asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.2
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Welcome to the Brotherhood

∆ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

∆ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

∆ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

∆ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

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∆ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

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The barn was quiet, eerily so. She found it without trouble, seeing the trail of wine droplets that Cesare had followed to rescue her. As she stepped inside, Lena almost hoped to find Lucio had fled, escaping somehow. But no, he was there, a wide swath of blood marking where he had tried to crawl to bandage himself. He lay crumpled underneath a spindly table, hay and dirt clinging to his clothes, a pool of blood congealing beneath him.

Lena searched the building. There was little of interest, but the extra riffling about was worth the effort for a box containing Ezio’s missing letters. She tucked them into her belt and combed the empty horse stalls until she found an old riding blanket. It was distasteful, undressing Lucio and rolling him up like a carpet, shooing the flies that had come to gather on his bloody lips. She pulled him by his feet to the back door, grunting and sweating under the weight of his body. There, in the cobblestones of the neglected courtyard, she built a fire and burned him, adding as many logs as she could find to keep the flames hot and healthy. She stoked the fire until he was nothing but charred bones, the acrid scent of human flesh swirling into the air and rising in a black plume of smoke. With his own daggers she nudged the bones out of the embers, gathering the cooling remains and prying a floorboard up in the barn. She buried him there, hammering the board back into place with sweat dripping down her nose.

It took most of the morning and part of early afternoon – burning his clothes separately and scattering them to ash, scrubbing the floors and spreading hay around until the blood stains were mostly hidden. One would have to look hard, very hard, to find any clear evidence of what had transpired. As she left, stinking of char and blood and sweat, she found a tiny piece of fabric near the door. She stared down at it, unblinking. It was part of her dress. Her heart clenched painfully, relief and terror mingling as she considered what might have happened had Cesare arrived ten, even five minutes later. Insane, when she thought too hard about it, a Borgia saving her from her own brethren.

And now they had made love and there was no going back.

Bridges… Bridges crossed and set ablaze and left to burn.

Lena slumped back to the cottage, the mid-day sun bearing down on her like a single glaring eye. She was a mess, inside and out, and she prayed that the house would be quiet and comfortable when she finally returned. The pasture was empty and sad now without the presence of their grumpy goat friend, but she found a different sort of grumpy friend there. Michelangelo smirked at her knowingly as he daubed paint onto a canvas he had propped up on a makeshift easel. The whole thing was disastrously crooked but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m surprised to see you up and about,” Michelangelo said, chuckling to himself as Lena slunk by like a scolded child. “Didn’t think you’d be able to walk after last night’s… festivities.”

“Leave me alone, you miserable old scoundrel. You have no idea what I've been through. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’ve had a trying morning. Just… I’m not in the mood.”

“Oooh,” he exclaimed, laughing again. “Touchy, touchy…”

Lena sighed, stomping up the stairs to the porch. As she was about to open the door to her chambers she heard Michelangelo grunt something about silly young people hell-bent on destroying their lives. Lena couldn’t argue. She wasn’t exactly standing atop the most stable of moral grounds. She had just come from sleeping with Cesare, burying an assassin, hiding his death and brooding over whatever despicable plan Lucio had set into motion. Lena could only imagine what that letter he kept mentioning was in reference to… It sounded too ominous, too purposeful to be a simple missive to Ezio.

The door to the cottage squeaked on its hinges as Lena tumbled inside. Cesare was there, naked but for a pair of loose, low-slung trousers. He straightened up, whirling at the sound of her entrance, his cheeks flushed and pink. Quickly, as if taken entirely by surprise, Cesare pushed nervously at the hair in his face.

As a HUGE Ezio/Rosa shipper (to the point where I was so, SO sad to not see her pop up in Brotherhood), I absolutely love the fact that she's Ezio's wife in this. I can't see him settling for some boring, dresses-and-balls type woman, as he'd get bored, so the foul-mouthed thief would totally fit with his sense of adventure.

But as for the more important things...YAY, SMUT! That was deliciously hot...just, WOW, completely worth the payoff. I love this and wait on pins

Lena’s weariness dissipated, her spirits lifting as she saw a huge copper tub sitting and steaming in the middle of the room. An empty wooden bucket sat tipped on its side, a little trail of droplets leading from the tub to the door she had just walked through.

Cesare shrugged with a helpless smile, belatedly hiding a washcloth behind his back.

“Silvia helped me drag it in here,” he said, clearing his throat and looking extremely guilty. “I thought you would be gone longer.”

The sight of the hot, steaming water and the flower petals sprinkled on its surface nearly had her swooning with anticipation. Nothing in the world sounded better than a bath… except perhaps a bath with her new favorite play thing. Said toy gestured to the tub, waiting anxiously between the basin and the bed.

“Was your morning very terrible?” he asked, snapping into action as Lena slumped toward the tub. Cesare tossed the washcloth onto the made bed, gathering her into his arms and setting to work on the laces of her simple peasant dress.

“I burned him,” Lena said. His embrace was a shock to her system, even sweeter than she had imagined on her walk home. “Cleaned up. Hid everything.” Lena pulled the letters from her belt, wagging them around before throwing them next to where the washcloth had landed. “He was keeping letters from me. I should read them but I’m dead on my feet.”

“Later,” Cesare agreed solemnly. “There’s nothing we can do now. If Lucio sent for your brothers then we cannot stop their coming.”

“Pray that is not the case,” Lena replied.

“I am.”

The bath lasted until the water cooled. Cesare joined at her insistence, sitting with his knees poking up out of the water, his frame too long to fit neatly into the tub. Lena sat between his thighs, submitting to his judicious scrubbing, listening dreamily to the tuneless song he hummed as he ran the cloth over her limbs. It was a chaste bath. Though Lena had meant to kiss and touch him, her exhaustion won out, making her do little but wallow gratefully against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping futilely at her damp brow. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“I will dry you,” Cesare said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Then you will eat something, mm?”

“And then?” Lena prompted, snuggling suggestively into his arms. The water sloshed noisily at the edge of the basin.

“And then I will make love to you,” he murmured, kissing the top of her ear. “But only if you are well enough, dear one. You should have let me come with you today.”

“It was my duty.” She shrugged, unable to stow her doctor’s curiosity as she examined the hairy thigh wedged tightly against her. The abscessed wound had healed nicely, nothing but a shell-pink scar there to remind him of the sutures. “And you looked so sleepy and adorable… I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.”

“You know, I was so looking forward to waking with you in my bed,” Cesare said, kissing the bare, sensitive spot behind her ear. Her exhaustion evaporated, boiling desire taking its place. “Tomorrow, I expect you will be there when I open my eyes and not deny me the pleasure of your company.”

“And if I refuse?”

“That will be discussed should the unhappy event come to pass.” His kiss turned possessive, passionate, both arms wrapping snugly around her middle, the whiskers of his beard rasping against her nape. “But I can assure you, little flower, you will not escape with less than a lecture and a lengthy spanking.”

Lena blushed, pressing her lips together to keep from admitting that such an outlandishly offensive threat made her body ache in forbidden places. Cesare seemed to sense her interest, biting down on the edge of her ear and tugging.

“Does that sound like fit punishment?”

“I will try not to disappoint you.”

“And even if you did,” Cesare growled, grinding her against his waist, “I think the outcome would be to our mutual advantage, no?”

