Assassin's Heart (3 page)

Val leaned closer to Claudia, both hands flat against the table. They spoke, but were too far away for me to hear what was said.

Clipper marriages were always carefully arranged. It would take months to decide which clipper would join which Family and who would pay a dowry. Sometimes a Family would lose money
and
a member, but these were usually the lower-ranked Families, and giving up so much often meant they gained status, and maybe an increase in rank. Everything was decided between the Family heads.

Of course, sometimes clippers married non-clippers. Rafeo's wife hadn't been a clipper, but she
had
been a cleaner, so she'd known what she was getting into. Cleaners were their own guild. They dealt with the aftermath of our duties, removing and cleaning bodies and notifying families of their loved ones' demise.

Our mother hadn't been pleased, since Rafeo's chosen bride didn't bring any money or status, but Mother had relented when their marriage produced a son almost immediately.

Through the gap in the curtains, I watched as Val and Claudia argued. She placed a hand on his elbow, and he jerked it away.

“Because Mother and Father aren't here!” Val snapped, his voice rising above the sound of the other diners. Claudia jerked him closer, whispering harshly.

Time to take my leave.

I stepped past the curtain and strode calmly and confidently to the front door. The only people who gave me a second glance were those of the common who recognized me as a Saldana.

Outside, I walked into an alley across the street. I waited only a few moments before Val found me. Anger flowed through him, visible from the tension in his shoulders and neck.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He waved his hand, dismissing the fight with Claudia. “It was only stupid Family stuff. I don't want to talk about it.”

I took his hand and stroked his knuckles. He didn't have to tell me, but I wanted him to know I was there for him, regardless. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

He sighed and rubbed his face with his palm. “It really was nothing, Lea.”

“Okay. But even if it was something, you know you can tell me, right? I'll keep your secrets.”

He snorted. “You're my only secret.”

Behind Val, a man walked across the street. He wore
a brown robe and a strange cylindrical hat. He carried a wooden staff with some sort of green gem at the top.

“What is that?” I stared at the man as he slipped into a back door of the restaurant.

Val looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“A strange man just walked into the restaurant.”

He shrugged. “Don't know. And perhaps we should take all this drama elsewhere?”

All thoughts of the strange man escaped me as my skin flushed.

Val offered me his hand and I placed my palm in his, the tough calluses on his fingers pressing against my own. His hand was warm, and his pulse beat rapidly in his thumb. His lips parted.

My own pulse raced, and we left the alley. We needed to find somewhere more private. I desperately wanted to get him alone.

We stumbled a few streets away and ducked out of sight into an empty garden.

In the shadows, he pushed me against a brick wall, lips crushed against my neck, one hand releasing my hair as his other slid down my bodice to my hip. I held my breath until I was dizzy and had to break away for air before I pulled him back to my lips.

This was what I loved about him. How quickly he could make my heart pound, my breath catch. Being with Val was like the best kind of job, an exciting chase followed by a satisfying capture.

I slid my hands beneath his shirt, running my fingertips across the smooth skin of his stomach. He flinched.

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured against my throat.

“I need you to warm them up.”

He reached for my fingers. I made a token gesture of trying to avoid him, but when he clasped my hand with his own, I let him pull me against his chest. His well-worked muscles made his body lean and hard.

He pressed his lips to mine. I returned the kiss, hands gripped on his arms. He made me feel wanted, beautiful. Heat rushed across the skin of my throat and up to my cheeks until they burned. Val's lips scorched my blood like the most exquisite poison in the world. But only one tasted sweet.

VAL TORE HIS LIPS FROM MINE. “STAY OUT WITH ME
tonight.”

I kissed his jaw. He still smelled like his leathers. “I have a curfew. My parents would suspect something.”

He ran his fingers through the back of my hair. “Break it. For me.”

I snorted. “Like you break your rules for me? Marking your kills, for example?”

