"Take - take one more step towards me and I'll cut your man's throat!"
Emiliana Santi was in over her head. She had witnessed a detachment of four Borgia guards accosting a citizen - a doctor, no less! There had been no explanation for the attack, but the doctor's cart had ended up toppled into the street, the man's wares strewn across the cobblestones. The citizen's takings for the day were now in the pockets of the corrupt guards. On impulse, Emiliana had followed the Borgia men. Someone had to do something. She was no Assassin, to fight men in the street, but maybe she could pick the guard's pocket, return the doctor's money...
But she'd been seen. The guards had tried to arrest her, and she had run. They'd chased her down and trapped her, and she had done the only thing she could think of - as she dodged a guard's overhead swing, she seized his arm, twisted his wrist to disarm him, and took him hostage. So now, here she was, backed against the edge of a crumbling, abandoned building, her blade against a guard's throat, with three others surrounding her. An impasse.
"I swear I will kill him," said Emiliana, cursing herself inside as her voice wavered. "Don't take another step towards me." Could she even do it? She'd never killed anyone, but she had always thought she could, if she had to.
"Let him go, puttana, and you might live to tell this tale to the next man who spreads your legs," said one of the three guards facing her.
"How much do you care about your comrade?" Emiliana said. "Why shouldn't I slit his throat right now? Just back off, and - and nobody needs to die!"
"Hah, nobody except you, girl."
Emiliana pressed her blade against the guard's throat, drawing blood.
"Please, by God, do what she says!" the captive guard cried.
"And let this little slut run off to - Ahh!" Mid sentence the man collapsed to his knees, clutching at his throat. Blood sprayed and a crossbow bolt protruded from the side of his neck.
What happened next was so impossibly graceful it was almost beautiful. From a half-collapsed column high above them a white-robed figure dropped like a swooping bird. The two remaining guards crumpled and collapsed. The man in white robes stood up, retracting twin blades at his wrists. Instantly there was silence.
Emiliana could hardly believe her eyes. Many a night she'd crouched on the staircase in her father's villa, hugging her knees as she eavesdropped on her three brothers talking about the Assassino - Ezio Auditore. All in white, tall and straight. Eyes like an eagle's, they'd said, and a cruel, scarred mouth. As the white-robed man looked at her, she forced herself to meet his eyes. Amber, acquiline eyes - that much her brothers had got right. And the Assassino's mouth was scarred, but it didn't look cruel to her. Capable of cruelty, certainly. But capable of many other things besides.
Emiliana was still holding her guard at knifepoint, not sure what to do with him. The Assassino raised an eyebrow at her, as though to question why she hadn't killed him yet.
"Should I - can I let him go, Messere?" she stammered.
The Assassino looked at the guard, the scarred side of his mouth curving in a half-smile. "Well? What would you do if my young friend here set you free?"
The man in Emiliana's grasp had stopped fighting as soon as he saw the Assassino, collapsing into a defeated slump. He spat, the fluid streaking across the side of his face and down his chin. "I'd go to my master and tell him what I've seen."
The Assassino looked back at Emiliana. His eyes challenged her. She had been a fool to think she could let the man go. Now the only question was who would finish him. It would be so easy, Emiliana thought, to let the Assassino take care of him. If she dropped the guard and ran off, she was sure Ezio Auditore would kill him and let her be. She'd never see him again. But she'd started this mess, and she should finish it. And besides, she couldn't bear the thought of meeting the man she'd spent so long admiring, only to run away from him like a coward. She'd never forgive herself.
She closed her eyes and took a breath - then in one quick, determined motion, drew her blade across the guard's throat. Hot blood pulsed over her hand. For the first time, she had killed.
***
"Messy, isn't it?" said Ezio, as Emiliana dropped the body. Blood had sprayed over them both, staining the Assassin's white robes and Emiliana's dull linen shirt and breeches. She stared at the dead man, at the pool of blood soaking into the sand-coloured stone, and then at her red, wet hands. Somehow she'd managed to drop her dagger.
"I've - I've never done it before," she explained.
"I never would have guessed," Ezio said drily. "Come." He picked up Emiliana's dagger, wiped it clean on the dead guard's shirt. Then he flipped it in one hand and gave it to her, hilt first. "You'd better come with me before more of these stronzi show up."
With numb fingers, Emiliana tucked her dagger back in her belt. "Where will you take me?"
