Deception AC 2 OC Fanfiction

Title: Deception
Archive:Codex Followers, Fan Fiction, Deviantart, Dark Savior Fiction
Summary: Her name was Cyras, a member of a secret sect. Despite all of her training, she fell in love with one of her instructors. On their wedding night, he was captured by the Borgia. Being forced to work with the Spaniard, he tasked her to do one simple thing. She had to kill Ezio Auditore da Firenze. The plan goes askew when she learns the location of her husband's imprisonment. How would she tell him about the feelings the other assassin felt for her?
Warning Codes: Language, Implied Sexuality, Graphic and gory violence
RatingMature
Author's Disclaimer:Assassin's Creed is copyright 2010 Ubisoft Entertainment. All Rights Reserved. I have made no profit off this fan fiction.
AUthor's Commentary:This story follows a post by post RP that I do with my husband. The majority of my time is devoted to my other fan fiction and my original writings. Excuse the errors. I try to correct. This is broken up into segments, following along the storyline of the main games (AC 2, Brother, and, eventually, Revelations) from an original character's point of view. Cyras is copyrighted to me. She is an assassin that will be feature in my original novels.

This is a Work in Progress. I don't know when I'll finish it or update it.

Interlude 1
She crossed her arms, gazing at the sterile machine. Outside, she could hear the wind blow and rap against the colored glass. It was a two way mirror. Usually, she could see outside. Presently, it was blacker than the night sky. When she, Cassandra Cattaneo, first was brought there, she would scream for help. Hope floated inside of her, eclipsing the reality of the situation. Her voice would grow hoarse from yelling, and no one would come to her aid.

That was six months ago. Raising a hand, she pulled her long, dark hair off of her forehead. The curls swirled down her back, stretching like a shadow. Her captors did not tell her why she was there. They never uttered a word to her. Instead, there were endless medical tests and surveys. The doctors were interested in her ancestors, members of nobility, in Sicily.

Cassandra could hear voices from another room, and she knew they were talking about her, though she did not truly understand the content. There was much about her abduction that she did not understand: the questions about her ancestry, the brain scans, the machinery that surrounded her. What was the purpose of it all?

"Is Subject 18 ready for the Animus?" an insistent voice questioned. "I want to know what they are up to with 17, and she can provide us with that insight."

"Yes, Mr. Vidic," another voice answered quickly. "Her brain scans came back normal, and we've learned that she had an ancestor in Renaissance Italy: Cyras Corvino da Messina. The best part...she was an assassin."

"Excellent," Vidic responded. "Prep the Animus. She'll start immediately. We'll find out what that bitch is up to with Miles."

She paced the room as her black curls bounced on her bronze skin. Cassandra was exotic to look at, and it was one of the traits that allowed her to become wealthy. While some made their money with blood and tears, she always joked that she made it through semen and sweat.

It had all changed, she thought. Clenching her teeth together, she knew she was in an impossible situation. At first, she thought what any woman would think in her situation. She knew that some men abducted young women. These women were bartered like cattle between wealthy men. Cassandra thought that her life would consist of nothing but rape. It would be a traumatic way to loose her virtu.

Glancing around her, she gazed at the sterile equipment. The odd looking bed would serve to test her out. A shiver erupted in her body, branching out to every nerve. She reached up and rubbed the goosed flesh on her shoulders and upper arms.

A man with graying hair and a beard, wearing a lab coat, entered the room she was being kept in. By the look of authority he carried on his face, she surmised that he was Vidic. Her astuteness was quickly validated when he introduced himself.

"Good morning, Miss. . ." he paused as he looked briefly at the clipboard he carried, "Cattaneo, is it?"

Cassandra nodded, not particularly wishing to speak. She did not care for the maleficent wariness in the man's eyes. A warning eclipsed her thoughts, tightening its hold on her stomach.

"I am Dr. Warrn Vidic. Welcome to Abstergo Industries.

You are probably wondering what you are doing here."

"You could say that," Cassandra replied, sardonically. "I was practically kidnapped, taken from a party during the day."

"I do apologize for the inconvenience to you," the man said with a disingenuous note to his voice. With the lack of interest in her plight, she knew he was a dangerous man. Cassandra was rarely long in her first impressions. A woman who did what she did for a profession did not live very long if she did not trust her instincts. "However, people of your particular lineage are invaluable to our research. You are invaluable to our research here."

Her dark eyes flared at him. There was something about this man that warned her to stay on his good side and not anger him. Yet, Cassandra had spirit inside of her.

He continued to stare at the clipboard, going over whatever was written on there. During her brief time there, they had taken blood from her. She thought that she would bleed dry before they stopped. They murmured about how her DNA was important. Blood was blood. What could be so pivotal in it?

"And what if I don't want to participate in your research?" she sneered.

Vidic sighed in annoyance. It was clear that he was not a patient man. He glared at her, and it was like he was looking right through her. At once, she knew that she mattered little to him.

She wilted underneath his gaze. The tightness in her stomach grew even more tense. Cassandra had no say in her participation. There would be no way out for her.

"I'll make the decision easy for you," he uttered. While his face remained emotionless, a sneer lurked beneath his gaze. "Either you get in the Animus and do what is expected of you, or you'll be placed into an induced coma. Then, we will force you to participate and dispose of you when you are no longer of use to us. How does that sound for an alternative? We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It is up to you."

She acquiesced. Of course, she really did not have any choice. There was something in the aging man's steely voice that believed what he said. A malice sparkled in his eyes, cementing the fact that this man should be listened to. If she wished to escape with her life, she would have to placate him. It would not be the first time she had to do something for her life, she reminded herself grimly.

He walked into the room adjoining her own. It was as barren and clean as any hospital she had been in. She felt the suffocating emotions that always accompanied a sterile environment roll over her.

In that place, laying down on the cold, chrome bed that they referred to as an Animus, she did not know what they had planned for her. She did not know what to expect. They did not explain. Fear beat like a drum in her chest. For a moment, she felt like she was going to vomit.

A group of men surrounded her, and she thought that would be the end of her virtu. Instead of raping her, they hooked syringes and wires into her skin. What was to await Cassandra only the Lord knew.

Short Story 1

Siena, Toscana (Tuscany), Italy
1480

"Bernardo, Francesco, Jacopo, and Stefano are dead," the male voice beside her whispered. She felt the anger rise inside of her as this man talked to her. The woman did not care about those men he mentioned. They all got what they deserve. "He got to them."

She did not voice her disapproval. OF course, she could not tell him that she thought the men got exactly what they deserve. Young men were impressionable. If someone took a young man's family away, they should expect that the fiorentino (one from Florence) would seek revenge. After all, she believed that it was what drove this particular man to kill.

"He has been sighted on his way to Forli," the man continued. He lifted his hand and brushed it through his dark locks.

For a moment, she did not turn to him. Instead, she stared at the tall, extravagant sloops of the Duomo of Siena, a cathedral. Time passed between them, stretching outward.

"You're to go there and deal with this assassino (assassin) once and for all," he threatened.

Cyras did not want to deal with the assassin. She thought what he was doing was in the right; it was something that she would do. In fact, she wanted out underneath the Borgia. A suffocating feeling overcame her, dragging its ebony, oily tendrils around her throat. There was no way out. As much as she wanted to gut the man who stood next to her, he held something near and dear to her heart. It was why the woman could not act out the fantasies running through her mind.

"You are to ride straight there."

"And my husband?" she spoke, finally. She glanced to her side, bringing her emerald gaze to the man.

"He will be set free."
…..

She was only doing it for her husband. With the guarantee of his safety, she would do as they asked of her. It was doubtful that they would release him, but his imprisonment was the leverage that they used against her. She doubted they would ever give him up. There was no reason to toss aside such a useful tool as Cyras Corvino. After all, she was trained in their enemies' way. While there was hope, even fool's hope, she would do anything to save him.

Those thoughts plagued her as she spurred her horse onward, towards the mountains above Toscana (Tuscany). She was unaware that her quarry had taken that very pass to Forli, but she saw the remnants of his passing. Patches of grass were scorched by fire. The bodies of Borgia's men littered the sides of the road. The one she was following was capable of unleashing untold bloodshed. He would be a challenging target, indeed.

The woman gripped the reins tightly in her right hand. Lifting her arm, she pushed the tendrils of blonde hair off of her face. Because they killed her quarry's family and he swore vengeance, he needed to die. While it was not right and she objected to the idea, there was nothing she could do about it.

Cyras was held against a brick wall, and there was no way out. If she accomplished her task, they would have another one for her. With the Borgia, it would never end. She would be in the Spaniard's grasp forever. Clenching her teeth together, she gripped the reins with both hands.

The black stallion snorted, increasing his speed. She was pushing the beast as hard as possible. In fact, the horse would probably die of exhaustion by the time she reached Forli. The passes were familiar to her. After all, it was four years ago that she was betroth to her husband. It was a power exchange. She had traveled from Milano (Milan) to Sicilia (Sicily) to wed.

Being a bastard, a nobleman and an assassin created an unique situation for her. Being a daughter to her father, he wished to strengthened his family's ties. However, she was her mother's only child. She was brought up in the ways of the Order of Assassins since she was young. Beginning her training as a child, she learned to perfect her strikes, her stealth, and other abilities.

Her wedding was agreed on by her mother and her father. For her mother, it was a chance to bring her child happiness. Cyras's happiness came at a price. Also, it was a cover, a front. He, too, was an assassin, and the newly wedded were suppose to root out the Templars in Sicilia (Sicily). It was the opposite for her father. Her wedding to a young lord of Messina would bring more power to her father.

She clenched her eyes, shutting them tightly. The nausea washed over her again. Then, the Spaniard found out their secret through a leak in that sect of assassins. The Order of Assassins in Sicilia were sloppy, at best.

"I do this for you, il mio amore (my love)," she whispered, quickly. She knew she had to leave the feelings of the past where they belonged. Reminiscing would not serve anyone. It would hinder her rescue of her husband. "I can not let my personal morals and the creed get in the way o four love. By harming this man, by killing him, I break our sacred tenants. However, you will be safe."

i think i've read this on deviantart once before... i didn't mind reading it again:)


Hooded Man

Probably. I have this in several places. My husband and I are in the midst of creating Short Story 10. Cyras is a character based on the main protagonist of the novels that we are writing. In that piece of work, she is basically the Ezio of her world.

Short Story 2
Forli, Italy
1981

After the marathon sprint over the mountains, Cyras was finally coming to more level terrain. Marshes surrounded both sides of the road. Romagna, she thought, grimly. One step closer to her target; one step closer to her damnation. There would be no place in the order for her after killing one of her own. At the best, she would be strip of her title. At the worst, she would be hunted. Even if the Spaniard let her husband go, even if he had no more tasks for her, she would be ruin. She did not care. The only driving force for her now was her husband, Vaene.

As the walls of Forli loomed up out of the swamps before her, she kept repeating part of the creed to herself. In it, her only hope lay. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.

Yet, she did not want to kill one of her own. The assassins were like family to her. She wondered how her mother would view her, allowing herself to be caught as she was. It was a foolish thing to happen, and something that would vex her.

She unmounted her horse, taking the reins in her hand. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted, she whispered to herself. Cyras and this young man was a spec in time, pawns in a struggle that lasted centuries. It would still rage after both of them were gone. One will be gone sooner than the other, she reminded herself, harshly.

Gazing at the walls, she saw numerous hand-holes and foot-holes. In a split second, she calculated how easy it would be to enter Forli undetected. She would make it quick for her brother. The templar contact said nothing of drawing out the assassin's death.

Cyras could hear the roar of hoofs thundering down the ruin road. The beast raced along the bridge, taking no notice of the peasants that walked the structure and road. Jerking her attention to the path, she saw a blur of white barreling down upon her.

The flank of the white horse hit her, causing her to fall forward and land on her knees and hands. Dirt clouded around her, marring her velvet gown. Bits clung to her hair.

Looking up, she found it strange that the man did not pursue his hectic journey through the roads of the marsh. The horse's tail swished, lazily. She did not say anything, biting the corner of her cheek. It was another tenant broke by the assassin. She did not remain unseen. Hell, while she was at it, she should break the final one.

Moving her gaze to the man on the horse, she found herself looking into warm, dark eyes. It was a false heat, revealing someone who was very guarded. The person those eyes belonged to had experienced tragedy. She wanted to shake her head, reminding herself of her driving force. Cyras held onto her vengeance, and there would be a day when the Spaniard would die by her own hand. She had to keep Vaene, her husband, safe.

None of that mattered as she took in the hard angle of his chin, the sweeping locks of brown hair, and the white garb (signs of his nobility and the secret he kept to himself). Her target had made himself known.

A hand reached down in an offer to help her up.

She begrudgingly took the offered help, being lifted to her feet. Something stayed her hand, and she could not understand why. Her target was right before her. She knew him from the descriptions, yet she hesitated. She could have him completely by surprise and been done with the whole nasty affair. Vaene would be returned to her, and she could leave that life behind her. It would be worth it for happiness and security.

"Forgive me, Madonna," Ezio said, still holding her hand. "I did not see you in the road. I was racing, and I couldn't slow the horse in time."

You should watch where you are going, bastardo (bastard)," Cyras seethed. She was not so upset about being dirty, but more about the indignity of being knocked down. The woman took a calming breath. "What's done is done. Do not worry about it, messere."

"Please, call me Ezio."


Her mind protested, urging her to finish the act. With a single swipe of her hidden weapon, he would have been on the ground before her bleeding out. Then, they would release Vaene. Yet, she would not stop. With handing her husband over, the Borgia would have signed their own deaths. She churned in anger.

"Is that not slightly forward?" she asked him. Again, she could not force her hand to do something that she could not. Something, perhaps God himself, had stayed her hand.

"Just being friendly, Signorina. . .," his voice trailed off as his eyes took in her body. For a moment, she felt like a piece of meat on a butcher's cart. There would be a day when she would have to do what she came to do. She knew that there was not a problem in learning more of her target. After all, he would not see her coming.

"Cyras Corvino da Messina," she stated, friendly. "Please call me Cyras."

"If you insist," Ezio answered smoothly, "Cyras." His gaze lingered on her supple cleavage. Her breasts heaved against the cloth containing them.

"I am up here," Cyras muttered, pushing his face up with a finger beneath his chin. She could feel the stubble lining his chin.

Ezio smiled devilishly, thinking himself charming. She thought the display juvenile, but she kept her cool demeanor. Cyras did not want to scare the man off.

"Messina," Ezio said, thinking aloud. "You don't look like you are from Sicilia (Sicily). If I had to guess, I would say you are from Romagna, judging by your looks and speech."

"You would guess correctly," she replied. "My husband hails from Sicilia (Sicily)."

She could see a spark of disappointment in his eyes at the mention of her unattainablity. Still, she could see the wheels turning in his mind.

"What brings you to Forli, Cyras Corvino da Messina?" It was an innocent question, but she could tell that he was probing carefully. He may have been a brash, immature man, but he was not stupid.

She had to disarm him. Any assassin knew when another was probing for the truth. There must have been something that she said or did not say that made him doubt her validity to his questions. Perhaps, he heard the pain in her voice as she mentioned her husband. Ezio, like her, trained to look for the untruth in words.

He smiled at her, lighting his bronze complexion. While she thought her husband was beautiful, she could not help but think how attractive this man was. Her stomach tightened at that thought, fluttering from his attention. Merda (shit), she thought. Ezio was a very dangerous man.


"Ezio. . ." she went on, fishing for his full name. Of course, her contact had given her his name. She merely wished to dissuade his suspicion.

"Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

"Well, Ezio Auditore da Firenze," she said again, keeping a hint of playfulness in her voice, "a woman has to keep some mystery."

He smiled again, presumably at the perceived challenge she was presenting herself to be. From what she was informed, he liked a challenge. Now that she was before him, his demeanor confirmed that information. However, to be fair, most men like some form of mystery.

She felt unsure underneath his intense gaze. It was as if he could see through her simple facade. In a way, it did not surprise her. Cyras prided herself because she was the same way.

"I like a woman with secrets," he said, smoothly. "Too many are one dimensional, easy to read and even easier to understand. Most have only one thing on their minds: money. I like mystery."

Oh god, Cassandra thought. The man was a sleaze ball, but for some reason, Vidic was very interested in him and his actions. Why would he care about some lecherous Italian nobleman?

Focus! His sharp voice echoed within her head. She was strangely disoriented by the entire situation. Keep your focus or you will desynchronize, and we will have to start this entire session over again.

What was worse was this woman, presumably her ancestor, was attracted to him. It felt increasingly strange that Cyras found him handsome. She worked enough to know the type of man this Ezio was. No, her mind whispered, it was more than wanting to screw him. As she realized this, her ancestor did, also.

Focus! His voice roared through her mind again. You will be desynchronize if you do not.

She felt nauseous, almost to the point of vomiting. Cassandra did not want to have to do this again. Perhaps, if she got what he needed, he would let her go. Breathing in deeply, she returned her concentration to the lecherous Italian.

A part of Cyras felt like she was betraying her husband. She could not understand the feeling. This man should remain her target. He should not matter. The only thing that should have been on her mind was the various of ways she could end his life.

Instead, she was contemplating how gorgeous he looked as the sunlight angled down and bathed him in its eternal illumination. With each second that passed, she became caught up in his web. He was the predator; she was the prey. Who was hunting who?

"It seems like you are losing your race, Ezio," she remarked. She wiped the mud on her hands off of her dress, frowning grimly. Whether it be blood or dirt, she hated it on her body. Cyras was excessively clean and afraid of the ailments within and without the body. "It's my fault."

"It was nothing important."

"That may be the case," she retorted, matching wits with him. A sliver of enjoyment buzzed through her body. She liked the game that they were playing with each other. Flirting had never really made an impression on herself. Cyras could never consider herself a tart. Yet, there was something about this man. He put her at ease. "I would like to provide you compensation that you would have lost. How much was the prize for?"

A long silence extended before them.

"The ride was for private riding lessons," Ezio answered hesitantly, finally. He lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. A sheepish smile spread across his face.

Cyras thought his behavior odd, considering the innocent nature of the subject. She nodded, thinking it would be an easy thing to recompense. It jolted her as she thought she was humoring the young man. Young man, she thought, facetiously. In truth, he was not much older or younger than she was.

"Even though I don't think you need it, I can provide you with the money to acquire riding lessons then," she offered. For some reason, the man was avoiding making eye contact with her for a moment. "It's the least I can do, Ezio."

"The offer wasn't for horse riding lessons," he said, his suave tone cracking slightly. Cyras looked at him in confusion. Being what she was, she could not fathom what he was talking about. Her husband was taken before they could consummate their marriage. "Well, you see, Amelia promised to give me riding lessons, personally."

"I won't give you that," she blurted as her eyes went wide in sudden realization. She could feel her cheeks warm as she blushed. For a brief moment, her gaze caressed him. Cyras wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms, to kiss those lips. Suddenly, she chastised herself. The woman should not be having those thoughts. Her husband's life was uncertain. "I'd be happy to buy you a drink, though, if that will suffice."

"Si, (yes)" he answered, his voice returning to a smooth, mellow tone. "That will do nicely."

"Bene, (good)," she said as she walked to the side of her ebony stallion. She put her foot in the leather stirrup and lifted herself up in the saddle. Unlike most noblewomen, she did not side-saddle. Cyras rode like a man because it was most practical. Especially, if her target was on horseback.

"You are most peculiar," Ezio continued, keeping his lubricious tone. He picked up the reins, gripping them in his hands. Ezio turned his horse around and ventured across the bridge.

"No," she counted instantly, bringing her horse to a trot next to his. Cyras felt a flash of warmth from his compliment flowing through her, and she hated it, instantly. He could not effect her. She would not let an attractive man blind her to her goal. Loving Vaene was more important than a tumble in the hay with this man. She would just have to remind herself of that. "I'm just me."

They rose in silence, and Cyras watched the misty shapes of the swamp carefully. She took careful observance of the guards and peasants. It was normal for her to make such observations. After all, her profession did not allow the security of a city to welcome her with open arms.

"While the way I ride is unusual for a woman, it does serve a practical purpose. My mother and father taught me realism. I had no older brother to watch over me, to protect me from a cruel world. It was my father, my mother, and myself. Both of my parents have passed on now, nearly four years ago."

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she tried to judge his reactions. On the surface, Ezio appeared to be unaffected by her utterance. It was a calculated reaction. She knew that because she knew all about contriving looks.

Beneath the surface, she saw a raw pain. The emotional wound would never heal. His jaw tensed, pulsing with fury and regret. She recognized that response too. Since her parents death and her husband's capture, she blamed herself. If only she responded faster, Vaene would be with her. If she did not take a holiday in Venezia (Venice), then she could prevent her father's death. A sigh escaped, forcing its way through her lips.

"Your husband does not protect you?"

When he mentioned Vaene, guilt rolled over her. Like him, she tried to hide it behind a facade. She pushed the pain down and swallow it. Maybe, there would be a day when she would no longer feel the stinging remorse of her actions. If there was such a time, she knew it was far off in the future.

She remembered Vaene's eyes as they dragged them off. They were dark and expressive. Fear lurked within them, sinking into the confident depths. Even then, her husband could never hide his emotions from her. He wanted her to save him. Yet, he called out to her to save herself.

"Are you ready to return to the tables?" she asked, changing the subject. Cyras did not want to dwell on old wounds, not with this man. He was her target. While she knew most things about him, she did not want to share her experiences. After all, she would rouse his suspicious nature. Her lips flicked up, devilishly. "I'm sure this Amelia will be eager to hear the results of your race."

…

"It took you long enough," Amelia snorted when Cyras and Ezio arrived at the stable. Her face was a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. "I guess you don't want those private lessons after all."

Cyras felt a cringe in her stomach. For a moment, she felt out of place. While she was comfortable in her own innocent sexuality, she felt awkward around those who blatantly displayed theirs. She felt that the type of talk that the woman was uttering should have stayed out of public. A couple could do anything they felt like behind closed doors.

The horse-trainer scowled as Ezio shrugged. She lifted her hand and pushed the dark tendrils of hair off of her forehead.

"I suppose not," he said, the lack of interest apparent in his voice. He stepped down from the horse and handed the reins to Amelia. "Here is your horse back."

For a moment, Cyras sized up the other woman. It was a foolish thing to do. She had no interest in a romantic relationship with the man she was suppose to murder. Her main concern was waiting to long. Would the Templars kill her husband? Cyras understood time was of the essence. Still, she could not bring herself to harm the man before her.

He walked over to her and her horse. She tried to beat down the quickening of her pulse. A reddening stretched across her cheeks, allowing him insight into her emotions. It was a rare thing to have happen. Before she could dwell on the thought, his strong hands were around her waist.

A warning sounded inside of her. She knew that he still wore his bracers, and she understood the danger that lurked within the metal armor. Of course, she could never tell him. When he grabbed her, she thought her fate was sealed.

The thin metal would ring out from within his bracer. It would drive deep in her waist. She would die; it was as simple as that. Holding her death, she waited for the moment. Cyras could not help but notice the irony in that moment. Surely, God was not without his fun. To be killed accidentally by the man who she was sent to kill was some kind of cruel justice.

A shiver erupted inside of her at his touch. She frowned visibly. Her body should not have reacted like it did. He was a very handsome man. His hazel eyes gazed warmly at her and foretold the confidence that lurked in his soul. Deep within her breasts, her breath hitched.

"Oh," Amelia said, suddenly. The voice reminded them that they were not alone. Ezio was not her husband. Those feelings that he suddenly bolstered inside of her young, impressionable mind were not real. He was not the one that she had to save. "You've found some other mare to ride. I see."

Cyras felt the jealousy wafting off of the stable-hand. She was uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of the other woman. While her body had an intense reaction to the male assassin, there was nothing that was going to come of it.

"You're loss, idiota (idiot)."

"I am a lady, puttana (whore)," Cyras chided. She glared coldly at the ignorant upstart. "Perhaps, Lord Auditore would rather spend time in the company of a refined woman, rather than catch God knows what disease rolling around with you in the stables."

Ezio rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. While she knew the true nature of the man, it amused her that he could be so vulnerable in the presence of a woman. It unnerved her that he reminded her of Vaene in that respect. She tried to ignore the giddiness her heart exuded with that single thought.

"I look forward to spending time in your company," she continued as she turned her back on Amelia. She faced him as she talked. Trying to lower her guard would prove to be difficult. Cyras was not the type of woman that allowed herself to be vulnerable. When her mother died in her arms, she had learned about that certain weakness. Slowly, she allowed her gaze to roam over his body. "It is a welcome....change."
....
"So, Ezio Auditore da Firenze," Cyras said in a husky whisper as she swirled her fingertip around the rim of her wine glass, "What are you doing so far from Firenze (Florence)." A part of her already knew the answer, but she was trying to play the part of a curious seductress. She would whittle his guard down, and when the moment was right, she would strike. Cyras berated herself for not simply taking his life when she had the chance, but she did not want to do it out in the open.

Shame welled up inside of her. Cyras hated to be forced to take the life of a fellow assassin. She would rather hide the fact, having her deed go unnoticed until she was far away from her crime.

"I am going to Venezia (Venice)," he answered simply. "I have some business there." He did not elaborate. It was the type of answer she expected: short and simple. Whoever had been teaching him the ways of the assassin was doing a favorable job.

She lifted the glass to her lips and drank slowly.

"In fact, I should be going soon. Leonardo is waiting for me," he continued. He took a drink of his wine, setting the cup down gently.

"Oh," she said, disappointment ringing in her tone. For a moment, she wondered if the lonely pitch in her voice was something she faked or if she truly was let down. Ezio was a charming individual. He was someone who fascinated her. With his help, she was sure she could rescue Vaene.

It was a foolish thought, just as her fool's hope of them not harming her husband. Ezio was a potential recruit of the assassin's order, one that proved to be a throne in her employer's side. She was Vaene's, but she was beginning to become emotionally attached to Ezio. Any kind of attachments were dangerous.

"I did enjoy enjoy the company, however, short it was," she stated, truthfully. She did not want to end his life, and the thought blossomed heavily on her. It swelled like a stinking flower, overshadowing her with its putrid stench. "I am sure if I ever travel to Firenze (Florence)that I will make sure to meet you. . .if you are there and your business in Venezia (Venice) is finished."

"Actually, I reside in Monteriggioni now," he countered, smoothly. For a moment, his gaze did not leave her face. His brow furrowed as if there was something deeply troubling him.

"Well, then, if I ever have business in Monteriggioni, then I shall stop to see you? Si (Yes)?"

"I would like that," Ezio said warmly. "However, I doubt I will be returning any time soon. I fear my business in Venezia (Venice) will keep me for quite some time."

