Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(12)

The fire wasn’t as bad downstairs, though it was spreading quickly. It must’ve been set on the upper level to allow the attackers time to escape. Someone had found their way through to our home. It was the only explanation.

Rafeo stumbled beside me. He tugged me with him as he leaned against a wall.

“No, Rafeo. We’re almost to the tunnels. You need to help me.”

Behind us, a door crashed. I turned, dropping Rafeo as I pulled out my knives.

Three men had kicked it down. They wore leathers and bone masks. Another Family, then. The worst possibility. I peered through the haze, but the smoke obscured the colors and patterns of their masks.

They approached, swords held before them. I had no sword, only knives. They were bigger than me, with longer reaches. I was outnumbered and wearing my tattered nightgown.

I swallowed, my mouth and throat dry. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how I would die.

Rafeo groaned again. I glanced at him. The leathers on his chest were slick and wet.

I closed my eyes. Nothing to do for him. Not unless I could somehow drop the three clippers.

A shriek filled the air. From the stairwell a figure landed on the back of one of the men. Daggers plunged into his neck. The man collapsed, dead, and my mother turned her attention to the man on her left. He blocked her dagger thrust at his gut.

“Mother!” I screamed. The third clipper swung at her from behind. She bent backward. The sword barely missed scraping across her bone mask. She moved like a water serpent, all fluid attack.

I raced toward her. Where was Father?

“No, Lea!” She blocked the sword swings with her daggers. “Take Rafeo and flee.”

I stopped, torn. I could disobey her, run to her aid, and fight beside her. End those who were destroying our home, killing our Family.

I faced Rafeo. He didn’t move. His heavy breaths struggled against the smoke and his wounds. My mother needed my help, but Rafeo needed me more. He couldn’t help himself. I would return for my mother.

Rafeo was even less responsive. His feet tangled together as I dragged him closer to the tunnel room and the safety found there. My heart was heavy with dread.

A loud crash exploded from upstairs. The house shook. Behind us, the ceiling collapsed. Broken beams spilled across the hall, covered in flames and fire from above.

“Mother!” The smoke and flames were too thick to see past. She would be unharmed. She would be safe. I had to believe it.

I shouldered open the tunnel room door, dragging Rafeo beside me. A hatch lay open—the one the other Family had used to breach our home. The same one I’d used earlier tonight.

Had I forgotten to lock it behind me?

All this was my fault.

I kicked the hatch shut, cutting off a startled yell from the dark tunnel.

Someone pounded on the hatch, trying to break through. I tipped over a cloak cabinet. The wood clattered and cracked as it blocked the hatch. Any surviving attackers in the house would have to take their chances with a different tunnel.

All the other hatches were locked. No one had been through them yet. I chose one and climbed down the ladder. The tunnel was cool and dark and, most importantly, empty of attackers and flames. I reached for Rafeo. The weight of his body crashed into me. We spilled to the tunnel ground in a heap. I crawled out from under him and closed the hatch.

Rafeo groaned at my feet. My body burned and ached. I couldn’t lift him anymore. I’d used almost all my strength getting us this far. I grasped his wrist and dragged him down the tunnel. His body painted streaks against the dusty floor until we reached the first split. I pulled him into a dead end.

“You’ll be safe here,” I said. He showed no sign of hearing me.

I stood. I had to help Mother. To find Emile and Father and Jesep and Matteo and anyone else still inside the burning house.

Rafeo grabbed my wrist, jerking me off my feet.

“Rafeo.” I crouched beside him, squeezing his hand with mine.

He kept a firm grip on my fingers, struggling to remove his mask with his free hand. He finally lifted his mask off his face and dropped it to the ground. It clattered loudly in the silence of the tunnel.

A slight glow from the fire trickled down to us from the edges of the hatch.

“Oh, Rafeo . . .” A deep gash stretched across the left side of his throat. A slow, steady pump of blood escaped him. His dark leathers were drenched with it.

I slipped my hand from his grip and pressed tightly against his wound to stop the bleeding. The blood seeped through my fingers.

He stared at me, then gave a small smile before he pushed me away, his hands fluttering against mine like moths against a lamp glass.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. His voice had no strength, and his eyes wouldn’t focus on me. I slipped off my own mask and clutched his hands, his blood slick between us.

“Rafeo, please hold on.” My voice broke, and tears dripped off my chin to land on his chest. How could this be my joyful, beautiful brother? How had we come to this? Had Safraella forsaken us?

No. Safraella was the goddess of death, murder, and resurrection. This dark work belonged to Her as well, even though we were Her disciples.

He took a deep breath. Then another.

“Da Vias,” he said.

Rafeo exhaled and died.

I clutched his hands to my heart. I bent over him, my forehead resting against his blood-soaked leathers. I tried to sing him my nursery rhyme, tried to tell him he’d be safe and warm once more, but my throat closed and I wept for my brother. Wept for all of us. We were lesser without him. The world was lesser without him.