me kill them all. I can’t do it alone.” Whether I could do it even with help remained a mystery. But once I got Marcello, we could work on a plan together.

  Alessio looked at me, a strange expression on his face. We left the backstreets and entered a main road, with people heading to the nearest square and day market. Alessio fell in line behind the crowd, and I followed.

  “I could help you kill them.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you need the help.”

  No one simply offered to help without an ulterior motive. “Acacius is the god of debts. Are you sure you’re not trying to accrue some favor?”

  He frowned. “I’m devoted to Safraella.”

  I pursed my lips. There was nothing he could gain from helping me.

  “When I was young,” he interrupted my thoughts, “someone once helped me for no other reason than just to help me. I try to do the same when I can.”

  “You don’t know what you’re offering. What you’d be getting yourself into.”

  “Well, my master won’t help you. At least, not with killing the Da Vias. He doesn’t leave the tunnels anymore. Not for the last few years.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “He’s worried people are searching for him. He stays hidden.”

  “What people?”

  Alessio didn’t respond. We reached the square and broke free of the crowd. He led me around the market.

  “And where are we going?” I asked.

  “Breakfast.” He waved his hand at a small café before us.

  My stomach grumbled at the smell of warm baking bread. I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I don’t—”

  “Judging by how desperately you eyed that fruit the other morning,” Alessio interrupted, “I’m betting you haven’t taken time to enjoy the finer points of Yvain, one of which is our food. And it’s my treat.”

  “Why did you steal that fruit for me?”

  He shrugged. “You looked hungry. Like you do now.”

  He pulled out a chair for me, and I hesitated. My funds were so low, and I had been neglecting regular meals. But I didn’t want to be beholden to him. I already needed his help with Marcello. . . .

  “I don’t bite, Clipper Girl,” he said.

  “That’s not my name.” I sat down. It would be stupid of me not to take advantage of the free food. The Da Vias would be well fed when I faced them.

  “Kalla Lea, then.”

  I ignored his correction. I had to remain on his good side. “He could be right, you know.”

  Alessio sat across from me and signaled a waiter. “Who?”

  “My uncle. People could be looking for him. Are looking for him actually, just not very actively.”

  Alessio snorted.

  “It’s true,” I said. “The Da Vias have never really stopped their search for him. Which is another reason why he should help me.”

  “If he stays put, he’s hidden.”

  “The Da Vias are after me. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I’m here. And once they do, they’ll be crawling all over this city. It won’t be safe for anyone.”

  He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “I don’t think that will convince him. Once he’s made up his mind, he rarely budges.”

  I could be stubborn too, though.

  The waiter delivered some sort of pocket bread stuffed with meat and fruit. I wrinkled my nose.

  “Trust me on this,” he said. “It’ll change your view of Yvain.”

  Good food, and it was good food, always put me in a better mood. The lamb had been perfectly seared and seasoned with lemons, olives, and unfamiliar spices that left a pleasant, sweet taste lingering in my mouth. The fruit had been soaked in wine and burst with flavor. Alessio was right. I’d been missing out on some of Yvain’s finer points. There may not have been many, but the food might have been one. And maybe the flowers, too. They smelled nice, after our meal.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Alessio smiled as I licked my fingers clean.

  “Yes, you did. You were right. I haven’t eaten this well since before . . . well. Since before.” It had been with Val, actually. At Fabricio’s.

  I would never again dine with Val. Our secret meals, filled with laughter and flirting and stolen kisses, were gone forever, like my Family. I pressed my hand against my stomach, the Yvanese food like a stone in my gut. It wasn’t fair, that I could miss him so much.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “What do you have to apologize for? You didn’t kill my Family.”

  “This is the second time this morning I’ve said the wrong thing to you, and there you are, lost in your memories.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not your fault. Almost everything reminds me of them. And that night.”

  Like how Rafeo would’ve taken huge bites of this pocket bread, while Matteo would have picked it apart and eaten only the bits he liked. And how none of them would ever get to taste it, and how I couldn’t even tell them about it, couldn’t tell anyone about it because there wasn’t anyone left to tell. It was just me, alone,
desperately trying to get some fake clipper to like me so he would put in a good word with my uncle, who’d turned out to be nothing like the Family I’d lost.