She smiled seductively, trying to mask her pleasure that she had wheedle that bit of information from him. He was planning on being in Venice for a long time. Cyras would have to find her way there, and she could deal with him when the timing was right. Recalling that Carnivale was not that far off, the crowds of masked people would be a perfect cover for her to complete the act. Her employers would likely be impatient for her to get the job done, but she knew the deed required a delicate touch.

…..
An hour after he left, she sat alone in the tavern. She was sure that she over-exceeded her acting potential because she never knew a man's touch. Her husband was abducted before he could consummate their marriage. Cyras did not know how to act as a seductress.

Once more, she moved her index finger over the rim of the glass containing the crimson liquor. When she was not planning an assassination, the woman would drink in excess. She knew she needed her mind clear if she was going to succeed on dealing with Ezio. He might be a lecher, but he was a brilliant, calculating, and cunning pervert.

She stood, paid the innkeeper, and stepped outside. The sun beat down on her and was blunted through the swampy canopy. She was looking forward to Carnivale. Vaene was going to take her to Carnivale, reliving their love affair. He had first confessed his attraction to her during the fair. The romance filled the air. Of course, the masks aided that.

Gripping the sides of the small engraved traveling chest, she could never let the mask she wore during her first Carnivale go. It was a gold mask with ruby jewels outlining her eyes and the outside of the vizard, itself. Red and black plumes rose from it, encasing her flowing blond hair in its fiery halo, matching her own order's crimson and jet livery. The mask was a gift from her husband.

Another memory that the Borgia had taken from her. The Carnivale season would always be masked with pain and laced with regret. She did not look forward to taking the life of the young man.

"-powerful and dangerous as she is young and beautiful," the words ripped her from her thoughts. They drifted from the bow of the boat to her.

"She's my kind of woman." Ezio's words cut into her, rendering her still for a moment. She did not expect that kind of jealousy for a man that she knew was a lecher. Blinking for a moment, she tried to ignore that feeling inside of her.

"I'm sorry, signora," the Captain of the Venetian ship told her. Of course, it was never as easy as she wanted it to be. There was always...complications. Vaene, Ezio, and, now, this captian. "Without a pass, I can not let you on."

"Do you not know who I am?" she asked him, curtly. Her eyes blazed at the refusal. Very rarely in her life was she refused after she mentioned her father. He, of course, was wealthy in Milan. Most of his money came from his shrewd business sense. "My father is Cecilio Carsidoni da Milano."

"There are...ways...of securing a pass," the captain continued, ignoring her posturing. He reached out, over the chest she was carrying, and squeezed her breast.

"Unhand that woman, puerco (pig)," Ezio shouted as he came up behind Cyras. "I have a pass, and she is with me. She is my betrothed."

For a moment, she felt confused and astonished. The emotions mixed inside of her, turning themselves over in her head. He had lied for her, to save her from the mishandling of the seedy boatman. She could not fathom why he would go to such a length to help her, a woman he had only met earlier that day. Perhaps, he was just being chivalrous. More likely, he was trying to get into her good graces presently, so as to get her into his bed later. Of course, Cyras would never let that happen. Still, he gave her the opportunity to get to Venezia (Venice). Little did he know, he opened the door for his death.

"Yes," Cyras said, snapping out of her own thoughts. "I am with him."

The boatman eyed them both suspiciously, then shrugged with indifference. "You should keep a closer eye on your woman," he told Ezio. "You shouldn't let her wander off alone. Bad things could happen to her." Then, he continued on as if nothing had happened. "If you wish to go to Venecia (Venezia), then climb aboard."

you should consider sharing this with ubisoft. It has great potential!

Hooded Man

Thank you. I'm glad that you enjoy this. My husband and I started to roleplay Deception in Feb as something to do to give us a break when we were writing our novels. This fan fic evolved from that RP. I'm quite proud of it, and I may eventually submit it to Ubisoft. It needs polishing in some places before that, however.

Short Story 3
Venezia, Italy
1485

She stood on a roof, overlooking the Palazzo della Seta. Her love affair with Ezio Auditore da Firenze was going to end that day. While she cared about the assassin, she cared about her husband more. After nine years passed between her plan for her husband's rescue and the fateful night he was captured by the Borgia, she would see him again. Once more, she would feel his arms around hers. His lips would drive away the thoughts of Ezio's.

Nulla è vero (Nothing is true), she repeated to herself. Ezio believed Antonio about Vaene, but everyone was wrong. Her husband could not have been turned traitor. It was the one thing that was a lie. She would think that she knew the man she loved better than anyone else. Tonight, her love would be liberated. Then, they would see.

She flexed her arms. Rapid clicks sounded muffled from the fabric of her rose-colored jerkin. Twin blades popped out of her sleeves, running parallel to the palms of her hands. Tutto è consentito (Everything is permitted), she reminded herself. Leonardo had crafted the blade exceptionally well. He even hollowed the new one out, allowing her to apply a small amount of poison to it. To free her husband, she needed every advantage.


Quietly, Cyras slipped down the wall, approaching the bridge to the palazzo. She had timed her approach to coincide with the changing of guard shifts, allowing her to slip in unnoticed. Had she had time to think about it, she would have noticed that it was easy to breach the perimeter of the palace, too easy. If she had not been so focused on rescuing her husband and escaping Ezio's embraces, she would have realized that she was walking right into a trap. Unfortunately, she was not thinking about that.

She found a dark corner and sprinted up the wall, catching herself on a ledge overlooking the canal. The next handhold she could find was further than an arm's length away, but she knew the techniques to get herself there. Squatting down, she pulled herself up violently, flinging herself upward. At the apex of her flight, she grasped the handhold tightly and caught herself just before she plummeted to the ground.

"Diligente (Careful), Cyras," she whispered to herself. "You are no good to Vaene dead."

Through quarter and hallways, the assassin lurked. She tried to avoid the patrols. Even then, she did not notice that there were not many to avoid. Again, she should have found that strange. There was something about it that did not feel right. Yet, she had to move on. Vaene's life rested on how quickly she could get to him.

As she moved as one in the shadows, she remembered the last time that she saw Vaene. He had looked stunning in his robes, taking her as his wife. She remembered the way he kissed her and the heady scent of desire in the air. Blinking, she knew it was a mistake. Cyras envisioned Ezio's riveting, emotional embrace. There was nothing soft and subtle about that man. Even with a single look, passion consumed them both.

She gazed at the door leading to the cells. By the layout of the place and talk of various guards, she surmised that they would keep Vaene there.

Reaching forward, she wrapped her hand around the large wrought-iron ring that was used as a doorknob. The cool metal burned into her hot flesh. Before she was able to push it open, a slim body fell from the open roof. His crimson and black garb screamed the name of Borgia, but why would he had fallen to his death. From her experience, archers tended to be very agile. Blood blossomed from his back, smearing on the wooden floor.

Looking at the blood, she felt light-headed. The walls started to close in. She breathed slowly, inhaling through her nose. Blood roared in her ears, making her head swim.

"Don't pass out," she murmured quietly. Tightly, she clenched her eyes closed. She would have to master her phobia of blood. It was ironic in away. Cyras was an assassin, and she was afraid of blood. "You will be no use to Vaene if you're incapacitated, Cyras."

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she glanced at the body. By the way he fell, she knew he was dead before tumbling. Something or someone had killed the poor sob before he toppled from the roof.

Raising her hand to shade her eyes, she looked up. A cold chill ran through her. Someone was on the roof, meeting her gaze with his own. The hood shadowed his face, blurring the strong masculine features. Stubble blackened his jawline. Anger swirled in the depths of his eyes. Of course, she recognized the man that was watching her. He had followed her for years, encouraging her to help in his pursuit for vengeance.

Ezio, her mind whispered. Her heart beat quickly, threatening to jump out of her chest. Biting her lip, she tried to push down the fluttering sensations in her belly. No one would stop her from rescuing her husband. Even the assassin above her.

Ezio signaled for her to come to him, but she refused. She was too close to completing her goal to give up on it now, she thought. He could help, or he could stay out of her way, but she was not going to quit. Again, he insistently motioned for her to come to him. As Cyras shook her head, she could see his body heave with a sigh of frustration.

Lifting her hand, she gave him a dismissive gesture and turned back towards the door. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She doubted the cell would be open for her, however.

As she entered the dark passageway, she could not help but think that Ezio would follow her. He would not abandoned her at her time of need. Ezio was concerned with her well-being. How would she explain him to Vaene, she thought. Would he understand? Perhaps, the entire unpleasantness could be avoided although. Ezio wouldn't pursue her when she was back with her husband. At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the dungeon. She could make out the bars of cells on each side, all of them empty, save two. One held a rather large man, presumably the merchant Ezio had told her about. In the other occupied cell, she could make out the prone form of a thin man.

Her heart skipped its beat. Even through the sparse lighting, the man had to be Vaene.

She felt the dizziness overtake her. Euphoria and dismay intertwined, concocting powerful unexplainable emotions. He was the only thing that mattered. That sharp thought cracked inside of her head, blinding her to her feelings for Ezio. Because of her love's safety, she had worked with the Borgia.

"Vaene!" she exclaimed as she sprinted to the cell. She lifted her hands and wrapped her fingers around the dirty, metal bars. Ezio and the possibility of his following her faded from her mind. The only thing that existed at that moment was the man before her.

"Cyras?" the thin man questioned. He looked up at her, gazing at her with his dark eyes. Dirt clung to his skin and torn clothing. Dust caked the strands of his ebony hair.

Despite seeing his condition, something shouted out to her that this was not right. Yes, he was thin. She could see the muscles protruding beneath his torn shirt. For someone who was starved, there should have been some muscle loss. It was as if they had fed him well. Templars did not feed their captives well, her mind screamed. He was too clean for the conditions that he had been under. In fact, his hair should have been longer and gnarled.

"How long, Vaene?" she questioned him. Widening her eyes, she realized that she had been sent into a trap. Antonio was right. If he was right, Ezio was right as well. Inside, the proverbial dagger that her husband stabbed her with twisted inside of her heart. His true welfare stabbed her over and over again.

With relief, she remembered that Ezio was outside. She knew that he would not give her up to the Templars. He had not before, and he would not now. Unlike her husband, the other assassin could be counted on.

"How long what?"

She took a deep breath, settling her imposing gaze on the man that she had proclaimed to love. Her glares usually worked on getting her what she wanted. On this man, a companion that was taken from her before they could be intimate, nothing phased him.

"How long have you been a templar?' she spat at him.

"What are you talking about?" Vaene questioned, though the tone of his voice was not very convincing. It surprised her how easy it was for him to slip into a lie. It shouldn't, she thought. He had years to perfect his lying, coming up with excuse after excuse.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, traditore! (traitor)" Cyras shouted. The look on Vaene's face told it all. In that instant, seeing that look, she knew the truth. Agony lay siege to the emotional supports of her heart. It obliterated them, twisting her heart into something that she did not want. She wanted to cry, but she would never cry before an enemy. In what nightmare did the one she gave her heart too became her enemy? She hoped that she was dreaming. Cyras would wake up, and he would be next to her. Everything was a dream.

The sound of slow clapping sounded in the darkness behind her. Turning, she caught the malignant gaze of Niccolo. The crimson cross, a sign of his order, hung on his breast. He had been waiting for her, and the carefully laid trap was sprung.

"You women are so predictable," Niccolo droned, maliciously. "Ruled by your heart, by your emotions."

She should have believed Antonio; she should have listened to Ezio. They both knew, and they tried to talk sense into her. Yet, she couldn't listen, and now her fate was sealed. The only hope she had was that Ezio would come for her. Ezio had some strange sense of duty when it came to her. During their ruse (the simple plan to pretend they were marriage for her passage to Venezia), there were times when he seemed to take it too seriously. There were times when it seemed as if he truly believed that he was her betrothed and later her husband.

"Now that your wife has so graciously returned to you, you can take what is rightfully yours," Niccolo commanded. Drawing his sword and keeping it trained on Cyras, he opened the cell for Vaene.

Ezio was not her husband, and he would never be. This man that stalked towards her was not her husband. He had been twisted into something monstrous. His heart had been wretched from him. Perhaps, he was always grotesque. She remembered the man that kissed her during Carnivalé. It was that man that she fell in love with, speaking her devotion to.

Cyras reached down, squeezing the grip of her mother's sword. She moved into a defensive stance. Her leg screamed in protest. Yet, she could not show them any weakness. The blade flashed in the moonlight filtering through the windows.

"Was it all a lie?!" she cried out. A part of her hoped to appeal to the man that her husband had been. She still could not believe their relationship was founded on untruth. It was impossible for her to have been a pawn of the Templars her entire life.

"Oh, come on now!" Vaene shouted, his anger suddenly erupting. She had never seen him lash out at her like this. It appeared that she didn't know him at all. "You've been in Venezia for four years. You waited four years to rescue the man that you claimed to love. And what were you doing during those four years? Hm?"

Cyras remained silent, keeping her chin up. Her gaze fixed on his. She would not let him beat her down with words. Though he may break her body, she would never let him break her spirit.

"I'll tell you what you were doing!" Vaene boomed. "You were cavorting with Ezio Auditore da Firenze! Yes, I know all about your budding relationship with that figlio di cagna (son of a bitch)! For all you knew, I was clinging to life by a threat, and you betrayed your vows to me. And you have the audacity to ask me if it was all a lie!"

There is no budding relationship with Ezio," she stated, simply. Of course, it was a lie. Everything about her was a lie. Once they learned of her desire to be with Vaene, her parents wanted her to marry him. Were they in on the conspiracy too, or was it just Vaene?

Suddenly, she did not know who or what she wanted anymore. For so long, her vengeance drove her. It as the acting force behind her working with the Spaniard. Everything she did was for the safety of her husband. Yet, she did not even know who this man was before her.

"Really?" he reported, snidely. Her voice cut into her. To anyone else, it was plan to see what Ezio and she meant to the other. Of course, it would get back to the ones that they were suppose to be fighting against. Ezio and she were never really careful of their relationship, cherishing it as any new couple did. Was that how they turned Vaene? "It seems like everyone knows of Signora Cyras Auditore da Firenze."

"You Fottutamente bastardo (fucking bastard)," she hissed, quietly. "If it was not for Ezio, I would not be here." Her eyes flamed with anger. Being reunited with the man she loved since she could remember was something she dreamed of since he was taken. The truth left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she felt like vomiting. She squared her jaw, glaring into the icy eyes of her husband. "Il mio amore (my love), do not worry. My virtú (virtue) remains intact."

Vaene laughed, a disconcerting, disturbing action in the face of her facetiousness. The look in his eyes sent repeating waves of chills down her spine. She didn't have to guess to know the intent he had for her. Cyras knew before he said a word.

"That's something you won't have for very much longer, my dear," he growled in a low voice. His gaze swept down her body, causing tiny pinpricks of terror to raise to her flesh. This had to be a nightmare. Vaene would not do this to her. He could not.

"Perhaps, after I am done with you, I will let Niccolo have a turn at you. You could be our little puttana (whore), our little plaything."

"You would have to kill me first," Cyras hissed through her teeth. She stood her ground, refusing to wilt under the intense, leering stares of both men.

A soft thump sounded in the darkness to her left. Into the dim lights, a hooded figure stepped.

Her heart raced in her throat. She bit the inside corner of her mouth. Cyras was glad that Ezio had come for her. With Ezio, the battlefield was easily matched (if not tilted in her favor).

"Both of you will die if you lay one finger upon her," Ezio threatened. "I promise you that."

"Ah," Vaene droned. "Speak of the devil."

Cyras felt the cold fear slither up her spine. While this man was her husband, she mourned for the lost of what he once was. Never in her life did she think it was possible for him to be so vicious. The man that she loved could never say or suggest the things that he was.

"You will not tell me what I can do with my wife, assassino (assassin)," Vaene continued. His eyes did not leave Cyras. The malevolent gleam made a shiver cascade down her body. He reached out, grazing his hand over the top of her cleavage. His touch made her stomach turned. It flipped over on itself, knotting in despair. At that moment, she knew that she really did not know the man. Oh, she thought she did. It was a ruse, much like Ezio's ruse. The other difference was that Vaene orchestrated by himself.

"You won't live to touch her, again," Ezio commanded, quietly. He did not let the jeers from Vaene distract him. In fact, she could see the corner of his mouth sneer. It was strange to witness any type of reaction he had from his enemy. Yet, there was that strange duty in him. Ezio was acting in the way that Vaene should have acted.

In the intense posturing, Cyras saw her chance. She rarely missed the opportunities when they presented themselves to her. To hesitate as an assassin was to die. Because she was a woman, her heart ruled her mind. It was hard to think rationally when her husband had betrayed her since she had known him.

She lifted her leg and planted her knee firmly between the apex of his thigh. He cried out in pain. Vaene released a stifled groan. Cyras did not waste any time. Once he released her, she sprinted over to Ezio.

Ezio stepped in front of her, blocking her from view. He was taller than her so his shadow engulfed her. The advantage is ours now, Cyras thought. The only one of the other two that was armed was Niccolo. In order to sell the ruse, Vaene carried no weapons. It was a foolish action to face an assassin without a sword. Yet, most of her opponents underestimated her. She was a woman; she could not possibly harm them.

"Maladetto puttana (fucking whore)," Vaene hissed as he gripped his crotch. "You will pay dearly for that. Your bastardo (bastard) lover will die before you, and then you will truly know pain."

"I do not think so," Ezio said in an even tone. He spoke no more, moving on the opening, taking advantage of the opportunity Cyras had presented for him. Ezio took off at a sprint, directly at Vaene. Jumping, he straddled the unarmed man as they both fell. His forearm flexed, and the sound of metal unsheathing rang out in the darkness.

"You are a ladro (thief)," Vaene growled through clenched teeth. Vaene gripped Ezio's wrist with both hands. He hissed as he held the deadly blade at bay. "She does not belong to you."

"Faccio questo non per me, ma per il bene di tutti (I do this not for me, but for the good of all)," Ezio said as he overpowered the other man. The blade slid home into the side of Vaene's neck. Blood gushed out of the wound, spilling from his carotid artery. "Resquiescat en pacé (Rest in peace)."

Cyras was numb. For the longest time, she had sought the release of Vaene. No, for the longest time, she had believed something that was not true. As she watched the blood spill out from her husband's neck, she felt light headed. The scent of the fluid drifted up to her. She raised her hand to her mouth, forcing the bile down her throat.

Faintly, she was aware of the other in the room. This was the man she hated. He had taken Vaene from her. Niccolo would pay for the betrayal. At last, her vengeance was at hand. She would be out underneath the thumb of the Borgia.

"You were never an assassina (female assassin)," Niccolo spat. He glowered at her and Ezio. The crimson of his cross glittered in the sparse light. "From birth, you were a Templar. You were your mother's and our greatest tool.

Every feeling inside of her faded. Her leg no longer throbbed. All she could feel was a bitterness overcome her. She clenched her jaw, refusing to allow him to see the resent in her. He did not deserve that. Cyras would not even supply him with an answer.

Flexing her arm, her blade hissed angrily from its sheathe. It roared out in a series of metallic clicks. The hidden dagger sparkled in the dense night. She would not allow him to live. No, she could not allow him to live. As with Vaene, his death would be for the greater good.

Sprinting towards him, she would make him suffer. Those thoughts were not for an assassin. She was no longer calm, no longer focused. Her need for vengeance consumed her. They would pay for her father and mother's death. He would pay for Vaene's betrayal.

Niccolo dropped his weapon and fled out the door. It was a cowardly act, but she shouldn't have been surprised. He was a niddering.

As Cyras gave chase, she was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt by an arm around her upper body. She struggled mightily, yet her wiggling was in vain. He was stronger than her. Ezio would not let her go.

"Let me go, bastardo (bastard)!" she cried. "Let me chase him and give the coward's death he deserves! He must pay for what he's done! Let me go!" She flailed wildly, trying to free herself, but Ezio was unwavering.

"No!" he demanded. "We need to make our escape from this place before its too late. There is no doubt that guards are coming, especially if this was a trap. Your vengeance will have to wait."

"No! It doesn't! He's right there!"

"I understand your thirst for vengeance, Cyras. I really do. But, do not throw your life away needlessly. There are people that care about you, that need you."

She could not argue with him. His logic made sense, and she knew exactly what he meant by his speech. There was no coincidence when it came to him and her. He followed her because he had to follow her. Ezio would always be there for her. Cyras would always be there for him. Yet, even that knowledge would not save them from heartache.

Short Story 4

Venezia, Italy
1485
She stared at the moonlight streaming through the open window. The light stretched across the darkened room and chased the shadows like a vengeful paladin. It sought to make things right in a world where there was no good or evil. Inside the small space, the scene stretched out like the forbidden novels her mother disallowed.

His arm lay heavy around her, pressing beneath her breasts. She would never know how he could sleep at a time like that. With each breath he took, wisps of her hair tickled the soft flesh of the nape of her neck.

Blinking slowly, she tried not to think about the pressure of his muscular chest against her back. Even when Vaene would hold her, she could not help but notice the difference. Her deceased husband presented himself as a calmer man. At least, it was how he displayed his ruse.

How she wished that she was still in her cocooned world. She lamented what cruel fate had offered her. A part of her wished that she hallucinated the betrayal that had played out merely hours before. However, it was not a dream. Her husband was dead; he never loved her anyway. His life was cut short by the only man who could have ever vied for his attention.

As Ezio's ornately engraved belt pressed into the small of her back, she wiggled slightly against him. Anger camouflaged the grief inside of her. She tried to kill the anguish inside of her. Yet, the aftermath of Vaene's betrayal had left a gash inside of her soul that her enemies could never hope to accomplish.

Cyras was not herself. She doubted every single thing in existence from love to her own abilities. An assassin that did not have faith in herself was dangerous. The woman would not last long in her profession.

Again, his breath fanned the back of her neck. Tendrils of fine, light hair tickled her bare shoulder.

Behind Ezio's gaze, she could see the fierce hurricane behind his motives. He was a man of purpose. As with her, vengeance called him. Ezio felt things more intensely than any man that she knew. It was unfitting of an assassin. His emotions called to her like a siren to a sailor.

Coldness bit at her body, sliding over her like frigid water. She wanted nothing to do with the feelings that he inspired within her. They only brought her despair and heartache recently.

She was unsure of the man in her bed and herself. Mistrust constricted inside of her like a large, obese snake. Grief overwhelmed her, mixing with her doubt. Cyras could only be sure of one thing. Because of the betrayal, she would never fully trust a man again.

Another breath of air brushed the nape of her neck, signaling Ezio's deep sleep. A strange sensation overcame her, settling deep within her stomach. The intensity in it frightened her. She wanted to curl up and deal with her grief in her own way. Cyras wanted to gut the templar that started the ruse.

Non era vero (nothing was true), she reminded herself, bitterly. Her entire life was a lie up to that point. She had loved a man so deeply that she would have died for him. He took hold of her heart, grasping it with his hands. Vaene threw it to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot-heel. Her ability to love bleed out when Ezio's blade tore the tendons and flesh of her deceitful husband.

Sighing, she continued to gaze out the window. She needed to be alone. The man in her bed proved to be a distraction. Even though he could have been a delightful diversion from her own emotions, it would only prove to be disastrous. Vaene left her broken, and Ezio was notorious with women. Heartache lay in his direction.

Cyras turned slightly in the bed, resting her gaze on her companion.

No, she should not even been in bed with him. Even though it was an innocent gesture, one that was meant to comfort her in her time of need, it could have transpired into something more serious. Cyras was not prepared to take that step with him. She doubted that she ever would be.

Silently, she sat up. The grief overwhelmed her again. If she could misjudged the emotions of Vaene, then she could have misjudged the man in her bed. She felt like she did not even know herself. How could she ever trust her own judgment again?

In his sleeping state, Ezio's arm wound around her waist. He tried to pull her tighter against his clothed chest. During his haste to comfort her, they both neglected to take off their livery. The only piece of armor that they removed was their bracers.

She had to escape. The thoughts pounded inside of her. Loneliness roared in her veins, beating to the rhythm of her heart. Moving slowly, she tried to dislodge his body from her own. Adrenaline raced inside of her.

Ezio snorted once next to her, taking in a long deep breath. The intake of air vibrated inside of his chest. He inched across the bed; the ornate design of his belt buckle tearing a thin hole in the cloth covering the sheet.

Drawing in a deep breath, she halted her advance. Air filled her lungs as her breasts pushed out like a hen trying to attract the attention of a rooster. Fear slithered up her spine, making her wish that she had moved slowly. Of course, that was impossible. She crept along and paid attention to her movements. Turning her head, she stared at the man in her bed.

He lay still with his hand resting against the place she occupied mere moments before. Thick eyelashes fanned his bronze cheeks. Tendrils of dark, fine hair brushed the sides of his cheeks, framing his face.

She placed her feet on the cold, wooden floor. Chills rocketed up her feet like a jolt of lightning arcing across the sky. Silently, Cyras hissed. Her toes curled inward in pain.

He shifted in the bed. His crimson sash slithered against the ivory like a dark serpent.

Standing before the window, moonlight illuminated her light hair, making the strands frame her face like a sea of wild golden flowers. She gazed back at the bed.

The woman wanted to crawl back into bed with him. She berated herself with the thoughts. Cyras was not prepared to enter any relationship with another man. No, she thought. She would never be ready to give her affections to another.

For a brief moment, she could swear she saw the glittering of his eyes in the eerie, ethereal room. A soft snore erupted from his body, reverberating around the chamber. It carved deeply into her soul as if it were rain eroding rock.

Cyras inhaled deeply and sighed in relief. She wanted to be alone with her dismal thoughts. Ezio tempted her, calling to a primitive woman that she denied for so long. He served as a distraction.

Clenching her teeth together, she climbed through the opening of the window. She could not give him what he needed. Their fathers, his brothers, and her mother were murdered by the Borgia. Ezio needed a woman to comfort the need that he felt in his soul. She could not do that. Even if they pretended, as they did, she still could not ease the torture inside of him.

However, she would do what she always did. Dangling outside of the window, she gazed up the smooth surface of the building. She counted the numerous footholds and handholds of the dilapidated structure of the thieves' guild. The night cloaked her, embracing her in its milky twilight.
…......
Gripping hand hold after hand hold, Cyras hoisted herself up the tower overlooking the distinct. It was the very same tower that Rosa had challenged Ezio to climb earlier. She felt she could get a good view of the palazzo and scout out the defenses once she reached the top. It would be a small consolation for the damage she had caused by rushing off to rescue Vaene.

Vaene, her thoughts whispered his name. A searing pain overcame her heart. A part of her understood that she was not to blame. Vaene had deceived her, blinding her own thoughts with her explosive emotions. No, her heart cried to her. It was not her husband that deceived her; it was her own heart. If she was not so blinded by her feelings for Vaene, she could have seen the betrayal before it came.

