AN: Screw this, I gave up on writing Brotherhood Tales. Just jumping straight into an important story for my OC. I guess for once I'll indulge in writing solely about my OC instead of canon characters. Not usually my style, but whatever.
I wrote the first chapter and a half back in China two years ago. Just picked it up again a few days ago and decided I want to finish this. It'll be 3, 4 chapters at most.
Already, I'll just warn that there is not a happy ending. Nothing changes from the canon though, except that this story is kind of just slotted in at some part of the game we don't play at. Somewhere during 1503.
Zita Emilione stirred as the first morning rays drew across her face. She simply lied there, breathing, enjoying the feeling of warmth as she lied against her husband.
He's back was her first relieved thought as she registered the feeling of his bare skin against her nightgown. He had left for a mission the night before and had not returned by the time Zita gave up on waiting and went to sleep. Part of her felt disappointed that despite how lightly she slept, Enrico had still managed to sneak his way into bed without waking her. Sometimes she almost believed it when an arrogant jerkass apprentice named Tessa once told her that she was probably the worst Assassin Ezio ever had the misfortune to train.
She pushed such thoughts out of her head. It was nonsense of course, she was one of their best free-runners and she was quick with her hands. Zita had already underwent years of training -thought she didn't know it- before she came to Roma. So what if Tessa was better than her at everything, she didn't care, not at all.
Gathering a considerable amount of willpower, Zita finally opened her eyes and slipped out of bed, doing her best not to disturb Enrico. The man stirred at the disturbance, but didn't wake. Shivering in the chilly morning air she began putting on a commoner's plain woollen dress, then reached for her weapons.
She only carried two blades with her. One was a small dagger she strapped to her right thigh, and she experimentally slipped her hand through the hidden slit in her dress to grab at its hilt. It was not easy to draw and it restricted her movement somewhat, but it was there if she needed it. The other was her Hidden Blade, which she strapped against the bare skin of her left forearm under her long sleeves. It was uncomfortable not to wear anything under it, and so low against the skin the blade had a much better chance of grazing her fingers -one of the recruits had lost the tip of his ring finger while wearing the blade in such a way- but it was the only way to wear it hidden under clothing. At least three months of wearing her Hidden Blade like this has given her thick protective calluses which meant she no longer got painful blisters, thank the gods.
She didn't need more than the two precautionary blades for her job. She hadn't touched her Assassin Robes or the rest of her gear since she had worn them ceremoniously three months ago during her initiation as a fully-fledged Assassin on Tiber Island. They lay in a box covered in a thick layer of dust under her bed. Her husband's however...
Zita saw the box half-exposed under the bed, its lid not fitted on fully. Evidently, Enrico had been too exhausted to properly hide his gear last night. Zita pulled the box out quietly and set the lid aside. There was blood on the white robe's left sleeve, trapped in the grooves of the hidden blade and its mechanism, and three of his throwing knives were missing.
Zita looked up at Enrico with concern, but after meticulously checking every inch of the robes she determined that he had taken no wounds that drew blood. She'll let him sleep; he had a rough night. The blood was evidence that things had gone wrong. It was supposed to be a bloodless mission, get in, replace the letter, then get out without being spotted.
She left the bloody Hidden Blade to clean later and took the robes out with her, from their bedroom to the living room of the small farmhouse they lived in. She wasn't alone. An older woman was working at the stoves, raising a fire to boil some water.
Annetta Abete, the woman Ezio had saved from a group of Borgia guards early in his stay in Roma, lived here with her husband and seven children. She wasn't young, but she glowed with youth and energy, far in her thirties but still beautiful. She and her husband had been more than happy to give Zita and Enrico use of their spare bedroom for a few Florins every month.
"Morning Zita." Annetta greeted, turning around at the sound of the Assassin closing the door behind her. Zita returned her greeting with a yawn before grabbing the basin where the family did its laundry. She dumped Enrico's bloody and sweaty robes in, and then grabbed a pail to fetch some water from the well.
