Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(88)

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.