The brick of the smooth walls bit into her hands, leaving tiny slivers of skin behind. She did not care. It suited her blackened mood like a warm fitting piece of leather. Anger swirled inside of her as if the fury was a volcano threatening to erupt. Vaene had proven her gullible. He spoke to a side of her that she would seek to deaden. Never again would a man be able to hurt her in the way that her husband had.

Worse than the betrayal, she had to count on her target to save her. Ezio had witnessed the shameful display set forth by her, the Templar that she hated, and Vaene. She squeezed the brick. Her fingers cried out in protest, sending droplets of blood to wet the tips. The other assassin would not judge her, she reminded herself. In fact, he could be astute and kind most times. Cyras hated the way he made her feel about him. It was as if she had no conscious choice. An assassin should not felt that way about him. She would not feel that way about anyone. Not anymore, she promised.

Bending her legs, she sprang upward and barely caught the iron ring. It groaned underneath her weight, threatening to send her plummeting. A part of her knuckles scraped against the cragginess of the dense material. Like a sharp dagger plunging into the flesh, the old injury in her leg screamed in protest. Sweat, hot and sticky, dotted her forehead. The tip of her dark, silken hood brushed against her flesh, soaking up the beads of sweat.

Reaching the summit of the tower, she looked north. The moonlight illuminated the dark crenelations of the Palazzo della Seta with an ivory sheen. Inside the tall, blackened building, she knew Ezio's target sat. He had to know the assassin was coming for him. There was no escaping the Florentine man once he had put a person on his list.

The wind rippled around her, whipping the cloth fabric around her face. Strands of blonde hair swirled around the opening of her hood. She shivered and felt the breeze penetrate her assassin's dark livery. Placing on hand on the large crenelation of the tower, she narrowed her eyes.

Dark shadows moved between the spaces on the roof of the Palazzo della Seta. They marched in a uniformed line like large drones carrying back food to their anthills. As the clouds parted, more moonlight streamed down on the palazzo and the dark colors on the crests sewn into their sleeves could be seen. For every archer there was before her attempted rescue of her husband, there were triple soldiers.

Raising her hand, she squeezed her forehead in frustration. She frowned.

Glancing down at the bridges, she counted four guards at every crossing. They were not normal guards either, she noted, bitterly. Shiny armory glinted in the milky twilight; brilliant plumes graced the top of their helms. Because Ezio had made himself known to Niccolo, her sworn enemy, they knew the assassin was in Venezia (Venice). His plan was ruin before it started. They were prepared.

Because of her actions, it would be exceedingly difficult to infiltrate the palazzo now. She squinted her eyes as dread descended on her. The apprehension coated her as if she was underneath a doorway and searing oil was dumped upon her. Cyras could not see a weak point in the defenses, and the worst thing was she knew it was all her fault.

She squatted down and placed her face into her hands. Cyras knew the reason why she would not listen to reason. Ezio and Antonio both had try to tell her about the dangers of her running off to retrieve her husband. Antonio had said her husband was a traitor, a wolf in sheep's clothing. Ezio had no reason to disagree with him. Love had blinded her to the truth. Like someone had blindfolded her, she raced to the rescue. Affection was not meant for her kind. Even Ezio, one of her only true friends, would have to come to terms with that.

Throwing a bomb inadvertently into Ezio's plans, there was no way he would be able to reach his target now. The assassin gave over to her emotions. Anger, frustration, and grief mixed together into a powerful concoction, simmering beneath her flesh. Her body felt hot to the touch as each feeling burst out of her, coursing down her cheeks hotly.

There were times when she did not consider herself a good assassin. It was during those times that she compared herself to her mother. While her mother pined for her father, she never showed those feelings. With Cyras, her emotions were all over the place.

Sobbing violently, wetness coated her cheeks as if she was underwater. She could feel her nose become hot and stuffy like she was coming down with an illness. Of course, she reminded herself bitterly that she was. That sickness was her affections to the opposite sex. If she could have been like her mother, Ezio's plans would not have been for naught. She would have never went after Vaene.

"You sully your beauty with tears," a male voice echoed behind her.

She did not need to turn around to see who was behind her. His voice haunted her both in the daytime and in her dreams. It had since their first meeting. Cyras was a fool to deny what was transpiring against them. The emotions were bigger than both of them. They were brought together with the same pain. Guilt drove their actions.

Guilt, her mind whispered. Even though he was interested in her, the man could never be hers. She could not give him what he desperately needed. Cyras could never give herself to a man like that again. The stakes were too high to be blinded by pretty eyes and a masculine physique.

Lifting her hand, she swiped at the hot tears that betrayed her inner discord. There was never a time when she felt like she was pulled in two opposite directions. She felt like she was being ripped apart, splitting down the sides like a tattered piece of cloth. With Vaene's betrayal, she would never be the same.

He remained silent behind her, waiting patiently for her response.

"I'm sorry," she admitted, showing a rare side of her. Cyras, herself, hated to be wrong. She preferred things to go smoothly, and she wished to be in control of every emotions she felt. With this man, as it was with Vaene, she could not restrain her heart from racing when she was near him. How was she suppose to dominate the feelings she was experiencing?

Again, the Florentine man had no answer for her. She could feel the heat of his gaze sear into her back. Cyras never met a man as intense as he was. It both intimidated and intrigued her.

"My brash actions have affected you, Ezio. Your target has secured himself like a delicate flower in the middle of thorns. You will never be able to reach him now."

"Abbiate fede, (Have faith)" he uttered. The tone in his voice dipped down to an intimate level.


Gooseflesh lifted on her neck and shoulders, tightening the skin in anticipation. Her heart raced as excitement roared in her blood. She did not want what ever he was offering. Cyras could not trust herself around him. He was too dangerous to her.

"Don't cry over him."

"You'll have to excuse me," Cyras sneered. She clenched her hands together; the knuckles whitened with exertion. There were things that men could not understand. Even though she was an assassin, she was still a woman. At least, she felt still like a woman, sometimes. "You know what I have been through."

"At least you aren't alone," Ezio offered. The words seemed to fall effortlessly from his lips. However, that was nothing knew with the man. When he was with other women, the assassin had a silver-tongue. It was part of the reason why others fell all over him if he showed them attention.

Knowing what she knew about him, she could not stop her heart from skipping a beat at his words. The gesture warmed her, but she was still far too pained by the fresh memories of her husband's betrayal. She did not answer. Cyras retreated back into her own painful memories.

Instead of pressing the conversation, Ezio approached her. His boot-heels rang hollowly on the wooden floor. Reaching down, he offered her a warm embrace.

She stood at his urging and gave into him. The exhaustion, physical, mental, and emotion, winning her over. Cyras tried to deny that she needed him, yet she could not. Moving her head to the side, she buried her face into the safety of his robes. Their emotions were explosive, but she felt protected in the frantic, sentimental caress. She hated him for it.

He raised his hand and placed it on the back of her head. Pressing forward, he tried to comfort her in a way that only a man could. She did not want his pity, and she despised his attempts to urge her traitorous emotions. Ezio was a demon in her blood, trying to make her forget all the pain and discomfort the other man caused.

"Amore, (Love)" she scoffed into the collar of his ivory livery. She loathed the fact that she took comfort in the very man who ended her turncoat husband. Cyras was a fool. Love was an innocent ideal, and the abstract feeling was not for her. "Love does not exist. Not in the way that I previously believed."

Ezio stood still, absorbing her outburst.

Lifting her head, she glared at him. She was angry that he was still there. He could not understand at that time that she wanted to disappear. No, it was more than that. Everything in her life was a lie.

It wasn't really fair, she thought. She was not truly angry at Ezio; she was furious at herself. Cyras felt like an idiot to have let herself be fooled so completely. Not only had she been fooled, though. Vaene's deception was so complete that he had even taken her father and mother. That was no easy task.

"I would have given everything u8p for Vaene. I allowed myself to be used for him. Everything was a lie, and I forgot one of the most important tenants. Niente è vero. (Nothing is true)"

"Yes, nothing is true," Ezio agreed. She could tell that he would throw back what his uncle and she said to him. For this man, there was another purpose. There was always another intention when it came to her. Cyras did not know why he pursued her so doggedly. He leaned down, brushing his lips against her cold cheek. "However, everything is permitted. You make your own truth. You decide for yourself what you want to believe."

"So, it is my fault that I was fooled?" Cyras spat. Her anger grew like a blistering blaze. She stiffened in his arms. "Is that what you are saying? It was all my fault?"

"No, that's not what I meant at all. You were blinded to the truth. That isn't your fault, but now that you see it, you choose what you wish to believe. Vaene was a lie, but don't condemn love or deny me because of his deceit. Then, you would allow his deception to continue. You would let him win."

There was nothing more to say. What could she say to rebuke his words? Cyras did not know. Instead, she concentrated on the growing heat inside of her body. She shivered against his body in anticipation.

He bent his head to hers and crushed his mouth against her lips. Creased, wrinkle scarred skin met smooth flesh. With the death and deception of her husband, there was nothing to stop him, anymore. She knew since their first meeting that he was attracted to her. As his mouth moved against hers, she could not deny the attraction to him as well.

She reached out, curling her fingers against the ribbed pauldron covering his left shoulder. The coolness of the metal permeated her fingertips. Everything in her body cried out that what she was doing was wrong. In fact, she was sure that the others would surely disagree with her choice. Despair tarred her as if someone dumped oil on her.

Deepening the kiss, he pulled her closer to him. He ran the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip, sending trickles of shivers into her very core. Vaene could have never hoped to inspire her body to react the way it did to Ezio. She did not understand it. Cyras did not want to try to comprehend the embarrassing, eruptive emotions he inspired.

As she opened her mouth to moan, he slipped his tongue past her defenses. The tip of his tongue danced rapidly against her own. She lifted her left hand and looped her arm around his neck. As quickly as it had slipped past her lips, it retreated. Cyras was left breathless.

He lifted his head and gazed keenly into her eyes. She could read the intention in his dark eyes. There was no one that would have mistook that look. If they did, they would have had to be very naive.

Her hackles raised, sending a bolt of excitement through her body. Once more, she marveled at the power that this man possessed. She would be unable to say no.

"Ti desidero, (I want you)," he whispered. His breath fanned her flesh, caressing her lips. He blinked slowly. He expected her to refuse. After all, she spent most of her time refusing him. All of her doubts washed away as his eyes darkened with need and longing.

"Go slowly," Cyras requested, quietly. She felt her face warm as the blood colored her cheeks. Cyras had, never once, felt that way with a man, not even with Vaene. With her husband, there was a time where she would have done everything for him. Yet, she did not feel the searing passions she felt with this man. There was something about Ezio. He made her forget all sanity. His impassioned ideals made her long for a better world.

"Of course," Ezio reassured. He lifted his hand and glided his callous fingertips across her jawline. Never before had she seen such a mixture of softness and strength. It was a weird combination, and it was strange that she sought for comfort in his embrace. She did not need anyone. Yet, Ezio seemed to call to the woman's soul.

"I have never experienced a man," she admitted softly. Her cheeks continued to reddened, infusing her complexion with a soft pink hue. It was another strange thing to admit to such a thing with Ezio. Of course, she could guess his reaction.

"Cosa? (What?)" he expressed in surprise. His eyes widened, looking at her in complete wonder. After all, he would have never guessed such intimate details about the woman he knew for all those years. She had never gave him a reason to guess that she was inexperienced. "You were married, il mio piccolo amore (my little love)."

"Yes, I was. Vaene was captured on our wedding night and before he could consummate the marriage."

He opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly shut it. She knew what it meant for him if she gave him her virginity. As a woman, it was her most sacred treasure. Without it, she would never be able to move on from Vaene. If she married again, her groom would say Ezio stole it.

Cyras shook her head. She could feel the anticipation build inside of her again. Wishing that he would say something, she could feel the dread eclipse the glittering excitement. He would refuse. After all, he had ever right.

"You honor me," he murmured. His voice coated with lust. Reaching before him, he unlatched her breastplate. The silver gleamed in the moonlight, revealing her true form to him. His eyes never left hers the entire time, glinting with wanton desire. He would not hold back with her. There was no reason to anymore.

Excitement soared within her as the chemistry between them crackled through the air. He was going to take her places that she could only dream of. The coming experience promised to be a memorable one. "Be gentle," she pleaded in a murmur..

"I will," he consoled her. She could feel fear mix with the thrill, swirling inside. As he moved his lips back to hers, there was a laziness to him. Cyras could feel the urgent ardor in his movements, demanding her to surrender to him. To her horror, she found herself surrendering willingly.

Ezio took her to that spot in oblivion, and he urged her to leap over the edge with him. She tried to keep up and to say the words that he longed to hear. His mouth stole those thoughts from her, not allowing her to speak them. However, she knew he knew. With that knowledge, Ezio held power over her.

They had become one, and he had become everything to her. She tried to choke back the sob that had come. Cyras did not want anything to do with him. Never again would she let anyone in so they could not be used to hurt her. Even if her mother was a Templar (as her greatest enemy claimed), Cyras was still an assassin.

Suddenly, the world around them shattered into tiny pieces. She cried out, digging her nails into his back. Time and space faded from them, and they coexisted within each other. At that moment, no other mattered in each of their eyes.

The scene around her began to collapse, crumbling back into the white matrix that was the loading screen for the animus. Cassandra was very suddenly stricken with an acute sense of self awareness. She had no idea how long she was in the machine, but it was long enough for her to forget herself. She couldn't help but reflect on the significance of that and how much it frightened her.

Then she thought of the last thing she experienced as Cyras, and she felt her body warm throughout. It was a very strange experience, reliving the first time. She felt like an intruder as she witnessed a moment that should always remain a private wonder. What the sleazy bastard overseeing her sessions wanted with such a memory was beyond her.

Her eyes flashed open.

"Welcome back," Vidic said in a uncompassionate tone. "You're doing well. That earns you a break from the machine."

"How long did you have me in there? It felt like year. How long has it been?" Cassandra blurted frantically, thoroughly disoriented by coming out of the machine.

"Eight hours," Vidic stated bluntly. "Get some sleep. I want you in there longer tomorrow."

Short Story 5
Venezia (Venice), Italy
1486

The sunlight beat down on the woman, heating her exposed shoulders. Earlier that day, she had foregone her assassin's garb. With the death of Giovanni Mocenigo, she thought being associated with Ezio was a risk that she could not take at that moment. To be of use to her lover, she would have to become one with the people. It would take all of her skill and deception because word traveled fast that an assassin was doing wet work in Venezia (Venice).

She had dressed in a gown that Vaene had bought her. It was one of the last things that he did, and one of the things that survived her violent outburst months ago. Vaene's portrait was ripped to shreds by her hidden blades. The throat of the portrait slashed in a visual representation of her hatred. Her carnival mask lay shattered in remains in Ezio and her inn-room. Once more, they had taken up the role as husband and wife to fool the inn keepers and townspeople of Venezia (Venice).
Reaching up, she knocked rapidly on the door. Leonardo was her friend, and his concern over the assassins' relationship surfaced from time to time.

"Cyras?" Leonardo asked, staring at the buxom beauty. He had seen her briefly in her noble attire in Forli all those years ago, but not recently. "I was expecting Ezio."
"Leonardo," she asked, "What were you thinking?! Why did you give him that stupido (stupid) machine?"

"Stupido? Stupido?! (Stupid? Stupid?!)" Leonardo cried. "It was brillante (brillant)! I knew that it would be, though. I double checked the math, the theory was sound. His life was in his own hands, and he performed marvelously."

"He could have died, Leonardo," Cyras stated, coldly. "He's lucky to be alive after flying your derelict contraption!"

"I assure you," Ezio said, suddenly behind her. "that luck had nothing to do with it. I needed a way into the palazzo (mansion). I trusted Leonardo. Do you not?"

"I trust him," Cyras peeped. "I just don't trust you."

"You wound me, Cyras," Ezio said, ever the posturer.

She could feel herself bristle with anger at his playfulness. He did not take his actions seriously. For the first time, she reflected on the knowledge that his death would affect her. It was an eventual event in the life of an assassin, and he would be initiated into the order.

Gazing up at him, she tried to keep her emotions a secret. He had made several strides over the years to pursue a relationship with her. Ezio thought that he could buy her affections. IF he supplied her with flowers, jewelry, and trinkets, her sorrow for her husband and his lies would mend quicker.

He reached out for her, gently running his knuckles against her jawline. Ezio cupped her chin, smling at her. There was a calmness to his actions. It was as if he knew how she felt about him. She considered herself an enigma, and she knew she was not easy to read. How could this man?

"Well," she muttered, "I still have one problem." A smile erupted on her face. Her eyes sparkled with humor as she gazed at him. "Apparently, my husband is an assassin. He kills people for money. He's an bandire, signore (outlaw, sir)."

"Husband?" Leonardo asked, curiously. He had not been informed of the ruse, and Cyras inadvertently let it slip in her jesting. The two of them ignored their flustered friend.

"Is that so?" Ezio teased. He crossed his arms, looking down at Cyras with a look of amusement on his face. "He sounds like a dangerous man."

"Mmm, not really," Cyras struck back. "He's as tame as a pussy cat."

"What are you two talking about? Husband?" Leonardo was persistent, and slightly annoyed, but the two of them continued to remain focused on each other.

"You know," Ezio mused, ignoring her jab. "I find it ironic that the murder I am famous for is not even one that I committed, don't you?"

Cyras reflected on the notion in silence. It was more than a little ironic.
"That reminds me," he said, finally turning to Leonardo. "I need a mask, for Carnevale. Do you have anything, my friend."

She shook her head, causing her blond tendrils to dance against her face. Ezio turned his attention to his business colleagues quicker than she. It was a trait she admired in him.

"It is not the only thing I have for you, Leonardo," Ezio continued. He gripped the thin scroll in his hand. She did not need to know what that small slip of paper contained. It was a codex page.

After Leonardo disappeared into his workshop, she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. She was not her usual self that day, and she knew it was only a matter of time before Ezio would question why.

Taking a deep breath, she knew it was time to tell him the truth of her lineage. No, it was time to tell him the truth of her lack of lineage.

"Do you feel ill, il mio piccolo uno (my little one)?" he asked her. He rested against the wall beside her. His arms folded across his chest. Both of them listened to Leonardo banging around in his workshop.

"We have more in common than you think," she stated, bitterly. Her lineage was something that she did not talk about with anyone. It was the first time she mentioned it to anyone outside of her family. "The Borgia have taken everyone that I hold dear."

Ezio narrowed his brow, but he remained silent.

"I am not who you think I am. I'm not a noble woman. I wasn't born into the elite society as you were. You know my husband as a noble of Sicilia (Sicily). My father was a noble of Milano (Milan). While he had always treated me like his prodigal daughter as opposed to my mentally unstable half-sister, his wife was not my mother," she explained. "My mother was a scullery maid, planted by our order to protect my father. I am a product of their union. It was a perfect opportunity for us. Mother trained me in the ways of assassination and subterfuge. I have been trying since I was seven years old, perfecting myself. Yet, as any would tell you, you never stop training. The Borgia murdered my father in December. This day, ten years ago, my mother's body was found spoiled and desecrated. My sister wants nothing to do with me because of my own lineage. She was always jealous of my beauty and intelligence."

"Well, that is certainly a lot to swallow at one time," Ezio breathed out. She could tell he was stunned by her sudden confession, and she worried what his reaction would be. Cyras instantly began to regretting both not telling him to begin with and telling him now. It was too late to unsay it, however.

To her surprise, Ezio shrugged. "I'm not a noble either," he said. "I found my family's crypt in Monteriggioni. My great-grandfather was a commoner, and he gained his fortunes from Marco Polo. He was the one who scattered the codex. He lost his wife and daughter for it. He used his wealth to buy nobility."

It was another thing that they had in common, she thought to herself. A pleasant shock traveled through her body, warming her stomach. She was sure that was one of the reasons why he did not admit his feelings for her. They were fond of each other, but their emotions ran deeper than that.

Ezio paced a few steps. "The nobility will never be the ones to protect the common man," he recalled. "The burden lies with the common man himself. It is what we are. We are those that we protect. You should be proud of your lineage."

He stopped before her, gazing at her with a sudden new awareness. She was mindful of the new direction their relationship was heading, but she was helpless in the flames of their ardor. Ezio was someone who felt comfortable with her. It was like he was a faithful stallion that she had for ages. Heat glowed in her cheeks, betraying that feeling.

"I am proud of my lineage," she explained. She felt vulnerable around him now that they were intimate. Cyras always wanted more; she wanted to tell him how she felt. Yet, she could not. Ezio wanted different things. He did not want someone waiting for him to return home nor did he want children. Then, there was her, herself. She would never allow herself to be open to hurt again. "Although it was the reason my dowry was so high, I would not be me without it. I do admit that my upbringing has left me little time for an average woman's vices. I do not know how to cook."

"Well, you shall learn," he murmured. His eyes flared at the comment, telling her more than those simple words did. Ezio wanted something from her, and it was something that sent chills to her bones. She was unsure she could give herself to him.

Again, the warmth spread across her fair cheeks. There was something about him that made the comment too intimate for her. She shivered.

"Yes," she replied, sheepishly. "I will."

He smiled at her.

"Do you not understand why I am upset with the stunt you pulled, finding a way into the Palazzo (mansion) as you did?" she questioned. Cyras raised her hand, pushing her hair out of her face. She considered herself an intelligent woman. There was never at time when she felt tongue-tied around men. Even her sister held that particular talent, yet she found it hard to tell Ezio the truth of her feelings. "I lost my entire famiglia (family) to the Borgia, Ezio. A father I adored, a mother that I sought to imitate, and a husband that declared his love at Carnevale. I do not wish to lose you, too."

Ezio put an arm around Cyras' shoulder, pulling her against him and embracing her tightly. "You're not going to lose me," he assured. She wasn't convinced, but, then again, she had every right not to be after losing everyone that had ever been close to her.

"I don't believe you," Cyras whimpered, fear overtaking her voice. "You'll leave me like all the rest have. It won't be any choice of your own, but you will die if you get careless. I can't be there to watch over you all the time."

"I understand," Ezio stated. "I understand how you feel, exactly. I feel the same way about you. I don't like being apart from you or when you work alone, because you are beyond my protection. On the other hand, you know that I can take care of myself. And when all else fails, I run. I don't take unnecessary risks, more like calculated risk."

"A risk is still a risk," she protested.

"And an assassin is an assassin."

Her breath hammered in her chest. She did not realize that he would mean so much to her. In fact, she wished that he did not. Yet, as she looked back over their relationship, it seemed inevitable that they would have become intimate in every way.

He lifted his arm to the back of her head and pulled her towards him. Bending forward, he touched his forehead to hers. His flesh felt cool against her skin. It was one of the most intimate moments in their lives.

"You're a wanted man now," she pointed out. Her gaze lingered on his. She could feel his breath fanning her lips, creating a desire that she could not explain. Cyras could not bare to part with him. There was something about him that she could not even try to explain. Their ruse had left her a fugitive as well. Well, the wife of a fugitive. The guards had come to capture him at their inn room, but she had more sense than his madre and sorella (mother and sister). She left before they could find her. Yet, her robes were still in that room.

"And I have placed you in danger, Cyras."

"I can handle my own," she replied, breathlessly. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders. Moving closer to him, she was crushed against his chest. "I can get close to the Doge. I'm a woman, and I'm beautiful. No man can resist me. Let me help you."

"I won't have you go in with the puttanas (whores)," he objected. It truly was as if he owned her. No, dare she say that it truly was as if he was her husband. A blush crept in her cheeks at that thought. She did not want him like that. Cyras could not have him like that. Having to give up her heart and freedom for marriage was something that she could never do again. There was a chance for her to be hurt more than any assaulter could hope to rend her.

"You don't have a say in my actions," she reminded him. "You are neither mio fratello or mio marito (my brother or my husband)."

"Nonetheless," Ezio said in a tone that was, somehow, both firm and soft," I will not have you posing as a whore. An opportunity will present itself. Do not underestimate the power of patience."

"Ah! Here it is!" Leonardo cried, interrupting the conversation. He appeared from around a corner, carrying an ornately carved, ceramic mask. "That should keep anyone from recognizing you."

"Oh, that reminds me," Ezio muttered, taking the mask from Leonardo. "I have something for you, Cyras."

She gazed at him, questioning him silently with her eyes.

From behind the screen of his cape, he brought his other arm forward. Held in his fingers was a Carnevale mask, but it wasn't just any mask. It was silver, etched with expert precision. At the inside corner of each eye hold, there was a teardrop shaped ruby, sparkling crimson against the argent metal.

Her breath caught in her throat. Ezio knew the significance Carnevale had played in her life. Despite her bravado, she was still very much a woman. She was truly a romantic at heart. Even though she gave him no indication of interest, aside from sleeping with him, Ezio insisted on courting her.

As she gazed at him, she knew her control over her emotions were slowly slipping away. She could not deny what she felt for him. What was worse than that was that he knew how she felt about him. He clouded her reasoning. Soon, she would not be able to deny the elusive emotion she sought for her entire life.

"Ezio," she exhaled, trying to think of an excuse not to take the mask. If she did, she knew what it would symbolize. Both wished fro their relationship to be real, and both used their sham of a marriage to explore that option with each other. "It is truly beautiful. You must have spent a fortune on it, but I can not take it. I'm your friend."

Ezio raised a single finger in protest. "Ah," he tsked, "but friends do not do what we do together."

Cyras's face reddened slightly at the sudden divulging of private details to their mutual friend. The jest was meant for her, of course, but Leonardo was within earshot. What he thought of it remained a mystery, though, as he said nothing about the comment.

"Well," Ezio said, slipping on the mask, "how do I look?"

"Like a fool," Cyras poked. "No one will suspect you."

"Good," Ezio responded.

For a brief moment, her body burned for him to kiss her. She would have to gain control over her emotions before she would do something she regretted. While she was sure that Ezio was not a traitor or worked for the Templars, she still did not want to get hurt.

"Thank you, my friend," Ezio said, turning to Leonardo. "I will return the mask when I am done with it."

"Keep it," Leonardo offered, "but before you leave to speak with Antonio, I would like a word with you in private, if that's alright."

"Cyras?" Ezio questioned. The utterance played two roles. One questioned if it was alright with her; the other was a gentle request for her to give him leave.

For a moment, she did not want to leave him. She felt the urge to go and tell him what she felt for him before Carnevale began. Something told her to tell him, urging her to confide in her innermost secrets. It was the reason why she told him about her true family. An assassin did not do those things, yet she was a woman, too. She needed him. No, she loved him.

