Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
It was quiet when he returned, the Café Théâtre closed for the night. Overturned chairs atop the tables, the candle sticks and table clothes stowed away, the stage dark and eerie, almost akin to a black gaping maw. The bar was empty too, Julian having gone home for the night.
He went to the intendant's study, surprised to see Geoffrey still at his desk. "Geoffrey, what are you doing here?" he asked. The old man looked up, his spectacles on the edge of his nose.
"Oh, Monsieur Dorian," Geoffrey mumbled, "back late I see."
"Why are you still here?" Arno asked.
"Looking through the books," Geoffrey said, Arno nodded, looking about the room: in one corner, a desk stood with stacks of books atop it, one door lead to the parlor, the one behind Geoffrey lead to the back courtyard was closed. A cat stood on its hind legs meowing to be let in or for food. Arno to the collection box. He opened it, seeing the glittering coins from the day. He closed and locked the box; he'll collect the money tomorrow.
"Get some sleep Geoffrey, go home," he said, leaving the room and going up the grand staircase. He headed to his room, wondering if Élise was up or not.
"Arno?"
He looked up at the sound of his name, unable to contain his grin at the sight of her. "Élise!" She came over to him and he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss. "What are you doing up? I expected you to be in bed."
"What happened to your face?" she asked, holding the candle stick closer to his face, illuminating the dried blood; he leaned back instinctively with a grimace.
"I had a mission tonight, and uh… got a pommel in the face." He grinned. "They were rather blunt about how much they detested me."
"Did they break your nose/" Élise asked, touching his nose. He winced, pulling away.
"It's tender."
"Sit, let me set it, otherwise you'll have a crooked nose for the rest of your life," she said. Huffing, he sat on the bed with her. She took his nose in her hands, gentle fingers on either side. Bellec had set his nose last time. The cranky Assassin had roughly taken hold of his nose and wrenched it back into place. "All right," Élise said, "on three."
"Right."
"Un... deux" — she yanked his nose back into place — "trois."
Grunting loudly, his nose back in place, he shook his head and wiggled his nose. She smacked his hand away. "Thought we agreed on three?"
"Don't touch your nose," she said, nudging his hand away again. "Let it heal."
"You didn't answer my question," he said, watching her cheeks flush. A cat meowed at the door, pawing to get in. He wasn't sure if it was the same one from downstairs or not. The fire popped. He leaned back on his hands, surveying the room. He felt like the room was a mess, especially his desk. It needed to be decluttered. He made a mental note to tidy up the room at some point. He turned his attention back to Élise. "Love?"
"Reading," she said, frowning as the cat's meowing grew louder. He followed her gaze to the unopen book near her side of bed. He nodded. "Is that a problem?"
"No, just wondering," he said, frowning as the cat used its claws on the glass in an effort to get their attention. "Considering how we… this morning and last night." He sighed as he stood up, heading over to the fire, ignoring the cat, who was doing everything in its power to get their attention. The flames soothed his troubled mind, anything was better than reminiscing about what he said and did last night. Suppressing a shuddering, knowing he got brutish and nasty when he was drunk. Anger aside, he knew accusing Élise of intentionally terminating the pregnancy because he was an Assassin was out of line. She would never do that, Élise wasn't that petty or cruel. The cat began to rub against the door, its meows growing in volume. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For what I said last night… about the baby," he said, looking over to her, then back at the fire. Thinking about their unborn child caused his heart to ache, which awakened the old aches of the loss of his father and François de la Serre. "Funny."
"What's funny?" she asked. The cat began to yowl and paw at the door.
"The night I was thrown into the Bastille, I told the guards I'm no killer," Arno said, "yet I'm an Assassin."
"That's ironic," she agreed, "but I know you aren't a murderer. You didn't kill my father."
"I know." He looked at her, admiring how the fire brought out the copper tones of her red hair, softened the sharp angles of her chin and jaw, the flickering shadows accenting the curves of her hips and breasts. Desire stirred in his belly, but he tamped it down, he was in no mood for sex. "I demanded to see you, wanting to explain to you what happened, hoping you'd be able to use your family influence to get me out."