He pulled away. The humor had disappeared from his eyes. “That's different. That's
Family
rules, not family.”

“Sometimes Family and family are the same thing.”

He scowled. “Don't be naive. You damn well know Family comes before family.”

I released his hand. I wasn't a child, and I wouldn't be patronized. “Not to me. Not when you're asking me to disobey my father's rules.”

Val set his jaw stubbornly.

But I could be stubborn, too. “He's right about marking kills. The cleaners will find my coin and spread word that the Saldanas killed a man tonight. That coin will give my kill a faster rebirth, will buy us respect and fear from the common.”

We stared at each other. Marking a kill wasn't worth so much anger. Neither of us could resolve the politics between our Families.

Val tried to ease things with a grin. “Let the Family heads worry about this. Things will be finished soon enough.”

He held out a hand, and I took it automatically. He pulled me close against him. “Now, where were we?”

I smiled, but dropped my gaze. It was so easy for him to brush things off. To simply forget the argument.

“I think”—I swept a speck of dirt from his chest—“I was on my way home.”

He frowned. “It's not that late. We can spend time together. Take a walk along the pier maybe. We could watch the sun rise.” He flashed his dimples because he knew I loved them.

“My mother would have my head. And my father would probably support her.”

He snatched my hand again, tugging on it, but I held my ground. I wouldn't be bullied or persuaded in this.

“Please don't go home. Come on, I'm begging you.”

He had to be kidding. “Yes, that's clear.” I jerked my hand free. “It's not very attractive. I'm going home, Val. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe.”

“Lea, I'm trying to do the right thing.”

Whatever that meant. Pushing me wouldn't get him the results he wanted. “I'm worn out.”

Val pinched his lips together, but I was too tired to care about his hurt feelings. It wasn't always about him—where we should eat, what we should do, when to end the night.

“You'll need this, then.” He held up an iron key. I clasped my hands to my chest, but my key was gone.

I stomped over and ripped the key from his fingers, the chain glinting in the moonlight. “You damn well know lifting keys is off-limits,” I hissed. When had he even taken it? The restaurant, when he'd brushed my neck with his fingers. I glared even more.

He shrugged. “I saw an opportunity and I acted.”

“Well, now I'm seeing an opportunity and leaving.”

“Fine.” He held up his hands, eyes cold. “Do what you want. Sleep well.” He stormed away.

The urge to call after him crawled its way up my neck, but my key felt heavy in my hands. He knew the rules we'd established. Keys were off-limits because they were connected to our Family homes. Not that Val or any of the other clippers knew where we lived, but still.

The safety of my Family wasn't a joking matter.

I retraced my earlier path to the art shop's hidden entrance. When I stripped out of my dress, something fluttered to the ground, a flash of white in the dark. I scooped it up. A white poppy, pressed between the pages of a book until it had become as delicate as lace paper.

The white poppy was the symbol of the Da Via Family. Val must have slipped it to me sometime during dinner, a gesture of affection for me to find later.

I twisted it in my fingers and sighed. He tugged me so many different ways. But it had been a tiring night, and I didn't want to fight with Val. I wanted to rest.

I tucked the poppy into my spare saddlebag. It could wait there as a surprise for another day.

I finished changing and traveled to a secret Saldana hatch hidden behind a bush at the corner of a church dedicated to Safraella. It was apropos, my brother Rafeo would say. Then I would laugh at him and tell him he sounded much older than his twenty-four years.

I dropped inside and closed it above me. The black tunnel smelled damp, but I could find my way even blind.

A slight brush of air against my cloak told me I'd reached the first break in the path. There were many such splits, set to confuse and disorient any intruders who managed to discover the tunnel. The wrong path led to dead ends, tunnels that dropped into pits, or labyrinths to confuse even the cleverest.

The stone tunnels went on for what seemed like miles, but in truth the correct tunnel was just over a mile long, leading me to another hatch and the Saldana home. I climbed a short ladder and used my key. The hatch popped open. I ascended to the tunnel room, where all the myriad underground entrances to our house eventually ended.