"I will go fetch our things," she told him. Lifting the mask to her face, she slipped it on. Her features were covered, leaving her crimson lips exposed. The mask enhanced her mysteriousness. Raising her hand, she ran it along his jawline. "I will see you back at the Palazzo della Seta."

"Badare (Be careful), Cyras," Ezio cautioned her. He cared about her, and she could not deny her feelings. Again, she wanted to tell him. She needed to explain exactly how she felt, but she could not.

Unable to answer him, she pressed her lips to his. It would be the last time that they would be together with their innocent, naive emotions.

This short story spoils several missions in Assassin's Creed Brotherhood. Read only if you completed the game. It, also, features very crude language.

Short Story 6

Venezia (Venice), Italy
1486

Cyras opened the door without knocking. She had been to Leonardo's workshop many times, and was in no mood for knocking that night. Leonardo looked up from some schematics with a start once he noticed her standing there. She stood in silence, a look on her face that belied her intentions.

"I'm not telling," Leonardo said, foretelling her purpose. "What I told Ezio was in confidence between friends. You can't expect me to break my word."

"You are my friend, too, Leonardo," Cyras blurted. "And talk like that just makes me want to know more. If it concerns Ezio, it concerns me, as well."

Leonardo's eyes lit up, signifying his final understand of the situation. Of course, he did not know about the nature of her relationship with Ezio. They didn't have to keep up an act in front of Leonardo, and there was nothing more than rumors of their true adventures.

"I told him that an old friend was in town," Leonardo said, reluctantly. "I figured he would want to see that person while they are here."

"Who is she?" Cyras demanded. Her intuition shone through.

Leonardo sighed. His entire body heaved with the motion. "Cristina Vespucci," he uttered, turning his head away.
....
Firework exploded above her head in a splendid aura of dazzling delights. Each burst of light threatened to expose her to her target. Except, he was not her target any longer. No, he became much more to her. She loved him, and she felt like a fool. Cyras could not deny that he was good. After all, he had charmed her into giving him her virtú (virtue).

Anger and pain seared inside of her, cutting her deeply. She stood up high on the ledge overlooking the alley that he had turned down. Cyras blinked back tears, hating herself for giving him the power to reduce her to that state.

An ordinary woman sauntered into the alley and reached for Ezio's outstretched hands. Again, the sense of betrayal overwhelmed her. She hated him for making her feel as he did. The woman was average looking. There was nothing special about her from her dark hair and modestly covered body. Yet, Cyras could see a threat when she saw one.

Ezio spun her around, backing the other woman into the wall. He bent his head and kissed her. Cyras felt bile surged in her throat, erupt in her mouth, and splash out of her mouth. Tears sung her eyes, and she blinked. She refused to cry because of him. Truffe bastardo (Cheating Bastard).

"Manfredo," the other woman giggled. "When did you get so romantic?"

Again, the two of them kissed, urging another gag that Cyras barely caught in the back of her throat. Something changed in the woman, suddenly, and she pulled away from Ezio. Reaching up, she removed the mask covering his face.

"Ezio? What the hell are you doing here?! How dare you kiss me like that?!" Cristina spoke load enough for her to hear, but Ezio answered in a softer tone. She guessed at his response from the woman's reactions.

"All right!" she cried sarcastically. "I haven't seen or heard from you in eight years!" Again Ezio spoke, and his voice did not carry to her clearly.

"You're quite right; of course I wouldn't have come! I seem to remember that the last time we met, you left me in the street, saved my fiancé's life and left me to marry him." Her words came out quickly, a fire lighting as she separated herself from Ezio.

"Who cares what he wanted?! I loved you!" There was a long moment of silence, no response coming from Ezio. "And from what I understand, you are married, as well. Everyone knows about the stunning Cyras Auditore!"
Cyras squatted down, focusing intently on trying to hear Ezio's response. For the first time, she heard his words.

"That is a facade," he responded. "She is a trusted friend, and I pretend to be married to her to protect her. It is nothing more than that." Cristina did not respond, and a moment of silence stretched out in between them.

"Cristina," Ezio said, his voice pained and harsh.

"Don't ever find me again, Ezio." Cristina turned and left Ezio standing there alone. Cyras couldn't resist. She hopped from her hiding place, and, within moments, she was standing in from of him.

"What the scopata (Fuck) was that!?" she exploded at him, burying him deeper into the hole that he had so foolishly dug for himself. "I am nothing more than a friend you are protecting?! You fottutamente pezzo di merda (fucking piece of shit)!"

Ezio stared down at her. His eyes widened in shock and sorrow. She was sure that he could see the tears twinkling in her eyes. Cyras would not cry before him. He did not deserve her tears. It was evident that her first opinion of him was correct. Her hand shot out as he opened up his mouth in his defense.

"Don't speak to me," she roared at him. The anger boomed in her body, entrapping all of her thoughts. Her heart was breaking before him, but she would not show him that. She was a good enough assassin that she could hide her emotions. Oh, she was a fool. "Non voglio sentire le bugie del cazzo. (I don't want to hear any of your fucking lies)"

"Cyras," he spoke, lowly. His gaze remained guarded. She did not care of his feelings. Ezio had hurt her, shattering her beliefs on men. He lifted his hand to touch her shoulder, and she flinched. Cyras did not want him to touch her. Her virtu (virtue) meant nothing to him. It was all a game to him, and it hurt her more than she cared to admit.

"Don't, you cazzo stronzo (fucking asshole)," she cried out. Her emotions were getting the best of her. She could feel the tears threatening to run beneath her mask and down her cheeks. Bits of her eyeshadow smeared beneath the mask. "You tricked me into giving you my virtu (virtue). You said you loved me, but I am nothing to you. Every day for a year, I had lay with you. I was under the impression that you loved me."

"I said that in a moment of passion," he replied, digging himself deeper into the proverbial hole.

Once again, she lifted her hand and slapped it against his cheek. The sick sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded through the dark alleyway. A red welt appeared on his bronze flesh. In a way, it made her feel better to see him hurting some.

"Stop hitting me, Cyras," he said, slowly. His head was dipped towards her. She could read the regret in his eyes. Christina was never there for him. For many years, Cyras was there, helping her friend patiently.

"Ti amo, (I love you)" she muttered, bitterly. She clenched her hands together, and her forearms flexed. Her hidden blades popped out, slashing her skin on her ring fingers' knuckles. Clenching her teeth, she admitted the one thing that she did not want to. As her heart hammered in her chest, she could not help but think how ironically Carnevalé was suppose to be romantic. Apparently, it was for everyone but her. She hated that season, and she could not wait until their business in Venezia was finished. "Ti amo, you stronzo. (I love you, you asshole)"

"Why are you spying on me?" Ezio growled, trying to claw his way out of the hole desperately. "You are nothing more than a sneaky fica." The insult stung, but so did the regret at obsessively shadowing him. Still, she was right in her suspicions, and she would not let him get away with it that simply.

"Nessun bastardo bene mentire. Tu non vali la merda che cade dal culo di un cavallo!(No good lying bastard. You aren't worth the shit that falls from a horse's ass.)" Again she slapped him across he face. "How dare you try to turn this around on me! Come ti permetti, tu verme inutile!(How dare you, you worthless worm!)"

"You have the mouth of a puttana (whore)," Ezio continued the volley of insults. "In more ways than one." He took a step closer to him, and she swung her hand to slap him again. Yet, this time, she did not make contact. His hand darted up and gripped her wrist firmly.

"Let me go, testa di merda(shithead)! You can't touch me! You will never touch me again!"

"Cyras..." Ezio sighed in resignation.

"No!" she cried out, hearing the despair in his voice. She struggled against him. Her heart dropped in her chest. He wished to forget everything and go back to the way things were before. It was something that she could not do. "Non toccare me (Do not touch me)."

He backed her into the wall as he done previously with Christina. She had no way to stop him. Even with all of her training, Ezio was stronger than she was. Her wrist was trapped in his hand. There was no way out.

The tears blurred her eyes again, threatening to overspill. She blinked, and a single tear found its way under her mask, the mask that he had gotten for her. It slid down her cheek. Damn it, she thought. Cyras did not want to cry before him. In fact, she wished to go back to the palazzo and lock herself in her room.

"Cyras. . ." he sighed again.

"Fottiti(Fuck you)," she growled again. She could not believe how he held her. Why did he not chase after the woman he desperately wanted. Oh, it was because she ordered him to stay away from her. It was not because he loved Cyras or could let her go. She was his second choice. There was nothing she could do. Her teeth clenched together. "Ti ho sempre amato (I have always loved you). Non sara ancora una volta mi tocca, codardo(You won't be touching me again, coward). I told you when you took my virtu (virtue) that I am not a meaningless thing."

"Cyras. . ."

"I am done with this futtuto (fucking) charade. I do not need your charity, pity, or protection. After all, I am just a trusted friend. I do not really matter that much to you," she hissed. She turned her head away from him, refusing to look him in the eye. He would not see the tears that flowed.
Ezio sighed heavily, the weight of the event bearing down on him relentlessly. He struggled to wriggle his way out of troubles, but there was only one way he could possibly hope to begin making reparations for such an emotional betrayal. She felt that, had the tables been turned, he would be reacting just as she was, if not worse.

"Cyras," he began again, but she interrupted him once more. She gave him a warning: the final warning.

"No excuses," she hisses. "No lies. No pussyfooting. I don't want to hear them. So choose your words wisely. Your chances are slim, but I may listen if you have the right things to say." Ezio was astute; she knew he knew exactly what she meant.

"I acted foolishly," Ezio conceded. There was part of what she wanted to hear, but she silently waited for the rest. "When Leonardo told me she was here, I felt compelled to see her. I don't have any excuse for doing that. Mi perdoni(Forgive me), Cyras. Mi perdoni, si prega (Forgive me, please)."
She was still hurt, but she loved him. Cyras did not trust him. In fact, she could not trust any one. The first time was when she had learned of Vaene's ultimate betrayal. During that time, she felt alone. There was nothing she could do at the time that would stem the amount of hurt she felt.

Then, she fell in love with Ezio. No, she always was in love with him. From the first moment that they met, she knew she could not possibly do as the Borgia asked. There would be no way she could hurt Ezio. He had betrayed her, and she felt physically ill.

"I don't know, Ezio," she spoke truly. She could see the guilt crushing him from within. Perhaps, he regretted his actions for the first time in his life. It had taken her so long to open to him, and she did not know if she could again. "How do I not know that the next time you hear of her you won't do the same? It's a risk that I do not know if I wish to take."
"I have no desire of finding Cristina again," Ezio said. His voice sounded certain, a degree of finality to it. She surmised that it was a product of Cristina's final words to Ezio, to never find her again.

"And what if she wanted you to find her?" Cyras put forth. "What if she came to you? Then what would you do? You would forget all about me to go chasing after your childhood crush once again." She felt her anger reigniting. Ezio was not doing a very good job of talking his way out of losing her forever. She just wasn't convinced. Could she ever be, after what she witnessed? How could she trust another man again? She couldn't.

"Even if she came to me," Ezio swore, "I would turn her away. Everything she said was right. Everything you are saying is right. I should never have sought her out in the first place. Now, I don't even know why I did. Don't tear me apart for one mistake, Cyras. I swear to you, it will never happen again."

He pressed his lips to hers, crushing her in his overwhelming passion. There was a part of her that wished to give in. His heady scent surrounded her, making her ache for his arms to console her. It was what he did when Vaene was found out to be a traitor.

Her body responded to him in a way that it had never responded to anyone else. She loved him, and that was what made it so much worse. His mouth moved over hers, hungrily. He sought possession of her, vying for the pieces of heart that had shattered.

Yet, it was not Vaene that broke her heart. It was this man who was kissing her with so much ardent passion that it stole her breath. Her pain flared again as his words rang in her mind. They echoed over and over. She pushed against him, feeling closed in.

"Cessare (Stop)," she murmured. The pain lay thick in her voice. She could not stop from shaking. This pain hurt her worse than Vaene's betrayal, and she found that ironic. "I'm sorry, Ezio. I just can't. You, above everyone else, know the reason I can't. It was not just one mistake. It's one of the biggest mistakes that you could ever make. I just don't think I can trust you, and I do not have it in me to try."

Cyras walked to the edge of the building and groped for a hand-hold. Hand-hold after foot-hold, she hoisted herself up the wall. Needing to think, she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Crouching down, she sprung up and gripped the edge of the roof with her hands. Her knuckles bled, sending tiny streams of blood down her hand.

"Cyras!" Ezio cried out. The agony laced his voice, harsh and guttural, causing her to turn around and look down on him.

"I will help you with the Borgia," she replied as she was enveloped by the night. She found security in the darkness, knowing that she could quickly escape. What assassin wouldn't. Yet, the one she talked to could easily climb the way and take her in his arms. "After that, we go our separate ways. I don't want any emotional entanglements. Please don't follow me."

Short Story 7

Venezia (Venice), Italy
1486

She sat on the edge of the dock, watching the water lap the side of the boat. Cyras held the silver mask in her hand and looked at the ruby teardrops. Of course, it was an ironic gift. He never loved her, and the design of the mask screamed that loudly.

For the majority of her early life, she was with Vaene. She was old enough now to realize what a childish crush it really was. While she thought she loved him, she loved the attention and gifts he bestowed her. Ezio was the only one she had ever truly loved. For five years, she loved him in secret. Now, he truly knew the depth of her emotions for him, and he betrayed her.

Cyras stared into the water. She considered briefly throwing the mask into the canal. If she did, it would have showed Ezio that she was serious about her demand. There would be no emotional attachment between her or anyone else. Yet, she could not.

"It is a shame to see such a bella donna (beautiful woman) drowning herself in sadness," a voice interrupted her thoughts. For one horrible moment, she thought that Ezio had disregarded her request and followed her. He was never the type to leave her with her thoughts. It was once one of the comforting things in their friendship. Now, it was a curse.

However, the voice was too melodic to be the other assassin's. Ezio's voice was soft and could warm her thoroughly. This tone rose every hair on her arms and the back of her neck. It was not Ezio's.

She lifted her head and saw a light brown hair man sitting down next to her. His grey eyes stayed on her face, brightening his light complexion as he smiled. A thin puckered scar raced down the left side of his face. Still, despite the blemish, she thought him handsome. Fear hammered inside of her. Cyras did not want any more male visitors. While she did not fall easily, she could not take that chance.

"I'm Drago Ghirlando de Turin," he introduced himself. As she took in his dark green livery, she compared him to the build of Ezio. He was smaller and leaner than the other assassin. Was that what she was reduced to, she thought, bitterly. Would every man be weighted against the man who held her heart in his hands and ruthlessly crushed it?

"Cyras Corvino de Messina."

"Tell me, Cyras," he purred. "What makes a beautiful woman such as yourself sad?"

Cyras did not feel much like talking to Drago. She did not feel much like speaking to anyone, at all, for that matter. Her gaze slipped down from his face, finding its way back to the water lapping at the sides of a gondola. She wished she could be somewhere, anywhere, else, as long as it was as far away from Ezio.

"It is a man, isn't it?" Drago pressed. He surprised her with his intuition. She did not think herself so easy to read. In fact, she prided herself on her ability to mask her feelings. This man, this stranger, could see right through that. Cyras reminded herself that Ezio could as well.

"I don't really wish to talk about it," Cyras murmured as she flicked a pebble into the water. Most of her remained guarded against the man, seeing him as a prowler come to prey on her. After all, what other reason would he have to pry into one of the intimate places in her life. However, a part of her was intrigued by him.
"Fine," Drago responded gently. "We will speak of something else then. What do you wish to talk about? It is such a beautiful night. It would be a shame to pass it in silence."

"Sometimes, silence is golden," she replied. It was one of those things that she believed in. Growing up in the shadow of one of her sister before she was taken to her mother, she learned that one could learn more being quiet. Taking that knowledge, she applied it in her profession. Ezio. . .

She blinked as the rage came over her again. The fury slipped over her, sparking inside of her like gun powder. How could he do what he did? He had told her he loved her, tricking his way into her life. Ezio Auditore was nothing more than a charlatan. They had concocted the ruse to allow each other to be together without expressing that need. It was such an integral part of their lives.

Gritting her teeth, she gazed out at the water. Her jaw ached from the sheer pressure being forced upon it. Because of the festival and the woman he called Cristina, everything had been turned upside down. Ezio and her were standing at different sides of a spectrum. She teetered, and he was not there to rescue her.

Cyras was not in a very talkative mood. She wanted to be left alone, but she knew this man would not do that. It disturbed her. With her training, she could feel someone watching her. While she could not make use of the natural talent that the others perfected, she was very observant. It did not take a genius to understand what this man wanted.

"Where are you originally from?" he asked, repeating one of Ezio's original questions. "I only mention because most from Messina have dark hair and dark eyes."

"I'm from Milano."

"Milano, beautiful countryside," Drago replied, making idle chatter. Cyras was not feeling up to a chat. She wondered why the man was so persistent, why he would not take the hint that she wanted to be left alone. There was one positive from his lingering presence, however.

Ezio could not help but follow her. It was in his nature to be doting to someone he cared for. Drago's presence kept the other assassin at bay. If she was alone, she thought, he might approach and try to talk his way back into her heart. Never again, she promised, bitterly. There was no place in her life for a man.

"Excuse my forwardness, madonna," he said suddenly, breaking her thoughts, "but why are you not at Carvivale? Do you not have an escort?"

In a sudden moment of clarity, Cyras realized where she had seen Drago before. He was a member of the Thieves Guild. She felt like she was caught in a net. Cyras knew at that moment who he meant by when he asked her if she was having troubles with a man. He knew about her relationship with Ezio.

"Why would you assume that?" Cyras questioned, remaining aloof. Maybe, he would not comment on the painful remainder of what could have been with Ezio. She had to keep him at a distance. Cyras did not want anyone to sympathize with anyone. Least of all, another man. "Perhaps, I am waiting for my escort."

"You mean Ezio?" he inquired. The disappointment rang in his voice as if it were bells toiling in the nearby church. "Oh, I had thought there was something between the two of you."

I thought so too, her mind screamed at her. It was too late for her to squash the thoughts. She felt the tiny prickles of pain slid over her with that thought. Vaene had proposed at Carnivale. Carnivale was suppose to be the night that she admitted what she felt for Ezio. It was one of her own traditions. Instead, she told him that she loved him out of anger.

Her heart hammered inside of her chest as fear clouded her mind. She knew Ezio's personality. Because she told him that she love him, he would not leave her alone. It was not a matter of if he would worm his way back into her heart; it was a matter of when.

"No," she stated, plainly. Cyras tried to hide the bitterness coating the edge of her words.

In an instant, an awareness lit the man's light eyes. A member of the thieves guild did not need to have a fortune teller to understand the nature of her distress. It would only be a matter of time before she let Ezio back into her life. Then, the assassin would have the ability to hurt her again.

"It is a facade. He has not train as long as I have, and he's sometimes prone to emotional outbursts. We pretend to be in a relationship so I can protect him. It's nothing more than that."

"If that is the truth, Madonna, please let me accompany you?" he persisted.

She could imagine Ezio stewing with anger on top of one of the rooftops overlooking the dock. She was being bitter and petty. Cyras did not care at that point. A part of her enjoyed the attention this strange man gave her; another part enjoyed causing the other man who hurt her an equal amount of pain.

"Of course."
….
She stood with Drago by her side, leaning against the stone bridge. The moonlight angled down on her, illuminating her ethereally. Her hair glowed almost white. Even the silver of her gown glittered in the milky light. In her hand, she held a single ivory ribbon. White symbolized purity. She could not help but notice the irony in that.

"The horse races in Firenze?" she asked him, quizzically. Those were among her favorite forms of entertainment. Horses could not hurt her like a man cold. It was why she devoted a great amount of her time to the daily grooming of her own stallion. Abatos was not with her, presently. He was sheltered in the stables of Forli.

Drago moved near her. Throughout the evening, he remained guarded with her. There was a few times where his true personality showed through. For some reason, he tried to hide himself. Perhaps, he thought she loved a strong, mysterious man. A man like Ezio, her mind reminded herself.

Agony and wrath constricted around her. It pulsated and pricked her as if someone walked up behind her and injected her with poison. She ignored the emotions, trying to rein in the wanton feelings.

"I attend that event yearly. In fact, I spent many years visiting Firenze with my father, partaking in the extravagances of that region," she continued.

He gazed at her with interest. To any onlooker, it was quite obvious that he was interested in her. She hoped that Ezio would be along soon and witness it. Of course, she knew it was a petty desire. Cyras was not thinking clearly, however.

"I just don't understand why women are not allowed to compete in the competition. I surely would. After all, my stallion is more agile than any fiorentino's. I could out ride any man from Frienze. Hell, I could probably best any of them."

"I bed to differ," a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Fear crawled up her spine, mixing together with the prickles of distress. Cyras spun around to find Ezio standing before her, his face covered by the plain mask he had gotten from Leonardo.

"No woman could best me in a race, mounted or on foot," he continued. She wanted to slap the wry smile right off of his face, but refrained, utilizing a great deal of self control.

"What do you want?" Cyras sneered, completely ignoring his attempt at conversation.

"I was hoping I could trouble you for a ribbon, my dear," Ezio stated, coolly.

"Ah," she sighed, melodramatically. She frowned, the act causing her lips to turn down at the corners. "You just want to use me again. That is not unusual for you, messere."

"Well?" Ezio persisted. He grew irritated with each passing moment, but he was able to hide it well. Cyras knew him better than most, however. They were twins in their grief. "The ribbon?"

"No. What if I want to give it to someone else? What makes you worthy of receiving my ribbon?" It was clear as day that the discussion had veered away from ribbons, but she liked the symbolism.

Drago turned his back on the two. He stared deeply into the water. She was sure that the entire situation was making the man uncomfortable. After all, the rumors surrounding Ezio and Cyras would make any man trying to vie for her attention uneasy.

"Cyras," Ezio grunted. "I need as many ribbons as I can get."

"That's not unusual for you, either. Is it?"

"Cyras," he said, quietly. His dark eyes met hers. In them, she could read the very distress he echoed earlier.

For a moment, it was as if he reached over and punched her in the gut. Her face whitened slightly, and her lips turned into a sneer. She did not want to feel the way she felt about Ezio. It would seem that no matter what Cyras did that he would always have a place in her heart.

Ezio noticed how withdrawn she was. He stepped towards her. Upon seeing her reaction, he stopped and balled his hand into a fist. It was unusual to see someone as calm as he was angry. The different colored ribbons blended together in his clenched hand.

"What if I want to give my ribbon to my companion?" she asked him.
Anger sparked inside of Ezio. Quickly, it faded beneath his dark gaze. Another satisfying sensation erupted inside of her. Perhaps, she would regret her actions in the morning. In fact, she knew she would. Cyras was truly a compassionate soul, but she was betrayed in the most heinous way by this man.

However, he would notice soon that she did not throw away his gift. The ornate mask that he had purchased for her obscured her identity. He knew the significance of that single act. After all, she had shattered the one given to her by Vaene.

"No one will have your ribbon but me, mia piccola (my little one)," he responded, softly. His gaze warmed her. For once,she wanted to believe that she was the only one that he would love. She wanted to wake up and have the whole dilemma be a horrible nightmare. Cyras wanted his arms around her.

She sighed. Despite all of those emotions and desires, she knew the truth of the situation. He was in love with Cristina. It was evident in how little he valued Cyras. Quickly, she diverted her gaze. Agony washed over her again. Oh, he had hinted that he loved her. It was one of the reasons that he supplied her with the gifts he did. Although he made those gestures to her, he only said he loved her one time. It was while he bedded her.

"Oh, but you are capable of stealing my ribbon. It would not be the first time, would it?"

Cyras could see Ezio's eyes narrow behind his mask. She had stung him with her last utterance.

Good, she thought. Taking every opportunity to remind him of his error, she would delight in the act. Yet, there was a bitter tang to the action. A part of her felt remorseful, wanting to forgive him. She could never give into that side of her, however. Never again.

"One cannot steal that which is given to him," Ezio came back finally. However, in that span of time, Cyras had her response readied.

"It is theft when it is earned under false pretenses," Cyras jabbed back. Her cheeks reddened with anger. "You are worse than a thief. You are a thief and a liar."

Ezio moved towards her, keeping his gaze on her. He stalked her with the precise movements of a predator.

She suddenly began to feel very uncomfortable. All the plans she had made for just such a moment as this faded away in his presence. He overwhelmed her senses with his overbearing presence.

"I never lied about my feelings for you," Ezio whispered into the space between them. The gap was slowly diminishing as he continue to stride towards her. "Not once did I lie about that."

Cyras felt trapped as he moved dangerously close to her. She stepped backwards, feeling slightly afraid. While she knew he would not hurt her, she also knew that she never thought rational around him. He clouded her judgment with his presence.

Again, the doubt rose within her. He had hurt her in a way that was worse than Vaene. How could she believe him? She was nothing to him. He admitted it, and she would forever doubt him. Yet, he was weakening the guards hastily erected around her heart.
"That is not what you said," she remained him.

Everything faded around her. Drago ceased to exist. The sounds of the fireworks brightening the sky overhead drowned out. All that remained was Ezio and his intense gaze.

Ezio was upon her. He drew her into his arms, and she melted. Damn her heart, she thought to herself. She would always have a weakness for him. Cyras was enveloped by him, feeling his robes against her exposed skin. The two were hopeless, and she realized that.

"I lied to her," he confessed, sadly. His lips were inches from her own. She could feel that unexplained pull to him. A part of her had given up. His breath caressed her skin, and she was brutally aware of how he cradled her. "Ti amo, amore mio. (I love you, my love)"

Cyras could feel his breath against her face as he spoke, and she focused intensely on his lips. She wanted so much to kiss him, to give into the moment and fade away into seclusion with him. Yet, she still resisted his advances. It was more playing hard to get at that point, however.

"You should have told her the truth," she whispered, painfully. "Why did you lie to her?"

"I don't know," Ezio admitted. "I had a moment of stupidity. I was a fool who didn't see the truth before me. For that, I am eternally sorry."

The heat of his breath and the sincerity of his words made him all that more difficult to resist. Again, he lead her to the edge of a precipice, urging her to take a leap of faith. Again, she threw herself headlong into the unknown.

Almost without her knowing it, their lips met. The passion behind the act belied his true feelings, and she knew that there was truth in his words in that moment. He loved her, and she loved him. As the fireworks brightened the sky in their spider-like webs, she lost her heart to Ezio Auditore da Firenze for a second time. Their relationship survived the brush with Cristina.

When Ezio pulled away, Cyras noticed that the ribbon she held was now in his hand. She gave him an accusatory look, playfully.