She smirked. "I don't think you ever told me what happened."
"I don't like thinking about that night. I sometimes think that if… if I left sooner, I'd be able to save him." He shook his head, looking away from her gaze. The fire played tricks on his eyes, one moment he swore she pitied him for still carrying this guilt and a heartbeat later he thought she still blamed him. He gingerly touched his nose, it was swelling. "After you sent me out the window, I snuck out to the courtyard. I heard a commotion, but didn't think much of it at the time. Then I saw a man — your father — stumbling around as if drunk. It's only when I got close did I see it was your father, injured, a hand pressed to his neck, blood seeping through his fingers." He hung his head, the cat's meows grating on his nerves. "I dropped to my knees, trying to help him, that's when the guards jumped me. Sivert had called murder, blaming me so he and Les Rois de Thunes can escape." He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. "They bashed my face" — he touched his scar — "and I came to when they tossed me into the Bastille."
"You tried to help him?" Élise asked, tears in her voice.
He nodded. "Oui, I did. I felt like I was a boy again, helpless to do anything to stop my father's death." He tugged the ribbon from his hair, allowing his locks to fall about his shoulders. He set it on the mantle, before going to the coat rack to take his coat off.
"Arno, there's something I need to tell you," she said. He grunted, to let her know he was listening and he undressed. "About the baby… well… I should have told you this after Germain but—"
"What the hell is up with the damn cat?" he growled, cutting her off and going to the glass door. He yanked it open, glowering down at the cat. The animal trilled, rubbing against his leg before disappearing into the darkness. "Stupid cat," he grumbled and was about to close the door again when he saw the cat return with a kitten in its mouth. He and Élise watched as the cat brought the mewing kitten to the fire then went back for the rest of its litter. The mother cat brought three more kittens in. Arno close the door once she and the last kitten had settled by the fire. The pleased mother laid down, allowing her kittens to nurse. She chirped a thank you to Arno. "What were you saying?" he asked turning to look at Élise.
She blushed, shaking her head. "Never mind." She smiled. "It's nothing."
"Are you sure?" he asked, as he undid his belt and dropped his pants. He chuckled when she blushed. "Oh, don't be shy," he teased her when she glanced away. "Not like you haven't seen it before." He laughed, catching the pillow she tossed at him.
"Put some pants on," she said, laughing too as she stood and pulled back the blankets and crawled into bed. He shook his head, tossing the pillow into the empty space. He changed into a night-shirt, splashed water on his face and added another log to the fire. Rain began to fall and he checked the glass doors before getting into bed. He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them.
"It's only Septmeber and it's already starting to get cold," he said, snuggling into bed. He grinned when Élise jerked when his feet touched her shins.
"I'm not looking forward to dealing with your cold feet!" she pushed against his shoulder; he chuckled. "Feels like another cold winter is approaching. I hope it doesn't cause another famine."
"I heard the harvest wasn't very good," he said, "probably will." He rolled onto his back, laying his hands on his chest, staring up at the wooden canopy. He should convince Élise to tell him what she wanted to talk about earlier, something she should have told him before Germain. He couldn't fathom what it was. She only kept things from him out of a misguided sense of protecting him. He frowned. He didn't need her to protect him anymore. He looked at her when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. "Mm?"
"It's cold," she whispered, pulling the blankets closer to her chin. She had a hopeful wanting look in her eyes. Sighing, he sat up.
"I'll put another log on the fire then." He got out of bed, padding over to the fire place and tossed another log on. He poked the logs, and pulled the metal grate into the place to keep the cat and her kittens safe. He went back to bed, blowing on his hands as he did so. Once he settled himself again, Élise wormed her way up against his side. He looked at her, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her, his hand on her hip.
"I didn't want another log on the fire," she grumbled.
"Oh." He covered her other hand with his, squeezing her fingers to restore the warmth to them. "I thought you were still… mad at me," he mumbled.
"I don't want to talk about it, Arno," she said, "I'm tired. I want to sleep."
Sighing, he closed his eyes. "Of course," he said, "good night."
"Good night, Arno."