  “Still,” Alessio said, pulling me from my thoughts. “I meant no harm.”

  I cleared my throat. “The other night. And last night, too, you used some sort of smoke bombs. But I never saw you throw them. And they were different, too. They flashed.”

  Alessio smiled widely. “That’s my own invention. It’s effective, isn’t it?”

  “But how did you throw them without me seeing?”

  He took a sip of his water. “I didn’t. They were in place beforehand. They’re timed to go off. Actually, the ones you saw firsthand were a little late.”

  Timed smoke bombs. My mind raced, thinking through ways they could be of use. The possibilities were astounding. Especially if they could be rigged for something other than smoke—

  Wait.

  “They flashed when they first went off.”

  He nodded. “The time bombs use a different chemical reaction than the regular smoke bombs. It’s actually a small fire that’s extinguished by the smoke. They’re mostly free of danger.”

  A small fire extinguished by the smoke. “Could it be a bigger fire?” I asked. “Something that isn’t extinguished? A kind of firebomb?”

  His eyebrows creased, and he stared at me. “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”

  “You asked me if I would train you that first night. Isn’t my uncle training you?”

  “This seems an abrupt change of topic.”

  I stayed quiet, waiting for him to respond. He took another sip of water, organizing his thoughts. “My master hasn’t been a clipper in close to thirty years, and I had to beg him to teach me, beg him. Finally he relented, because he thought it would keep me safe. When he discovered I’d started taking jobs last year, he stopped all my training. He doesn’t approve, thinks I’ll get hurt or worse. When I saw you that first night . . . you’re the only true clipper I’ve ever met.”

  He watched people as they walked past our table. “All I’ve ever wanted to be was a clipper. And I thought, here’s someone who can teach me. Truly teach me, if she’s willing.”

  “Why would you want to be a clipper?” I asked. I’d been born into this life. And, yes, in Lovero most people would claw at the chance to join a Family, for the power and wealth and status. But there was no prestige for clippers here.

  His eyebrows twitched. “When I was a boy,” he started slowly, weighing his words, “my mother was robbed and murdered. And I was orphaned and living on the streets, hiding in dark corners once the sun set, raging over the man who had taken my family from me, terrified of the angry ghosts and despairing of loneliness. And then my master found me.

  “He brought me to his home, a hidden palace beneath the streets of Yvain, and he fed me and clothed me and kept me safe. And as we grew closer he told me about his life before, and of Safraella, and I knew that was where I belonged. Serving a goddess who would promise me another life after this one, if I followed Her dark design. If my mother had been Her follower, I would’ve slept easier after her death, knowing she had been granted a new life.

  “This is why I want to be a clipper. My master, he gives me glimpses of what that life can truly be, but he keeps me from fully embracing it. You could give it to me. You could teach me. We could rebuild your Family.”

  Rebuild my Family. All I’d been thinking about was destroying the Da Vias. I’d assumed I’d die in the process. But if I didn’t and I killed them all and still lived, if Alessio was right, maybe the Saldanas could still be one of the nine Families.

  It wouldn’t be the same, without my mother and father, my brothers, my cousin and nephew. And the Saldanas would never be the first Family again, not in my lifetime. Not even with the king’s good graces. But maybe we could reclaim our territory, return to our duties of serving Safraella. Move past the horror of that night.

  No. It wasn’t possible. My Family was gone forever. Destroying the Da Vias was my only goal. Recapturing all I’d had before was a daydream, nothing more. There was no point holding on to that dream.

  But without Marcello’s help, it would be impossible to take down the Da Vias alone.

  I glanced at Alessio. He was unfinished, but he’d shown some skill. And he knew the secret to making those timed smoke bombs, which could maybe be modified to better fit my needs. He had offered to help me kill the Da Vias. He said it was for no ulterior motive, but I couldn’t trust him. He wasn’t Family or family. If he was going to help me, it needed to be some sort of equal exchange. No one was owing anyone in this city of flowers and debts.

  “I came here for two reasons,” I said. “The first was to locate the Da Vias’ Family home, and a means to get inside. The second was to convince my uncle to help me kill them all.”

  “I already told you, he won’t help.”

