I quietly slid off the roof. No need to give away my advantage. Marcello nudged the dead man with a boot and grunted in satisfaction. He flicked his cloak over his shoulder and returned his knife to his belt. He froze at the prick of my dagger against his windpipe.
“So sloppy,” I whispered, loud enough to be heard through the mask.
Tension rippled across his body. He was taller than me by quite a bit, taller even than Val, but I’d spent enough time sparring with Val to handle someone with height on me.
His left hand twitched, and he moved it slowly toward his belt. A lefty then.
I tapped his wrist with a second dagger. “I wouldn’t try it.”
He opened his palm and raised his hand.
“Who are you?” His voice rasped as he tried to disguise his anger.
“I am death,” I whispered. “I am Safraella, come to collect what I am owed.”
He tried to turn his head.
“Ah, ah.” I pressed my dagger into his skin. His hood slipped, and the corner of his face caught the moonlight.
He wore no bone mask.
He wasn’t a true clipper then. He wasn’t my uncle. Just someone playing at murder.
Heaviness spread through my limbs. This had been my only lead. And now it was nothing.
I used my foot and shoved the false clipper in the back of his knees. He stumbled away from me. I wasn’t threatened by this fool.
He got his feet under him and pulled out his own knives. His eyes widened as he took in my leathers and the bone mask hiding my face.
My own eyes widened behind my mask. It was the boy from the market, who had stolen the fruit for me.
“You’re a clipper.” His mouth tilted in a crooked smile. He looked down at the knives in my hand, then returned his own knives to his belt. He held his hands before him, weaponless. Dumb, to trust me. Still, I relaxed my stance.
“You could teach me,” he said.
I wasn’t a nursemaid. I was a clipper. I didn’t have time to teach anyone anything. I needed to find my uncle, and though I’d missed my mark with this false clipper, I was willing to bet he knew where my uncle was. “I won’t be teaching anyone anything.”
“That’s unfortunate.” His eyes flicked to the left. Right. He was stalling.
I pointed my dagger at him. “Don’t move.”
Around me flashes of light burst in the night: pop, pop, pop, pop.
Smoke gushed from four different spots on the street until I could see nothing.
I spun around. He hadn’t thrown any smoke bombs. He had to have people with him, helpers.
But there was no one. No sounds, no movement, no attacks from different quarters.
How . . . ?
I charged through the smoke, my mask mostly protecting me from the bitter taste and smell. I dashed left, down an alley, the route I would’ve chosen had I been him.
I’d picked correctly. The fake clipper stood at the end of the alley, canal at his back, trapped.
His teeth flashed. He was missing his first molar on his right side. “You found me.”
His tone reminded me of Val, all cockiness and self-assurance. Tricking me once was not a cause for so much bravado. If he kept it up, he’d wind up dead.
“It wasn’t hard.”
“After meeting you in the market today, and then seeing you here, I think I prefer you without the mask. Much prettier.”
My throat tightened. He knew who I was?
He pointed to his left hand. I glanced at mine and the burn on my palm. I flushed. I’d skipped my gloves because they’d been rubbing painfully against my still-healing palm.
Seventeen years in Lovero and never once had anyone seen my face unless I’d wanted them to. And now, after only a short time in Yvain, some faker had seen me. My parents would’ve been ashamed. Rafeo and Matteo, too. Not that Rafeo would have said so to my face.
I ground my teeth together. “I can tell you’re not a real clipper,” I said.
“How’s that?”
“To a real clipper, the bone mask is the most beautiful face of all.”
He blinked. “My name’s Alessio, by the way. Les.”
He waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t, he continued. “It appears I just keep running into you, Clipper Girl. I think it’s a sign from the gods. A sign you are meant to teach me your ways. Invite me into your Family.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. He seemed so serious, but any Loveran knew you couldn’t simply be invited into a Family.
His smile collapsed, and I felt a twinge of sympathy. Why did I even care? He was no one to me. I needed to focus. The only thing that mattered was making the Da Vias pay.
“You’re right,” I said. “I think it is a sign from the gods.”
He cocked his head.
“It’s a sign you need to tell me where to find your teacher.”
He tensed, his body taut with energy and danger. I tightened my own muscles, prepared to match him. Clearly I’d struck some sort of nerve.
“Are you even sure I have a teacher?”
“You’re sloppy. You have no grace about you, and you’ve displayed, more than once, your ignorance regarding clippers. But you aren’t untrained, only unfinished. Someone had to teach you the basics. Maybe someone who didn’t want to talk about his former life as a clipper. Someone who felt betrayed and hurt by his Family. Someone named Marcello Saldana.”