Cesare made good on his promises, lifting her out of the cooling bathwater and wrapping her in a clean sheet. It smelled of the outdoors, having dried on the line outside with the rest of their things on wash day. When she was comfortable and cozy in bed, with the sheet still drawn up high around her shoulders, he left to see about food. Lena dozed fitfully while he was gone, finding that it was not so easy to simply bask in her newfound romance when Lucio’s threats continued to nag. They were under attack. Perhaps not openly, but the feeling remained. If Ezio returned she might not be able to lie to his face about Lucio’s disappearance. Her conflicted state was just that – conflicted. She still respected her master, even loved him like a protective older brother, and to lose the guidance and friendship of the Auditore family would be a huge disappointment. Lena admired Rosa and the children and, selfishly, she didn’t want to choose between the good people she knew in Rome and the good man she had accidentally found in Spain.

Now she would wake each morning wondering if this would be their last day of freedom.

An enormous bowl of Silvia’s spicy vegetable stew and a mug mulled wine was almost a cure for her many worries. Cesare and his quiet company was also a powerful antidote for the poison swirling in her mind. She had flirted with small, inconsequential romances in her life but never made it to this point, where the first rush of excitement cooled and one was forced to confront the reality of less thrilling moments. With a last fortifying sip of her wine, she wondered if there would be awkwardness when they weren’t naked together. What if their passion could not last through the more mundane days? Even if they could escape the reach of the assassins, one or both of them would need to find work eventually. Lena blinked down into her empty mug, her cheeks glowing with heat as she imagined a simple life in a small house… somewhere else… somewhere without the cold memories of Lucio and his spite. Not Italy. They would never be safe there, and not Spain, since this place too festered with open wounds. Surprisingly, the thought of starting a modest apothecary shop didn’t upset her. Wouldn’t it be nice, she thought with a wry grin, to only produce things that cured and soothed? No more poisons… no more La Vespa.

“Where have you gone?” Cesare asked, taking the mug from her and setting it on the bedside table. He cleared the plates and utensils, returning to take the damp sheet from her and coax her under the heavy blankets. Lena considered concocting a lie, but that wasn’t fair, not when he had gone to such lengths to see her comfortable and restored. He sat up next to her and Lena did not hesitate to curl up against him, dropping her head into his lap. His fingers combed absently through her hair, undoing loose snarls and tangles.

“I was thinking of what it might be like to lead a more… ordinary life.”

He snorted softly. “As if such a thing were possible…”

“I have to believe it is.”

“And?” Cesare asked, smoothing her hair behind her ears. “Would it bore you to tears?”

“No.” She turned onto her back, gazing up at him with a contented peace overtaking her. Outside, the birds sang and the village children called to each other, the noises of a lively summer drawing muffled complaints from Michelangelo. “I won’t miss the deadlier aspects of this lifestyle. That part never suited me. I’d rather help people, heal them, and not think about ways to kill them painlessly.”

“Would you even be allowed to leave?” Cesare asked, his dark brow furrowing as he found a new place for his hands. He stroked them across her shoulders, pushing down the blankets to run his fingertips along her collarbone and throat.

“I don’t know,” Lena replied honestly. “I’m not sure anyone has tried.”
Perotto had died for his betrayals, for loving a Borgia and getting her with child. But that was different, Lena insisted. It had to be.

“This… all of this,” she gestured to the air as if their concerns floated palpably before her eyes. “I’m sick of it. It makes my head ache.”

Sorry, this devolves into some serious fluff. Consider yourselves warned.

“Then we will speak of more pleasant pursuits, mm? Now that you are clean and fed, how shall we pass the afternoon?”

Lena didn’t miss the sly suggestive note in his voice or the way his question dropped to a lower register, one that sent shivers of desire through her core. His hands touched her with purpose, drifting down under the soft blankets to tease the round undersides of her breasts. Her eyes closed, apprehensions vanishing as her world narrowed to the scope of his touch and the way he seemed to know just how much pressure to put behind his groping.

Wordlessly, Cesare slid down into the bed beside her, pausing to unlace his trousers and toss them out of bed. Lena’s convenient nudity was appreciated at once, his body nudging against hers, guiding her onto one side. A smiling, wet mouth closed over the ridge of her shoulder, teeth nipping and carefully biting before the reddened skin was tongued lovingly. Cesare’s hands seem to be everywhere at once, skimming over her taut stomach or squeezing her breasts, then admiring the shape of her hips or testing the wetness between her thighs.

Lena wanted it to last. She had little to do but reach back and twine her hands in his hair, cooing muted words of pleasure and encouragement. His beard tickled the side of her face as he shifted from kissing her shoulder to nibbling on her earlobe. The bath had softened his hands, turning the pads of his fingers to pure silk. At last his touches grew decisive, one large hand cupping her mound, teasing the smooth, soaked folds of her sex while the other drew uneven circles around her navel.

“I have a confession,” Cesare whispered, his hips aligning with hers, his erection pressed against her buttocks.

“Another one?” Lena squirmed, the light pressure of his fingers over her sex arousing but ethereal, tickling and then gone.

“Indeed.”

“Is it as good as the last?”

“You may not like it,” Cesare warned, his tone turning forlorn. Lena stilled, turning her head to find his eyes. He looked away, concentrating on the edge of her shoulder. “Then again…”

“Tell me,” she said, kissing his chin. “I can judge for myself.”
Cesare nodded, the hand over her stomach flexing and then spreading, covering her belly with the wide spread of his fingers. “It is not as if… I’m perfectly aware that I have no… no claim to you, not really.”

The fingers gliding along her wet cleft dipped, drawing a longing sigh from her lips as Cesare penetrated her with one thick digit. He pressed into her, sure, determined, crooking his finger and stimulating a spot that brought Lena’s knees crashing together. She hardly knew if she could focus on what he was saying now, but that mattered little when her body felt overwhelmed with sudden waves of sensation. Consumed, alight, she bucked back against him, toes curling and digging into his shins.

“When I woke and you were not here… What was I to do? I turned to daydreams and pleasured myself with the memory of your kiss stinging my lips.” Cesare groaned softly, adding a second finger along with the first, filling her with agonizing slowness. “Such things are dangerous. In dreams, all manner of ideas become sensible…”

[some butt stuff in this one, if that's not your bag then sorriez]

“Cesare,” Lena stammered, trembling, “it does not bother me that you fantasize...”

“I’m not finished.” He nipped her ear sharply in retaliation. “I did not mean to stumble upon the notion but… but my mind wandered and, foolishly, I let my curiosity get the better of me. It was… explosive, just the whisper of it, the hint of it in my head and my body reacted so intensely. I could do nothing but give myself over to the thought, submit to it and now I think it’s enslaved me.”

Lena waited, torn between teasing out just what he was talking about and the heavenly fingers sliding in and out of her body. Cesare sighed, deeply, pressing a long, tremulous kiss to her temple. The hand over her stomach tightened, clamping down and holding her to his chest.

“I thought of the natural consequences, Lena. I found ecstasy with your name on my lips and the… the thought of giving you a child in my mind.”
Behind her, he tensed and then winced, kissing her again as if by way of apology.

Her heart slowed, stopped, then changed its mind altogether and sped up frantically. It was impossible not to consider what she knew to be fact – such a fantasy was not only plausible but almost unavoidable. His legendary virility was well-established. Lena tried her best to be offended, to push him off and storm away in disgust. But she was not stupid enough to fight the tingle of warmth that echoed in her womanhood at his words. Nor did she doubt that Cesare would miss the incriminating gush of wetness that flooded her sex and squelched audibly around his fingers.

“Merda,” Cesare muttered, beginning to withdraw his hands, “I should have kept my idiotic mouth shut.”

Lena grabbed his wrists, locking them into place. She cursed the moisture that sprang to her eyes, convinced that she was going insane. “You should be burned for witchcraft,” she whispered, melting back against him.

Another kiss landed on her temple, this one far more lingering than the last. She felt his lips curve into a smile as he held them against her skin.