  I held up my hand, forestalling him. “Maybe I don’t need him.”

  Alessio blinked. “Well, what’s the alternative? Sit here until they find and kill you?”

  “What you said earlier—”

  “About me helping you?”

  “I’m not a charity case. It would be an equal exchange. I could train you. . . .”

  Alessio leaned forward. “If you train me, I will help you kill the Da Vias.”

  I ignored my churning stomach, the part of me that said he wasn’t good enough, that it would take time to prepare him to fight so many Da Vias, time I didn’t have. That I would be training him to greet his death. He desperately wanted to be a clipper, he’d said so himself. And what was I, if not a bringer of death?

  Most importantly, I needed him. I would make the Da Vias pay, no matter who fell along the way.

  Time to reel him in. “Will my uncle let you just leave? And I still don’t know how to find the Da Vias. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

  Alessio waved his hands. “Don’t worry about that. If you train me, I will get the information you need from him.”

  “And you’ll need to teach me how to make those smoke bombs.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But they need to be firebombs instead of smoke bombs.”

  His smile faded as he scratched his jaw, thinking. “I don’t know . . .”

  “I need them. It’s no deal without it.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not that I’m unwilling, I’ve just never attempted it before. It’s going to take some trial and error on our part.”

  “How long will it take?” I asked.

  His eyes connected with mine, dark brown even in the morning light. “How long will it take you to train me?”

  “A lifetime.”

  Alessio paused, thinking this over. “You train me, and when the time comes, you take me with you to help kill the Da Vias. I get the information from my master somehow, and we work together on making those firebombs.”

  “As soon as you can. The longer we stay here, the more likely we won’t ever leave.”

  He nodded, lost in his own planning. I stood, and he scrambled to his feet.

  “Clipper Girl . . .”

  “I’ll see you on the rooftops near your home at sundown for training.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  eighteen

  I SAT ON THE FLOOR OF MY HIDING PLACE, THE EVENING sun prodding its way past the boards in the windows. I’d slept through the afternoon, but I didn’t feel well rested. I never felt well rested anymore.

  Three things I needed. Three things before I could return home: the location of the Da Vias from my uncle, at least one working firebomb from Alessio, and help from either. Or both. But preferably help from my uncle, who had at least been a real clipper in his youth.

  Three things reminded me of the children’s stories my father used to tell me. It seemed those characters always needed three things too: three kiss
es, three magic cakes, three breaths from a corpse. But the heroes of those stories always succeeded, and I’d already failed my Family. And I didn’t think there’d be a happily ever after at the end of my tale.

  When dusk arrived, I changed and climbed to my roof.

  Alessio waited for me, dressed in his full leathers. I scowled behind my mask. “How did you know where to find me?”

  He shrugged. “I followed you that first night to your . . . home. After you climbed out of the canal.”

  “I watched my back. You couldn’t have followed me.”

  “I can tell you’re not from around here,” he said. “You forgot to watch the canals.”

  My eyes flicked to the canal behind me. Damn. He was right. I had ignored them.

  “That one there”—he nodded—“actually leads to the one near my alley. It’s much quicker to travel by canal if you know your way around them. Safer too.”

  “People could see you if you go out too early,” I said. “You should wait until the sun sets.”

  He shook his head. “The only people left out at dusk are drunks and prostitutes. And they stay away from the canals. Now, what are we going to do tonight? Pull a job? Race across the roofs? Spar?” He rotated his shoulders, loosening his joints.

  His excitement grated on me. “I want to see your weapons.”

  “What? Let’s work one of my jobs or something!”

  “You asked me to train you, so we’re doing it my way. Let me see your weapons.”

  He sighed and took a seat on the roof, folding his long legs beneath him. I did the same, sitting across from him.

  He emptied his pockets of small throwing knives and needles made for quick punctures. He pulled out wire for garroting and a stick used to assist in a fight. The last weapon was his huge knife, the one he’d brandished in the alley. It was close to eighteen inches long, and judging by how carefully he set it beside his other weapons, it was his favorite.

  “Is that all?” I asked.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  I poked through his collection. Everything was serviceable and well maintained, but his collection was limited.

  He chuckled in disbelief. “What else could I need?”