I hung my cloak on a hook beside my brothers' and pushed
my mask to the top of my head. Masks were personal identifiers, both of ourselves and our Family. Safraella's face was formed of the bones of Her mother, the goddess who had breathed life into the sky. All disciples of Safraella wore bone masks when doing Her work. Even the king wore a bone mask during trials or funerals.

The smooth masks covered our entire faces, a blank facade except for the slashes used for eyeholes. The right side was always the color of the bone. The left side was decorated accordingly. Each of the nine Families had a color. The Saldanas were black. Any of the common looking upon our masks could identify which Family we belonged to by color alone.

The pattern, however, was purely personal—used to identify the individual clipper behind the mask. Even if I couldn't recognize Val from the way he stood—cocky and self-assured, arms loose and ready—I would recognize him by the red checkered pattern on the left side of his mask. Just as he would recognize me by my black azalea flowers.

Outside the tunnel room, my boot heels sank into the plush rug of a well-lit hallway. Our home was a house within a house. From the outside, one would see an empty building. It was only behind those walls that the Saldanas' real home hid. None of our rooms had windows or doors to the outside, though there were concealed skylights. The only way in or out was through the tunnels.

A servant waiting in the foyer handed me a glass of mulled wine. I sipped, its warmth spreading down my chest and
limbs. The fight with Val had worked its way beneath my skin just as much as the poisoning, pulling on my muscles until they ached. My bed, with its soft covers, would be a soothing balm. I intended to sleep well past morning.

From around a corner a child raced toward me, nightgown and long, curly hair flapping behind him.

“Aunt Lea!” He crashed into my legs.

“Emile.” I set my wineglass on a hall table. I peeled him from my legs and picked him up, feeling the lovely weight of him in my arms. “What are you doing up so late?”

He laughed, squirming in my arms. From around the same corner his nursemaid, Silva, appeared with my brother Rafeo.

“There you are, you naughty child.” Silva took Emile from me and hurried down the hall.

Rafeo put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close for a kiss on the cheek. I squeezed into his comfortable warmth.

“Thanks, Donna,” he said. “We've been trying to catch him for five minutes.”

I rolled my eyes. Donna was Rafeo's nickname for me. It wasn't enough that I'd been named Oleander after a poison. No, I had to have a poisonous nickname too.

When I'd been younger, Rafeo had been my mentor. My first kill had been using poison, a belladonna concoction. I'd been so excited. I'd wanted to show how well I'd studied. But the poison didn't take, at least not all the way. The man was dying, but slowly and in pain.

Excitement had turned to fear. I'd wanted Rafeo to fix it for me, but he'd pressed a dagger into my hand.
What you do for him now is a mercy,
he'd said.
It is the most beautiful gift you can grant someone, a quick end to pain. He will be with Safraella, and She will grant him a better life.

It had been hard, to use that dagger, but Rafeo had been right. Serving Safraella was difficult work. But there was beauty and mercy in the shadows, too.

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “A little late for a four-year-old's bedtime, isn't it?”

“Tell that to him.”

A door opened and my mother stepped out, searching the hall with a frown, her blond hair plaited down her spine. How someone as regal as Bianca Saldana could ignore all the exquisite fashions of Lovero, I'd never understand. Even the most common housegirls were wrapping or netting their hair, and yet she still preferred the ease of braids and ties.

Rafeo sighed, and we stepped apart. Separated, one of us would be more likely to escape. The other would have to serve as a sacrifice and take the lecture stoically.

“What is going on out here?” Mother's harsh whisper filled the space. She was still dressed in an evening gown, which swished against the carpeted floor. “It's much too late for games in the halls.”

“It's my fault, Mother.” Rafeo held his hands before him, heroically accepting Mother's ire. “Emile got away from Silva, and Lea helped us get him to bed, that's all.”