"You have been looking for the Assassino, si?" Ezio was growing impatient.
She nodded.
"Well, you've found me. Follow me if you want to join our Brotherhood. If you don't, you must leave Roma tonight. For good. Which is it?"
"Of course, I'll join you, Messere. If you'll have me."
Ezio smiled in satisfaction.
***
They sprinted over crumbling buildings and tiled rooftops, through darkened narrow streets and then finally, down through the tunnels under the city. Emiliana had never run so fast in her life, but she knew if she was to join the Brotherhood, she had to keep up.
When they arrived she was gasping for breath, her hair clinging sweatily to her face, while the Assassino showed hardly any sign of exertion. He grinned at her when they emerged into what seemed to be an old warehouse.
"Welcome to Tiber Island," Ezio said, helping her out of the tunnels with a grin. She stumbled from the dark into a hallway, warmly lit with flickering candles. "It gets easier," he told her, clapping her gently on her back as she recovered.
With a firm hand on her shoulder, Ezio led Emiliana down the hallway and into a large chamber, where a youth met them with a cocky grin. He was a dark-eyed young man with close-cropped hair that would have curled if he'd let it grow. The neatly-trimmed hair around his mouth and chin gave his face a sharp look.
"Well, well. Who do we have here?" the young man said, looking Emiliana up and down. His clever eyes narrowed when he smiled, giving his whole face a dangerous look that Emiliana found thrilling but irritating at the same time. He could hardly be older than she was - who was he to smirk at her that way?
"Emiliana Santi," she said, standing a little taller. "And you're lucky my brothers aren't here to see you look at me like that."
The young man looked at Ezio and laughed. "Oh, I like this one," he said. Turning back to Emiliana, he smirked. "Welcome, Emiliana Santi. I'm Ciro Cavallari - Master Assassin, and second-in-command of Tiber Island." Emiliana's cheeks burned red, but no reprimand was forthcoming - from Ezio or his second.
"Only while Niccolo Machiavelli is not here," Ezio reminded him with a sigh that suggested he'd explained this before. The Assassino shot a conspiratorial glance at Emiliana. Had he just rolled his eyes? And - Niccolo Machiavelli? Wasn't he the Florentine secretary of war, or some such? Who else knew he was also an Assassin? This was all so confusing, and oh, how her brothers would envy her if they knew where she was now! Emiliana was sure any one of her brothers would be handling himself better than she could, but there was nothing for it now but to go along and do her best.
Forgetting Emiliana for the moment, Ciro Cavallari made an exaggerated bow to his master, his expression anything but respectful. "Welcome back, Maestro," he said. "Thank God you've returned. You can see the place has gone to chaos without you."
Emiliana looked around in surprise. Although busy, the Assassin safehouse looked orderly enough to her. White-clad men and women hurried through the halls on errands or missions. Some conferred over maps and documents, while others debated strategies, or quietly practised combat moves. It wasn't like her brothers' stories of the mercenary barracks, where it sounded as though the men did nothing but brawl amongst each other and drink themselves stupid.
"You'd better hope not, Ciro Cavallari," Ezio said, grasping the youth by both slim shoulders. Then to Emiliana's astonishment Ezio ran a hand through Ciro's hair, and taking a gentle handful of it, tilted the young man's head back. With his other hand, the Maestro laid gloved fingers along Ciro's jaw, tipping his face to just the right angle, and kissed him. It was quick, but a true lover's kiss, Ezio's tongue thrusting firmly between Ciro's lips.
Emiliana felt her cheeks flush red with embarrassment, and turned away - but she couldn't help still watching from the corner of her eye. There was something thrilling about the way Ciro yielded to his master's hands and mouth, for at that moment all his arrogance and cheek seemed to melt into nothing.
Ezio released Ciro and smoothed the young man's hair. Emiliana swallowed, dry-throated and red-faced. The only safe place to look seemed to be her shoes, and she bent her head to examine them.
"This way, Emiliana Santi," Ezio said, as though nothing at all had happened. She shook herself out of her amazement and turned to follow. Somehow she couldn't help looking back at Ciro, and her cheeks burned deeper as the youth gave her a rakish wink.
Ezio steered Emiliana through the halls of the old converted warehouse. The high walls would have once have looked cold and forbidding, but now there was a distinct warmth to the place. The fireplaces helped, casting warm light on the grey stones, and the whole place was draped with the rich red of Assassin banners.