"Did I steal your ribbon again?" he teased, matching her playfulness with his own humor.

"You stole more than the ribbon," she murmured. She wanted to retire with him for a night. His confidence oozed off of him, and she could feel the heat burn in her cheeks. Ezio had a way of comforting her when no one else could. "Even if you are a sneaky bucare (prick), one can not steal that which is freely given to him."

"Si (Yes)," he replied. "However, il mio piccolo cari (my little dear), you did not give it away freely."

"You only have a dozen ribbons," she reminded him, changing the subject. She knew that their conversation was going to a place that she was uncomfortable with. Cyras was painfully aware that Drago was witness to everything that transpired. "Go and collect more before the sands of the hour glass wear out."

He widened his eyes in surprise. Ezio did not think she was paying attention to the event, but Cyras was aware of everything around her. Because she lacked the focus to be aware of her surroundings through the talent that was gifted to assassins, she had to use other skills.

"Si, si, si, (Yes, yes, yes)" she continued, quickly. A sardonic smile graced her lips. "I know all about the contest you're participating in. I do not dress as I do because I think it is...fashionable. Now, go and win this little test."
….
She sat before the vanity, looking down at the small portrait of her mother. It was one of the last paintings that her mother commissioned. Like Cyras, she wished the world to remember her when she left. Also, like Cyras, her mother was a fool when it came to the man that she loved.

Cyras's cream, linen chemise clung to her curves and stopped at the middle of her thighs. The frock's material was very smooth. It was truly an intimate scene to anyone who would enter her room. Of course, the only person to ever see her in it was Ezio.

Briefly, she glanced towards the window. He had a history of scaling the side of the building to her room. Even though the majority of the thieves knew about their relationship, Ezio used digression for her. It was romantic in a way, she thought. She would leave the window unlock, and he would come into her room. Most of the time, they talked until dawn.

"Ah, Mother," she said, quietly. Her hand touched the corner of the portrait lovingly. It had been that day nine years ago that she was murdered, and Cyras was forced to work for the Spaniard. Agony clenched tightly in her chest. She pursed her lips. Cyras was no closer to her own vengeance than Ezio's was to his. Tears lined her eyelashes as she thought about that fact.

In that way, she considered herself a poor assassin. There were other people to stop. Helping Ezio would secure her own vengeance as well. After all, she was sure it was the Spaniard who killed her mother. If it was not, it was at least a Borgia.

"Sto cosi triste. (I'm so sorry)"

A soft thump sounded behind her. She did not need to turn around to see who it was. The flesh of white as he strode to her said it all. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. Everything would be fine, she reminded herself. She had him.

"It looks like the assassino (assassin) has found his target," she teased, playfully. Her gaze locked on his through the mirror.

He grinned wiry.

"What he doesn't know is that I'm as dangerous as he is."

"Oh?" Ezio laughed. He looked over her body, studying her in silence for a moment. "Dress like that, you are just as dangerous as I am?"

She could feel the color redden her cheeks again. That was something that she would never get use to with Ezio. The innuendos were embarrassing to her still.

"Actually, I wouldn't doubt it," he uttered. He still wore the wry smile, daring her to continue their witty repartee.

"Actually," Cyras cooed, "I am more dangerous than you like this. No one expects a beautiful woman in her bedclothes to be a threat."

"Is that how you get the upper hand on your targets?" Ezio asked, suddenly serious. She was not use to that side of him. Cyras never once thought that he could be jealous of other men.

"I was joking, Ezio," Cyras explained. She narrowed her brow, annoyed with the emotions seeming to drift off of the man. "You are the only man to see me like this. My, my, you get jealous easy."

"Forgive me," Ezio said, going back to a sardonic tone, "but I am just a little selfish with what is mine."

His, she thought. She liked the sound of that, but she was still going to play hard to get with him. Cyras was not going to make it that easy. Not after everything that he put her through that day.

"Yours?" she murmured affectionately. She stood from the vanity. Her long, blonde hair swung against her buttocks. Cyras's mother always criticized on the legnth that she wore her hair. In battle, her hair could be used against her.

The light in her eyes dimmed as she remembered her strong, fearless mother. Pain doubled inside of her that day. She remembered how she would huddle against her mother's robes, thinking that the woman was invincible. Over the years, no one was invincible.

"Seriously," she said, thinking that she needed to explain herself further, "the way I gain an upper hand on my targets is very similar to your own methods."

She walked towards the window, running her hand on the pane. Her bedclothes continued to hug her bosom and remain loose against her thighs. Cyras poked her head out of the window slightly, looking around. Even though she did not tell him what she was looking for, she did so every night. It was a habit she picked up since she was very young.

"I am a very opportunistic woman. I can wait patiently until the right moment presents itself," she continued. He was the only one who truly wanted to know her. "After all, I have with you, il mio amore (my love.)."

"What do you mean by that?" Ezio asked in sudden confusion.

Cyras turned away from the window with a gentle look on her face. She did not blame him for being suspicious. After all, she was originally tasked with his removal.

"I waited patiently for you to come around," she explained. It was the truth, she had finally decided to be completely honest with him regarding her own feelings. The night seemed to swallow them whole. He deserved to know everything that she felt. Hopefully, he would take that as a queue to do the same.

For a moment, he stood there and stared at her. While they admitted their feelings at the festival, there was something more about this moment. Emotive heat saturated the night, draping the lovers.

"You did, and I've got you now," she continued. As he smiled in response, she could feel the warmth settle deep within her stomach.

"I'm glad you waited," he said.

He paced the distance between them slowly and bent bent down, pressing his lips to hers. Time faded away in the moment of pure passion. When she regained her concept of the moment and her composure, Ezio was looking down at her with a look of love in his eyes.

She realized that her emotions for Vaene were just a silly fantasy. He never gazed at her the way Ezio did.

"I hardly know anything about you," he said. She was afraid he would have questions about her eventually. He seemed genuinely interested, at least. "Tell me about your childhood, about your mother."

"It is better to not ask questions about me," she replied, solemnly. There were occasions were she was lighthearted. Yet, there were many more times that required her discretion. Her past was something that she preferred not to talk about.

If she was going to share herself with any man, it would be no other than Ezio. He knew the pain that she felt because he experienced it daily himself. Guilt colored her actions; vengeance drove her blade. However, one of her many trainers told her that there had to be more than her revenge. She was an assassin, and she would die an assassin.

"I have not thought of my childhood for quite some time. I have been barely waking in the mornings. As the days pass, I find it hard to move on," she admitted, cryptically.

He gazed into her eyes, comforting her. He must have guessed the pain that eclipsed her emotions. After all, he felt the same way.

"I am the illegitimate child of a nobleman and a scullery maid," she said. "My early childhood was spent learning how to please a man. I was modeled to be the perfect spouse with the exception of learning how to cook. My stepmother did not accept me as she had accepted my half-sister. Yet, my father loved me. He would take me to Firenze for the races every year. During that time, I caught sight of a brash nobleman. Dark hair, dark eyes, and such fire in his young soul that he eclipsed the older boy that he was with. Every year, he was there, sitting beside an older woman, who I believed to be his mother, and children that were his siblings. I admired him from afar. I believe he was the first figlio (boy) that I ever loved."

"I was always at the races in Firenze," Ezio admitted, quietly. Suddenly, Cyras realized who the boy was that she saw there with his family. It was Ezio, as a child. Perhaps, that was why she always felt drawn to him. She had always loved him.

Her face reddened, and for a moment, she hoped that he would not come to the same conclusion. Yet, it was a loss cause. Ezio was a perceptive man. It was one of the things that she loved about him.

"I think I remember you," he mused. "I remember a blonde haired girl staring at me, every year. Yes, that must have been you from what you say. I noticed you, as well. I could never muster the courage to approach you. Then, one year you weren't there."

Cyras closed her eyes, flooded by the painful memory of the loss of her parents. He embraced her tighter, trying to crush the memories assaulting her from her. It seemed that Ezio noticed her discomfort and, mercifully, changed the subject.

"Who taught you the ways of an assassin?"

"When I was seven, my mother spoke to my father," she replied. Cyras dislodged herself from his arms. She was on her own from a very early age. Learning to comfort herself, she felt an uneasiness leaning on him. "However, there was a few that instructed me."

"What did she say to your father?"

"I did not hear the specifics of it," she replied. Her arms crossed before her chest in defense. Even with someone she cared for and loved, she was uncomfortable with admitting much of her life. She was bathed in secrecy for so long. "I do remember my mother telling him that she may be his puttana (whore), but his daughter was meant to be what she will be. She told him even he would not keep me from my destiny. My parents had a love and hate relationship. She believed he would leave his wife, and he believed that she would change. An assassin will always be an assassin, and a womanizer will always be a womanizer. My becoming an assassina was among many things that they disagreed on."

Ezio did not say a word. It was in his nature. He was a care-taker, taking on everyone's problems. After all, it was the reason they spent so long in Venezia. This was one thing that he could not help with. The assassin could not hope to exorcise the demons from her childhood. He remained silent, listening to her.

"My mother took me," she continued, "and placed me in a bordello. Despite my mother's objections, my father visited the bordello every day. He bought me many purple alpine pansies with each visit. At first, I thought she expected me to sell my virtu. I did not know that my place with my father had a reason. My father, step mother, and half sister taught me how to be a lady. Even my stay in the bordello had a reason."

She paused, allowing the slice of pain to shimmy up her spine. How could she recount such a history to him. She did not know. Somehow, she would have to make her way through the agonizing memories.

He still did not hold her. Instead, he simply watched her.

"My mother taught me the arts of the assassins. I learned many things from her. She taught me how to read, to paint, to ride a horse, and to write. There is nothing that a man could do that I could not, she would tell me. Then, she would teach me how to become one with the crowd. It was followed by learning to pick pocket. They would not feed me at the bordello at that point. I was told to use my newly found skills to secure coin so I could eat. My mother instructed me on how to scale buildings to gain access to their rooftops and towers to understand a full understanding of an area. I must have climbed one particular tower in Milano over a hundred times."

He continued to listen to her. Both of them loved each other since before they met. It amazed her to know how he could read her. Ezio knew she did not want to be touched or consoled.

"As time went on, I went to two other places to continue my training," she paused. She knew this next bit would likely make him angry. A part of her regretted not telling him in the first place. "While my mother was very talented at combat, she said I needed a man's touch. There were two others that she knew that could deal with my willful streak. Mario Auditore and his brother, Giovanni."

Ezio's look changed immediately upon hearing the names. His countenance morphed from shock, to disbelief, and, finally, to suspicion. He looked down at her, clutching her by the shoulders to prevent her from turning away.

She could feel his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. They bit into her, and she knew that she deserve the pain. Cyras should have told him.

"You were trained to fight by my uncle and my father?!" he cried, his voice strained by his confusion, surprise, and grief. She knew that he battled everyday with the grief of his family. It was one of the reasons that she did not tell him. The woman wanted to spare him pain.

She could only nod, unable to speak under his intense scrutinizing.

"Why did you not say something sooner? Why hide it from me?"

I was afraid you would be upset, especially since you were my target," Cyras admitted, quietly.

"Then, why tell me now?" Ezio persisted. "Am I still your target? Are you still working for the enemy, lulling me into a false sense of security before destroying me?"

"No," Cyras uttered. "I am through hiding things from you. If I expect honesty from you, if I am to trust you, then I have to be honest with you. You must trust me, as well."

Ezio was silent for a long time, obvious locked in an internal debate. Finally, he sighed. Nodding slowly, he embraced Cyras warmly. She could feel the strength of his body offering to comfort her. It was something that she could not deny anyone. Cyras needed Ezio.

When they parted, he looked down at her with a smile.

"Thank you for telling me," he said. "I have a question, though."

"Anything," Cyras said. "I will answer whatever you ask, willingly."

"Who was your father?"

If it was any other question but that one, Cyras would have answered willingly. Instead, the pain of her father's death was still fresh in her mind. She could see him on the floor. Blood spreading forth from him like the winds of an eagle. It was rather ironic. He asked the one question that she could not answer willingly.

Darksavior wrote:

[b][u]"Oh?" Ezio laughed. He looked over her body, studying her in silence for a moment. "Dress like that, you are just as dangerous as I am?"

lol genius!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hooded Man

I'm glad that you like that part, lol.

Short Story Eight

Venezia (Venice), Italy
1488

It was a clear morning as she was walking through the streets of Venezia (Venice) towards the docks. She knew that would be where she would find her lover. Even with two years passing between her admittance of her true feelings, she had found herself back into the familiar grove with him. Their relationship was stagnant.

When her mother lay dying in her arms, Cyras had promised the other woman never to cling to love like she did. For many years, her mother had waited for her father to choose her over his other mistresses and wife. She had become bitter with the waiting.

Cyras could not deny that was the way her relationship with Ezio had become. She was uncomfortable with his comfort and support, and she was disillusioned by his lack of commitment. Cyras was growing old. She wished to have children before it was too late. Knowing him as well as she did, she understood he neither wanted a commitment nor a child.

Today was her lover's birthday. He was twenty-nine, and she would be twenty-nine in a few months. Since the death of their fathers, her mother, and his brothers, both of them have been proving to be a thorn in the templar's side. For what result? As she helped Ezio, she had to put her own vengeance behind her. The French-man escaped, and Niccolo had left Venezia (Venice). Her mother had died, trying to find out the reasons why the love of her life was killed. Cyras had spent years trying to find out that exact same reason.

With Leonardo's return from Milano (Milan), she was given hope. The french-man was spotted there. It would be there that her journey would continue. Even though it meant leaving Ezio, it was something that she had to do. He would simply have to understand. There was no other way.

There was still the meeting that she had to attend tomorrow with the others.

Throughout the years, they had guided him and kept him on the path. After her escape from the Borgia, she tried to help him with that, also. She did not plan to fall in love with him.

He sat on a bench with his hands folded and his head bent. His hood was down. The hair that was free from the band blew in the breeze. Ezio was in deep though, and she thought he was thinking the same thing she was. Despite all the years that had passed, they were no closer at finding out why their families were murdered.

She pressed the box of paintings to her chest. A sharp pain echoed up the old wound from her leg. Cyras should have listened to Leonardo and Ezio and stayed off her feet. There were times when she fell on it wrongly, and it would scream in agony. Yet, it was the life of an assassin. She would work through the pain, or she would die.

"Ciao, cari, (Hello dear)," she called to him, cheery, as she approached. Of course, her happiness was a mask. She would tell him that she was leaving him, and he would be none too happy about it.

He glanced up briefly. She felt the sting of his intense gaze, and she wondered how he would take her leaving. There was no reason to continue their relationship. After all, she would be miles away from him. He wanted everything but a commitment, and she did promise her mother.

"Buon compleanno, il mio piou vecchio amico (Happy Birthday, my oldest friend)," she continued, trying to keep that intimate tone out of her voice. "You must be very excited today." She tried to force a smile. Nerves ate at her gut, tightening her stomach. It was going to be increasingly difficult to part with him. "I got you something. Very good vino (wine), a new dagger, some new throwing knifes, and other things."

Ezio took the box from Cyras, opening it to inspect the contents. He saw the bottle of wine. Pulling the dagger and throwing knives from within, he equipped them on his armor. Then, he saw the other things she mentioned. There were two small paintings in the bottom of the box. The uppermost was a portrait of himself, painted with skill and care. He had no doubt that she had painted it, and he assumed that she had also done the other other painting. Smiling, he lifted the top painting, taking a peek at the other. Quickly, looking around to make sure no one else had seen, he laid the portrait back down.

"That's a gift to brighten my day," Ezio said, a look of desire on his face. The bottom painting was a portrait of Cyras. The curves and planes of her body captured eternally in oils and canvas. Surely, Leonardo must have painted that one. Ezio leaned in close to Cyras, keeping his voice low. Suspicion laced his tone. "You were naked before Leonardo?"

"Oh, Ezio," Cyras sighed. "You have nothing to worry about from Leonardo. I don't think I am his type."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Never mind that," she said. Sitting down next to him, she crossed her legs and turned towards him. Those years together had met something special for her. Yet, the vengeance for both her mother and father was outweighing the love for him.

He smiled at her, catching her off guard. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"I am leaving in two days for Milano (Milan)," she put forth. She knew he would not like it, but it was something that needed to be done. It was better to have a clean break than it was to drag the sham of their relationship out. Cyras learned from her mother that she could not wait for him to realize how much he loved her.

"Oh," Cyras said as an afterthought. "It nearly slipped my mind but I have something else for you." She took charge, intentionally delaying the final gift to change the subject of her leaving. Ezio looked as if he wanted to raise issue, but gave over to his curiosity. She knew that the discussion would not be avoided, however. Ezio would bring it up.

"What?" Ezio inquired.

Cyras reached behind her back and pulled the last gift out of her belt strap, bringing them around before her body. In her hand, she held three striated eagle feathers. They were beautiful feathers.

He stared at the feathers as if they would scorch him if he touched them.

"I noticed you collected feathers when you find them," Cyras said, recalling several occasions where he stopped on the road to pick one up or found them on rooftops. "I found these over by the Grand Canal. They made me think of you."

"The feathers aren't for me," Ezio said, his voice dropping to a melancholy hush.

"Who are they for, Ezio?"

"Petruccio. He loved feathers, and I would collect them for him. He couldn't go outside; he was always sick." Ezio's voice remained somber. "I get them for mother, so she knows that I will never forget my brother, or her. Mario said it is of no use. To hell with what Mario thinks. Petruccio was my brother. That is my mother. I would never give up on them."

Cyras felt a chill as the words passed through her, bringing blurring moisture to her eyes. This was a side of Ezio she had never seen before, a side that she was sure he let no one else see. He never talked about his father or brothers.

"Now what's this about you leaving?"

She knew by his admission of his younger brother that Ezio loved completely. For that moment, she knew that she could not do what her mother wished of her. Cyras would wait for Ezio as long as her own mother waited for her father. There was something about him that called to her. Perhaps, it was the vulnerability that she saw in his eyes from time to time. In one who dealt with death, it was a comforting reinsurance. There was hope for them.

Reaching up, she wiped the tears away from her eyes. It would serve him no use if he knew that side of him touched her. In fact, she was pretty sure that he would close himself off. Yet, she had to comment on his family. It would give her more time to avoid telling him that she was leaving.

"Your conviction is what I admire about you," she admitted, softly. She ached for the boy who had seen his father and brothers hanged. It was a strange, raw emotion, and it was one that the assassin never experienced before.

He did not say anything for quite some time. They sat in silence, absorbing each other's emotions. Too much time had passed for her to walk away, and she felt ashamed for it. She could not honor her mother's wishes.

"Do not get me wrong, Ezio. I respect Mario," she stated, passionately, "but your zio (uncle) is a fool. While you should not stay in the past, you also have to mourn. You also have to remember them. It has been years since my father and mother died, but they stay with me still. Mother used to encourage me to paint. I can anything that I put my mind to. That much is true. Yet, when I do paint, it is for my mother. You keep your feathers, and I will keep my paintings."

Ezio did not say a word. Instead, he crossed his hand and put them in his lap. He bowed his head.

"You miss them still?" she asked, hesitantly. Reaching over, she put a comforting hand on his thigh. She wanted to provide some sort of support for the man she loved. Her heart bled for his emotions.

"Every day," Ezio answered. "Frederico taught me how to climb and how to free run, though I didn't think so much of it at the time. Petruccio never hurt another living thing. There is nothing more innocent than he was. And father. . ." Ezio went silent, causing Cyras to look down briefly.

"You don't have to talk about it if you do not want to," Cyras said, returning her gaze to Ezio. She placed the palm of one of her hands on the side of his face. It was a great act of trust, as she had her bracers on. Ezio did not move an inch.

"No, it is alright," Ezio replied. "I want to talk about it with you. I want to be open with you, as I expect the same from you." He took a deep breath.

"My whole life, I thought my father was a simple banker," Ezio explained. "I never had one suspicion of the other work he did. For some reason, he never told me, not until the day before he died. I never really knew him, until that day, and then he died. I could do nothing, and he died. I killed for vengeance after that, when I killed his killer. I disrespected my target as he lay dying. It is the only killing I regret, for that reason. It was justice, but it was served unjustly."

"Not having any suspicion that our parents are not what they appear to be seems to be common," she explained. Removing her palm, she closed her hand. She gently ran her knuckles on his stubbly jawline.

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her to him. He was very careful that he did not hurt her. Sometimes, his gentleness surprised her. There was a side of him that could be very brutal. She could not leave him. Yet, there would come a point in time when she would have no choice.

"As I said before," she told him, "my mother trained me. Then, your father and your uncle. My first target was horrible. I could not have been no more than thirteen at the time. I was told to kill a boy who could not have been older than ten. I was suppose to use the skills that I learned. It was a very...messy..kill. After all, I did not possess the grace that I have now. There was blood all over the floor and walls. I stabbed him and stabbed him. Because he was being trained as a templar, I killed him. I was very young, and I confused "standing against" something that someone stood for as hating them. Even though I was told to respect his body and him, I did not offer him one thing. I didn't offer him any blessing, and I dismembered him."

Ezio held her close, trying to be the rock that her memories hammered themselves against.

"I was disrespectful to him. On top of that, I developed an intense fear of blood. Sometimes, I feel like I am going to pass out. Just thinking of blood makes me lightheaded."

"You feel faint at the sight of blood?" Ezio asked in disbelief. Cyras nodded, curtly, shuddering even at the thought. "How do you do what we do?"

"I use poisons more often than not, anymore," Cyras explained. "When I am force to use my hidden blade, I try to kill them cleanly and leave before they bleed out. I sometimes vomit after killing someone with my sword. It is with great difficulty that I do what we do. Yet, there is no other path for me. There is no other choice. This path was chosen for me."

"It seems we have that in common, as well," Ezio muttered. "If my choice could have ruled my fate, I would still be in Firenze (Florence), and my family would still be alive. But fate does not work that way. Hardships are thrust upon those when their actions are needed. My path was chosen for me as well."

"Quite a pair we make," Cyras mused, "isn't it?" She smiled at Ezio, then the expression on her face turned serious. "Ezio?"

"What, il mio amore (my love)?" Ezio responded.

"Why have you never asked me to marry you?" She hadn't intend on pressing the issue, but the openness of the conversation eased the atmosphere. "I know it is an act, as you say, but we both know that we love each other. Why haven't you ever asked me, for real?"

Ezio sighed, blowing out a long slow breath of air. He looked as if the question did not surprise him, as if he had been expecting it for some time.

He was silent, allowing her to think of the reasons that he might not want to marry her. The old memory of what he told Cristina pooped up again. Ezio said she was nothing, and there were truly times when she believed just that. Was he hoping that his childhood crush would have a change of heart?

Once the train of thought started to flow, she could not stop it. She wondered if he was just using her as her father used her mother. He was biding his time until something better came along. To her credit, she had avoided the issue as long as possible. If he would not marry her, she would never be married nor have children. Because she gave her virtu (virtue) to him, no other man would want her. Cyras was his.

"Our father and your brothers were murdered so close together," she continued," that it makes me think that they were related in some way. Possibly the Spaniard saw them as a threat. I do not know. My mother died here a few months after my father. She was searching for a reason why he was killed. Or, that is what she told me one night at the tavern."

"Remember, she told me, nothing is true. Nothing was true in her reason of why she was looking for the people who killed my father," she spat. Her eyes took on a glassy quality, and, for a moment, she had to look away. It was unusual for her to be swept up in the emotion. "My father was a notorious womanizer. He had children from various women. In fact, he went back forth between my siblings' mother, my mother, other women, and his wife. Throughout her life, she believed that my father would divorce his wife, stop his ways, and marry her. We would be a happy family. NO one could change what hey are naturally. Once a womanizer, always a womanizer.

She sighed, watching the water lap the sides of the gondola tied to the dock. Cyras would tell him everything. It was a way she could stake her claim on him.

"My father was not innocent either. I like to believe that he loved my mother, and he did not want to possess her. He had one request for her. He wished her to stop her path. Mother would not do that, either," she persisted. "Throughout the years, my mother would become bitter. She would cease their nightly rendezvous. She could nto understand how he was pining for someone who left him long ago, my siblings' mother, and his wife. Was she not as important as they were? Why could he not see what was before him?"

He looked as if he wanted to speak. Ezio was a very intelligent man, and he was able to read innuendos.

"She died here as she was looking for whoever hurt my father. I believe she abandoned her morals. She would do anything to see who murdered my father to justice in the most painful way possible. My mother could not escape her love for him through her life, after his death, and during her own. The guards who killed her forced themselves on her and maimed her flesh. My mother died in my arms. She...she made me promise that I would not wait for the one that loves me to marry me for too long."

"I believe my father was killed because he had information about the Pazzi conspiracy to kill the Medici," Ezio said. "Perhaps your father was involved with that someone. Perhaps, he was an informant. It is possible." He took his time getting to the true heart of the conversation. He was avoiding the issue of whether or not to marry her. She had a feeling he would be hesitant. In fact, she expected him to say no.

"I do not feel that now is the best time to be married," Ezio decided finally. "I think we should wait until our business with the Borgia is finished."

"Why?" Cyras asked. "We already act like we are married. What would be different? What would be the risk?"

"I just don't think that it is a wise move at this point in time," Ezio insisted.
Cyras frowned, an exaggerated expression.

"Then, I am going to Milano," Cyras said. She rose from the bench, quickly turned, and left before Ezio could speak another word.

"Why so serious?" she could hear Rosa speaking to Ezio as she departed.

This part has violence in it and very crude language. If you have never played Assassin's Creed 2, do not read this. Short Story 9 contains major spoilers from the game.

Short Story 9

Venezia, Italy
1488

Cyras had an epiphany the night before. She would kill the Spaniard herself. Her sources had informed her that he was on his way to Venezia. Ezio would have been surprised that she had several contacts in the city. She would be waiting when the Templar arrived, killing him at her earliest convenience. Then, Ezio would no longer be distracted. He would be free to marry her. Both of their problems would be solved in one swift act.

She crouched looking down at the guards. One of them carried a chest, though she did not know the contents. Her leg throbbed from leaping and climbing, and she suspected rain was coming soon. Not a good time for aches and cramps, she thought.

Grimacing, she sprinted along a landing and jumped into the air, catching a hanging pot and turning sharply around the corner. It took a tremendous amount of faith to let go without knowing what was around the corner. However, Cyras had been leaping as long as she could remember.

Poising like a cat, she hurtled through the air. With inhuman reflexes, she clung to the lattice siding of a balcony, which she scurried up quickly. Cyras supposed that if anyone saw her that they would have thought it a silly sight.

The woman was slightly higher now and twenty yards away from the guards that she trailed. She turned back to look at them, but she could make out no faces in the darkness.