“You’re suddenly very wet, little one. Care to explain?”
“Do I have to?”

“Absolutely.”

Lena explained, but not with words, shaking her hips against his hand until Cesare obliged her, holding his fingers still while she rode them, his thumb sliding through her sodden curls to circle and rub the throbbing heart of passion that soon had her shrieking into the pillows. She elaborated her explanation with another try at sucking him, finding that if she covered her teeth with her lips and relaxed her jaw, she could take much, much more of him into her mouth. Cesare vocalized his appreciation of this discovery, grasping her hair and digging his heels into the mattress as he unloaded down her throat.

She allowed Cesare to turn her and push her into the tick as he worked back up to full hardness. He devoured her sex from behind, holding her by the tops of her thighs as he drilled his tongue in and out, slurping and sucking vulgarly, the sound of it driving her higher and higher, her release so close it was almost painful to wait upon. At the last second he sank a thumb into her sex, giving no warning before plunging his wet, firm tongue into her bottom. Lena forgot to censor her screams, propelled into a crisis that left her sweating and chilled, Cesare tonguing her back hole long after the quakes of her release had ebbed.

Lena fought to salvage some maidenly dignity but swiftly tossed the idea out on its head, sensible enough to admit that however brazen his behavior, the shattering results could not be denied. She moaned as he withdrew his tongue, not caring that she sounded like one of the Rosa in Fiore’s most shameless employees. Nor did she complain or protest when Cesare chuckled roguishly and hauled her up by her hips, dragging her onto elbows and knees before pulling her against his lap, his vigor renewed and his bulging erection sliding into her at last.

A lesson was quickly learned – that making love was not the same all the way round. At first it was uncomfortable, shocking, his prick fitting into her differently, making her stretch and burn and regret the position. But then he pushed one palm gently against her lower back and Lena sank down, arching, thrusting her rear out against him. Her arms ached and she lowered herself further, hugging a pillow to her chest, feeling wanton and whorish as she displayed herself so boldly. Cesare slowed, perhaps sensing her irritation, but he need not have. The slight change in angle had provided a sensation somewhere between needing to relieve herself and unbelievable bliss. And he was deep, deeper than she could imagine, stroking into her at a languid, sensual pace. It wasn’t enough. She wiggled her hips, spurring him on, and Lena gripped the pillow desperately as he sped up, grasping her by the waist as he pounded into her from behind.

She rasped and shuddered, drooling onto the pillow from the intensity of being taken so ruthlessly. And it felt unspeakably beautiful to be possessed so, to feel the chains of his restraint snap and his desire for her manifest with such primal force. Cesare’s grunts of delight added a sweet counterpoint to the slap of their bodies. He reached around them as his pace elevated yet again, his thumb raking through the top of her wet sex before disappearing back behind her. Lena was given but an instant to ponder Cesare’s intent, bumping against the headboard in surprise as that same slick thumb pushed against her rear. Fear sent adrenaline free-wheeling through her veins, then the fear diminished, excitement and curiosity takings its place as she found the foreign sensation – administered with slow, careful pressure – no more unseemly than when his tongue had touched her there.

And when his thumb did finally enter her bottom Lena’s knees buckled. Cesare recovered without even a hitch in their furious rhythm, scooping her up with his free arm and bracing her against his stomach as he worked up into her again and again, shouting with hoarse abandon as he neared is release. Lena wasn’t far behind, calling his name in a dazed, delirious whisper. His prick and thumb seemed like the height of possible pleasure, but Lena’s last vestige of control snapped as she felt his bracing arm drift lower, fingers strumming over her aching pearl, sending her into a devastating paroxysm of sensation.

“Oh God,” she heard Cesare hiss, his cries joining hers as he swelled and burst in her channel. Lena convulsed again, biting down on the edge of his jaw as she shivered at the thought of their earlier discussion, that even now, at that moment, he could be seeding her womb.

'Oh god' indeed!
Can't wait to read more Anon, I absolutely worship this story!

*-_-* Thank you! I'll try to have more up today. Stupid life getting busy and shit...

I think my brain melted just now from all the sexy <3
I love you writeranon~

<3<3

Vaguely, Lena considered where her former exhaustion had gone to. She expected it to be replaced by an even deeper need for sleep but instead she felt exhilarated, wide awake. Cesare was quick to sweep her into his embrace, cuddling her from behind, both arms secured around her middle, one heavy thigh draped over legs. Safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so safe and wanted. The other assassins were always grateful for her skills and said so, but this was different. Not since girlhood had she felt so overwhelmed with excitement and trepidation, a swirling firestorm of emotions in her heart. Her chest ached as if overfull.

Cesare fit his head into the crook of her neck, breathing slowly and deeply. While Lena considered reaching for something to wipe the seed leaking out onto the mattress, she felt Cesare give her midsection a little squeeze.

“I fear your education might be progressing too rapidly,” he said, sighing. “Though you didn’t seem to mind the, um, more advanced nature of that particular lesson.”

“You’ll find I’m a fast learner.”

“Oh, I already know that. You’ve a quick, thorough mind and a detailed knowledge of the human body, yes? Before long you’ll be schooling me…”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Not at all.”

Lena smiled, boneless and relaxed in the heated nest of his body. She tore her mind away from the usual anxieties, determined to spend this moment in peace, free of the fear that would otherwise sour it. Eventually they would have to deal with the delicate nature of their situation. But now? Now was not the time, not when Cesare was already nibbling again at her ear, his stirring arousal scorching her backside like a brand.

Impetuously, wishing for somewhere to put all the soaring feelings in her chest, Lena grabbed his hands, twining her fingers in his.

“If I left… would you go with me?”

He snorted softly, nosing her throat. “As if you could be rid of me.”

“I’m serious,” Lena said, her words tumbling out all wrong, twisted and mangled and breathless. “We could… go… disappear. They would look for us, yes, but I know their ways, we might be able to get a head start and vanish altogether. Maybe France… no… no! England! That might be far enough. If not… well, then we could just keep moving…”

“Tell me of England,” Cesare murmured, his chaste kisses in direct conflict with the subtle little circles of his hips.

“I… don’t know much about it to be honest. Some of the other assassins have been there on assignment.” She squirmed, noticing that his hands were sliding down her belly, down, down until both eased between her thighs. She blinked. He was insatiable. Just what had she gotten herself into? Lena smirked, her voice shaking as she added, “They say it can get very cold and that it rains all the time. The food is horrid and the nobles are ruthless.”

Cesare’s fingers teased her, the fingers on one hand spreading her moistening lips while the others slipped into her loosened sex, emerging to slick her pearl with their comingled juices. Exquisitely diverted, Lena lost the thread of her thought, grinding shamelessly against his hand as he drew a shuddering sigh from her throat.

Rubbing her more insistently, Cesare tsk’d her, murmuring, “You’re frightfully wet, tesora. And so soon? What am I to do with you…”

His voice, thick with that incorrigible Spanish purr that never seemed to lessen, was every bit as thrilling as his touch.

“We were speaking of England,” Lena choked.

“The way you describe it, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to live there,” Cesare replied with a low chuckle. “Besides, there are more pressing matters…”

“Such as?”

He shrugged against her, his teeth sinking into the fleshy, sensitive ridge of her shoulder. “Such as: I’m curious,” he began thoughtfully, “how many times do you think I can bring you to release before it becomes too much for your little body to bear? Four times? Six?”

“Cesare,” Lena implored, swallowing around a spike, “England…”

“Yes, my sweet. I will make love to you there, too.”