The next to catch Ezio's attention was a young woman with a freshly-grazed cheekbone and her left arm in a sling. She was dressed in clean white robes.
"Annetta - what has happened to you?"
"Nothing so bad, Maestro. Four of us engaged some Borgia men today, and I was injured. The doctor says it's a clean break, and it will heal as good as new."
"'Engaged some Borgia men'!," said the boy standing next to her. "Go on, Annetta. Tell him what actually happened."
But Annetta only turned red and tried to hush him.
"Maestro, Annetta has killed Pietro da Siena!" the boy said. "Our fighters are manning his tower as we speak."
Ezio raised an eyebrow to look at the blushing woman, and again that half-smile curved his mouth.
"Giordano is not telling you everything, Maestro," said Annetta. "Four of us took Pietro da Siena's tower." But she could not repress her smile, and her face glowed with obvious pride.
"Si, but it was Annetta who slit the bastardo's throat," Giordano insisted.
"We've brought his blade to you, Maestro," Annetta said, looking at Giordano, who presented Ezio with a beautiful, ivory-hilted sword, stamped with the insignia of the Borgia.
After running gloved fingers over the blade, Ezio laid a hand on Annetta's waist, his amber eyes gleaming. "Well done, Guerriera," he said softly, drawing her closer. "Annetta, you will keep this sword. It's heavier than your own, but when your arm has healed, I'll make sure I teach you to use it well. You should be very proud." His lips brushed one of Annetta's dark eyebrows, then, very softly, her grazed cheekbone. Then the Assassino bent to whisper something in her ear that caused the young woman to shiver, and her eyes to widen.
"Si, Maestro," she whispered back, tilting her head and closing her eyes as Ezio's lips found her bare throat, and she shivered again, harder.
Emiliana's cheeks were burning, her heart racing. What kind of place was this?
But Ezio's hand, when it returned to her shoulder, was respectful and impersonal - and his smile more sympathetic than teasing when he saw her stunned face. "Come this way, Emiliana. I will find someone to show you around - there are always enough spare beds here. And then, you might as well start your training."
Fill: Polyamorous Ezio/Recruits [1/2] (I suck at titles.)
Emiliana Santi was in over her head. She had witnessed a detachment of four Borgia guards accosting a citizen - a doctor, no less! There had been no explanation for the attack, but the doctor's cart had ended up toppled into the street, the man's wares strewn across the cobblestones. The citizen's takings for the day were now in the pockets of the corrupt guards. On impulse, Emiliana had followed the Borgia men. Someone had to do something. She was no Assassin, to fight men in the street, but maybe she could pick the guard's pocket, return the doctor's money...
But she'd been seen. The guards had tried to arrest her, and she had run. They'd chased her down and trapped her, and she had done the only thing she could think of - as she dodged a guard's overhead swing, she seized his arm, twisted his wrist to disarm him, and took him hostage. So now, here she was, backed against the edge of a crumbling, abandoned building, her blade against a guard's throat, with three others surrounding her. An impasse.
"I swear I will kill him," said Emiliana, cursing herself inside as her voice wavered. "Don't take another step towards me." Could she even do it? She'd never killed anyone, but she had always thought she could, if she had to.
"Let him go, puttana, and you might live to tell this tale to the next man who spreads your legs," said one of the three guards facing her.
"How much do you care about your comrade?" Emiliana said. "Why shouldn't I slit his throat right now? Just back off, and - and nobody needs to die!"
"Hah, nobody except you, girl."
Emiliana pressed her blade against the guard's throat, drawing blood.
"Please, by God, do what she says!" the captive guard cried.
"And let this little slut run off to - Ahh!" Mid sentence the man collapsed to his knees, clutching at his throat. Blood sprayed and a crossbow bolt protruded from the side of his neck.
What happened next was so impossibly graceful it was almost beautiful. From a half-collapsed column high above them a white-robed figure dropped like a swooping bird. The two remaining guards crumpled and collapsed. The man in white robes stood up, retracting twin blades at his wrists. Instantly there was silence.
