Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(9)

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.”