Ezio put the letter down. He took a deep breath, then inclined his head to Maria, "Come back tomorrow evening, I need to call the brotherhood to assembly."
Maria left the villa.
The streets of Monteriggioni were speckled with Assassins. It seemed as if this was the only place where it was safe for them to be at ease. Yet, Maria could feel the embers of hostility as she passed the groups of men. Although there were a few female assassins at present, they lived in Florence and Venice; Maria was the only one who was considered a senior and brother.
"Go home, Maria," Angelo hissed, his youthful face painted with scorn. Maria passed him. His words pursued, "You don't belong here."
As she reached the outer walls, she found her black courser waiting patiently. She stroked its muzzle, and whispered gently in its ear. It shook its head and relaxed, turning its body in preparation to depart. Maria mounted her steed, and guided the reins away from Monteriggioni. The courser began to trot, then canter, and was gone. Only the stable boy, who glanced up at a flick of distant red, saw her depart.
The grass and fields of the country brushed against each other in the wind. Maria rode for an hour on the dusty road, her horse's breathing and heavy hooves disturbing the tranquility of night. Finally, a modest home appeared ahead, and Maria's hands guided her steed towards it.
The door creaked when Maria leaned on it, letting it open. The wooden floorboards were lit by the moon's face, revealing a stain on the floorboards. Its body stretched over the wood, the faded red covering a great deal of the entrance. Maria observed it, and then continued into the house.
She lit a fire in the kitchen and removed her clothes. She prepared a pot of boiling water and began to wash her cloak and shirt, scrubbing until the red seeped out. Steam rose from the cloth as it was plunged into the water, and then lifted out. The humble fire gave the room a familiar glow, and Maria's deep locks fell loosely around her face. Her hands wrinkled from the water, and the scrubbing brush made them raw, but as she hung the clothes near the fire, the sleeves dripping with water rather than blood, it seemed as if her soul had been cleansed.
As she sat, she picked up her blades. They shone silver from the fire, and she began to sharpen them. The conflict of metal stirred up a cacophony of sounds, but Maria's face remained calm and serene.
Peace.
By the time she took to her bed, a small straw mattress on the floor with wool blankets, the moon seemed far away. The fire only dim embers and a pile of ash, the light faded from the room as silently as Maria fell asleep. Stars glimmered in the distance, and her breathing became deep and low.
"Luciano!" Maria shrieked, her hands desperately caressing his hollow face, "Luciano!"
The pool of blood was fed by a stream erupting from his chest. His lungs seemed to heave as if under the weight of a thousand stones, and his eyes were set on an untraceable place in the heavens.
The tears and cries of the woman filled the wooden beams, and the night quaked under it. It was inevitable.
"My love," she wept, her dress soaked with his blood and his face soaked with her tears. His body shook, and he lifted his arm, straining against invisible chains. It found her chest, and gently placed the palm over her left breast, the warmth of his hand seeping into her skin. She screamed in agony.
The hand fell and came to rest in the blood, the curled fingers still searching for her. Reaching out.
Maria awoke as she always had: her body tangled, her eyes sore and her body exhausted.
The window above her in the small hovel kitchen lit her face as she drew to it. Her body coiled into a helpless sphere, her bare back exposed and her spine visible under her taut skin. Her hands rubbed her forearms, and her eyes soared upon the heavens, searching for an untraceable place.
She searched for hours, but it remained a mystery.
Angelo was a handsome youth, with broad shoulders and a chiselled chin. He was always courting, and the river of women he had broken was unmatched by the other boys of his generation. Despite his charms, he was also a strong, proud fighter and an asset to the brotherhood.
That is what made it so difficult.
"Ave Maria," he lamented, his arms held high in satire, "Bless me for I have sinned!"
Maria continued forward.
"What brings you to our order today, sister?" he smirked, chasing his prey, "Come to please the master?"
Maria turned to face Angelo, and she met his eyes. She said nothing, but her stare was bitter and unrelenting. He dared to hold it, but he frowned in frustration as her eyes singed him. He tossed his head away, breaking the contact, and she left.
"Dumb bitch, doesn't know her place." He yelled behind her, but his words were drowned out as she faded into the crowd.
She began to climb the stairs to the villa, and another assassin met her gaze. It was Raul, Luciano's brother.
"Sister,"
"Brother,"
They embraced.
"I never thought it would come to this," he whispered to her. She gestured to the garden path. They followed it.
"I am worried, Raul," she expressed, her voice humble and soft.
"You and I both, sister,"
"Has Ezio spoken to you?"
"His request for solitude speaks for him."
They reached the back of the villa, and they went to the wall overlooking the countryside.
"I believe," Raul sighed, his weary face examining the blue sky, "Luciano does not will you to live your life in mourning."
Maria's red scarf became restless as the wind rushed up the walls from the fields below.
"Luciano did not will his death," she replied.
"You are unchanged, beloved sister," he smiled, "You are as stubborn as the day he married you."
She let herself smile with him.
"But your destiny is for a different path," Raul continued, "One that does not lie with this brotherhood."
"My destiny is mine to choose, brother."
"Maria, you are young and you are beautiful, you could remarry."
"What are you saying?"
"You could marry me," Raul concluded, looking over to his sister in law, "I will support you and love you in my brother's place, and you will be able to retire from this life."
She paused, letting the breeze pull back her hair from her face. Her cool blue eyes seemed to search the sky.
"I took this path for its filth, Raul. I chose the soot and the ashes; my hands were too soft before, too fair. Now look at them, they are hard and calloused. I was a woman of luxury, a female of pleasantries, and I abandoned that because I lost something much more valuable than a warm bed and a hot meal," Maria turned to Raul and lifted her wrist, clad in her greave concealing the small blade, "Luciano was a gift, a gift I took for granted. His life was briefly intertwined with mine, but he left something there. He left something that cannot be undone, and although he has passed, I feel him when I stay alone too long. I can't sit still anymore, let alone retire as a humble bride."
Raul shook his head, "I knew you would refuse me, but I still had to try. And although I wish it were different, I respect you for it."
"Thank you, brother."
Raul left her standing on the wall. He strolled down the path, his eyes cast down. When he reached the end of the path, he swivelled around to see his sister one last time.
He saw a bold, billowing gust of red.