Emiliana could hardly believe her eyes. Many a night she'd crouched on the staircase in her father's villa, hugging her knees as she eavesdropped on her three brothers talking about the Assassino - Ezio Auditore. All in white, tall and straight. Eyes like an eagle's, they'd said, and a cruel, scarred mouth. As the white-robed man looked at her, she forced herself to meet his eyes. Amber, acquiline eyes - that much her brothers had got right. And the Assassino's mouth was scarred, but it didn't look cruel to her. Capable of cruelty, certainly. But capable of many other things besides.
Emiliana was still holding her guard at knifepoint, not sure what to do with him. The Assassino raised an eyebrow at her, as though to question why she hadn't killed him yet.
"Should I - can I let him go, Messere?" she stammered.
The Assassino looked at the guard, the scarred side of his mouth curving in a half-smile. "Well? What would you do if my young friend here set you free?"
The man in Emiliana's grasp had stopped fighting as soon as he saw the Assassino, collapsing into a defeated slump. He spat, the fluid streaking across the side of his face and down his chin. "I'd go to my master and tell him what I've seen."
The Assassino looked back at Emiliana. His eyes challenged her. She had been a fool to think she could let the man go. Now the only question was who would finish him. It would be so easy, Emiliana thought, to let the Assassino take care of him. If she dropped the guard and ran off, she was sure Ezio Auditore would kill him and let her be. She'd never see him again. But she'd started this mess, and she should finish it. And besides, she couldn't bear the thought of meeting the man she'd spent so long admiring, only to run away from him like a coward. She'd never forgive herself.
She closed her eyes and took a breath - then in one quick, determined motion, drew her blade across the guard's throat. Hot blood pulsed over her hand. For the first time, she had killed.
***
"Messy, isn't it?" said Ezio, as Emiliana dropped the body. Blood had sprayed over them both, staining the Assassin's white robes and Emiliana's dull linen shirt and breeches. She stared at the dead man, at the pool of blood soaking into the sand-coloured stone, and then at her red, wet hands. Somehow she'd managed to drop her dagger.
"I've - I've never done it before," she explained.
"I never would have guessed," Ezio said drily. "Come." He picked up Emiliana's dagger, wiped it clean on the dead guard's shirt. Then he flipped it in one hand and gave it to her, hilt first. "You'd better come with me before more of these stronzi show up."
With numb fingers, Emiliana tucked her dagger back in her belt. "Where will you take me?"
"You have been looking for the Assassino, si?" Ezio was growing impatient.
She nodded.
"Well, you've found me. Follow me if you want to join our Brotherhood. If you don't, you must leave Roma tonight. For good. Which is it?"
"Of course, I'll join you, Messere. If you'll have me."
Ezio smiled in satisfaction.
***
They sprinted over crumbling buildings and tiled rooftops, through darkened narrow streets and then finally, down through the tunnels under the city. Emiliana had never run so fast in her life, but she knew if she was to join the Brotherhood, she had to keep up.
When they arrived she was gasping for breath, her hair clinging sweatily to her face, while the Assassino showed hardly any sign of exertion. He grinned at her when they emerged into what seemed to be an old warehouse.
"Welcome to Tiber Island," Ezio said, helping her out of the tunnels with a grin. She stumbled from the dark into a hallway, warmly lit with flickering candles. "It gets easier," he told her, clapping her gently on her back as she recovered.
With a firm hand on her shoulder, Ezio led Emiliana down the hallway and into a large chamber, where a youth met them with a cocky grin. He was a dark-eyed young man with close-cropped hair that would have curled if he'd let it grow. The neatly-trimmed hair around his mouth and chin gave his face a sharp look.
"Well, well. Who do we have here?" the young man said, looking Emiliana up and down. His clever eyes narrowed when he smiled, giving his whole face a dangerous look that Emiliana found thrilling but irritating at the same time. He could hardly be older than she was - who was he to smirk at her that way?
"Emiliana Santi," she said, standing a little taller. "And you're lucky my brothers aren't here to see you look at me like that."
The young man looked at Ezio and laughed. "Oh, I like this one," he said. Turning back to Emiliana, he smirked. "Welcome, Emiliana Santi. I'm Ciro Cavallari - Master Assassin, and second-in-command of Tiber Island." Emiliana's cheeks burned red, but no reprimand was forthcoming - from Ezio or his second.