"Leave it; I'm doing the laundry today anyways" Annetta told her, coming to her side and pulling the pail from her hands, before guiding Zita to the table. She forced the Assassin to sit before returning to the stove. There was steam rising from the kettle, so she deftly grabbed two cups then several bags of various dried herbs from the cabinets. She made two different teas, and brought them to the table where Zita waited awkwardly, unconsciously checking the straps of her Hidden Blade.
"Thanks." Zita accepted the offered cup from Annetta, trying to hide her grimace. The mixture tastes terrible, and there was never enough sugar in the house to make it a bit better. She wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything half an hour afterwards either, so there was nothing she could wash the taste out with. But Annetta claimed that it would help her pregnancy go smoother and her child healthy so Zita pinched her nose and downed the entire glass. At least it wasn't much.
Annetta laughed at the face she made.
"Your child will be grateful." She commented, amused as Zita pretended to retch onto the floor. The two had been distant when they first met, unsure of their standing with each other. Annetta was born a commoner and would die on the farm. Zita had been born into a rich family and was raised like a noble, but had lost everything before Ezio found her. At first the Abetes treated the Emiliones less like guests and more like masters. But over the weeks walls had fallen, and the two families had grown close. Zita was glad to finally have a friend like Annetta. Being a woman in the Assassin order was a lonely existence, if only because the only other female Assassin -Tessa Varzi- was absolutely intolerable. Though Zita had made friends with the men and had fallen in love with one, men were still oddly incompetent at understanding women.
Zita got to her feet as Annetta cleared the tables and went to prepare breakfast. Zita's hand came up to rub her growing belly with a sense of amazement. Sometimes, the idea of becoming a mother still seemed so strange, as if it was happening to someone else and she were just observing.
Her child was the reason Ezio decided to send her and her husband here when Enrico had first proposed. He had said that the tight enclosed rooms of Tiber Island or one of the more secretive, hidden safehouses was no place to give birth to a child. He had arranged for the Emiliones to be out here, on the farm with fresh air and open space, looking very much like commoners so they could make their way around without fear of detection.
"I'll have food ready in half an hour. You're going to see the birds?" Annetta asked as Zita put a bag of grain in her back and flung it across her back.
"Yes. I shouldn't be too long." Zita pushed her way outside, suddenly wishing she had brought a cloak. It was cold this early, and Spring had come late this year. Shrugging off the cold she made her way across the Abete's farmland.
The man and his sons were already on the field, near the house so they can be called in for breakfast, but working nonetheless. They gave Zita only the barest of greetings before going back to the work that will take them most of the day. Zita took her time, for she was in no real hurry. Her destination was a small grove of trees at the back of the Abete's property, right up against some low cliffs. She made her way through the underbrush, unable to be seen from the road. The sound of dozens of pigeons and the smell of their waste reached her before she saw the wooden structure built against the side of the cliff.
Her child wasn't the only reason she was out here. Ezio worked on many levels, and he doesn't let the talent at his disposal go to waste. For all that she was useless in the battlefield, the court, and in the shadows, Zita knew the birds like no other, having grown up helping her father run a pigeon post in Milano. It might seem like a minor skill, but Ezio saw the importance in having one who could train and keep their communication channels healthy. It had taken several weeks for Zita and the other Assassins to retrain the pigeons to fly here, and it had been a dangerous time with so much activity making them a target, but the danger has passed.
This place was perfect. Unless if anyone went out of their way to trespass across the Abete's land and push their way through the thin layer of trees at the back of their property, the only thing that betrayed its presence was the unusual amount of pigeons that flew to and from here.
It was a nexus of sorts for the Assassin order in Roma. Especially in the last year Ezio had begun to spread his growing number of fully-trained Assassin across Roma. There were half a dozen safehouses Zita knew of, and many more she probably didn't. They all had to keep in touch, and so did members of the Assassin Order not under Master Ezio's command. For many of the places it was impractical to keep more than a single bird or two, and each bird could only be trained to fly to one destination. Even Tiber Island couldn't hold all the birds necessary to maintain a channel of communication with everyone that needs it.
