Assassin's Heart

by Sarah Ahiers

  “What?!” Faraday’s chair scraped the floor as he scooted forward.

  I sighed and set the cheese down. “It’s true. We died. The Da Vias killed us.”

  Faraday’s jaw dropped. “And She resurrected you both? True resurrections?”

  Les shook his head. “No. She resurrected Lea. Then Lea resurrected me.”

  I flicked my wrist. “He makes it sound more impressive than it was. She granted me a single resurrection. I used it on him. It wasn’t anything more.”

  “It wasn’t anything more?” Faraday’s voice squeaked in shock. “You were resurrected by the goddess Herself and She granted you a gift and you treat it so cavalierly?”

  Faraday gulped in large breaths of air. I poured him a glass of water. He drank it quickly.

  “Lea, this is a miracle you’re speaking of. Nothing like this has happened in a hundred years. Not since Brother Pelleas saw Her face in a vision and walked the dead plains unmolested.” He leaned forward. “Did you . . . did you see Her? Speak with Her?”

  I nodded. “We spoke and I looked upon Her face. When I woke again, I found this.” I slid my mask off my head and handed it to him.

  Faraday ran his fingers gently across the flawless bone. He pursed his lips. “Lea, with your permission, I would like to record your experience. I’ve already written down what you’d told me about the coin, but I think I could write a whole tome on your life if you’d allow me.”

  “Brother, we have limited time here,” I said. “The Da Vias have strayed to another god.”

  Faraday gasped. “How can that be? A Family of such wealth and power, turning on She who has given them so much?”

  “They have lost their way.” I narrowed my eyes. “But I need to know what god they have turned to, to understand what we may face when we confront them. They had a priest with them who carried a staff of sunlight. It allowed them to cross the dead plains.”

  Faraday pushed his chair away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  He ran from the room, his robe billowing behind him in his haste.

  Les turned. “So. The food was amazing. Do you think other things could be amazing now that we’re not dead?”

  I studied his face. He grinned slowly. Heat rushed up my neck to my cheeks as we stood and reached for each other. I pushed his mask off his head to run my fingers through his hair. Les grabbed the back of my thighs and lifted me to the table. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer to me. His fingers stroked the back of my neck. He kissed me on the jaw, trailing his lips across my skin. Nothing had ever felt quite like this before. Maybe it was the resurrection making everything more intense, like the flavors of the food. Or maybe it was simply the way my pulse raced when I looked at Les.

  We both wore our leathers, their bindings tight against our bodies to protect us. I wanted to rip his leathers off, run my fingers across the smooth skin of his back, his chest.

  Across the room, someone cleared his throat. Les paused, and I looked over his shoulder. Brother Faraday stood in the doorway, his eyes averted and his face red even through his dark skin. “I’ve found a book,” he mumbled.

  Les laughed and stepped away. I slid off the table and we returned to our seats. I righted my overturned glass as Faraday took a seat, pointedly not looking at me.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No, it’s fine. You simply . . . caught me off guard is all.”

  He opened the book, the leather cover banging on the table, and began to page through it. I stared at Les and he stared at me. Just the sight of him was enough to raise the heat of my blood.

  “Here!” Faraday jabbed his finger to an entry on a page.

  I leaned over. It was an illustration of a staff with golden beams of light radiating from a gem.

  “Daedara,” he said. “A god of the sun, mostly worshipped in the eastern part of the continent.”

  “Where the hells did they find him?” Les asked.

  I shrugged.

  “He was one of the six gods worshipped in Lovero before the Sapienzas took the throne,” Faraday said, “but why the Da Vias have turned to him, I am unsure.”

  “I think I understand.” I pointed at a line in the text. “Daedara is a god of fertility, also. Marcello told me Estella blamed him for not providing her with a child. But after he was banished, she remained barren. I don’t think she was ever stable in her head, but I could easily see her transferring the blame to Safraella.”