-~-

Leonardo –

I would not ask this of you if I knew of an alternative solution. Now I’m afraid you must learn of a deep and serious betrayal. I have lied to you, my friend, my colleague, and the wickedness of this deceit tears at my soul. You will forgive me, I know it, because your nature is soft and gentle. That is not an insult. How I wish I could see the world with your optimism, your compassion…

This lie, however, can no longer be allowed to fester in my heart. I have spoken of our dealings here, yes, and those have been factual. The patient has improved greatly – he walks, talks, and is now reading and writing with elementary skill. His memories are sparse and recede quickly whenever they arrive. He is much changed. All of this you already know and all of it is true. What I am about to tell you is a grave secret. No one, not your apprentice and especially not Auditore, must learn of it.

How to say it? My hand trembles at the notion of committing this truth to paper. It could doom two people I have grown to care for sincerely. They have surprised me, taught me – me – with their unpredicted generosity and warmth. Usually I spit at such things. Most men are cruel and conniving, shaking your hand while hiding a knife behind their back. But these two… Only today they presented me with the most endearing keepsake – a small book containing new variations on the fables I made the boy read. The renditions are not only humorous but show remarkable progress on the boy’s part. His command of language grows by the day, nurtured by her persistence and patience.

They are in love, Leonardo. You will deny it, so did I, but it is Fate’s decree that these two unlikely souls find each other and stick. They are like children, glowing, laughing, so ensconced in one another I hardly find them apart. I know that his family treated you abominably and that you hate him down in your bone and sinew, but I swear to you, I swear that this is not the man you and Auditore fought so passionately. We paint what we see, Leonardo; you and I, we record humanity and though its intricacies may elude us. I do not know why this has happened, only that it has. I pray that you do not tell Ezio, but if you do and if he comes here and destroys them it will not erase all traces of their strange influence. I have asked that they pose for me. I will need references for the ceiling and though they may not survive the wrath of the assassini, I will find a way for them to endure.

I am not old, Leonardo, but sometimes I feel it. I feel the years pressing down on me, pushing me into the ground. We must preserve these things, however small, however confusing… Sometimes I am disappointed that the beautiful things we create cannot be given a voice, cannot speak back to us, but these two… they are not stone. Let them live. Let them speak. You know I do not love or even like others lightly and now I am imploring you, if ever you respected me as an artist or a friend, help me find a way for them to avoid punishment for feeling the most natural of emotions.

Pardon them, dear friend, and pardon me.

Yours in friendship,

MBS

-~-

Well, Lena thought, padding into the kitchen, this was awkward. Not just because it was the first time she had seen Silvia since the festival party, but also because all along the old woman had been right. It was no accident that Cesare turned up to that dance looking irresistible. It was no accident that Silvia had stitched Lena’s gown tight and revealing. And therefor it was no surprise that Silvia wore a smug, self-satisfied grin as Lena finally made an appearance in a room other than her own.

“Oh don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Lena muttered, going to the little nook next to the front window and peering out at the road. She found herself doing that a lot these days… watching… waiting…

“Why not?" she asked, winking. "Surely I had some small part to play in all of this.” Silvia turned back to the stove, stirring an enormous pot. From the smell, it was yet another delectable, spicy soup.

“You did,” Lena admitted, dragging her eyes along the road up to the hill that led down to the village green. “Which is why I need your help.”

“Anything, hija,” Silvia said. “Though I’m not sure what help these old bones could be, mm?”

“It’s… difficult for me to ask this.” Lena turned from the window, finding that watching the road only made her feel more insecure. Silvia stirred the soup absently, her keen eyes fixed on Lena, one hand pressed to her hip. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done,” Lena continued, smoothing down the rumpled front of her skirts nervously. “But… Cesare and I need to leave. We can’t stay here. I’ve never been completely honest with you. Lucio… Cesare… it’s all part of something larger, something that was never meant to end like this. And if he and I don’t go, we may be putting you and Michelangelo in danger.”

Silvia’s eyes narrowed, her expression, oddly enough, hardly changing. She didn’t seem at all surprised by this news.

“So you will run away.” She shrugged, turning back to the stove and putting her nose in the air. “Will that fix the problem? Will that make you safe?”

“No,” Lena said guiltily, toeing the floor with a bare foot, “but it might spare you a lot of unpleasantness. I would ask you to come with us but I know you can’t do that…”

“And why not?” Silvia demanded tartly. “Because I’m too old? Too slow? My boys are all grown and married, they don’t need me to fuss over their babies. They have wives for that.” She dropped the spoon, turning again to Lena with a furious glimmer in her eye. “Whoever these people are, do you think they’ll just let me go on my merry way? No! I’ve seen everything, girl, I know all that goes on in this house, and if they really are as dangerous as you say, then what is to stop them from torturing me until I spill every secret word of it?”

Lena bit down on her lip, fighting the urge to flee. But she couldn’t, not when Silvia was right. The assassins were not the type to harm the innocent, but they might hound her ceaselessly until she gave them the information they sought.

It would be better to talk it over with Cesare, consider his thoughts and then come to a join decision, but instead Lena blurted, “Then come with us.”

Silence.

Silvia hmm’d softly.

“Michelangelo must return to Rome soon anyway, and the thought of leaving you behind is… I hate it.” Lena continued. It was sensible. With Lena safe and under their supervision they could trust Michelangelo to keep their location hidden. He was, after all, an important man and close with Leonardo. If nothing else, he could at least use his alliance with da Vinci to keep the assassins from harassing him too intently. But Silvia? She was a peasant, a nobody, just the sort of person the assassins could intimidate into cooperation. Ezio was a persuasive man; Lena had seen hardened men crumble to their feet in his presence.

“Have you ever wanted to see England?” Lena squeaked, realizing there was a real possibility that Silvia would turn down the offer and fend for herself.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” the old woman reminded her sharply. But her thin lips curved into a smile, that furious glimmer in her eye changing to something else, something mischievous. “I will need to get straight to work. You hardly have any clothes at all and we can’t have your fellow strutting around in wedding clothes. Have you any money?”

“Not… not really.” Lena hadn’t thought of that. With just her and Cesare, roughing it would be easier but with an old woman in their midst they would have to make gentler accommodations. Lena deflated. So they were not going to make a smooth getaway after all.

“We’ll worry about that later. I’m sure I can beg some old shirts off of my neighbor. She just loves feeling superior… I suppose I can put up with her mockery if it means leaving her behind for good. Ha! I can’t wait to see the look on her fat face when I - ”

Silvia stopped, cut off as Lena crossed the kitchen and threw her arms around the Spaniard’s neck.

“Come on, girl. It’s not the time to get weepy, eh? Buck up.”

“I’m just glad…” Lena pulled back, grinning. “I’m just glad you’re coming with us.”

Silvia patted her shoulder, returning to the soup and her abandoned spoon. “Me too, hija. Me too.”

-~-

Michele -

Good God. I scarcely know what to write. Here I thought I knew everything about you and yet… and yet… Speechless, you see? Even on the page.

I cannot help but express my sorrow that Lena, a woman I hold in high regard and who showed such promise as an assassin, has come to this decision. Certainly it was no spur of the moment choice – she has been in Spain for too long. I said as much to Ezio but he waved off my desire to see her again and to continue the lessons she seemed to enjoy so. Surprise… surprise is not a sufficient word, Michelangelo. My instinct is to revolt against all that you write, to swear that Lena is the sort of woman who would never be taken in by a Borgia. But that would be a lie. Even I, at first, admired Cesare’s spirit and charisma. In truth… he charmed me, and I had a weakness for his mischievous eyes. I regret that weakness with all my heart, though I suppose charmed or no, I would have been forced into his service regardless.

