Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(50)

He turned his back on me and headed to the kitchen.

I waited for my anger to abate so I wouldn’t lose my temper again before I strode from the fire. On a small table sat a dish filled with coins, the coins Les had been stealing from his marks. Marcello and Les weren’t even using them.

I needed clothing. And food. And money to claim any further letters Faraday might send me. I couldn’t just sit around, begging for Marcello’s help, waiting for the Da Vias to find and end me. I had to do something.

I scooped coins into my hand and shoved them into my purse. I didn’t take them all, but enough to get by. One way or another, Marcello was going to help me.

In the tunnel room I jerked the grate up. Suddenly Les’s hand was on mine, closing over it and the grate. His palms and fingers were warm, and calloused, but his grip was gentle. I glared at him, the coins heavy in my purse.

He gave me a sympathetic smile and mouthed a silent apology for how Marcello had treated me.

I wanted to be angry at Les, too, but he seemed sincere in his apology, just like he seemed sincere in everything he did. My rage began to fade, and I nodded. It wasn’t his fault, anyway. He had warned me.

“Later tonight?” he whispered.

For a moment I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to walk into the middle of the street and wait there until the Da Vias found me and sent me to meet Safraella like the rest of my Family. It would be so much easier.

But my Family would be ashamed of me, and regardless of how Marcello felt, I knew if I added more shame on top of my guilt, I wouldn’t meet Safraella when my life ended. My heart would be so full of despair that I would wander the dead plains as a ghost in my own personal hell.

“Only if we work on the firebomb,” I said.

Les tightened his jaw but then finally nodded. I knew he’d just been trying to delay things. I pulled my hand out from under his. He closed the grate quietly behind me.

My sour mood—tinged with the despair I was trying not to acknowledge—followed me out of the tunnel. It was late afternoon, but the Yvanese continued with their shopping at the markets, using every moment of daylight available to them. I slid into the crowd, heading back to my safe house, lost in my thoughts. People packed the market. More than once I had to bite back a vicious barb, or an equally vicious elbow aimed at a person who’d gotten too close. People spoke quickly, conversation limited by daylight. Cart vendors called out their wares, telling people if they couldn’t pay now, they could pay later with interest. Debts were accepted everywhere.

I’d failed with Marcello. Again. And I knew I wasn’t going to get a third try. All I had now was Les. He would have to get the information from Marcello, which meant I had to keep training him, keep in his good graces, remind him that Marcello was holding him back and it was in his best interests to help me.

Even if it wasn’t. Even if helping me could get him killed.

My stomach rumbled, the tea I’d drunk with Marcello doing nothing to ease my hunger pains. Before me stood a vendor with more of those meat pies Les had introduced me to. I had money now. But I couldn’t just spend it on anything. If I used a small bit to buy one pie, I could eat half now, and half later.

The stall owner held up his fingers for a price, and I reached for my coin pouch.

It was gone.

I felt around my belt, but it was nowhere to be found. I twisted to search the crowd behind me.

To my left, someone whistled a familiar tune. I turned. Captain Lefevre. He smiled when I made eye contact.

“Ah, Miss Lea. Have you lost something?”

I swallowed. He could have been following me the whole time. But I hadn’t done anything to give myself away. Unless he’d seen me crawl out of Marcello and Les’s tunnel. But I would have noticed that. . . .

“I seem to have lost my money purse.” I patted my hip. “You don’t think it was stolen, do you?” He had to realize I was faking my na?veté, but if other people in the crowd were listening or watching, I wanted to be clear on how I presented myself in case he publicly accused me of anything.

“Perhaps this is it?” From his fingers swung my money pouch.

“Yes!” I smiled sweetly and reached for it, but he turned to face the stall owner.

“How much does she owe you?” he asked. The stall keeper held up one finger.

“That’s quite all right, Captain Lefevre,” I said. “I can pay the fine gentleman.”

Lefevre smiled at me again, his sickly sweet grin. He dumped my coins into the palm of his hand. He poked through them, examining each one closely, before he finally removed a coin and handed it to the stall keeper, who pocketed the money and passed me the meat pie.

Lefevre dumped the money into my pouch and cinched it. He held it out to me. I reached for it, but he clasped my hand with his own.

“You must be more careful with your coins, Miss Lea. You never know when they’ll draw someone’s attention. Someone who’s looking for you, maybe.”

He stroked my palm with his thumb, tracing the healing burn. I jerked my hand away, yanking the pouch with me. Lefevre smiled even more brightly.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind, Captain Lefevre.”

I slipped away from him, determined that he wouldn’t catch me unaware again.

Les’s hands shook as he tried to pour a concoction from a bottle into a vial. The harder he tried to still his fingers, the more they shook.