So this was Machiavelli's answer. Hide a large coop out in Roma's open lands, where most other Assassin work was so inconvenient Cesare would never bother scouring these lands for his enemies. Important channels of communication -like between Ezio's hideout at Tiber Island and Volpe's hideout at his inn- was still maintained, but every section of the Order had at least one bird that flew here. If they did not have a bird that went where they needed, they sent the bird here and Zita would redirect the message. Each section would have to decide for themselves if they can afford to wait or if they would have to deliver the message via human carriers. Birds from other cities all sent their birds here or directly to Tiber Island when they needed to communicate with the Roma chapter of the Order.
Zita was essentially in charge of the one thing Cesare wanted to get his hands on the most -other than Master Ezio's head- though safeguards were of course in place if this coop was captured. She checked each of the cages carefully, leaving food where it was needed, taking the letters of all the birds who bore any, redirecting most of them. She moved certain birds to different cages and kept an eye for any new birds coming in. In the end, it took more than an hour and she didn't even need to clean the cages today.
Finally Zita left the coop, her arms aching and with a headache coming in. She held three unopened messages that were for her and her Husband.
There was another reason Ezio had left the running of the main coop to Zita. Her husband Enrico had been trained, alongside with battle and stealth and roof-running, in Venezia to be their forger, scholar, to be an expert at all things of the written word, true or half-true or with lies dripping from every rune. He maintained the various ciphers used by the Order, was called upon to crack the secret messages of their enemies, was used to help them identify handwriting, and to forge documents of all kinds. Between all that and the normal missions of a trained Assassin, the man was always busy. It was valuable to have one of his skills at their heart of their communications channel. Antonio of Venezia often complained about how Ezio had stolen one of their most important assets but both men knew Enrico did more good here at the heart of Templar power. Antonio can train another; Ezio needed him now.
"You're back. Give me a few minutes; I'll warm something for you to eat." Annetta greeted Zita as the Assassin walked across the dining room to grab the cipher from its hiding spot in a crack in their bedroom wall -Enrico was still fast asleep, and knowing him would probably sleep until noon- and returned to sit at the dinner table. Carefully breaking the seal of each message, she decoded and read them.
The first one was from Tessa to Enrico. The poison he'd requested had finished brewing, and he was to pick it up tonight from her workshop. The note finished with a warning about how it will lose its potency within the week so he shouldn't tarry.
The second one was just a reminder from Machiavelli that it was about time to change ciphers, and he expected Enrico back at Tiber Island in three days to solidify it. Paranoid old coot. Zita felt annoyed. That's two nights Enrico likely won't be home within the next week.
Annetta shot her a look when Zita decoded part of the last message and groaned. The older women set a steaming bowl of porridge before her.
"Busy week?"
"I'm going to have awfully lots of lonely nights for a married woman." Zita muttered, slowly deciphered the last of the message. This one also had the glyph that marked the message for Enrico.
"Well, I'm not sharing Lamberto, though I'm sure one of my sons would be glad to help remedy your problem." Annetta laughed as she made her way back to the stoves, feigning a dodge at an attack that didn't come.
"I'll pass." Zita scowled and rolled her eyes, staring down at the decoded message she had scrawled on the back of the original.
We nicked some letters from a Borgia messenger tonight. It was probably written the day before, after Zita's evening run to the birds. We can't break it, we think they're using a new code. We thought you'd like a look at it. Even if the message isn't important, we want you to break the cipher. Meet us tomorrow, we'll buy drinks.
After that was a scribbled glyph that meant the meeting place would be at the inn I battenti pugnale. Zita wondered at that for a moment. The inn wasn't too far a ride from here, though it was kind of seedy and a rather obvious place to pass secret messages. Zita shrugged it off; the place was reputed to have some good spirits and the men were probably just thirsty. Master Ezio didn't let his Assassins indulge much in anything that would dull their senses so, but even he knew he couldn't keep them perfectly dry. She'll make sure they don't have too much and that Tiber Island doesn't hear of it.
She realized then that she was ready to go in Enrico's place. Let him sleep; she could handle getting a single letter. He had a long ride to Tessa's that night ahead of him anyways.