And now dear Lena has been taken in by him. But you write of compassion? Kindness? If this is true then yes, he has changed and for the better. You will call me sentimental, but after reading your letter I could not get the idea out of my head. I am an artist, yes? I suppose the idea is too romantic to resist… mortal enemies, a Templar and an assassin falling in love. It has happened before, and yet this does not smack of Perotto and his mistakes. There, blind passion made misery of a good man. Here? Here I sense that this was no whirlwind but a gentle breeze. As I said, she has been in Spain too long and this is the result. I should have listened to Ezio, he had doubts – different than mine, but doubts all the same – and I dismissed them.

Damn you, Michelangelo! Damn you for handing me this conflict and this burden! If I refuse you then I will look monstrous and cold. If I agree? I fear the consequences of my complicity even more. Ezio would never forgive such a trespass. But then… I have never seen you speak so fondly of anyone, Michelangelo, not even yourself.

Bah. Two hours in the brisk air and I have returned to finish this letter and give my answer…

There is a small vial included in this package. There is only enough for one attempt and subsequently all my conscious will allow. He tormented me Michelangelo, he… but no, you have attested personally to his rebirth. I will trust. I will believe. Tell Lena to keep a strict watch – Ezio prepares for a journey to Spain to confront Cesare himself and, in my opinion, to execute him. His heart has grown heavy with Cesare’s continued existence. I believe he seeks to cut the final Borgia thread himself. I will find a way to accompany him in case the contents of the vial do not work as planned.

The moment our approach is spotted, instruct the boy to drink the vial, all of it and go to bed. Within moments he will feel ill. In half an hour, he will begin to vomit violently. He will show all the signs of a terrible ailment – fever then chills, ache, hallucinations and, in a day’s time, death. Yes, you read that correctly. Do not ask me where I acquired this poison nor why. This is, I think, the only way to buy enough time for them.

Ezio will see a man in the throes of death. He will not have to kill Cesare, the poison will do it for him. He will not know, however, that the symptoms of death are just that – simulated, a sort of frozen state that will make him into a living cadaver. The death-state only lasts for a day. It will fall to us to hasten his burial. Ezio will want to oversee it. I cannot say what method of extraction will be best, only that we will need to be fast and discrete.

There. I am now part of this ugly deception. Warn Lena that I have never tried this poison on a human. It has produced the described effects in dogs and horses and I have tried to measure the dose for a man… It could… Just warn her. There is no guarantee that Cesare will wake again.

And now I am sick at heart. Convince me, friend. Convince me I have done the right thing.

LDV

-~-

They were in bed when it happened.

Lena was beginning to worry if maybe they were going to get tired of one another. Maybe they ought to slow down, stop to simply chat and idle away the hours with their clothes on. But that was idiotic, she decided, flat on her back with her legs thrown wide and Cesare’s tongue buried in her sex. This was as good as any conversation and as informative, too. She had learned, for example, that Cesare enjoyed having his hair pulled as he made love to her with his mouth. And she discovered that his tricks were just as fun when turned around and used on him. She had heard him grind out an unearthly sound just an hour ago when she licked her pinky finger and pushed it carefully into his rear. That sound and the admiring, crooked smile he gave her afterward most certainly demanded further research.

With her fingers scraping across her scalp and her thoughts drifting to the endless list of chores to accomplish in preparation for their escape, she did not expect to hear Silvia shrieking from the kitchen. Cesare’s head flew up, his wrist darting across his mouth to wipe at the slick smeared on his lips.

“Oh no,” Lena whispered, her heart dropping to her toes. “He’s here.”

Cesare leapt out of bed, bounding to the dresser and yanking on a shirt. He tossed one to Lena and a gown, and she was too panicked and terrified to argue that he had given her a men’s shirt instead of a chemise. They dressed in taut silence, tears already gathering in Lena’s eyes. No. Strength. Resolve. They could do this. She had to keep it together for Cesare. The tiny vial was hidden at the bottom of her pack and she fished it out, grimacing as she pushed aside the Borgia family history to find it.

“So soon,” Cesare murmured, raking both hands through his mussed hair. “It’s… it seems so soon.”

His little boy expression of utter hopelessness gripped her heart. Lena palmed the vial, crossing to do up the ties on his shirt. His hands shook too badly to be of any use.

“Faith,” Lena whispered, going up on tip toes to press an aching kiss to his mouth. “Faith that all will be well.”

Cesare nodded, and she was glad her words – which she hardly believed – had bolstered his spirits.

Lena turned to go, knowing they needed to get him in his own bed and prepare before Ezio arrived on their doorstep. Her heart shuddered, stuck between sorrowful nothingness and the tremendous urge to beat up and out of her throat. Cesare caught her hand, spinning her back into his embrace. He held her for a moment, tightly, the sound of horse hooves on gravel crunching outside.

With his chin firmly against her forehead and his hands fidgeting with her corset, tightening it, fixing it, fussing, Cesare whispered, “I love you.” And then quickly, “Don’t say it back to me. Not yet. Say it when you pull me from the grave for a second time.”

“But…”

“Do as I say, please.”

Lena nodded, forcing back stinging tears. They walked hand in hand through the curtain and into his room, the building dread stopping up her windpipe as she watched him pad slowly over to the bed. He cast one swift look through the window and stopped, half leaning on the mattress as he murmured, “That… isn’t a man.”

She knew. She knew the instant she sprinted past Cesare and shoved Silvia aside. She knew when she wrenched the door open and saw the ornate carriage, the liveried footmen and the tall, striking woman with her chestnut hair pulled into a dazzling array of perfect curls. She knew. It was Lucio’s revenge at last. It was death of another sort.

It was her. The one Lena had hoped never to see, never to even hear spoken of again.

Charlotte of Albret. Duchess of Valentinois. Cesare’s lawful wife.

The cottage fell silent as the duchess descended her gilded carriage, the wheels as tall as Lena, her delicate hand cradled in that of a servant. Her gown was exquisite, her beauty undeniable, a sense of grace and sophistication lingering behind her every gesture. And she was young, at least as young as Lena if not more so. Charlotte was pretty in a pale, conventional way. Her legs wobbled as she stepped to the ground. Feeble, Lena thought at once, fragile. But feeble or fragile or both, it didn’t matter. She was Cesare’s wife and the mother of his only legitimate daughter.

Lena knew she should curtsey, show respect, but her knees had locked into place.

Charlotte walked daintily toward the cottage, her head held high, her dark, intelligent eyes sweeping in every direction as she assessed the little house and its shabby front walk. Behind her, Lena felt the warmth of Cesare’s chest as he came to stand at her back.

“It’s… your wife,” Lena rasped, shaking. “Cesare… I'm going to faint.”

His hand pressed into her lowerback. “Faith,” he whispered in reply, “faith that all will be well.”

“But… we… What if she makes you go back?”

“Never.”

Lena wasn’t so sure. It was her legal right, after all, and it would look very bad indeed that they had been harboring her allegedly dead husband for so long.

WOW Something like ten chapters of this greeted me today...the sex is so hot, and the emotions so raw, and now THIS?? /faints

Thank you for reading. =D Believe it or not, we're actually getting to some sort of ending. I'm almost too attached to Cesare to end it!

Another awful, even worse thought occurred then, that perhaps Cesare would compare Charlotte and Lena and choose the richer, nobler of the two. No. He had changed. He might have married this woman but there was no proof at all that it was a love match. Perhaps he would not even remember her.

“This is it?” Charlotte mumbled, pursing her lips, thick, guttural French accenting her Italian. Her eyes fell on Lena and that same pretty mouth twisted down in a scowl. “And I suppose you are the one I’m to speak with.”