She sniffed and glanced at me before turning fully on
Rafeo. “You must get that child under control. He's far too old for these sorts of games. He must conduct himself in a manner befitting a Saldana.”

“He's only four.”

“Exactly. The children are never too young to begin learning about Family responsibilities.”

An image of Emile dressed in tiny little leathers and wearing a small bone mask, decorated with puppies, came to mind. I bit my tongue to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Mother turned her gaze on me. Damn. I'd missed my opportunity to leave.

“And what are you doing home so late? Jesep and Rafeo were back hours ago.”

Rafeo stepped behind Mother, crossed his eyes at me, and then left me alone with her. Ass. I would make him pay.

“I took some food after my job, is all,” I said. Sometimes the best way to deal with Mother when she was in one of her moods was to go on the offensive. “I needed it to offset the loving poison you dosed me with.”

She ignored my comment. “Food? Where?”

“Fabricio's.”

Her lips tightened, carving lines in her skin. “I don't want you lining the Da Vias' pockets. Our Family will not help them in their grab for status.”

It always came down to what was best for the
Family
.

“Now. The Caffarellis have put in a claim for you for their son Brando.”

My breath left me in a rush of air. A claim had come in for
me. For marriage. With Brando Caffarelli.

Mother had been born a Caffarelli and had only become a Saldana after she'd married my father and their union had produced a child—Rafeo.

Brando, Brand as everyone called him, was tall and handsome and well established as a clipper. He had blond hair, like my mother, like all the Caffarellis, and I knew Mother had imagined the towheaded babies we'd produce.

Brand, though, was the son of Mother's oldest brother. “He's my first cousin!”

“Oh, be calm. His mother's not of the Families. He has enough outside blood that it's not a concern.”

“What about Valentino Da Via? He's closer to my age.” As soon as the words had left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake.

Mother pursed her lips and her eyes widened. “Never. Never will the Saldanas make another union with the Da Vias.”

My uncle Marcello had been married to Estella Da Via before I was born. Then something went wrong and no one would speak about it, but the Saldanas and Da Vias had been at each other ever since.

Mother regained her composure. “The Caffarellis are willing to let him become a Saldana
and
offer us a small dowry.”

I paused. A clipper usually joined another Family officially when a marriage produced a child. Then negotiations would decide which clipper changed Families and who paid
a dowry. But the Caffarellis were willing to give us Brand and money if we agreed to this union. How was I worth so much?

Rank, of course. The Saldanas were the first Family, the Caffarellis the fifth. If we agreed to the marriage, their rank would rise drastically, perhaps enough to surpass the Bartolomeos and the Accursos.

The Saldanas as the first Family, and my father as our head, held the most power over the nine Families, but the main reason why we were the first Family was my father's close friendship with the king.

“All of that aside”—my mother flicked her fingers in the air—“it is a serious claim and we should consider it. Safraella knows we could use the money almost as much as we could use the addition to the Family. That plague may as well have killed us all unless we increase our numbers and funds. It's a miracle the other Families haven't made a move against us.”

My stomach sank whenever she spoke like this. Like our rank compared to the other Families was more important than the people we lost. “They wouldn't dare, Mother. Not with Father's friendship with the king.”

Mother raised an eyebrow. “It doesn't matter that your father was the king's foster brother and his personal guard until Marcello almost ruined this Family. If the other Families were to take a stand against us, Costanzo Sapienza would not stop them. He would not save your father over the lives of the common, over the safety of the country.”

I dropped my gaze. When the king had bowed to Safraella
on behalf of the entire country, She had become Lovero's patron. Before that, people had worshipped whichever god they wanted, and the stone walls had tried to keep the ghosts out. Now almost everyone in Lovero worshipped Safraella, and the king had become our wall. His faith, his belief on behalf of all of us, kept the ghosts away. If he were to falter in his faith, the ghosts would find their way back inside.