It was annoying that they didn't send the stolen document with the bird either, but they probably didn't want to lose it. They wanted Enrico to see the original, because a copy might lack things a pen can't clone. It was a fair enough fear, but still irritating. She left Enrico the messages, hid the cipher, and finished her breakfast before going out back to get her horse.
xXxXxXx
Enrico stared at the piece of paper in his hand with shock and despair. The Abetes had woken him late in the afternoon, asking him if he knew why Zita had not returned yet. He read all the messages immediately as well as the note she left him, and was reassured because she wouldn't be back that soon after going for the Borgia documents. But then he saw the original, coded message and ran to his room.
He compared the handwriting to the one who should have written it, a man in charge of the only other safehouse near enough to I battenti pugnale to make sense. It didn't match. It was unfamiliar; it wasn't an Assassin that wrote it.
With barely a word of explanation to the Abetes, Enrico grabbed his own horse and galloped at full speeds towards the inn. Twenty minutes later, he nearly jumped off his horse, his heart in his throat. The streets around the inn were empty. The one man who saw him fled. His heart dropped; the man had been looting a dead body.
Enrico forced professional calm into his movements as he approached the inn more stealthily. The door was open, and he could smell the carnage. Blood, steel, death-loosened bowels, and bodies left out in the sun for half a day.
He could see that the body by the door was that of someone who had tried to run away and was evidently stopped before they got away. He bled from a thin cut through his ribs that clipped the major artery leaving the heart. It was a thief; one of La Volpe's if Enrico guessed right. This inn was favoured by the guild, closer to the city than their own.
Enrico crept to the door and looked in, grimacing. There had been a fight here. Though the tables and the chairs had been arranged as they should be, there was no hiding the twinkle of glass shards, the missing chair legs, the gouges in the wood, and the blood seeped into the floor that their hurried cleaning could not get out.
He found the bodies downstairs in the wine cellar, only having to follow his nose. They had been piled there, mostly dead thieves, but the barkeeper, the serving girls, the bard that lived here- everyone was dead. La Volpe was going to be furious; some of his best contacts, all gone.
Enrico held back his revulsion as he looked for the one body that would make his world end. But Zita wasn't in the pile, and Enrico found himself collapsed against the wall, shaking. He didn't know if this was a good or bad thing. These men were killed this morning. Zita had left nearer to noon. Had he maybe been wrong? Had he let his fears get to the better of him when he read that letter? Maybe Zita had arrived, saw the carnage, and fled to another safehouse.
The body outside the door was still bleeding. He suddenly realizing, the time frame of that kill and the massacre not matching up. What was he doing here? He had to get out. He had to report to La Volpe, get a message to Machiavelli and Ezio. Too many things were going wrong. He had been expected last night on his mission. Was this a coincidence?
Something dropped to the ground in front of the door and Enrico turned in a flash, his Hidden Blade sliding out and his other hand reached for a sword.
"Keep your steel, Assassin." The man now blocking his exit commanded. The voice was commanding, a man perhaps in his twenties. Confident. There was a flash of steel and in the darkness of the cellar Enrico was suddenly aware of the sword at his throat.
How? He had been careless, had allowed his panic and grief and shock to overcome his years of training. He could almost imagine Master Casimiro's scowl. Enrico took his hand off the sword and straightened up.
"An Assassin kills with more than steel." There was no fear in his voice, though his mind raced. Who could knowingly threaten an Assassin and be so fearless, so confident? The man laughed and that unnerved him even more. Great, faced against a shadow of Ezio's legend and this man laughs. I'm screwed.
"Granted. But I'm not here for blood." The man sheathed his sword, and then tossed something at Enrico. The Assassin dodged aside, whatever had been thrown fell to the floor with a small thump, slid a few centimetres, and stopped.
"Jumpy little Assassin aren't you? You slipped through our fingers last night boy, but we have you now. You're not to say a word of this to your friends, and you are to meet us at the bridge to the Vatican tonight." The man turned to leave.
"You have no power over me." Enrico scoffed, but the man laughed and the Assassin found himself unable to put a throwing blade between the man's shoulder blades. He had been threatened openly. "They had him." That could only mean one thing, but he fought against that nightmare as the man vanished from sight. He instead turned, trying to distract himself with what the man had thrown again him. It was a small velvet bag. He emptied its contents into his palm.
Hope vanished.
It was a finger, the sign of the Assassin branded onto its base barely visible under the blood and the wedding ring Enrico had proposed with.