  Faraday nodded. “It could be true, too. If Safraella could see how unfaithful Estella was, why would She bless her with a child?”

  “But doesn’t Daedara care that they’re freely murdering people?” Les asked. “If they’re not worshipping Safraella, then they’re nothing more than common criminals.”

  Faraday examined the text closely, then shrugged. “He seems to be against the murder of children.”

  “Well,” I said, “turning to Daedara seems to have done their Family some good. Their numbers have exploded. It seems their women barely have time to clip, so busy are they being pregnant.”

  Faraday leaned back. “But I don’t think you need to fear anything from this priest of Daedara. Unless, like the ghosts, you fear the sunlight.”

  “Thank you, Brother.” I inclined my head. “Should the Saldanas survive, I would welcome you into our home.”

  He smiled brightly and shut the book. “I may take you up on that, Sister. Truly your lives are full of adventure and intrigue!”

  I grabbed my mask from the table. Les reclaimed his from the floor where I had knocked it. A tingle of regret traveled through me as I watched Les dust the cobwebs from it. He had waited so long for his mask, and I had pushed it aside as if it was a cheap trinket. Les didn’t seem to mind, though. He caught my eyes and winked before he pushed his mask to the top of his head.

  “Now we must be off.”

  “But Sister, the sun has set and the angry ghosts wander the plains.”

  I clutched my key. There would be no more delays, not while Marcello still lived and I was so close to my vengeance.

  I slipped my mask down my face. “If the lowly Brother Pelleas could cross the plains one hundred years ago, then surely a favored clipper can do it as well.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  thirty-seven

  WE GAVE THE MONASTERY LES’S HORSE. THEY LOOKED dubiously at the ill-tempered animal, but I reminded them they could sell him for the coin.

  Butters had been kept well fed and maintained in my absence. He nickered when he saw me. We saddled both horses and led them to the gate, where the usual mob of ghosts had gathered.

  “Are you sure about this?” Les asked. Butters tossed his head and stomped his hoof, either raring to go or trying to impress Les’s mare. She stood quietly, her ears flicking at Butters.

  “No.” I stared at the ghosts. “But if it works, we can make up time.”

  The priests swung the gates open. The cacophony from the ghosts rose in volume. Even with the gates open, though, they could not cross onto holy ground. They pressed themselves against the invisible barrier, trying to reach us.

  “Are you ready?” I asked him.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Your soul could be pulled from your body and you could wander the dead plains for a thousand years?”

  “And that’s why I keep you around, kalla Lea. For your sense of humor.”

  Butters huffed as we walked toward the dead plains. The moon was barely a sliver and already high in the sky. If this worked, we could push our horses and reach Lovero before the sun rose.

  The ghosts reached for me, screaming. I urged Butters forward. The ghosts swarmed me, trying to be the first to claim my body, but when they touched me, they were driven back by a spark and flash of light, just as they’d been when I’d been attacked on the dead plains before.


  “Les!” I glanced over my shoulder. He hesitated by the entrance. Then he shook his head and kicked his horse into the fray of ghosts. Miraculously, the ghosts swayed away. They could not touch him without being forced aside. We had looked upon the face of Safraella, and the ghosts could not rip our spirits from us.

  Les directed his horse beside Butters. His chest heaved with heavy breaths. “I can’t believe that worked.”

  “Let’s go!” I kicked Butters, who leaped into a gallop, happy to be given the chance to run once more.

  Les gasped as his mare followed. He had a tight grip on the her mane but didn’t jerk her head. We trailed a stream of angry ghosts. The dead did not tire and did not forget their rage.

  I slowed Butters a little so Les could catch up and ride beside me.

  “Will we go straight into Ravenna?” he yelled over the sound of the horses’ hooves.

  “No.” I shook my head. “They’ll notice anyone who enters the city this late. We’ll enter Lovero through Lilyan, then make our way to Ravenna.”