Cold wind blew against her robes, groping at her flesh with imperceptible fingers. She shivered from the wind and the thoughts of how Ezio would be pleased when he found out. Once she had her target, there was no hope of them escaping her. The Spaniard had become her target the moment he had ordered Vaene's capture, or rather the deception of Cyras. He had sealed his fate when he had ordered the execution of the Auditore men and her parents.

However, first, the guards had to lead her to him. She'd never learned the focused state known as Eagle Vision. It always seemed hard for her to focus, and that training was abandoned for something else. Cyras felt inept not knowing how to quiet her mind like some of the others. Perhaps, she could enlist Ezio's help in remedying that weakness.

Cursing silently at the need to rely on him, she tight-roped across a taught span over the roadway. She moved quickly and quietly as she kept with the shadows. Cyras could hear the din of shops. Shopkeepers shouted their wares unaware of the woman creeping above them.

Not far before her, there was an archer patrolling the rooftops. He was wearing the red of the Borgia. Cyras would have to kill him quietly, quickly, and cleanly. She would have to be in complete control. If she was not, his body would fall into the streets below. No throwing daggers, she thought. At once, she knew what she would have to do. A slight gag caught hard in her throat, almost forcing her to give up her hiding place by coughing.

Cyras waited in the shadows. Years of training was on her side. She was a prepared huntress, stalking her prey. There was no hurry as long as she could keep those guards walking along the street in her sight. Gazing ahead of her, she knew there was a long stretch of road before it curved.

She flexed her wrist, and soft metallic whirls sounded faintly. There was bound to be blood, and her reactions could be predicted. Cyras would feel faint, gagging at the sight. For a moment, she closed her eyes. How could she be expected to do what she needed to do?

The guard stopped at the edge of the roof. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of his approach. This was the moment she had been waiting for. As he glanced down, she stepped onto the roof. Quickly and soundlessly, she stalked towards him. The metal of the blade sparkled in the dense light.

He gazed downward, looking at the three soldiers movement along the road. There was something wrong in his body language. His eyes narrowed, and he lifted his hand to signal the guards before the one carrying the chest.

Her breath hitched in her chest. Did he someone sense her and was alerting the guards that she was following her presence. Dread swelled in her bosom. Without the element of surprise, the Spaniard would slip from her grasp. Dreams of being wed to Ezio shattered before they even hoped to come to fruition.

Lifting her blade, she thrust her hand forward. The tip of the dagger punctured through the skin. Quickly, she removed the blade. Blood dripped from the wound. Cyras fought the gagging reflex.

The body tipped forward and threatened to tumble off the roof. Quickly, she reached forward and grabbed him from underneath his armpits. The tiny stream of blood on his neck splashed upward and slashed across her nose and cheek.

She could feel the droplets of crimson trickle down her flesh. Nauseous heat billowed in her veins. Bile surged up her throat. Cyras knew she had to keep herself from throwing up. If the soldiers thought that she was following them, then she would fail. Despite her concentration, the smear of liquid seared on her face like embers from a roaring flame.

Dropping the body, Cyras instinctively wiped the blood from her face. The corpse collapsed, crumpling on the spot. It started to slide on the tilted rooftop. Damn the slant, Cyras thought, bitterly. She berated herself for her timing; she should have waited until he was on one of the flat rooftops. However, she could not afford the wait.

Cyras dove to her stomach, clutching he body around the neck to keep it from slipping over the edge of the rooftop. Peeking over the edge, Cyras was overcome by the cloying smell of blood that close to the body. She opened her mouth, sending a stream of vomit onto the street, right next to the box and its entourage. Still fighting the urge to vomit and clutching to the body in spite of it, she ducked back quickly.

Her heart hammered in her throat, battering her breath from her body. She inhaled deeply. Again, the mawkish odor of blood assaulted her. Cyras felt lightheaded and closed her eyes.

The remains of the guard threatened to spill from the roof. Sweat beaded underneath of her arms. Terror overcame her again. Cyras used to consider herself a master of her emotions. Presently, the feelings arced as if they were lighting racing across the darkened sky. She blamed Ezio for the wide range of sensations that the female assassin was having.

From her vantage point, she heard the soldiers footsteps come to a halt. She would be found out, and she worried. Cyras chastised herself again. Throughout her experience as an assassin, she never learned to be patient when she wanted the outcome as badly as she wanted the Spaniard bleeding out before her. She should have been quicker and planned better. It would be for nothing now.

Taking the body with her, she tried to scurry back over the lip of the roof. Cyras gritted her teeth together. Her fingernails curled around the crimson livery of the guard, digging the tips of her fingers into the material. She could feel a twinge of agony spark inside of her, threatening to consume her. Fighting the vomit threatening to expel from her mouth once more, she swallowed hard. The tangy liquid burned on its way to her stomach.

"Watch wear you dump your garbage, piezzo di merda (piece of shit)!" a voice called out below her.

She jerked back from surprise. The voice sounded familiar to her when it sounded out from the street below. Her heart beat in her chest. Relief slid over her as if she had submerged herself in a cool oasis after traveling for days in a blistering desert. The voice offered her succor after a near fatal mistake.

"Don't you know who passes on the street below?!"

She clutched harder to the corpse, fighting off the dizziness that accompanied blood. Her body started to feel hot as she watch a crimson trail on the man's neck. Shock resonated in her body, clinging to her. Cyras could not let the body slip. To much was really at stake now that she knew.

The footsteps started again, moving away.

Cyras waited for a few moments before letting the body slip off the rooftop onto the ground below. It flipped through the air. With a dull thud, it landed head first on the ground.

Standing up and brushing herself off, she took a brief moment to summarize what she just witnessed. Ezio was disguised as a Borgia guard. If she knew him as well as she did, he was likely the one carrying the box. He had seen her. She had no doubt that he knew she was following him long before she vomited onto the street. His quick thinking had saved her.

"I owe you one, il mio amore," Cyras whispered to herself as she began sprinting along the rooftop once more. "You will witness my repayment. Just don't get hurt."

○○○○○

Finally, she leaped across a building and landed on its roof. Quickly, she scurried around to the side. Pain grumbled in her leg. It was not the time to succumb to the pressure of an old injury. She was so close to her target. Cyras could see the cloaked figure of a man. At once, she knew who it was. Rodrigo Borgia. The assassin would recognize his form anywhere.

Taking in her surroundings, she tried to find a place where she would have an advantage. The waves from the canal hit the sides of the wall. Some of the water splashed over the rise. It surprised her because the canal was usually calm. Behind the templar, a lone cart stood full of hay.

She smiled sardonically. It was as if the Spaniard offered himself to her willingly. No one ever said Templars were particularly bright, she thought.

"Do you really have it?" the Grand Master of the Templars spoke. His voice sent chills up Cyras's spine. When she was employed with him, he always spoke with an eagerness in his voice. The man was obsessed. However, he never shared with her what he was obsessed with. It really did not surprise the female assassin.

With his death, all of her plans for the future would come to fruition. Ezio would not be able to use his business with the Borgia to reject her idea of marriage. Neither were getting any younger, she thought. Her thoughts turned to children and marriage as she blocked out what the leader of the Borgias was talking about.

Shaking her head, she knew she had to not anticipate the results of her plan. If she was going to enjoy her future, then she needed to concentrate on the present. She did not hear the others' answer to the large, portly man's questions. Instead, she crouched down and sprinted off the building.

The wind whistled in her ears as she free-fell. Her leg screamed in protest. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her dark hood fluttered against her face. The bits of blonde hair that could be seen withered against the opening of the garment.

Stretching out her arms, her shadow resembled the bird of prey that symbolized the Brotherhood. She plummeted through the air as she kept her eyes on the cart. With careful precision, she landed into the hay. Some of the straw flowed out from her impact, but it was not enough for the Spaniard to notice. He was preoccupied.

"The mission to Cyprus was more difficult than expected. There were--"

Pushing part the hay, she watched the point of Ezio's hidden blade emerge from the breast plate of the guard. Blood splattered through the air and landed on the ground before them. The guard looked down and gripped his chest.

After a moment, the Spaniard began talking again.

She could not hear what he said. Blood rushed in her ears as she watched a crimson trail slide down the chest. Cyras felt the bile rise in her throat again. Her neck felt heated as the vomit lay thick in her throat. Swallowing roughly, she knew the danger that lurked for both of them if she made any sort of noise. For the first time in her life, Cyras would have to put aside her condition. Ezio and she, both, needed the element of surprise.

The two remaining guards rushed to Ezio's sides. He lifted his arms and stretched them out. Both of his hidden blades severed the carotid artery of his victims. More blood sprayed out, coating his arms. Blood spurted out of their necks, staining the ivory sleeves of his garment red.

Again, her stomach rumbled. Dizziness set in. There was so much blood. She should have anticipated it. Ezio was a passionate man. He stuck to his vengeance when all else was lost. Cyras was sure that he would avenge her own parents' death, also. Yet, with his ardor, he killed messy.

"Where is he? Your Prophet?! Doesn't look like anyone showed up, Rodrigo- How many people have died for this? For what's in this box?" Ezio replied calmly. As he was talking, he walked forward. The confidence oozed off of him.

Normally, she was able to center herself by watching him. He was a buoy in the middle of a crimson sea. Yet, there was too much blood this time. She was sure that there would be much more.

"Look!" Ezio shouted, his temper reaching a crescendo. "There's no-one here!"

Her head swam as the blood from Ezio's victims spread out on the dirty cobblestones. She closed her eyes. Cyras had to get pass her aversion so she could help the man she loved. However, as with most hatreds, this one was a difficult matter to tame.

"Give me the apple!" her old employer roared at the male assassin.

Confusion assaulted the woman. All of this was for nothing. He wanted an apple? She could not understand the importance of the fruit. If he wanted an apple so bad, why could he not go to the local grove or to a merchant's stall and get one. What was so important about the piece of fruit in the box?

"Come and take it from me," Ezio commanded.

Instantly, she made the decision. There was no time for second thoughts, internal debate, or her weakness. From a prefect standstill, Cyras lashed out, erupting from the cart like a wildcat pouncing on its prey.

Hay flew from the cart as if it was lava erupting from a volcano. She had one thought as she slipped into her role. Once she was in combat, she blocked out everything. Well, almost everything, she reminded herself, grimly. The only one that she cared about was the Spaniard.

Borgia, whether through luck or skill, turned slightly. Cyras' hidden blade struck him in the hip, ringing loudly off the pelvic bone.

He cried out in pain, but it was merely a flesh wound.

She cursed her timing. Cyras knew she should have waited, but she pushed those thoughts inside of her.

"Riuscito diabolica (Traitorous cunt)!" Borgia growled. His hand swiped through the air, the backside of it connecting with her face. The many rings on his fingers bruised her and broke the skin.

Blood flowed, hot, over her cheeks and down her jaw. It flowed off of her chin in thin rivulets like tiny, red rivers. She felt faint.

On instinct, she thrust with her other hand, extending the hidden blade. But Rodrigo was facing her; the blade was not the weapon of choice for face to face combat. Frontal assaults were not her method of choice, for that matter.

Borgia leaned to his right. The blade merely glanced off of his shoulder, cutting through his robe. However, it did not leave more than an oozing wound in his shoulder.

"Cyras!" Ezio cried, roaring her name through the din of battle and instantly obtaining the focus of both of them. Ezio clutched at his waist, pulling a dagger from the holder. Of course, he would defend her. If anything her presence would make him fight harder. Yet, she could not help but feel like she botched the whole plan.

The thin blade whistled through the air on a straight path for Rodrigo's heart.

However, the Spaniard slapped his sword through the air. He knocked the deadly projectile away. Borgia back away, keeping his sword trained on both threats. He reminded Cyras of a cornered animal. His true cowardice was beginning to show through.

"Guards!" he shouted roughly. Clear spittle flew through the air. He was a coward, but she always known that.

Flexing her arms again, the blades hissed into their holder. She withdrew her sword from the sheath. Her mother's blade glittered in the moonlight. With Ezio by her side, they would finally have their vengeance.

Four guards came running at a full spring out of the alley way to their west. Three were wielding long-swords. The final one held a long spear in his hands. How he ran without tripping over it was a mystery for Cyras.

Borgia and the guards circled around Cyras and Ezio. They sought to tighten the circular noose around both assassins. She clenched her teeth. They would all die that night. It could not be avoided.

One of the men sprinted in her direction. He raised his sword and swung it down at her head. The man smiled, maliciously. As was often done, he underestimated her.

Quickly, her sword leaped forward. It glinted white in the sunlight as it clashed with the blade. His weapon's edge squealed down her blade's own. She lifted her foot and planted her heavy boot in the man's chest.

He staggered, swaying under the blow of her foot. His eyes burned with hatred. The Borgia pawns sid not have any thoughts of their own. As with Vaene, they did what the Spaniard commanded. Their present goals including aiding the coward cardinal with his plans. Damn, the consequences.

She reached into her belt and withdrew a odd-looking ball. The metal felt cool in the palm of her hand. As an assassin, she was always prepared. Swiftly, she flung the spear at the floor.

Ivory smoke rose from the ground. It cloaked the assassin in its shadowy embrace. She was deadly when she could not be seen. With Ezio, they could not be stopped. Her eyes burned, searing, from the mist and wrath swirling inside of her.

"Both of you will be joining your respective families soon," Borgia sneered. He stood on the edge of the hazy ring.

"Guards!" Rodrigo shouted once more. A bell rang nearby, heralding their existence to every guard within earshot. They could hear the footsteps of soldiers approaching. There would not be much time to deal with Borgia before his help arrived. "Guards! Sound the alarm! The assassins are here!"

"What is in that box?" Ezio asked, raising his voice. "What do you want with it? What makes it more important than the lives of my father and brothers?!"

"The item in that box is worth the life of every single person on earth combined," Borgia hissed. Cyras was reminded of a snake. "I will kill anyone in my way, including the two of you. Nothing will stop me! It is foretold! It is my destiny! MINE!"

He had gone completely mad, Cyras thought to herself. She could almost pity her delusional mind, almost, if he were not so dangerous. The first of the guards gathered into the plaza. They had wasted too much time. In truth, it was Ezio's fault. He asked questions when he should have been killing the bastard.

A clear, sharp raptor cry screeched out. Cyras would recognize the sound anywhere. It was an eagle.

Relief swept through her. She heard the eagle cry above her, seeing the feather fall silently through the sky. Her allies were on their way. Eagerness swept through the woman.

"Do you hear that?" she stated to Ezio, plainly. Cyras glanced over at him, quickly. They could not hope to withstand the barrage of incoming soldiers. "The others are coming."

"What others?" he asked, suspiciously. He held his sword out, defensively. His breath came out calmly as his cunning dark gaze glittered underneath the guard's helm.

"You really have no idea, do you?" Borgia asked him. The aging man puffed from the exertion from Ezio's bombardment.

Holding her sword with one hand for a moment, she reached down to her waist with her other one and retrieved a simple throwing dagger. The short blade gleamed cold with rage. She would not hesitate. To much was at stake. Taking a deep breath, she heaved the dagger at Rodrigo.

Although her aim was true, he turned again at the last moment. It would seem that God was with the cardinal that day. She found it slightly ironic that they both prayed to the same god. Who would He favor? The blade passed his face, leaving a faint red line on his cheek.

"After I dispatch Ezio, I will give you my full attention, puttana traditore (traitorous whore)," Borgia snarled, "as I did with your mother."

Behind her, she could hear footsteps approaching quickly.

Ezio turned, placing his back to hers. He would protect her as long as possible. She surmised, ironically. It was not she who needed protection, but Ezio.

"Uncle?" Ezio cried out in surprise. He turned his head to face Mario. The old man had not aged a bit although the weight of years were crushing down on him.

However, she did not have time to listen to Mario's answer. Before her, a large man in full plate mail appeared. He lumbered in his armor. The large plume blew in the breeze. Swinging his halberd in a wide arch, she bent her legs and sprung in the air over the blade.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared over the guard. At first, it resembled a large eagle. As it came closer to the ground, the shape morphed into the shadow of a man. His ivory robes blurred in the movement; his crimson sash screamed in rage.
A small blade drove into the tiny space the guard's armor had left open. It cut into his artery. Blood spurted from the crease in his armor, spraying in a thin arch. The assassin's leather boots supported him on the guard's shoulders.

"Drago?"

"Perhaps, we can talk later," Drago grunted as he flung a dagger over Cyras's shoulder. It hit home in the chest of a charging guard. The man's body crumpled forward with his momentum. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

Cyras looked over to Ezio.

Ezio had been separated from Rodrigo by the influx of guards. He was outnumbered and too far away for her or Drago to reach in time to help. He gave ground, but he was running short of it. Closing quickly, the edge of the canal was approaching his backside.

Taking a step back to avoid another attack, Ezio was knocked to the ground. Cyras breathed in, refusing to release it in the moment of tension. She wanted to scream out, to cry her lover's name in the heat of the battle. Ezio was going to die!

No, not this day, she thought with hope. La Volpe had gone to his rescue, dispatching a guard and drawing attention long enough for her lover to recover. Ezio's demeanor changed. He did not like to be defeated.

He moved through the guards like a plagued wind. The first two soldiers, he surprised with a sudden lunge, sinking his blades into their foreheads. Next, he sprang up onto one knee, stabbing the next at least four times with each blade, in alternating motion. Two more approached him. One armed with a sword; the other, a spear.

With a click, his blades retracted. Yet, he did not draw his sword. Cyras ducked her way through the melee, trying to get to Ezio as quickly as possible (while avoiding any fighting). Fighting made blood, and she swooned at the very thought of it.

Ezio stood with his arms up, braced in a defensive posture. "Tua madre e sporca puttana! (Your mother is a fucking whore!)" Ezio taunted the spear-carrying guard.

The insult was more than the man was willing to take, and he swung the spear wildly at the unarmed assassin.

Instantly, Ezio reacted. He caught the spear with his left hand. With the other, he jerked the butt of it right into the guard's groin. With a tormented scream, he was disarmed.

Without missing a step, without wasting momentum, Ezio spun. He swung the spear around. The strike decapitated both guards. Their headless bodies fell against each other.

Cyras looked down as she neared Ezio. The ground was covered in blood as if it had fallen from the sky.

She felt faint again, feeling the bile rise in her throat. Cyras pushed the vomit back down. It spread in her gut, burning on its descent. As more guards arrived at the plaza, she could not help but feel dread. The blood would not stop flowing that night.

As he dispatched another guard, the end of the spear stuck inside the flesh. Crimson poured out of the wound and coated the body. Suddenly, she felt her throat close tightly. Cyras could not breath.

Ezio was unarmed. His weapons were sheathed, and it would take time for him to draw them out. Also, his hidden blades were retracted.

Two guards approached him, standing before Ezio. Her heart dropped in her stomach. She had to get to him. A warrior swung at him. His blade slashed through the air. The assassin was too far from her to use her throwing daggers.

She would use the blood to her advantage. Her stomach heaved heavily at that thought. Yet, coming to Ezio's rescue outweighed her fear. Quickly, she dropped to the ground and slid on the crimson lines. Wetness crept up her robe's knees. It soaked the material. Bits of blood splattered on her face as she bent backwards beneath weapons. The liquid dripped down her cheeks, rolling off her chin.

Agilely, she righted herself and sprinted towards Ezio. She sheathed her sword. With a whorl of clacks, her blades popped from the sheathes. Her face was drained of color as she continued to sprint to his rescue. Cyras had to save him. No one else was close enough.

Thrusting her blades forward, she grunted. The silver met the ebony and red of their leather helms. She surprised herself with her ferocity. The twin blades punctured the material, jamming deeply into their skulls. As the soldiers fell to the floor, they convulsed. For a brief moment, Cyras and Ezio's eyes met on the battle field. Twin souls reunited in a blaze of glory.

To their left, another guard charge them. An arrow screeched in its arch through the air. Merda, (Shit) she thought, the archers were now alerted. It would soon be over.

The arrow flew pass the side of her face. It landed in the soldier's armor. He clutched at the feathers, sinking to his knees.

Following the trajectory of the arrow, she saw Antonio and Bartolomeo joining the fray. It would be all over soon for them, she thought again.

She turned towards Ezio. "Go get the Spaniard," she shouted at him. "Don't let him get away with the contents of that box, il mio amore (my love). I'll give you some lead-way from here to him."

Ezio did not hesitate, moving between Rodrigo and the box. "What is in the box?!" Ezio shouted over the din of battle. His allies were winning the fight, and he felt it a good time to interrogate Borgia. The man was still naive in many ways.

"The apple!" Rodgrigo screamed. More riddles and metaphors. Kill him, Cyras cried out in her mind. Ezio should not be wasting his time talking to such a man. He was the enemy of every free person in the world, and he had wronged everyone one of them somehow. Yet, Ezio did not kill him straight away. "Give me the apple!"

"That doesn't make any sense!" Ezio shouted, drawing her attention to him. "This is all about an apple?"

"An apple? You go about blindly like a child, oblivious to the truth around you! You aren't worthy of knowing what is in that box! Now, give me the apple!" Rodrigo raved.

Ezio lunged, nearly catching the Spaniard's throat with his extended hand. Finally, they would have their revenge for both of their parents and his brothers. The end was nigh. Peace settled inside of her, and she turned her attention to the rest of the guards.

However, the older man was more nimble than he looked (and far more deadly). He dodged the attack and kicked Ezio in the midsection.

As the fight around them steadily closed in around them, Ezio was knocked down.

The fortuitous circumstance, however, was that Borgia could not get to the chest and escape. Like a true coward, he chose escaping with his life. "This is not the end, assassins!" Rodrigo boomed. He looked like one of the yapping dogs that her father used to keep in his palazzo. "The apple will be mine! Nothing can stop me!"


As more of her allies joined from the shadows, the cloying scent of blood drifted to her. Once more, she gagged. She did not want to show anyone of them her weakness. While she trusted her brothers and sisters with her life, she knew how they would have perceived her phobia. The only ones who knew were Ezio and her mother, and her lover was the only one alive.

"I need to go after him," she heard Ezio murmur. Since she knew him, there was only one thing on his mind. He wished to kill Borgia to redeem his father and brothers. Presently, after learning about the events that transpired with her family, he added her own family on the list of those he sought vengeance for.

She closed her eyes, trying to block the sea of blood from her vision. A heat rose to her cheeks, and the woman thought she was going to pass out. It was one of the reasons that she used poisons and assassinated from afar when she could.

As she heard Sister Teodora talk, there was something else that she heard. The rushing sound of footsteps to a battle that was over. A guard owned by the cardinal was arriving to the battle.

Her blade met him in his momentum. The weapon found the front of his neck and slipped effortlessly through the flesh and tendon. Blood squirted out of the wound. It coated the ground at his feet and mixed with the crimson ground.

As he crumbled to the ground, another man appeared, walking behind Mario, La Volpe, and Sister Teodora. All of the people were connected in the same profession. They were assassins.

Cyras still did not pay attention to who was speaking. Blood and gore covered the cobblestones as if the alleyway were a butcher's shop. She moved slightly and felt something small squished underneath the thick heel of her boot.

"Niccolo di Bernardo dei Machiavelli," the newcomer spoke to Ezio, introducing himself. Machiavelli always postured himself, and it was one of the many things that she disliked about him. "I am an Assassin-trained in the ancient ways to safeguard mankind's evolution. Just like you and everyone before you."

She moved her foot and stared down at what was attempting to make her off balance. The object was so small that she could not barely make it out. However, there was no mistaking the curled, crescent-like organ. It was someone's ear.

Glancing down at herself, seeing all of the blood on her hands, bodice, and exposed flesh, she felt ill. Cyras swallowed hard. The world started to blur, spinning quickly.

Her cheeks felt hot. She felt as if she was going to pass out. Cyras shook her hands, hoping to fling some of the blood off of her. Taking in deep breathes, she tried to exhale slowly. Yet, the breath came out in quick bursts of air. Panic had set in the woman.

"We have our prize, but there is much to be done," Antonio interrupted. He handed Ezio a tiny piece of pater. "Come meet us here at sunset."

She shook her head, trying to ignore how hot her body felt. Suddenly, she was wheezing. The blood became too much. It coated her face, arms, and clothes. Cyras could feel it moving slowly on her skin as if it was alive.

As the others departed, she was the only one left for Ezio. With bittersweet realization, she knew that she too would have to leave him. It was a time where he would have to study what was on that simple sheet of paper. He would read the truth, and he would either accept it or he would not. The choice was his. She could not help choose his path.

"You knew about all of this?" Ezio accused, looking up at Cyras.

The woman could not peel her focus from the cobblestones. Regret for lying to him surged through her like a current. She was drowning in the intensity of his dark glare. Cyras could only nod meekly.

He continued to glare at her. The shadows from his hood could not mask the glitter of anger in his eyes. She had been through more with Ezio than she had with any man in her entire life. It did not surprise her that he was furious at her.

"I did not know about Drago, though," she brought up. As if it would make it alright for her deception, she thought, ruefully. "That was hidden from me as well. Ezio, it was the only way."

"All this talk of trust," Ezio said, turning his face upward. She could see the light glint in his eyes, and she swallowed hard. "You lied to me, used me as a pawn. Is that all I am to you? To all of you? A piece to be manipulated, moved into place by interference of others. It is not fate that I ended up here. You all made sure I turned up here."

Even though his diatribe, she could not remove her gaze from the stones. Blood blanketed them, cocooning them in a sea of red. It was all over her. Raising her hands, she tried to white them on the simple livery of an assassin. Her robes were ruined, she thought to herself. While they were in Venezia, she would have to find new ones. If that was possible, she continued to think, bitterly.

He waited for her answer. Ezio crossed his arms, looking at the woman who he thought he loved. She did not tell him about the others because she did not think that he needed to know the information. In doing so, she betrayed him worse than he had her with Cristina.

"No," Cyras defended. "You are not a pawn, not to me. We did not manipulate you to come to this place at this time, Ezio. It does not work that way. We helped you along the path you chose for yourself. And that brings you here, to that piece of fruit that the Spaniard called an apple. You are the prophet they spoke of, il mio amore (my love). Telling you would have jeopardized the entire thing. You had to be ignorant to it."

Again, she felt faint. Heat assaulted her body, reminding her of her dire need to get out of that situation. Her concern for Ezio's welfare allowed her to do the wet-work up close. He was not in danger now. The grisly scene threatened to overwhelm her.

"I don't like being lied to," Ezio growled. His soft voice took on the sound of a wounded boar. The hurt and suspicion in it stung her. However, she deserved it.

"Shut up, Ezio," Cyras spat as she was overcome by a wave of dizzying nausea. "I need to get away from all of this blood. Read the paper, go to the tower. All of your questions will be answered there. No more lies."