“I’m Lena.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Two servants rushed up to help Charlotte with her shawl. They kept their eyes rooted to the ground at their lady’s feet. The duchess laughed humorlessly, fanning at her décolletage with a pale hand, rubies flashing on her fingers like bright sores. “I can also see that you find this as distasteful as I do. Good… that makes this somewhat more tolerable.”

Inside, Lena heard Silvia dodge into the kitchen and begin praying.

“Ah,” Charlotte said lazily, her gaze drifting from Lena to Cesare. His hand spasmed on her back. “So here is my scoundrel of a husband. And yet this is not the tableau I was led to expect. Nobody here looks at all like a prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Lena repeated. Her mouth was sandy, gritty.

“Indeed.” Charlotte paused on the threshold, though Lena knew she would sweep inside if she desired to. “You’re very bold, you know,” the duchess added imperiously, fluttering her lashes. “Not even cursory acknowledgement of my position? From what I understood you were to be throwing yourself at my feet in shame and forgiveness.”

“You were deceived,” Lena said firmly, finding some beloved last well of inner fire. “I am an assassin,” she continued, laying down her cards with a silent prayer. “You will find that we do not scare easily, nor do we beg for what is ours.”

“Yours?” Charlotte arched one thick, dark eyebrow. Again, she glanced at Cesare. “I would show you the ring,” she purred, “but that seems vulgar.”

“State your business, madam,” Cesare put in abruptly. “Or be gone.”

“I was summoned to this place by an anonymous spy. He,” she paused, looking carefully at Lena, “or she, said that I was to come and collect my husband. That he was acting a fool in the Spanish countryside with someone’s woman. Furthermore, I was alerted to the fact that his miraculous recovery would be cut short should I fail to appear.”

Charlotte smirked, touching one finger to her lower lip. “Well, I took my time in coming and I see that you are still alive and well, husband. It appears this letter carried more than one inconsistency.”

“Do not call me that,” Cesare said curtly. “I do not know you, madam.”

She laughed, brightly, like a silver chime, the sound carrying, echoing off the nearby buildings. Charlotte turned to her waiting servants as if to share in the hilarious joke with them. They cracked weary smiles in unison. “At least that bit of the letter was accurate. You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?” Charlotte huffed out a dramatic sigh, sticking out her ruby red pout. “Poor, sad dear. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so completely pathetic.”

Charlotte put up her hand, calling for silence. Cesare had been about to retort, naturally, but he waited, his grasp on Lena’s back tightening.

“Fear not,” Charlotte cooed, reaching out and grabbing Lena’s elbow. “You and I will have a chat, just us girls, and then I will be gone, back to civilization and away from this horrid little hovel.”

She twinkled her fingers at Cesare, leading a gob smacked Lena away. Lena tossed him a helpless look over her shoulder, shrugging. Charlotte dragged her toward the side of the house and then back toward the garden. The silence stretched, painful, until at last they rounded the back of the cottage and stepped into the sunny pasture.

“Oh stop scowling at me. I did not come to steal him from you,” Charlotte stated plainly. She was taller than Lena, willowy, her neck long and lean like a swan’s. Lena envied her jewels and her velvets but not the sense of ghoulish entitlement that came with them. “On the contrary,” she said with another infuriatingly French giggle, “you could not pay me a queen’s ransom to take him back.”

“I…” Her voice dropped away. She was relieved, yes, but also shocked. “Sorry?”

Charlotte faced her fully, swirling out her skirts and shooing impatiently at the servants that had crept around to try and follow her. They scampered back around the cottage like frightened doves.

“He really must be different,” Charlotte continued matter-of-factly, eyeing Lena critically, “or you would be begging me to cart him off. That, or you would have killed him in his sleep. He’s a menace, or was, it makes no difference. I would show you the scars of his whips and his fingernails but – again - vulgar, no?” She gestured toward the house. “That man in there is the meanest, foulest, rudest person I have ever had the misfortune of knowing. The day he went off with my brother to die in ignominy was the happiest day of my life. I toasted his demise. At last, I thought, my daughter and I are safe. And now I am a duchess, free to marry or pursue whom I choose, and Louisa no longer lives in terror of that dog.”

Lena opened and closed her mouth, completely at a loss for words. She hadn’t known what to expect when she first glimpsed Charlotte on their stoop, but whatever she imagined it certainly wasn’t anything like this.

“But… he’s your husband. I’m not asking you to take him, I’m just… confused. My God, he’s the father of your child!” At that, Lena’s insides did a sharp flip of envy.

Charlotte threw back her head and guffawed, her titters lasting for moments on end as she tried to catch her breath. When she finally calmed down there were tears glistening in her eyes. “You think? You… oh! Oh, ha ha! You think… Mon dieu…” She fanned her flushed face, giggling again. “You think I would let that bastard give me a child? Heavens no… You learn to be resourceful in this life. When I heard of my impending marriage to him I redoubled my efforts with darling Massimo.” Charlotte reached out and patted Lena as if she were a very stupid, drooling child. “And those efforts were redoubled without the use of tonics and a tortoiseshell.”

“You… you purposefully made a bastard and passed it off as Cesare’s?” Lena sputtered, gaping.

“Of course! It’s done far, far more than you might think. Men can’t tell the difference, can they? They’re so eager for a bit of quim they don’t bother to look too hard. You merely pop a little quail’s egg up your cunny and voila! Virginity for your wedding night. Simple, oui?” Charlotte had blushed more laughing over Lena’s mistake than over casually discussing the ins and outs of forging one’s maidenhead. “Meanwhile,” Charlotte continued swiftly, “Massimo had done his job and I had done mine. The dates were close enough. Cesare was away anyway when the babe came. He didn’t give a second thought to the fact that she was several weeks early.”

“But… surely it was obvious?” Lena couldn’t decide whether she was overjoyed or overwhelmed with disgust. Either way, she had to admit that Charlotte was ferocious and cunning for a girl of her tender age. She had seen far more and perhaps far worse than Lena… and that was saying something. “Didn’t he see there was no resemblance?”

“See? Well now, that would require that he actually spend time with his daughter, would it not?” Charlotte shrugged, slapping at an interested fly. It was like she was talking about a stranger. A myth. “The girl looks just like me anyway, so even if he did bother to look he probably wouldn’t make the leap.” Suddenly, the duchess stopped, taking a small but intimidating step toward Lena.

“This could very well ruin my reputation, you know,” Charlotte hissed, “and Louisa’s future. I will say nothing of Cesare’s survival but you must never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“What about Cesare?” Lena asked softly. “Surely it would be better that he know…”

“Oh certainly.” Charlotte waved off the question as if it were a waste of her time. “Tell him. Do. I hope it tears him to pieces.”

She walked away purposefully, her heavy blue skirts swishing in her wake. Charlotte of Albret hardly paused as she glanced back at Lena and called, “Take him away. Take him wherever you wish. Kill him for all I care. He’s yours. Just be certain he never returns to Roma. Louisa and I are happy now. I help you, yes? And now you will help me.”

Lena watched her go, stunned, and then followed after at a trot. She caught up to the duchess just as she was being helped into her carriage. Cesare watched from the doorway, leaning against it with his lips in a grim line.

“I nearly forgot,” Charlotte said, now seated in the opulent, fluffy seats of the carriage. She leaned forward, opening a small, filigreed box. “Here,” she added, handing down a velvet purse. Lena took it with both hands, surprised by its weight.

“Now,” Charlotte said, dusting her skirts and fixing her eyes straight ahead, away from Lena. “If all goes well, we shall never meet again. Good day.”

