Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(90)

“Brando Caffarelli,” I said.

He gestured at himself. “Brand, cousin. My father was . . . grieved to hear of the loss of your mother.”

Traces of my mother showed in his appearance, especially in his hair color. I didn’t know much about my mother’s brother. I hardly knew anything about the Family she’d left behind when she married my father. She’d made it clear that the moment she became pregnant with Rafeo was the moment she gave up being a Caffarelli and became a Saldana.

Beside me Les pushed his mask to his head.

“Though,” Brand continued, “now with you before me, perhaps I can bring him glad tidings?”

I shook my head. “We are all that are left.”

He looked to Les. “I don’t recognize you. You have the dark hair of some of the Saldanas but not much else. Certainly not their coloring or their stature.” Brand gestured at my diminutive height, and then flashed me a smile to show he meant no insult. I’d been short my whole life. So had my brothers and my father. I was used to the teasing remarks.

“Alessio Saldana,” Les introduced himself. A flush of pride spread across my cheeks and trailed down my throat.

Brand nodded and didn’t question any further. If Les said he was a Saldana and had the mask to prove it, the other Families would take it as truth.

Brand spoke inaudibly to the three Caffarellis behind him. They disappeared into the shadows of the streets.

“So.” He gestured for us to follow him into a quieter square, with a garden and benches. He took a seat and we tied the horses to a pergola, letting them graze at the grasses of the garden, before sitting across from him. “Are you here to deal with the Da Vias?”

I folded my hands in my lap. “Yes. They’ve turned to another god. They’re false worshippers.”

Brand hissed between his teeth. “How do you know this? That is a grave accusation.”

“Witnesses in Yvain. And I’ve seen some minor blasphemies from a few of them. I’d thought they were just being . . .”

“Cocky bastards?” Brand supplied.

“Yes. But they crossed the dead plains at night with the help of a priest of Daedara.”

Brand frowned.

“You could help us,” Les said.

I made a small noise in the back of my throat, and Les glanced at me. Help. Help killing the Da Vias. It was what I’d always needed, always wanted. It was why I had traveled to Yvain to find my uncle. I had thought the Caffarellis would refuse me, would side with the Da Vias, who had all the power now that the Saldanas were dead, but maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe they would have helped me all along, if I’d only put my pride aside and asked.

Brand leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers interweaving together. “I can’t see my father agreeing to that.”

Les frowned. “Why not? The Da Vias are traitors to their masks. They lessen the status of all clippers.”

Brand waved a hand. “It’s not that I don’t believe you.” He rubbed a knuckle down the bridge of his nose. “My father is a cautious man. He will not take a stance against the Da Vias, not with their numbers and their wealth.”

“Not even as they worship another god?” Les asked.

Brand shrugged. “He would take a stand against that. I think many of the Families would, especially if it meant destroying the Da Vias once and for all. And certainly the Sapienzas would order us to if they discovered the truth about them. But no one, including my own Family, will take a step against the Da Vias without hard proof. Not with the power they wield. Your word is not enough, cousin.”

My hopes deflated. He was right. Even Costanzo Sapienza, the king, for all that he loved my father, wouldn’t take a stand against the Da Vias unless he had proof before him that they were traitors to our way of life.

What they’d done was so dangerous and stupid. All those people the Da Vias had clipped, supposedly in the name of Safraella, had been during their secret worship of Daedara. Many now probably wandered the dead plains as ghosts. And since the Da Vias had been hiding such treachery, it would be easy for the common to believe it of the rest of the Families. Or the king. The common would turn on us, believing us to be indiscriminate killers. It would create pandemonium.

The Da Vias played with fire and didn’t seem to care if the whole country burned for it.

“If you could get the Bartolomeos and Accursos to agree to an attack,” Brand said, “I could probably convince my father then.”

“There’s no time to speak to anyone else,” I said, “even if they agreed to meet with me. The Saldanas don’t share blood with them.”

“My father won’t agree to just us, the fourth Family, alone.”

“Fifth Family,” I corrected.

Brand smiled sadly. “Fourth, cousin. We both know the Saldanas will never be the first Family again. At least, not in our lifetimes.”

He was right, of course. But to be confronted so firmly with the loss of our status was to feel the pain of the loss of my Family again. Everything my Family had worked toward for generations, all the death and war faced by my father to put Costanzo Sapienza on the throne, ruined by the Da Vias.

“Maybe . . .” Brand hesitated. “Maybe you should let your Family go. You could join another Family. You could marry into the Caffarellis. We would be happy to have you. I would still be happy to have you.”