Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(30)

I clutched my hands into fists. My burned palm ached.

As sunrise approached, I headed back to my safe space, dejected that my plan of find my uncle wasn’t as simple as I’d initially hoped. He could have easily been out and our paths could never have crossed. I needed to know where to search.

Secure inside my empty room, I changed from my leathers into the only other clothing I had: the robe given to me by Brother Faraday. I would draw attention, but I had no other choice.

When the sun rose, I slipped outside again. The brown robe tangled in my feet, and I stumbled in my secluded alley. I brushed my hair out of my face and strode down the street like I was of noble birth, instead of a dirty girl in an ill-fitting robe.

People were about their business early in Yvain. I garnered a few strange looks, but I just concentrated on blending in with the crowd, searching the shops and wares. Many of the clothing shops looked too expensive. I clutched my purse in my hand. Val had so easily lifted things off me, I couldn’t risk an actual pickpocket stealing my remaining funds.

I discovered a store with simple dresses and stepped inside. It didn’t take long to find something I could afford—a plain purple dress, with no real shape—and though the shop owner offered to tailor it so it fit better, I couldn’t justify the cost.

It didn’t matter anyway. So Lea Saldana was walking around the streets of Yvain in an ill-fitting dress barely adequate for the common—who was left to care? All my beautiful things were gone with my home, with my Family. I didn’t deserve anything more.

While I paid, the shopkeeper and her assistant gossiped steadily about the city and people they knew. At a break in their conversation, I made my move.

“I heard some lawmen say they found a body the night before last.”

The shopkeeper clucked her tongue. “It’s been terrible lately, I swear.”

Her assistant shook her head. “It must be that serial murderer everyone’s talking about.”

“Serial murderer?” I prodded.

The shopkeeper rolled her eyes. “Nothing but rumors, my dear. No need to worry your pretty head.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” her assistant said. “There have been a lot of bodies found in the north corner, and not all of them are ghosts or robberies. My brother said people have been sliced open. I don’t know of any street thug who carries a sword.”

She was right—that didn’t sound like a robbery gone wrong. It certainly didn’t match the robbery and murder I’d seen.

“It’s a shame. Even if we didn’t have the ghosts, good people still wouldn’t be safe at night.”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “The solution is the same as always: stay inside after dark.”

Her assistant hummed an agreement.

I collected my change and bag and thanked the women.

Outside, I bumped into a plump woman in a yellow robe. She faced me and smiled brightly, her cheeks rosy, her brown eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight. “Hello, child! Have you come to hear the word of Acacius?”

To the right stood two other women in the same robe, holding baskets filled with fruit.

“No, thank you. I follow a different god.” I clutched my bag and tried to step around.

She turned with me. “At least take some food.” She forced three pieces of fruit into my hands, their thin lilac skins bruising and splitting with her verve.

The fruits were heavy in my hand, probably filled with sweet flesh and juices. My stomach groaned. “You’re just giving away this food? To anyone?”

“Acacius loves his children, and his love provides us with food to fill our stomachs and our souls.” Her smile could have scared away the night.

A pair of large hands clasped over my fingers and the fruit.

I turned, yanking my hands free from the boy who now stood beside me, abandoning the fruit to him in my anger.

Long, dark, wavy hair—fighting to escape from a tie—brushed against his tan skin. A strong jaw was hidden behind a short beard on his chin, and a neck that was too long offset a nose that was too large. Maybe not so much a boy, actually.

“What they don’t tell you”—he leaned closer to me—“is that Acacius is also a god of debts, and taking the fruit is an act of worship. You will owe them a debt.”

The woman smiled tightly. “Lending to someone and having them give back what was given to them are all ways to show Acacius our devotion. He rewards us with this bounty.” She held the basket out to me, but I kept my hands away from the fruit.

“The devout of Acacius always collect on their debts,” the boy said quietly, “because collecting the debt is also an act of worship.”

“I follow a darker god,” I said to the woman.

She frowned, and the boy replaced the fruit into her basket. She turned her back on us, and just like that, I was forgotten.

My hands were sticky from the fruit, and it took almost all my willpower not to lick my fingers.

The boy placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to lead me from the Acacius women. I jerked away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I meant no disrespect.”

Whatever else he might have said remained unspoken as he looked over my head. He narrowed his eyes. I turned.

There, in the center of the street market, walked the lawman from the other night—Lefevre. He scanned the crowd, examining each person as he passed. He was searching for someone. Me, maybe. Or perhaps the serial murderer.