Short Story Ten

The morning light slowly crept into the painted windows of the Palazzo della Seta. It bathed the thieves in its brilliance, penetrating the shadows that the female assassin preferred. She felt exposed, as if she had been forced to remove her clothing and placed on a pedestal. Although her face wore an unreadable calmness, a torrent of explosive emotions swirled inside of her.

What Ezio had said to her played over and over in her mind, repeating endlessly in a relentlessly agonizing loop. You lied to me, used me as a pawn. They cut at her like the honed edge of a killing blade. Even though she knew he had spoken the words in a moment of anger, that he did not mean them, didn't do anything to lessen the venom they carried.

Looking around the room, she brought a cup to her lips and drank deeply. The room was lavishly furnished, a testament to the palazzo's previous occupant. He had kept the people within the district under his thumb, extorting ever florin he could out of them. The bed was of the finest make, stuffed with goose down and draped in silk and satin. She didn't care much for the colors, mostly darker shades of blue. It was a comfortable room, but it did nothing to calm her nerves. It may well have been a tomb for her.

That was what Venezia had become to her. No longer did she look forward to her time there. She could feel the cold weight of dread descend into her stomach. Ezio had made sure that she received one of the best rooms in the palazzo. At the time, it touched her. Her relationship with Ezio was like it should have been with Vaene.

Ezio would cater to her needs, bringing her things that she had no use for. While Vaene showered her with gifts, he did so to encourage her feelings for him. Vaene was deceptive; the other assassin was serious. He once brought her one hundred and fifty primroses. Her breath hitched as she remembered the way they were together. She looked forward to the day when they would admit their true feelings.

Cyras closed her eyes, shutting out the lavish room and her current predicament. She tried to banish the doubting images floating across her mind like an old priests exorcising a spirit from its host. Clenching her teeth together, she could feel morose slid over her and coat her as if boiling oil spilled inside of her.

She realized where she had gone wrong in what she had done. Cyras had become too attached to Ezio, letting her feelings get involved in what should have been treated as just another assignment. The fact that she had let him worm his way into her heart frightened her in ways that she could not understand. She feared neither pain, nor death. Yet, she was terrified of what she felt for the scarred assassin.

Opening her eyes, she stared down at the carved engravings on the desk. Sirens from ancient legends walked across the wooden edges, holding their hips and beacon a ship as it passed. She sat the wooden cup over one of the faces of the nymphs.

Ezio, himself, was so much like a siren. She could not begin to understand how the complex man could draw herself in. After Vaene's death, she thought she could control her emotions for Ezio. Like everything else in her life, she was wrong about that, too. Her feelings for the other assassin tore through her life like a fire through grass. It was unstoppable in its intensity.

Pushing away from the table, she stood up. You lied to me. His voice echoed inside of her thoughts. Again, she felt the sharp stab of agony pierce her heart. She did not know what was worse. Yes, he said those words to her. Yes, she was furious that he had the audacity to utter them. However, he was right.

n her profession, there was no place for the truth. Lies and deceit cloaked her like the shadows in the night. She walked to one of the many flowers that Ezio shadowed her with. Reaching out, she slid her fingertips over the soft, light-colored silken petals. Ezio was one of the causalities of her work. It could not be avoided. Yet, it did nothing to sooth the blooming shame and angry in her chest.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she could hear Ezio's footsteps as he entered the room. She did not even need to turn around to know it was him. Their relationship was special in that way. It was strange, comforting to know when he was approaching. Cyras had grown accustomed to his scent. A sharp sweet scent that she could not place mixed with headiness of leather and sweat.

A familiar twinge centered in her belly and spread out to every part of her. Like a typhoon, it broke upon her and shattered her thoughts. Wrath grew in her veins that a simple man from Firenze could affect her in the way that he could.

The smell of him was not the only thing that gave him away. She could recognize the sound of his footfalls. They were hardly audible as he took great, confident strides across the marble flooring. In her mind's eye, she could see him reach up and turn his cloak so that it covered his shoulder. Self-assurance rolled off the man like fog off a moor.

She did not really want to speak with him right at that moment. His previous words haunted her like spirits freshly risen from the grave. Her shame was too much to bear. Cyras did not want him to see her like that.

Her hopes that he would go away dashed instantly. She knew that he would not leave her. Like their spat about Cristina, Ezio would pursue her with the same amount of conviction that he chased after those who murdered his family. There was something about her that attracted him like a moth to a flame. However, she could not see what it was.

"Do you need something?" Cyras uttered to the man standing behind her, without much conviction in her voice. Her entire body heaved with a sigh. She winced at her own words. Cyras did not mean to sound as if she wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, it was the opposite. She wanted everything to do with him. Ezio Auditore roared through her veins, and it frightened her.

"I just wanted to ask you something," Ezio murmured. "But if you would rather not speak, I can come back later."

"No," Cyras said, quickly.

Ezio remained quiet for a moment.

Apprehension reared inside of her like a terrified horse. She gripped the petal of the flower, breaking off the fragile part of the flower. Cyras wondered what he wanted to talk about.

Again, he stood, quickly. There was no doubt in her mind that he was formulating another attack on her. Of course, she deserved it. She had lied to the one she loved. And, to make matters worse, it was not just one time. Yet, she could not tell him.

"You can ask your question," she continued. Briefly, she wondered if she was sadistic. It was obvious to her that Ezio was thinking of an excuse not to see her again. Of course, he would. She hurt him greatly with her lies. Let him go, her mind added to her conscious thoughts. Turning around to face him, their gazes locked.

"I would like you to live with me, in Monteriggioni," Ezio replied. He lifted his hand and ran his fingertips through his thick, dark hair. "Everyone would welcome you. Especially me."

Cyras did not want to answer him. Her body was divided on what to do. Her heart belonged to Ezio even before they were together. There could be no denying the attraction that sparked between them then and now. With that, she would have to admit the other facet of their relationship.

Even after all that time, her heart was far too vulnerable for her to just give it away. Ezio was the last person she thought would have judged her. His words were said in anger and surprise. She knew from experience that a love one bore the brunt of a person's angry. Ezio felt like she would not judge him, but his words sought to penetrate her heart. They did.

If he thought that he was a pawn to her, then he truly did not know her. Cyras carried the world's sin on her shoulders. Because she was late in arriving to stop her father's death, she would always carry a penance. If she had known Giovanni and his family were in trouble, she could have done something. No, she countered herself, bitterly. She should have known.

She quirked her eyebrow at his request. There was no reason why she would go to Monteriggioni with him. Her house in Messina was fine. Then, she never planned to stay in one place for long.

A heavy sigh overtook her body. She did not want to deal with his wants and needs at that moment. Cyras had her own people to see to and her own vengeance to oversee. Seeing to the affairs of the Assassin's Order had left her own affairs grow cold. Hatred for those who plotted against her.

Niccolo Napoli, the templar who turned her husband into a monster, was still out there. She could not be happy until everyone involved in the plot against her own family was avenged. Cyras would have thought that Ezio would understand that drive.

He moved next to her, lifted his hand, and placed it on her shoulder. She could see the festering skin of his left ring finger charred and blackened. Puffs of skin bubbled across the thick finger.

"What?" she questioned him. The man had an impeccable habit of catching her by surprise. If it did not rub her the wrong way, she would have found it boyishly cute. However, Ezio was hardly a boy.

He smiled at her, beaming in his way. There was no man quite like Ezio Auditore, she contemplated. The man truly was one in a million. Yet, their emotive ship sailed away before they could board it.

"Why would I stay with you?" she asked. "I have a perfectly nice villa in Messina."

"Well," Ezio began, fumbling for words, "I thought that it might be safer for you to stay with us in Monteriggioni. I would rather have you close to me."

Dread and disappointment washed over her. She tried to push the feelings deep inside of her. This was worse than him banishing her from his sight. At least, she would not have to look at him and know his hatred for her own deception.
Anger welled up inside of her, causing her to see red. What exactly did Ezio wish from her? She tried so hard to be the woman that he wanted her to be. The truth of the matter was that she refused to be the only woman who held his heart. Cyras refused to be Cristina.

"To keep an eye on me?" Cyras sneered bitterly. She did not like that he did not trust her. Everything in their relationship was built on trust. It was strange to request trust because they were both assassins. Nothing was true, she reminded, herself.

Ezio was quick to dismiss her notion with a shake of his head. His thick locks brushed his cheeks with the smooth movement, reminding her of the weakness that the man held on her. Yet, he could not trust her.

The worst part of her feelings was that it was her own fault that he doubted her. At once, she understood it was the reasons assassins did not develop an emotional attachment to anyone. With Ezio, he managed to worm his way inside of her. There was no way to separate herself from him.

"Not in the way that you mean," he said. He put his hands up. His bracers glittered in the low morning light. "I want you to stay with us, not so that I can watch what you are doing, but so that we can be together. What do you say?"

This was what she waited to hear for so long. She wanted him to take her in his arms and profess his undying love. However, it was unlike Ezio to do such a thing. Instead, he did it in his own way. While most women would brush off what he said, she knew exactly what he meant.

A shiver of dread overcame her. She could not give up what she done. Cyras betrayed Ezio, not once but twice. Both times were willingly. The knowledge ate at her and gouged at her heart like someone's fingertips.

"No," Cyras stated simply.

"No?" Ezio repeated, dumbfounded. She was sure it was because there were not many women who would refuse him. Yet, he missed the most obvious part. It was the reason he appreciated her. Cyras was not like most women.

"It is a most gracious offer," Cyras clarified, "but I must decline." She had to think of an excuse. Cyras would never allow herself to be close to him again. He would be able to see the shame in her eyes, and she could never permit that. "I have my own things to see to in Messina, my own house to put in order. I can hardly do that if I am all the way in Toscana (Tuscany)."

Ezio stared at her with a mixture of shock and disbelief. Over the sharp planes of his face, she could see the frantic slide over his countenance. Ezio's lips went into a thin line, showing his displeasure. To his credit, he stopped himself from vocalizing it.

For the longest moment, excruciating silence stretched out between them. She couldn't help but thing that there was a deeper meaning to his words. It went further than wanting her to stay in Monteriggioni with him and his family.

Fear circled inside of her, swirling and twisting like a dancer. She felt her breath hitch in her throat. What could he want with her? That was another riddle she did not have the answer for.

Quietly, he turned and departed from the room, leaving Cyras alone, once more with her thoughts.

○○○○○

Cyras sat on the roof of the Palazzo della Seta. After her rejection of Ezio's offer, she could not sleep. Most of the day was spent in her room as she thought of what Ezio wanted exactly. Of course, they both were close to each other. In so many ways, they both were so similar. Vengeance drove both of their actions; it was the most common one.

Wind blew, whipping her blond hair across her cheeks. Like tiny rivers of gold, they streamed across her face.

However, they were different in one fundamental way. While Ezio was inducted into the Order of Assassins, his path started with vengeance. Cyras's did not. When the Spaniard had finally been dealt with, Ezio would want to return to the life he had in Firenze. Cyras could not.

Again, the hard wind blew. She tilted her head up and looked at the sky. Black clouds enveloped the moon, cocooning the milky orb in a misty web. Her clothes rippled against her, fluttering against her thin thighs. Of course, the darkening weather fit to her like a worn piece of leather.

The female assassin could not simply live with Ezio. She had been an assassin since she was very young. Wet-work was apart of her as every breath she took. There was too much blood on her hands for her to live a normal life. At one point in time, she thought Ezio understood that.

She gazed towards the other roof's and watched the Borgia archers stalk in a circular formation. Cyras was careful to not show her position. As the shadows cloaked her, she was comfortable in her position. None could find her when she did not want to be found. At that moment, all she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts.

Before the presence approached her, she was aware her was there. She knew that it was not Ezio. The footfalls were too loud to be the other assassin. Also, the sweet scent of Ezio was replaced with the tangy scent of someone else.

Cyras wondered what he wanted. She had come to the rooftop to be alone. It seemed like she was fated to have her solitude disrupted no matter where she went. She sat quietly, not giving away that she knew he was there.

"There you are," the melodic voice said from behind her. She could feel the gust of air swirl around the building, rustling his ivory livery. The crimson sash flitting against the breeze as if he was a warrior waving his standard in anticipation for war.

At once, she knew who it was. Drago. Like the other man in her life, she grew accustomed to Drago. This man was always reliable like a strong and sturdy tree. She could count on him to be there when she needed him, yet he seemed to know when to leave her alone. Currently, she would have rather been left alone, which was why she thought it strange that Drago was coming to her. It must have been something important. She hoped Ezio hadn't sent the man to try to convince her. That would only serve to add to her annoyance.

"What are you doing up here?" Drago asked innocently. His curiosity made her stomach curdle. She wanted to shove him from the rooftop, if only to rid herself of his presence.

"Thinking," Cyras muttered. "I'd rather be alone to do it, too."

As if ignoring her statement, Drago knelt down beside her and heaved a heavy sigh.

"What do you want?"

"I meant not to disturb you, Cyras," Drago replied, "but I thought you should know. I've just learned that the Templars have taken possession of your villa in Messina."

Her stomach tightened. She felt like a big cat, backed into a corner. If she didn't accept Ezio's proposition, she would be homeless and destitute. Still, she wouldn't be forced into accepting pity. It was not her style. The villa had hardly been a home to her, anyway. Nothing changed. Her home would be as it had been: wherever her feet took her.

"I'm sorry," Drago lamented.

Cyras turned her head away and sneered. The man's pity disgusted her. He seemed like a pet, hungering for his mistress' approval and attention. It made her sick.

As if sensing her emotion, Drago stood and retreated from the rooftop without so much as another word, leaving her alone once more. It was the way she wanted it. She was alone with her thoughts, with no one to intrude on her privacy.

○○○○○

Clenching her eyes tightly, Cyras let her thoughts drift to Drago and his agenda. She was under no impression that he wanted the best for her. However, his thoughts and actions had a deeper meaning. He was doing what was best for her.

Rain, slowly, raced down from the blackened heavens. Like a sharpened dirk, it slammed against her exposed shoulders. The water trickled down the curve of her cheek. Dropping off her sharply pointed chin, the rain landed between her breast and nestled in her cleavage.

She pursed her mouth together, and she flattened the top lip to the bottom. Annoyance surged within her, rattling her as thunder shook the clouds in the sky. It was what everyone done since she was born. Her father watched over her because it was best for her. Her mother saw to her training because it was best for her. Even Ezio was not immune. He encouraged their ruse because it was best for her. None really cared what she wanted.

Like slippery, devious mud, her thoughts clung to her. She could not shake the feelings off. For so long, her own wishes were ignored. Cyras was used as a pawn, something to be moved when needed. The life of an assassin, her life, was a lonely experience.

As she longed for a partner that could understand her, she knew that it was an impossibility. There was one point in her life where she thought that she was going to be happy. For Vaene and his love, she was ready to defy the Order. Merda (Shit), she thought, I was ready to face death for him.

Again, she heard movement behind her. It would seem that the knight had arrived to rescue the damsel in distress, she thought, bitterly. Even without hearing his footfalls, she knew who it was instantly. He was attracted to a woman in danger more than most.

"Come inside," a voice called out behind her, calmly. Wincing, she knew it was Ezio before he spoke. She was not surprised in the least.

Even though he did not say what he wanted, Cyras knew what he wanted. No doubt, he had learned of the loss of her villa and had come to offer his support. The words twisted inside of her and curled like a poisoned snake. Pity was more like it, she thought, bitterly. Everyone had nothing but pity for her. Her parents died, leaving her orphaned. Vaene had turned to be a traitor. She was tricked by the enemy. Cyras sneered.

"You're going to catch your death."

"My answer is still no," Cyras muttered without turning around. She was a charity case to everyone. However, they missed the most important factor. Cyras did not need anyone's alms.

The heavens released a torrent of water. Rain crashed down upon the forlorn lovers, symbolizing their dismal mood. In twin rivulets, it poured off of her chin and landed in plops in thickening puddles on the ground.

Ezio sighed roughly, obvious annoyance in his breath. She could not think of anyone who defied him for as long as she did. It was one of those things that he loved about her, yet it drove him to distraction. Perhaps, Cristina, she thought. However, she did not want to be compared to her.

"I will get my villa back," she promised him. The deadly assurance in her voice sounded, striking as fatally as any of her weapons could. She would make sure that everyone who wronged her would pay greatly for all of their deceptions.

He was quiet, staring into the back of her dark leathers. His silence disturbed her. When in an argument with him, she found herself outwitted. To win, she needed to anticipate what he would say. Ezio had picked up on that, and he would often hide his thoughts from her during that time.

"Even if I don't, I don't need it," she continued, bitterly. Raising her hands, she folded them underneath of her breasts. "And I don't need your charity."

"It is not charity," Ezio insisted. He lifted his hands to his face, gripped the bridge of his nose, and pinched. She knew he hated it when she was difficult.

Her heart leaped, skipping in beat with his words. She knew that he wanted her to live with him, and she knew why. Pain and longing mixed together, fusing into a emotive sphere of energy. Because of agonizing betrayal of her husband, she grew wary of Ezio's words. He always knew what to say, but she wondered if he was truly sincere.

"Cyras, even if you had a palace to live in, I would want you with me. I don't want to keep an eye on you. I don't want to protect you. I just want you close to me."

Her body shivered from excitement and the coldness seeping into her livery. He wanted her close to him. Joy and hope exploded inside of her like the explosions of light of the Carnevale. She wanted to accept his offer. Her false hope whispered that everything would work out.

However, Cyras knew better. While her mother was taken in by a wealthy nobleman and she, herself, was fooled by Vaene, Cyras was not a naive girl anymore. She betrayed Ezio's trust. Their differences placed a gap between them as if it was a large canyon.

Around them, rain crashed into the flat roof. It slid along the surface as if it were a stream separating the lovers. The water was not the only thing that drove them apart, she reminded herself, bitterly. Cyras tilted her head, concealing her expression with the shadows of her pointed hood.

She could feel the cloth of her frock cling to her body. It tightened around her, constricting her movements. Water streamed down her arms in twin branches. As the cloth underneath her brown leather arm-guards grew bloated, she could feel the armor strips tighten.

Cyras ignored the uncomfortable wetness. Ezio's presence greatly increased her annoyance. She wanted to be alone. The woman wanted no one to witness her misery. Plus, she wanted to handle everything herself. From the very first time she learned to gracefully scale a building, Cyras only wanted to rely on herself. This situation was really no different.

Despite her warring emotions, she gave no indication that she was going to respond. She could spent the entire night in silence if that was needed to rid her of Ezio's presence. Somehow, thought, she knew that silence would not be enough to push him away. When it came to her, he had the tenacity of a scholar hovering over ancient texts.

Looking at him, she could see the water trickle down his cheeks. His thick eyelashes lowered as he gazed at her. She surmised that she was stuck with the man until one of them died. That simple fact annoyed her even further. She had betrayed him, which he so adamantly pointed out, yet he wanted her to be with him. It did not make sense to her, and she did not like things that she could not categorize.

"At least come inside," Ezio said finally. He lifted his hand and placed his fingertips on her bare shoulders.

Her flesh tingled against his touch, creating a longing deep within her. She did not understand the emotions that flamed inside of her from his mere touch, a small kiss, or a tiny caress. It was another thing that irritated her about their relationship. How could someone be so warm and affectionate one moment and cold and distant the next?

"You're going to catch your death out in this cold rain."

"That would be mercy," Cryas breathed, barely audible. Fear and fury cut at her heart, slicing the deep layers of emotion. She felt the crushing weight of her betrayal tightened around her like a thick constrictor. It was why assassins did not become involved with each other, she inferred.

If he heard her, he did not reply to her. His thumb brushed against her skin in slow, lazy circles. It was his way of silently giving herself support. Support, her mind hissed. She wanted none of it. The only thing that she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts. Cyras had to think on how to liberate her own villa and how to get as far away from Ezio.

"Why should you care what happens to me?" she continued, bitterly. The rain raced down her cheeks as if tears were flowing from her eyes. She hardly cried, and she would rarely before him. Yet, the anger, shame, and bitterness threatened to overpower her. "After all I've done to you, why does it matter to you?"
"Because, Cyras, I love you," he whispered. The words were lost in the windy rain. Yet, she heard him. "No matter what you do, I will always."

Shock cracked inside of her as if he had smote her with lightning. While he told her his feelings on several times, it was never as intimate as this moment. The words stretched out before them, bathing them in the dark light of revelation.

"Cosa? (What?)" she murmured, quietly. Her eyes widened from the jolt and thrill of his words. Warmth bathed her body, surrounding her in its heating iridescence.

The silence stretched out before them, blanketing them in uneasiness. Rain pinged against the side of the building and roof they were standing on. Wind howled around them as it rustling the fabric of their livery.

"What did you say?" she asked; her tone, shaking. He surprised her with his utterance, and she did not like surprises. She wondered exactly why he wanted to be with her. She had betrayed him twice. How could he want to be with her?

"You heard me," Ezio said resolutely.

As she stared at him, she knew he was right. She had heard him, yet she was so stunned by what he said that she simply could not wrap her mind around the concept. Yes, he had told her before that he loved her. It had been to keep her from walking away from him; she never put to much thought in it.

He loved her? How was that even possible? Confusion raced through her body and shadowed her thoughts like a tall, bulbous tree. After the other assassins revealed themselves, she had been sure he had hated her, and for good reason.

She pursed her lips as she was ripped apart by her thoughts. Her thoughts ran away from her like a wild horse, and she could not stop them. He had good reason to hate him. She had betrayed him, and he was quick to point it out, vehemently. Yet, he was standing there, before her, telling her that he loved her. It was unbelievable.

"Now will you come inside?" he asked, thought it sounded more like an order than a request.

She continue to stand there, blank faced, staring off into nothingness. Rain slid down her face and dripped off of her chin. His unexpected admission had rocked her so strongly that she was left speechless and unable to move.

"Am I going to have to carry you?"

"No," Cyras said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her stomach tightened into a painful knot, and her legs felt like cooked noodles. As she stood, she wobbled slightly. "I can walk, I think."

He stalked gracefully over the rooftop and reached the edge. For a moment, he stopped to make sure that she was following him.

"I will stay with you in Monteriggioni," she told him; her tone quiet and soft.

"Good."

This contains mature material.

Short Story Eleven
1488

The boat rocked on the waters like a babe being carried by his mother as the vessel made its way slowly to Forli. It heaved forward and backward. Surging to the left, the boat broke upon waves. She could feel every list, and her stomach rolled with it.

Cyras lay on their bed. Sweat trickled down her forehead, rolling down the planes of her face. Her blond hair framed her head as if she was laying on a river of gold. Laying on the bed, she had time to reflect on their current situation.

It had been two weeks since the confrontation with the Borgia cardinal and Ezio's initiation into their order. Two weeks before, he had become her brother. Would life become different?

Her stomach rolled as another wave rocked the side of the boat. She reached before her and clenched the thin sheets between her hands. A billow of vomit threatened to erupt inside of her like the volcano of Pompeii. Slowly, another small stream of sweat dripped down the side of her cheek, losing itself in the blankets.

Since his request that she move to Monteriggioni, the two lovers found themselves interrupted at every given moment. The allegation that he was no more than a pawn to her hurt her in a way that she had not felt since Vaene's betrayal. The emotion scared her, terrorizing her in her dreams and in the daytime.

Was Ezio so integrated into her life already? She lifted her hand and placed it over her forehead. Beads of sweat clung to her flesh. Even despite her protests, Cyras could not argue the fact that she decided to throw caution to the wind and live with him. Even the gossips of Monteriggioni could not dissuade her. The simple fact was that Cyras could not imagine a life without the scarred assassin, and that frightened her more than anything that the Templars could do.

Reaching down on the floor, she hoisted a small, bronze pot to her face. As she heaved, chunks of vomit spurted from her nose and cascaded from her mouth. Her stomach contracted and ached in protest like someone rammed a sharpened blade into her gut.

She felt the straw mattress sink underneath the weight of another person. Her heart hammered in her chest. It threatened to burst from her.

Again, the ship lurched forward. With it, her stomach tumbled inside of her. She gagged and felt the warmth of the foul liquid as it filled her mouth. It coated her tongue.

For as long as she could remember, an illness crept over her when she traveled by water. Cyras prayed that their meager ship would not be fired upon. As long as she was upon water, she was rendered helpless.

The first time that the sickness prowled her body was on a voyage to Spagna (Spain) with her father. She was very young then. However, Cyras was always plagued with a good memory. Scenes and words others had said stalked through her mind. It was both a blessing and a curse.

He brushed his lips on the back of her feverish neck. The stubble, lining his jawline like a blanket of thicket, scraped along her flesh.

Gooseflesh rose along the skin of her arms. Hoary hair burgeoned along the back of her neck. Her stomach twisted with anticipation and the boat careening through the waves. She was sure that she would never feel the same again. Sweat dripped from her chin and landed on the linen bedclothes underneath of her.

Raising his hand, he brush the tips of his fingers against the side of her firm breast. His hot breath flared sharply and fanned her neck like a warm breeze on a hot summer's day.

Despite the heat raging inside of her, she could feel the cool linen of the white livery of the Assassins Ezio wore against her bare flesh. She would have been entranced with the feel of the supple spanish leather of his boots against her exposed legs if bile did not rise to her throat.

"Cessare (Stop)," she groaned into the goose-down pillow. She wished that he would return to whatever it was that he was doing before he thought it was a good idea to become intimate with her. While a part of her cherished that he would not leave her side, she found the devotion bothersome. Like a wounded boar, she wanted to be alone.

With a heavy sigh, he gently rolled off of her. When they first met, Ezio witnessed the onslaught of her illness. He was concerned for her then, too.

She did not want him to see the shame that her sickness brought her. Cyras imagined he wanted a peaceful journey. Her condition would not allow that. Her lips curled up into a sneer, and it was hidden from him in the soft, delicate folds of the pillow.

He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the straw-covered pallet that functioned as a bed. Ezio was silent. However, she could read the concern in his body. It screamed loudly in his actions.

Her heart raced in her chest. While her father and mother loved her dearly, she had never known anyone like the man before her. He cared for her safety in an obsessive manner. There were many times when she knew he shadowed her.

It was only natural for someone like Ezio to react like that. Because his family was ripped from him, he wanted to ensure her own safety. She was no fool; she did not think she could defend herself against the entire world. Even the Master Assassin, Giovanni Auditore, was not immune to Borgia's sadistic plans.

The fur blanket and linen cloth, stretching out over the straw, rustled. She lifted her head as if all strength had been drained from her. The boat in the water was like an ancient priest hexing her.