The servants climbed swiftly to their posts, the driver cracking his whip and sending the carriage jolting forward, all of it precise and choreographed, like a perfect little dance. Lena stepped back, shielding her eyes from the dust as Charlotte and her carriage trundled down the lane. Weighted down by far more than the purse, Lena walked up the path to the house, wary of Cesare’s intent gaze.

“What did she give you?” he asked, shifting his focus to the bag.

Lena tugged it open, gasping as she beheld its glittering contents. Silvia and Michelangelo crowded behind him, each trying to get a glimpse at the purse. Lena held it out to them, looking back up at Cesare as she whispered, “Hush money.”

-~-

It’s poison, this feeling, seeping into his blood and curdling it, making him ache and shiver. Cesare sat on Lena’s bed facing away from her, perfectly sensible of the fact that he should be the one apologizing and begging for her to understand. It could not have been easy to meet his wife. He blinked down at his hands, cold, unfeeling, rocked into a state of perpetual numbness that leaves him wordless and ashamed. Charlotte’s visit had taken a greater toll than he could have anticipated. He felt utterly drained.

The room was dark, muted, even the candles solemn and dull.

Cesare sighed, dropping his head into his palms. He did not know that woman. What sort of creature was he then, a man who did not recognize his own wife? Though as Lena would be quick to point out, now that he was ‘dead’ they were no longer truly married. He was free. Cesare snorted under his breath, bitter and withdrawn. Free. Ridiculous. He was not free. He was as shackled now as he was when he still lived under the influence of his vicious family and daunting responsibilities. He should comfort her. He should have faith. But it all felt remote, impossible, a dream had and then forgotten, just like the rest of his miserable life.

“Say something.”

Cesare slumped forward, undone. Her voice… it made his heart strain against the chains keeping it in bondage. He half-turned at the waist and his gaze fell on the vial all of their hopes rested on. It looked tiny, insignificant, no longer a solution but yet another problem to be faced.

“How do you stand it? My own… wife... does not want me, not even for the sake of our child.”

He did not need to look at Lena to feel her icy shiver of distaste.

“She says it is not your daughter,” Lena murmured, curled tightly against the headboard as if trying to become invisible. “She had a lover before you married and… did what she could to ensure a pregnancy.”

“And how is that better?” Cesare spat, standing suddenly. He whirled, out of control, overcome by a terrible urge to shout and rage. Lena flinched, staring with wild eyes as he paced, his knuckles grazing the wall as he went. “God in heaven, how is that better? The idea of breeding with me was so repugnant that she was driven to debasing herself like that! Can you even imagine it? Can you imagine marrying that man?”

Turning to glance at Lena was a mistake, but he did, finding that her lips were trembling.

“I already have,” Lena whispered. “And I cannot blame her for trying to protect herself.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that.” Cesare’s hands balled into fists. “Why? Why would you even consider me as I was before? Do you want to resent me? Is that it? Storing up ammunition for the day of my inevitable betrayal?”

Lena started, her mouth dropping open as she quickly shouted back, “That’s not it at all! I was trying to… I don’t know… trying to imagine the kind of despair that would drive a woman to behave like that. It had nothing to do with who you are now. Why are you so angry with me? What did I do?”

“You were kind,” Cesare hissed, more comfortable looking at the wall then absorbing her scorn. “You were kind to me when you should not have been.”
A beat of silence. He looked again at the vial on the bedside table, terrible ideas forming in his head.

When Lena finally spoke, it was in a low, deadly whisper.

“What do you want me to say, Cesare? That you were a rapist? A murderer? There! I said it. Happy? Shall we just get it all out in the open? Would that make your tantrum easier to sustain?” She paused, thrashing her hand against a pillow savagely. He was reminded of the moment in the garden when she vowed, passionately, to be his ally. How he wished for those feelings of relief and happiness to return. “You knew this could happen… we both did! You can’t expect me to believe that this is some great surprise! There is no hiding from what happened. Your life, your deeds, these are not closely-guarded secrets. I cannot protect you forever, nor would I. It would be a life of total seclusion, Cesare, and neither of us could bear that.”

Rapist. Murderer.

Cesare cracked, snatching up Leonardo’s precious vial and hurling it against the wall. Lena cried out, scampering off the bed to kneel where a clear stain spread down toward the floor.

“No,” she breathed, a sob breaking through. She tried to pick up the shattered pieces of glass, pricking herself and swearing. Then she seemed to grow intensely quiet, swiveling to stare up at him. “Cesare,” Lena mumbled, her eyelids drooping. He stared at her finger, a tiny bead of blood welling there. His temper fled as he dropped down beside her, catching her as she swayed slightly. She swooned against his chest.

“Tesora... I’m so sorry,” Cesare said, kissing her forehead as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “I don’t… I shouldn’t have shouted at you. And now this…” He trailed off, furious that he had behaved so rashly. “Oh God, Lena, what have I done to you?”

“I don’t…” She tried to reach for his chin, missing. “I don’t feel well.”

Hard, sobering determination descended, clearing the path. Suddenly it was obvious what he had to do. Terrible, but obvious. He should never have let her scheme with those artists. Even if the plan worked it would have led to more misery and hiding. Cesare stood, grunting as his legs complained, phantom pains shooting through his thighs. He carried Lena to the bed, settling her gently under the covers and pressing his hand to her forehead. It was time to take responsibility. It was no longer Lena’s job to shoulder the full weight of their love. He paused to search in her pack, knowing what he was looking for and finding it instantly. The little book felt inordinately heavy in his grasp.

Smiling sadly, he stood and turned back to the bed.

“Someday,” Cesare murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against hers, “someday you will forgive me for this.”

-~-

She was sick for days.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, she expected to see Cesare there each time she woke from fitful dreams. But he was never there. Silvia tended her instead, there to sooth her when the vomiting made her feel as if her insides were evacuating through her mouth. And it was Silvia there through the fevers and trembling that made her teeth chatter audibly. And every time she woke and did not see Cesare, her heart sank a little further. She didn’t need the old Spaniard to tell her that he was gone, nor did she really want to know. For now, ill and feverish, she could pretend that he was simply out in the garden, waiting for her, smirking over a book or conversing with Michelangelo.

“He’s gone,” Lena murmured, waking for good on the third day. It was only a fraction of what might have happened had she imbibed all of the poison, but one prick was more than enough for her. And the empty, churning sensation in her guts was easier to focus on than the fact that Cesare had abandoned her when she needed him most.

“I know it, hija,” Silvia said, stroking her hair. “But perhaps not for good.”

“For good,” Lena corrected sternly. “He won’t come back.”

Her theories were proven when she discovered the missing Borgia history. He had gone to die, thinking that she would suffer more with him alive. She could imagine him reading the detailed descriptions of his crimes, learning the depth of his former depravity and inhumanity, his resolve growing with each stabbing word. And after that it would be easy to die, comforting even. The illness lingered, prolonged by her consuming heartache. She sent Lena to search for him, but none of the villagers had seen a man leaving the cottage. They would send Michelangelo to the nearby towns as soon as a horse could be found. It would be too late by then, Lena knew. Cesare would already be dead somewhere, in a field perhaps, a knife in his chest, or sitting in a tub, soaking in his own blood while his throat wept scarlet.

The hysterics lasted for hours, in bursts of emotion so strong they tied her stomach in knots. Lena tried to eat but grew weak, unable to keep down even the mildest broth.

“You must eat,” Silvia would say, frowning over a steaming bowl and prodding a spoon at Lena’s sealed lips. “You are no good to anyone this way, sweetheart.”

That broke through. Perhaps she could go after him. It might not be too late. Lena forced herself to eat and drink and regain a bit of vitality, but every mouthful of food turned to ash when she considered how foolish it was to hope.