  We urged the horses faster, trying to outrace the ghosts. Any that managed to reach us were deflected by an invisible barrier that surrounded us like the monastery, hurling them far away into the plains with a flash of light. It was as if we were holy ground. They tried to throw rocks at us, branches, anything they could find, but everything was deflected away. Our protection seemed to make them even angrier, if that was possible. Maybe they could sense how Safraella had touched us, had given us a new life while they were trapped with their rage and grief. Maybe they hated us even more because of it.

  Perhaps I’d possess this protection for the rest of my life. Though I supposed it could be stripped from me once I did Safraella’s bidding. If it remained, I could travel anywhere by land, see the world and not have to worry about the ghosts. It was a heady realization, that I could be so free if I chose. If I survived.

  We crested a hill, the horses’ breaths blowing heavily. Before us spread the river and the many-colored lights of Lovero.

  I slowed Butters, allowing him to catch his breath. The ghosts circled, but none tried to touch us. Their screams, though, were the loudest I’d ever heard. “Is that Lovero?” Les asked.

  “Yes.” I pointed to the west. “Where the lights are the brightest, that’s Ravenna, my city.” I shifted my hand more to the east. “That’s Lilyan.”

  “Will the Da Vias be watching the gate?”

  “No. It’s outside their territory. Unless things have changed since I’ve been gone. Lilyan belongs to the Caffarellis.”

  “Won’t they see us?”

  I shrugged. It was a possibility. But we had to cross into the country somehow, and the only three cities that bordered the dead plains were Ravenna, Lilyan, and Genoni. “I’d rather take my chances with the Caffarellis than the Addamos or Da Vias. We’ll wait for daylight to slip into Ravenna. The Da Vias will be sleeping and won’t notice.”

  I nudged Butters forward, and the ghosts chased us. The river wasn’t far, and once we crossed the crooked bridge, they wouldn’t be able to follow. Then it wouldn’t matter how loud they wanted to be.

  “It’s beautiful.” Les stared at the lights of my home. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Yes. It does have a kind of frantic, dark splendor. I’ve missed it. But it’s funny—I thought I’d never get used to Yvain. The quiet way of the people and the nights, the stink of the canals, the flowers everywhere. But in Yvain, the stars are brighter.”

  “Also, Yvain has dangerously handsome clippers, which I think Ravenna was missing.”

  “Dangerously handsome?”

  He held his head high and gestured to his face, his back straight.

  “You’re wearing your mask,” I pointed out.

  “Ah. Yes. But a clipper girl once told me the mask was the most beautiful face of all.”

  I laughed. The ghosts screeched and cried.

  We reached the crooked bridge, and the horses’ hooves clopped loudly against the stone. The ghosts tried to follow, but they couldn’t turn when the bridge kinked to the left. They were stuck as we crossed the rest of the river.

  They shrieked, more enraged now that we were escaping them. There were so many of them. I’d never seen such a congregation before. They raced along the riverbank, bellowing wordlessly as we rode farther away.

  “I can’t say I’ll miss them,” Les said.

  An explosion of noise erupted behind us: cracks and booms. Both horses spooked and jumped. Only my quick reflexes prevented Butters from bolting out from under me.

  We turned in our saddles to face where we’d come from. Across the river, the ghosts had found a large oak tree on the bank. They had combined their powers to topple it across the river, its trunk and branches creating another, straighter bridge.

  The ghosts rushed toward us.

  “The hells with this!” I gave Butters his head. He sprinted for the city, Les and his mare close behind. The ghosts roared as they rushed to catch us before we lost them.

  “They’ll get inside the city!” Les shouted.

  Before us, the old gates to Lilyan rested crookedly against the crumbling city walls, rusted off their hinges. The gates hadn’t been closed since Costanzo Sapienza took the throne and declared Safraella patron to all of Lovero.

  We dashed into the city, the horses’ hooves clattering loudly on the flagstones. I pulled Butters to a halt. His legs collected beneath him as he slid across the flagstones. The streets were filled with people. They shouted and pressed themselves against the buildings, trying to avoid the stallion before he crashed into them.