Moving her head to the side as she was filled with shame, she gazed at her surroundings. Her focus drifted to the desk in the middle of the cabin. There was nothing significant about the desk. What caught her eye was the simple chest resting on top of it. Looking at the plain, wooden casket, it was hard to believe what was contained within it. That unremarkable container held the apple, the Piece of Eden that the Templars would do anything to get their hands upon.

"Again?" he blurted in shock. Ezio picked up the bronze pot. As he looked down into the dark space inside the round edge, he grimaced in disgust. Reaching forward, he opened the metal porthole. It protested loudly. Small flecks of rust fell from the port as if they were golden sands falling through an hour-glass. "I just dumped it an hour ago."

As he turned back to her, she could see the sarcasm glint in his eyes. It faded the instant Cyras shot him a look that warned him not to tread in that direction with her right at that moment. A softness entered his dark eyes, betraying exactly how he felt about her.

She sat up and felt her stomach clenched tightly in protest. There was only one thing that the woman wanted to do. Cyras wished that he would leave, and she could sleep. Yet, she knew Ezio would never leave her.

"What did you eat?" he shuddered as he sat the pot back down on the floor by the bed.

Cyras cringed, gagging as the image of food drifted into her mind. She did not want to be thinking of food at that moment. "Nothing since we left Venezia," she answered, weakly.

"You should eat something, even if it's just broth," Ezio insisted. "You won't survive if you are losing more than you are putting in."

Cyras shook her head, slightly dismayed. She began to regret her insistence on traveling with him. The trip was taking much out of her: too much. She would likely not be much help to anyone once they landed.

Again, the concern reflected brightly in his gaze. How many times had he confessed to her that he was fearful for her? He wished to protect her, keeping her safe as he kept his sister and mother safe. She knew it was the reason why he insisted on her living at Monteriggioni.

"It wouldn't do any good, Ezio," Cyras countered. She tried to think of any excuse to not eat. She was sure that it would not stay down anyway. "I wouldn't be able to hold anything down if I tried. How can anyone with the way these ships rock and waver? It makes my stomach lurch constantly. It feels like my insides are in knots."

He sat on the bed beside her and reached down. Gently, he brushed her hair out of her face. It amused her to know that this was his way of being affectionate. No, it amused her because he loved her. Perhaps, all of her life she was searching for that feeling. Now that she found it, she wanted to flee from it.

She whimpered as another wave of nausea crushed down upon her. Her stomach rolled with the thought of food, any kind of food.

"Still, il mio piccolo comomba (my little dove)," he cooed, smoothly. His gaze held hers. "You need to eat something."

Cyras laid back down. Lifting her head, she placed it on his lap.

"We'll be in Forli soon," Ezio said, reassuringly. He ran his hand through her hair, catching several light strands around his knuckles. "That may be little consolation for you now, but we will have solid ground under our feet soon."

Even though she felt warmed by the sentiment, it did very little to calm her tumultuous stomach. She sat up, leaned over the edge of the bed, and vomited into the chamberpot once more. The liquid splashed on the edges of the vessel. A metallic ping chimed around the room.

"I think this is more than simple seasickness," he insisted. A look of concern grew on Ezio's face, again. "I think you should see the dottore (doctor) as soon as we land. I'm starting to get very worried for you. At the very least, he will be able to give you something to prevent you from vomiting."

"I'll be alright once we get to Forli," Cyras said. "Don't worry about me. I'll be. . .I'll be. . ." She spewed another wave of vomit into the chamberpot. Some of it splashed on the floor beside the pot.

"You'll be seeing the medico (doctor)," he insisted.

He probably thought he was very clever, she thought, when he was only irritating. At that moment, she wanted to reach out and slap the look off of his face.

"In fact, as soon as we leave the boat, I will be fetching one. You are expelling bile now. That can't be good."

"Did you talk to your Uncle Mario to let him know that I'll be staying at the villa?" she queried, quietly. Cyras looked for a way out of their previous conversation. She hated to visit the doctor, thinking them as little more than charlatans.

"Actually," Ezio purred. His voice rumbled through the sparse cabin. It enveloped her, warming her to the core. If it was not for the rocking of the ship, she would have found it more pleasing. "I have spoken to Mario."

"Oh?" Cyras puffed. She felt a euphoric chill pass through her body, swirling and eddying like water. When they were close like this, she lost awareness of all other things. There was only her and Ezio. Cyras liked those times.

Cassandra became dimly aware. Though she still thought of Ezio as a creep, she could see why Cyras was so taken with him. He was her addiction, a sweet glass of liquor after a prohibition. She was beginning to inherit her ancestor's emotions through the Bleeding Effect.

"Unfortunately, there is no spare room," Ezio teased.

Cyras sighed, playfully, knowing exactly what he was implying. She would be branded as the Master of Monteriggioni's whore. The worst part of it was that she did not care. Because she wanted to simply be with him, she would do whatever he asked of her.

"You will have to stay in my room," he continued; his tone, smooth as silk. A crooked smile lit his features, lighting his complexion. She could see the boy in the assassin shine forward. Because his father and brother's were taken away from him so early, Ezio's young adult life was full of violence, scarring him in ways that only she could understand. He rarely let that boy show through. When he did, she was reminded how long she loved him.

"Where will you stay?" Cyras whispered, playing along. A slight giggle bubbled from her throat, and the sound tinkled around the room.

"With you."

"Ezio Auditore! Do not play games with me. I can tell you are teasing me by that look on your face! Don't try to play innocent with me! You never told your Uncle Mario yet, did you?"

Ezio reached up and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He seemed to be mulling over his response in his head, trying to settle upon a way of putting it. At once, Cyras knew the answer to her question before he said anything.

She rolled over. The cool breeze from the open porthole floated through the room. A chill caressed her legs, her thighs, and her naval. Her nipples puckered, and the dusky areolas pebbled into fine, wrinkled lines.

"Eh," Ezio muttered. He stroked her hair, and a tiny light snarl caught around his knuckle. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Cyras jibed. A wave of nausea passed over her again as the ship lurched forward once more. She tried to ignore the feeling, concentrating on the masculine countenance of her companion. "What the hell does that mean?"

A slow smile crossed his face. The tiny scar, a reminder of that incident in his childhood, creased, deepening like a trench to his rugged face. It gave him character, and Cyras grew fond of it.

"It means he knows nothing of your plans. What if he disapproves?" she rushed. The words sprung forth from her like a volley of arrows.

Ezio recoiled as if she had shot him with a bolt. He held his hands up in an act of surrender. It was humbling to see someone who taken the lives of others mercilessly to give into her. The simple knowledge was enough to make her appreciate the control she had over the other assassin.

"You should have spoken to him before saying anything to me. Stupido (Stupid)!"

"Calm down, Cyras," Ezio reassured. "He will be fine with it, no doubt. Besides, it's my home just as much as it is his, especially with all the florins I've put into restoring the villa and the surrounding town."

Calm down? She thought to herself. When it came to Ezio and herself, those were his favorite words. He always parroted to calm down or to relax. There were days when Cyras would resemble an overactive puppy with her worries. Ezio always sought to alleviate them as best as he could. It was mainly in those ways that he acted more of a significant other than Vaene ever did.

Vaene, she thought to herself. It had been quite some time since she thought of him. As the years passed, she found herself forgetting what he even looked like. She suppose her deepening relationship with Ezio made her question everything she held true in the past. At that point, Cyras did not even know how she could ever have thought that she loved the other man. He was so different from the scarred assassin; perhaps, she was too different than the young novice craving love.

Ezio placed the palm of his hand on her forehead. Heat radiated from his body, comforting her in its radiance. Everyone should have had a partner like Ezio, she mused. There was nothing he would do for his love. He would protect her until the last moment he drew breathe.

Perhaps, those thoughts were what terrified her. She was more capable of looking after herself than any of the woman he had sworn his affections for before. Cyras was no shrinking flower, waiting helplessly for a man. Yet, with this man, she wanted to be whatever he needed her to be.

Cyras stretched out on the mattress, arching her back. She wanted relief from the ebbing sickness flowing through her and . Strands of her light hair slipped along his inner thigh, brushing against the crotch of his leather pants. As she breathed in deeply, her breasts heaved.

Despite her eyes being shut, she could feel Ezio's gaze on her naked flesh. After all, it was always that way between them. Wanton sensations crackled between them as if their desires were heady strikes of lightning. Ezio would never pass an opportunity to touch her.

She smiled inwardly. It was times like this that she was thankful for. Inside the little room, there were only two people who existed. The thought of his love and hunger for her brought a soft, husky laugh to the back of her throat.

He lifted his hand and caressed her shoulder. His fingertips traversed the soft flesh in slow circles.

"I think you should tell him about us," Cyras said, opening her eyes to met his smoldering gaze. Her companion only had one thing on his mind, at that moment. Normally, she found it quite entertaining. Presently, she found it irritating.

Ezio's gaze did not move from his current focus. She felt exposed before him. For the first time in her life since Vaene's death, she did not mind being nude before someone. However, she thought alarmed, it was not just physical. Ezio had worked his way into her heart, breaking down all the walls that she erected like a battering ram crushing a citadel's walls.

"He's going to find out one way or another."

"Right," Ezio trailed off, rumbling in his silken voice. His gaze lingered on her bosom, engrossing himself in it.

A blush crossed her cheeks, bathing her in its reddening intrigue. There were a few times when Vaene had looked upon her with his raptor gaze. However, her reaction was never as intense as it was with Ezio. She wondered why this man could summon such a strong need inside of her. How did he differ than most?

His hands moved, as if drawn like a magnet, to her breasts.

She moved against his hands, rising to meet him. At that moment, the nausea from the sea left her. Like a ghost, the illness floated to the back of her mind. There was only one pressing desire in the cabin-room, and Cyras was determined to seek release with her lover.

He squeezed and kneaded them gently, murmuring his own longing.

Placing her hand on his thigh, she propped herself up. Gazing into his eyes, she knew the motive behind his actions. In fact, a blind and deaf person would have been the only one who would not know what the other assassin wanted. A thumb passed over her pebbled, aching nipple, and her body jerked forward to meet his hands. Their attraction was surreal. Her lips parted, and a soft mew passed between them.

"Nipote! (Nephew)" a gruff voice called on the other side of the door.

Cyras's stomach clenched tightly. At once, her immediate desire was forgotten. After all, it was as if someone had lifted her and thrown her into an icy river.

As if summoned by her spoken concern, the door to the cabin swung open. Mario stood in the frame of the doorway. Thick, black hair was slicked back, flowing over his shoulders. Morning light poured its way through the room, illuminating the grey hair, lining the sides of his head, a ghostly sheen. Gazing at the bed, Mario's eyes widened.

As if she had suddenly became searing to his touch, he let go of her. For a moment, they both looked as if they had been younger and the man had stumbled upon them. Guilt fell upon her like leaves floating on an autumn breeze.

Mario was an innocent bystander as Cyras and Ezio were consumed with an ardor that would rival the heat from a blacksmith's forge. He did not know her traitorous husband was killed, and murdered by his nephew. None, with the exception of the thieves guild in Venezia, were aware of the budding relationship between Ezio and Cyras.

Quickly, she reached for the blanket. She clenched her fingers around the fur, sinking them deeply into the soften animal hide. With a gasp of surprise, Cyras pulled hard on the skin.

However, it would not budge. Ezio sat firmly on it. She knew he did not mean to bar her only means of escape. He was worried about her, and he sought to comfort her. The man would not have intentionally cause her displeasure. Neither knew that Mario would burst through the door at that very instant.

"Move," she hissed as she pushed against his back.

Ezio lifted slightly, allowing her access to the only object that could save her sanity. His hands fell from his breasts with a heavy sigh. It would seem she was not the only one who was slightly annoyed by the interruption.

She would never question or make those thoughts known to Mario. When she left her father to train as an assassin, the man became close to her. Eventually, she had become like a daughter he never had; Mario had become like her father. He could never deny her anything. Cyras liked to play the role of the spoiled daughter; Mario was happy to indulge her.

Ripping the blanket out from underneath the backside of Ezio, she pulled it up over her exposed form. She could feel the smooth, leathery skin of the animal against her soft flesh. Like being bathed in shadows, Cyras sought the comfort of the blanket.

"Forgive me, I did not know that the two of you were not decent."

"Uncle," the Florentine man addressed his uncle. A look of guilt spread across his dark features. If the same emotions were not flowing through her, she would have found it amusing. Cyras had never seen such a display cross his visage.

Cassandra felt unusual seeing the young Italian man's sheepishness. As her time spent inside the Animus grew, she became more attached to the boy she initially felt was a creep. He was less of a lecherous man than she cared to admit.

Focus! Vidic roared inside of her head. The eldery man's voice felt disorientating to her. She felt her head spinning. Cassandra felt violated as this man mentally raped her. After all, he should not have been privy to her--

No, Cassandra thought. He should not have been privy to Cyras' thoughts.

"Now would be a good time?" Cyras spoke up. Her voice softened like silk. She jabbed her elbow into his side, grinding deeply. Inside, she smiled. Cyras loved to have control over the scarred assassin. It was one of those things that she relished. However, unlike other women he had been with, she did not abuse the power. "Si? (Yes?)"

Ezio cleared his throat roughly at the jab of her elbow. For a moment, he sat with his mouth hanging open. She had never seen him caught unprepared before. He was unable to think of the words to explain their situation. Cyras was silently glad that the onus was on him; she would not want to be under the scrutiny of Mario Auditore. He was always warm to her (as a father would to a daughter), but when he lost his temper, he was a force to be reckoned with. When she was younger and rebellious, she understood one thing, quickly. The elder assassin could win a battle with words.

"Well, you see, Uncle Mario," Ezio stumbled out.

Amusement trickled into her body. She felt giddy with how the other assassin was acting. Cyras never knew anyone quite like the Auditore men. Even Vaene did not stumble over his words when asking her father for her hand. Although she knew it would have ruined his ruse, confidence seemed to ooze off of the traitor.

"While here in Venezia, Cyras and I were masquerading as a wedded couple," he continued. Quickly, he added to Cyras's annoyance, reminding her of those words he spoke to another. "For her safety."

"I don't understand, nipote," Mario grumbled. "I thought her husband was being held by the Borgia."

"He was a bastardo traditore (traitorous bastard)," Cyras stated, bluntly. Ice honed her words as if they were a killing blade. She would not show the pain ebbing inside of her at the reminder of the betrayal. Instead, she focused on the scar puckering Mario's cheek and rendering his eye useless. "He was working for the Borgia. He is. . .dead now."

She reflected on the fact that she did not tell Mario that it was Ezio who ended Vaene's life nor did she mention the circumstances that lead up to her meeting Ezio. Cyras thought that it would have been better if she pretended that she was not attached to the man. Even after so many years, she felt like a fool for believing in his lies. She hated to feel like a dotard when it came to men.

"Al Diavolo! (Damn it)" Mario cried. He clenched his hand into a fist, tightened his hand, and slammed his hand down onto the wooden desk. In the unusual display, the true affection Mario held for the daughter of her mother shown through.
Dust and debris flew into the air from the sudden impact. The chest that held what the Borgia cardinal was after jumped and almost skittered over the edge of the desk. If it did, the trunk and contents would have spilled onto the floor.

"Then, you know the treachery of our enemy," Mario muttered to the two of them. He turned towards them and narrowed his brow. Because she already berated herself about the duplicity of the enemy, she did not need Mario to tell her. To think that a Templar infiltrated the ranks of the assassins was harrowing.

Security, especially in an organization like theirs, was an illusion. It should have came to no surprise that such a deception could have taken place in the first place. She pursed her lips, slightly. The lesson that she learned was not to trust her heart. In the grey, shadowy world that she coexisted in, none could be believed blinded. Not Ezio. Not Mario. Not, even, herself.

"They will stop at nothing to obtain what you have Ezio. It is why it's imperative that we reach our destination."

"And we can find the location of the Vault," Ezio added.

"Si, Si, Si, (Yes, yes, yes)" Mario exhaled, quickly. It was unusual for Mario to brush Ezio aside; however, it was what he done. There was a reason he was there, and she was sure that he would come forward with his reasons soon.

She folded the blanket beneath her arms. Because of the bulkiness of the skin, she felt uncomfortable. The left corner of her mouth pulled downward, marring the flesh.

"So that is all you had to tell me, that you and Cyras were acting as a married couple? That doesn't seem terribly important."

"No," Ezio admitted. "I've invited Cyras to stay with us in Monteriggioni. We have room."

Mario smiled, and he approached Cyras. She was always welcomed by Mario. After all, there were many times that she thought the Auditore men as her own family. Cyras was closer to Mario than some in her own family.

What family? She thought, bitterly. Her father's? Her father was now dead. Her half-siblings were mostly mad. On her mother's side, there was only one man she knew. Her Uncle. He would rather kill her than welcome her as Mario did all those years ago to Ezio.

Ezio stared at Mario, showing her the man that he became. She could see him as he was meant to be seen. He would have been quite fiery and independent as a boy starting his training. To Cyras, she could not imagine her lover any other way. In a way, he had staked a claim on her before he murdered her husband.

"She is always welcome in our villa, nipote," Mario stated, simply. He crossed his arms, looking at them both suspiciously. "She knows this."

Cyras smiled at the man who took Vaene's place. In many ways, he was compatible with her. In other ways, he was not. A humorous glint shone deeply in the depths of her eyes. She found it humorous to see him squirm under the intense scrutiny of his uncle.

"Is that all?" Mario asked them both.

"Uh," Ezio stuttered, seeming to be indecisive about whether to tell Mario everything or not. It was part of his secret nature and drive to keep her safe. He would protect her. Even though she was more than capable of defending herself, it was nice to be able to have someone watching out for her. He looked over to Cyras.

She looked like the cat that ate the canary. Cyras was thrilled to be in this situation. There were several reasons. First, she believed Ezio was too tightly wound. He could do with some fun, and this was her idea of humor. Secondly, if his family learned out about their true relationship, they would put pressure on him to marry her. Even if she did not want to wed him at that point in time, there would always be that option.

"If you want," Cyras chirped, "I can tell him. I mean, if that would be easier for you, il mio tesoro (my darling)."

"No, Ezio strained. "I will tell him. You see, zio, you should hear this from me before you hear the rumors that I am sure exist."

"Just because I can't see with one eye," Mario barked, "doesn't mean I'm blind, boy. It's obvious you are fond of this girl here, can't say I blame you. Just be careful, both of you."

She felt relieved, hearing that Mario approved of their relationship. They both could show their affections for each other. Cyras loved Ezio like she loved no one else. It was her weakness, and she would indulge in his particular brand of poison any chance she was given.

Gazing warmly at the Auditore men, she knew she was looking forward to staying with Ezio and becoming his mistress. It was a strange phrase on her lips. The position was one that she never thought she would been in. After all, she was married to Vaene. Yet, Ezio was everything that Vaene was not.

"Mario," she said, "I know what we are getting into." She crossed her arms.

"I hope you do, Cyras," he said. Turning, he left them both alone.

Everything was happening too fast between Ezio and herself. They would have to be quiet about their relationship. Caring for each other would be seen as a weakness, and their enemies would seek to exploit it.

Then, her stomach knotted. Before they went to Monteriggioni and the Palazzo Auditore there, they would have to pass through Forli and secure the protector for the Piece of Eden. A visit with the Contessa would not be denied.

Cyras had heard stories about the Contessa of Forli. Gruesome tales would stalk through the country side of the Sforza's sadistic tendencies. Her mouth drew into a thin line.

Ezio leaned over and wrapped his arm around her. He drew her close into the planes of his body. It amazed her that a man that could end another's life in ten seconds could be so gentle.

"I am not looking forward to returning to Forli," she admitted to Ezio. Her breath came out in a puff of air. Knots laced in her stomach, causing her to groan. "The countess there and I do not have the best of relationships. It would seem that Catarina and my sister were close. Both are quite mad."

"With luck, we won't even be there long enough for a long reunion," Ezio said, not having any inkling as to the events that would unfold when the two of them arrived in Forli. She knew he wouldn't expect pursuit so early in their trip. He was inexperienced at best; naive, at worst. One should never lower their guard to the Borgia. She had learned this.

"I don't know," Cyras murmured. "I have a bad feeling about returning to Forli. Maybe you are sure everything will run smoothly, you know nothing of the Countess."

"How bad can it be?" Ezio asked, raising his arms in disbelief.

Cyras shook her head, grimly remembering several examples of exactly how bad it could be. Yet, she kept her mouth shut. Ezio would learn for himself.

"You will see," Cyras replied, cryptically. "If she has a need for you, you won't pass through the city, whether you wish it or not. The Contessa doesn't take no for an answer. If she wishes to see you, she will. If she requests your help, then you will have no choice but to help her. She's delusional."

Deception Interlude 2
Abstergo Industries
2012

Cassandra stared at the ceiling of her room, too exhausted to stand up from the bed. Room, she thought bitterly. It was more of a jail cell than anything else. She was being held against her will, forced into a machine, and made to relive the memories of what she learned was one of her ancestors.

Cyras was everything that Cassandra sought to be. Beautiful. Resourceful. Skilled. Her ancestor was strong in the face of adversity. The deceased assassin had to be. Cassandra understood one thing. The other woman would have been able to find her way out of this place.

Of course, it would be only because Cyras had training that Cassandra was convinced that was abandoned centuries ago. There were no such thing as assassins, and she could take an educated guess as to what the ones who held her were searching for.

Even though Cyras could take care of herself, she had Ezio. She knew that Ezio would come for her despite the odds.

Cassandra shook her head, removing the familiar confusion setting inside of her. Not a single person would realize that she was missing. She was becoming frightened at how frequent the befuddlement was coming over her.

At first, she had been given breaks regularly from the machine that had become her nightmare. However, the one in charge, the one called "Dr. Vidic", was becoming increasingly impatient. He made her stay inside the machine for days at a time. The burden was pressing on her brain, straining her sanity to near the breaking point.

She continued to stare up at the sterile ceiling. There were a few times when she was in a room such as this. The memories came and went in a brief flash. Cassandra remembered grief slipping over her like mud covering her. Tears fell hot on her cheeks then. The real world came crashing into her life like the charging bulls in the event that her father, before his death, took her to in Pamplona.

If it was not for Vincento's insistence, she would still be in the Animus at that moment. Unlike most of Vidic's employees, the other man challenged him whenever he felt her safety threatened. It was becoming an increasing occurrence as her stay was prolonged. Vidic had wanted her to stay in longer, but Vincento, his assistant, spoke with conviction against it. He was concern that she would lose her mind.

Scoffing, she already felt like she was losing her sanity. There were times when the reality blurred with the past. She could not make sense of her future. However, she knew one thing. A jolt of reality shocked her system as if she had been struck. If the man who called himself doctor did not end her life, that machine would.

Vincento was fighting for her mind, her safety. Why did he care so much, she wondered. He was employed by Abstergo. He was part of the organization that had abducted her from the party in broad daylight. Yet, he was concerned for her.

She took a deep breath, counting the thick, glossy rafters in the ceiling. Cassandra knew that there were twenty of them, and there were several cameras mounted on the walls. Abstergo watched her every move, becoming a spy on all of her daily activities. The building was like a prison the more that she thought about it. She could not even go to the restroom without someone watching her.

Her only warmth that she found in that frigid place was Vincento. She felt a respect for him, despite who employed him. Was she going crazy, she fretted; her eyes still locked on the ceiling. Was she developing Stockholm syndrome? It couldn't have been. She hated Abstergo. She wished death visited on Vidic. The only one that she trusted in the world was Vincento, but she did not know why.

"Are you alright?" his gentle voice sounded from the doorway. Despite her anger and frustration, it soothed her. It settled over her like a warm blanket out of the dryer on a cold night. She felt a twinge of betrayal as if she, herself, was betraying her ancestor's lover.

She scowled and did not answer him. Again, she wondered if she was losing her mind. The more time spent inside of the machine, the more that the episodes were she felt the past and present blur together.

"Vidic kept you in far too long. Do you know where you are? Do you know your name?"

"My name is Cassandra Cattaneo," she answered with a sneer, though it was not Vincento she was truly angry at. Cassandra was frustrated with the situation she was in. There was no way out. She felt like she was in a caged like a test animal. She was trapped, and there was no way out. "And, I am being held against my will in some laboratory owned by Abstergo Industries. Is that satisfactory, or am I going insane?"

"I understand your anger," Vincento replied with sincerity. She heard him take long strides, approaching the bed. Perhaps, under other circumstances, she would have found him acceptable as a lover. No, more than that. She would have been happy with the man. "I'm truly concerned about your mental health. Vidic only cares for power. You're disposable to him in his pursuit."

"Then help me get out of here," she insisted. Turning her gaze from the ceiling, she gazed at her companion.

His short, brown hair hung down and framed his sharp features. He continued to stare at her with his dark gaze. The concern in his voice reflected in the depths of eyes. Like Vidic and most of her higher paying clients, there was no stubble shadowing his strong jaw.

However, there was something lurking deeply in his eyes. She was not fearful around him. It was strange because she had very good reason to be terrified of him. He took part in the experiments on her. Like Vidic, he forced her into the machine. Vincento made her take part in the painful memories of her ancestor (even when there was so much of her own that she couldn't remember.)

"It's obvious that if I don't die inside that machine that man will have me disposed of when he gets what he wants. One way or the other, I'll die."

"I won't let that happen," Vincento swore. He moved towards her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She could see a glint streak across his ring finger, and she felt disappointed. Cassandra liked Vincento, but, as with every man that she wanted, he was unavailable.

Was she crazy for having those thoughts? Cassandra truly did not know how to feel. She swallowed hard and locked her gaze with his. Slowly, she would be driven insane. Whether it would be from this man or from the machine remained to be seen.

"However, there's nothing I can do to get you out of here," he continued, solemnly. He gazed at her softly as if he had known every intimate detail of her life. Of course, he did, she reminded herself, bitterly. Vincento, along with others, monitored her every activity.

Anger bristled inside of her, cresting like waves against a blackened beach. She was furious at her situation, and there was not a thing that she could do about it. Cassandra knew the future for her. It involved the machine. The woman was no better than bitches that were forced to breed. Instead of puppies, they expected her to give birth to the memories of her ancestors.

By the tone of his voice, the word "yet" seemed implied, however. Was it just wishful thinking on her part, she questioned. Did she want to be free so badly that she was seeing an ally were there was none? Was she hearing what she wanted to?

As she gazed at him, she pursed her lips. There was no ally to be found in a den of vipers. With all that she had been through over the past few days, she even questioned whether Vincento was real or not. Was he a figment of a fractured imagination? Perhaps, he was her Ezio Auditore, a phantom brought forth from her dire need. Cassandra questioned whether anything was real. She felt her sanity growing frail, crumbling away from the abuse of that infernal machine.