At last they found a cheap enough horse and Michelangelo left them, waving solemnly as Lena watched from the gate.

He would return, she knew, empty-handed and she would have to find a way to go on.

-~-

Ezio groaned and rubbed his backside. He hated horses. This one had a lumpy back that no saddle, however padded, could soften. Behind him, a modestly comfortable carriage carrying his family and Leonardo rolled along. He wanted to set a strong example for his young son and so rode out ahead, dropping back every few miles to chat through the window and make faces at his giggling daughter. She was incandescent. Boats and horses and carriages. It was all a great, big adventure.

They reached the town of Campos, aptly named for the flat pastures that spread out around in every direction. It sat elevated above their destination, a steep hill leading down to the little village and cottage he had last seen months earlier. Late summer exploded around them, the meadows vibrant with wildflowers and farmers in straw hats, their scythes scraping at wheat, pausing their work to wipe at their foreheads and watch the carriage roll by.

Throughout their journey, which was uneventful except for a frantic moment when the tossing ship nearly sent his son barreling overboard, Ezio suffered a building sense of dread. It might have turned him melancholy but for the company of his wife and children.

Leonardo was no help. He too seemed haunted by the nature of their trip. For the most part he was silent, his usual boisterous personality left behind in Rome. Now and again he perked up, finding his voice to tell the children stories about his miraculous flying machines or how Ezio had piloted all sorts of his ingenious (or more probably insane) inventions.

Ezio ought to feel relieved. For months he had put up with a tiny, niggling voice in the back of his head that reminded him he had a much-beloved agent afield. It was just a whisper of anxiety, but enough to make him irritable on long, stressful days. And now it was all going to end, one way or another. It was time to bring Lena home and deal with Cesare once and for all.

Campos sprung out of the high grasses of the fields, low-slung buildings dashed with white paint and topped with colorful, orange roofs. With night descending, they would spend the night at the inn here and continue on at first light. Ezio cracked a smile, grateful for the promise of hearty, country food and strong wine. Maybe a bottle or two would set he and Leonardo back to rights, though Rosa would chide him for looking drunk and stupid in front of the little ones. Or better, Leonardo might agree to watch the children in his quarters while Ezio and Rosa made up for weeks of travel with nary a moment of privacy.

Ezio led them to an inn at the center of town, a string of tiny lanterns glowing cheerfully out front. He dismounted, their assassin-masquerading-as-driver hopping down to see to the horses and find a safe storing place for the carriage. Then Ezio helped his children down from the carriage, Rosa asking for and needig no help at all. Leonardo was less sure on his feet, age giving him a stoop and a bad ankle.

“What is this place, Papa?” Enzo asked, holding his mother’s hand as she escorted the four-year-old toward the entrance.

Maria, swaddled in soft blankets, squirmed in his grasp as Leonardo handed her down.

“Campos,” Ezio replied, following them in. “Our last stop and a chance to get some rest, eh?”

He shouldered the infant girl, reaching down to ruffle Enzo’s hair. The boy grunted, smoothing it back down, as vain and particular as his father.

They ate an enormous meal, the inn empty except for a few locals drinking in the corner. The good, fortifying food and pleasant company of his family was almost enough to banish the doubts brewing in his heart. He would have to take a tonic or risk getting no sleep at all.

Ezio excused himself early, disappearing up the uneven, rustic stares to see that their rooms were sorted and their trunks unpacked. They traveled light, but still, he liked to have a comfortable bed waiting for Rosa, who was a saint to put up with the meager accommodations they had found previously. The rooms were small and the corridor poky, but the rugs were beaten and the linens clean, which was luxury far more extensive than other places boasted.

A sharp knock came at the door as he was just finishing folding Rosa’s night dress. He strode to the door, not bothering to fix his undone doublet, expecting Leonardo or Rosa and opening the door to find Cesare Borgia staring back at him. The hallway gloom cloaked him in shadow, but even with his hair pulled back in a tail and darkness hovering, Ezio recognized him at once. His first instinct was to go for his blade, but he noted that Cesare was not armed, leaning precariously on a cane.

“I did not intend to surprise you,” Cesare said, his voice, even stripped of its malice, tightening Ezio’s spine. The Borgia glanced down at his feet and then over Ezio’s shoulder. “I only want to speak to you. Listen to what I have to say and then do with me what you will.”

Manners, Ezio realized with a snort, did not come easily with Cesare standing at his door.

“Of course,” he finally managed, grateful for the dagger at his side. “Come in.”

Cesare hobbled to the fire, his gait halting but strong, as if a healthy man were struggling to disguise his limitations. He sat slowly, lowering himself carefully into a chair. Ezio joined him, still sober enough to feel confident that he could pin the man’s ears back with throwing knives if the occasion warranted it. But Cesare simply stared at the hearth and the small fire crackling within.

“How did you find me?” Ezio asked, sincerely curious.

“I knew you would have to pass through Campos. This is the only decent inn.”

Ezio nodded, unable or unwilling to let his guard down. This was the man, after all, that had killed his uncle and terrorized his friends and countrymen for years. And yet Ezio was not so single-minded that he missed the defeated tilt to Cesare’s shoulders, the glassy stare that made him look hollow, lifeless.

“I’m told we are enemies,” Cesare said softly. “For whatever pain I caused you and your family, I apologize.”

He might have said more, begged, groveled, but the straightforward, simple apology appealed to Ezio’s sense of honor. No matter what atrocities a man committed, it was never becoming to abandon dignity. Ezio nodded, not certain whether he was accepting the apology or merely acknowledging it. He sat back and observed Cesare, taking in his longer hair, the new scars on his chin and hands, the homespun clothing so unlike the flashy, daring Borgia scarlet of old.

“Somehow I knew it would come to this.” Ezio stretched out his long legs, paused, then crooked one knee over the other.

“What? That you would toss me to my doom only to see me survive? That I would then lose all memory of my past and my crimes? That I would overcome the injuries that might have easily killed a weaker man only to fall in love with the woman you sent to kill me? Or that I would refuse to run? Which of these did you miraculously foresee?”

Ezio twitched, grunting softly.

“I meant only that we would confront each other again,” Ezio replied, miffed. He still had a regrettably cunning way with words. They cut, deeply. “You are the damndest weed in the garden, Cesare,” he continued. “No matter what I do you just refuse to die.”

“That’s all over now,” Cesare replied stiffly. He finally met Ezio’s eye, but only for a fleeting instant. “If you wish to kill me I will not put up a fight. I came here because too many innocent souls risked their safety to protect me. I do not deserve such consideration and it would be better to die and spare them the shame of suffering in my name.”

“Is this some sort of trick?” Ezio asked, squinting. He studied Cesare, hard, but detected no deception in his words or his expression. Quite frankly he looked relaxed, prepared, as if he expected Ezio to dispatch him at any moment and that the thought of such an end did not perturb him in the least.

“No trick,” Cesare replied. “Your friend, Leonardo, offered to help Lena and I escape from you and your assassins.” He paused, his hand and voice trembling as he continued, “I am sick with love for her, but not foolish enough to think you will permit us to marry. And Michelangelo, he is complicit also. Lena, obviously, is the worst offender of all. She saved me, cured me, brought me back from the brink and her reward is this…” Cesare gestured to himself and then to Ezio. “The heart of a murderer and the contempt of her brothers.”

“You… love her?” Ezio was still caught on the first bit of Cesare’s confession. Ice coated his veins, his knuckles aching as he noticed he had been clenching his fists in fury. Betrayed. Lena… Michelangelo… Leonardo… That stung the worst. He shook his head, trying to knock some sense back into his brain. “I cannot… This is… I trusted her.”

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