  Finally Butters halted and I twisted in my saddle, looking for Les. He and his mare stood quietly, watching the city gates.

  The ghosts tried to enter, but just as at the monastery, an invisible barrier protected the city. All of Lovero behind the old, crumbled walls was holy ground to them. As long as the king and his subjects continued to worship Safraella, She continued to protect them from the angry ghosts.

  A few of the common shrieked and ran away from the ghosts as they pressed against the barrier.

  “How did they get across the river?” A man peered at the ghosts from a safe distance.

  “They knocked down a tree.” I slid off Butters. “They used it as a straight bridge.”

  The man faced me. He wore a garish mask, covered in feathers and gems. I glanced at the others and they, too, wore masks and beads and bright-colored clothing. The scent of alcohol wafted off them.

  “Good clipper.” The man bowed courteously to me. “You grace us with your presence.”

  “In the morning,” I said, “you will need to speak to your city officials and have someone remove the tree before more ghosts discover how to cross.” The ghosts couldn’t enter the cities, but they could certainly snare anyone too drunk to notice where the walls ended.

  I led Butters out of the crowd. Les followed. We’d already attracted enough attention. Any chance of sneaking into Lovero had been destroyed.

  My home. I took a deep breath. I’d returned. I was so close now, so close to avenging my Family.

  My chest tightened in the familiar ache I’d grown accustomed to since my Family’s death. Since my terrible mistakes.

  Tears welled in my eyes. We weren’t even in Ravenna and yet everything reminded me of them. A food vendor selling Jesep’s favorite pastries dusted with sugar. A puppet troupe that would have made Emile squeal with laughter. The smell of the oil, the same kind we’d used to light our house. I could feel my Family in the laughter and joy of the common. I could feel them in the very air.

  Les walked beside me, the horses trailing. He glanced at the people we passed. Everyone bowed to us. “The people aren’t afraid of you.”

  I cleared my throat. “Oh, they’re afraid. But their respect is greater. Many of them dream of becoming favorable in the eyes of a Family, which would give them access to wealth and power and connections, not to mention an advantageous rebirth. Mo
st of them will overlook their fear to take that chance.”

  “And the masks?” He stared at a particularly loud mask on a woman who laughed uproariously at the man whose arm she clutched.

  “Susten Day,” I said.

  Susten Day was a holiday celebrating Safraella. It used to be my favorite holiday. The parties and food and dancing would last all night. And because everyone wore masks, I could be anyone I wanted. Now I knew that was the dream of a child. Safraella had offered me a chance to be someone else. I’d chosen to be me.

  We broke out of the cramped street and reached an intersection, with a fountain and food vendors and entertainers. Fire breathers walked on stilts, their skin painted with gold and silver. Musicians played, their notes clashing with the songs people roared drunkenly off-key. The smells of the food vendors competed with the body odors of so many people. I wrinkled my nose. Had it always been like this? So boisterous and loud? It felt different, somehow. I’d always loved the noise and excitement, especially on Susten Day. Now it filled my senses, threatened to overwhelm me. It made me want to be somewhere else.

  A group of children ran past, screaming and laughing behind their masks. A girl tripped and fell to the street before Les. He helped her up.

  “Thank you,” she said, then spied his mask. She backed away. When she reached a wall, she bowed hastily, then scampered after her friends.

  He watched her go. “I’ve never had children frightened of me before.”

  “That’s only because the children of Yvain were in their beds when you were about your dark work. I promise you they would have run from you there had they seen you.”

  We made our way through the square, people parting around our horses, many shouting glad welcomes when they saw our masks. We broke through to the other side and found a quieter, less crowded street.

  I sighed. “We’re attracting too much attention. We need to find a stable to board the horses and get out of Lilyan before the Caffarellis find us.”

  A man in black leathers stepped out of an alley, clawed guards over his knuckles, the left side of his bone mask adorned with purple flames.