"Only while Niccolo Machiavelli is not here," Ezio reminded him with a sigh that suggested he'd explained this before. The Assassino shot a conspiratorial glance at Emiliana. Had he just rolled his eyes? And - Niccolo Machiavelli? Wasn't he the Florentine secretary of war, or some such? Who else knew he was also an Assassin? This was all so confusing, and oh, how her brothers would envy her if they knew where she was now! Emiliana was sure any one of her brothers would be handling himself better than she could, but there was nothing for it now but to go along and do her best.
Forgetting Emiliana for the moment, Ciro Cavallari made an exaggerated bow to his master, his expression anything but respectful. "Welcome back, Maestro," he said. "Thank God you've returned. You can see the place has gone to chaos without you."
Emiliana looked around in surprise. Although busy, the Assassin safehouse looked orderly enough to her. White-clad men and women hurried through the halls on errands or missions. Some conferred over maps and documents, while others debated strategies, or quietly practised combat moves. It wasn't like her brothers' stories of the mercenary barracks, where it sounded as though the men did nothing but brawl amongst each other and drink themselves stupid.
"You'd better hope not, Ciro Cavallari," Ezio said, grasping the youth by both slim shoulders. Then to Emiliana's astonishment Ezio ran a hand through Ciro's hair, and taking a gentle handful of it, tilted the young man's head back. With his other hand, the Maestro laid gloved fingers along Ciro's jaw, tipping his face to just the right angle, and kissed him. It was quick, but a true lover's kiss, Ezio's tongue thrusting firmly between Ciro's lips.
Emiliana felt her cheeks flush red with embarrassment, and turned away - but she couldn't help still watching from the corner of her eye. There was something thrilling about the way Ciro yielded to his master's hands and mouth, for at that moment all his arrogance and cheek seemed to melt into nothing.
Ezio released Ciro and smoothed the young man's hair. Emiliana swallowed, dry-throated and red-faced. The only safe place to look seemed to be her shoes, and she bent her head to examine them.
"This way, Emiliana Santi," Ezio said, as though nothing at all had happened. She shook herself out of her amazement and turned to follow. Somehow she couldn't help looking back at Ciro, and her cheeks burned deeper as the youth gave her a rakish wink.
Ezio steered Emiliana through the halls of the old converted warehouse. The high walls would have once have looked cold and forbidding, but now there was a distinct warmth to the place. The fireplaces helped, casting warm light on the grey stones, and the whole place was draped with the rich red of Assassin banners.
The next to catch Ezio's attention was a young woman with a freshly-grazed cheekbone and her left arm in a sling. She was dressed in clean white robes.
"Annetta - what has happened to you?"
"Nothing so bad, Maestro. Four of us engaged some Borgia men today, and I was injured. The doctor says it's a clean break, and it will heal as good as new."
"'Engaged some Borgia men'!," said the boy standing next to her. "Go on, Annetta. Tell him what actually happened."
But Annetta only turned red and tried to hush him.
"Maestro, Annetta has killed Pietro da Siena!" the boy said. "Our fighters are manning his tower as we speak."
Ezio raised an eyebrow to look at the blushing woman, and again that half-smile curved his mouth.
"Giordano is not telling you everything, Maestro," said Annetta. "Four of us took Pietro da Siena's tower." But she could not repress her smile, and her face glowed with obvious pride.
"Si, but it was Annetta who slit the bastardo's throat," Giordano insisted.
"We've brought his blade to you, Maestro," Annetta said, looking at Giordano, who presented Ezio with a beautiful, ivory-hilted sword, stamped with the insignia of the Borgia.
After running gloved fingers over the blade, Ezio laid a hand on Annetta's waist, his amber eyes gleaming. "Well done, Guerriera," he said softly, drawing her closer. "Annetta, you will keep this sword. It's heavier than your own, but when your arm has healed, I'll make sure I teach you to use it well. You should be very proud." His lips brushed one of Annetta's dark eyebrows, then, very softly, her grazed cheekbone. Then the Assassino bent to whisper something in her ear that caused the young woman to shiver, and her eyes to widen.
"Si, Maestro," she whispered back, tilting her head and closing her eyes as Ezio's lips found her bare throat, and she shivered again, harder.
Emiliana's cheeks were burning, her heart racing. What kind of place was this?
But Ezio's hand, when it returned to her shoulder, was respectful and impersonal - and his smile more sympathetic than teasing when he saw her stunned face. "Come this way, Emiliana. I will find someone to show you around - there are always enough spare beds here. And then, you might as well start your training."