The days that followed the miscarriage were turbulent. Élise spent her mornings pouring over the latest reports Weatherall's slipshod scrambled together spy network brought him. Grim reports of Lady Eve gaining popularity among the rural Templars. This only reinforced the fact that she needed to seal her position as Grand Master and seize control of the Order soon. Her afternoons she spent discussing what she needed to accomplish before the ascension ceremony or if she could just skip it and move on. Weatherall informed her with what had happened in wake of her father's death. With Germain's demise, the Order needed stability, it was safer for her to go with all the pomp and circumstance of a ceremony.
Her nights had become tense, uneasy, as if she walked on a floor strewn with glass shards, each step cutting her feet. She spoke to Arno in short clip sentences, evading his questions until he gradually fell into silence, retreating into his own mind. She would do the same, debating with herself if she trying to talk to him or not. They would go to bed, and she felt her relationship becoming strained.
Her bleeding stopped sometime during the second week since the miscarriage, much to her relief. She released some pent-up energy with a good bout in the training room with Grisier and Weatherall (the latter barking commands at her in a mix of English and French). She would have asked Arno, but he had become scarce during the day.
After sparring, she and Weatherall would leave to discuss Templar matters. These meetings weighed on Élise as she longed to unburden herself to her mentor but held back. The few times she had a moment alone with Arno longer than a few minutes, they danced around the topics weighing most heavily on their minds. He had been put on a case, following a mysterious person known only as le Chevalier.
Élise's continued solace and relief became her fencing. Whenever she had a spare moment, she found herself fencing. The repetition, the burn of her muscles, the sound of the blade against the wooden dummies or against her opponent's blade… all brought peace of mind to her. Allowed her not to think.
She needed to think, especially now since it was middle of September. It was raining and Trenet was requesting a list of Templars she can give so her Assassins had something to do. Élise hadn't seen Arno since breakfast, he had left for the day, following a lead; a chasm sprung up between them since the miscarriage. It gnawed on her, like a dog with a bone. She bit her lip watching the rain run down the window, trying to ignore the chasm that had been growing between them. "All that's left is your signature and seal, Élise," Weatherall said. "These are the rogues that my agents have dug up."
Élise turned from the window and went to the table. She looked over the two sheets of paper. "Lady Eve isn't on here," she noted, arching a brow as she eyed her mentor. "Why?"
"My agents still haven't been able to find this Lady Eve. Some of them frankly don't think she exists." Weatherall tugged his grey beard. "Others thing she isn't even a Templar. Have you spoken to the Assassins about her?"
"No. Haven't gotten the time."
"You should."
Élise looked at her lieutenant. She knew she should speak to the Assassins, utilize the alliance she is working hard to forge. But she could couldn't waltz into the Sanctuary and demand an audience with Trenet. Arno's lack of being present was starting to grate on her. "Lady Eve is real," Élise insisted. "She sent me a note via Ruddock—"
"Who you, yourself admit is not completely trustworthy," Weatherall pointed out, despite the scowl she gifted him, "and to further prove my point,wasn't he given the note by one of Lady Eve's own messengers."
"Kenneth Cormac spoke of her," Élise said. "Said his father owed Lady Eve a favor."
"Kenneth Cormac?" Weatherall asked.
"Oui, the son of Shay Cormac," Élise said. "Charles Dorian's killer."
"And you didn't tell Arno that the son of the man that killed his father was in—"
"Versailles, and no," Élise said, "what good would've it done? Kenneth was leaving for Halifax soon." Weatherall arched a brow, and Élise's eyes widened upon the implication. "Shay could be in Halifax."
"Not could, Élise, is," Weatherall pointed out. "You should tell Arno."
"There's no proof. For all I know, Kenneth lives there with his sister and his father could be somewhere else," Élise pointed out. "I'm not going to let Arno go rushing across the Atlantic only to find nothing. Let the Assassins do their job. Trenet wants to see the bastard dead as much as Arno."
"You should've told him, regardless that you met Cormac's son."
"Why?" Élise snapped. "Why do I have to tell Arno everything? It wasn't important. I didn't even know the importance of Cormac, I just remembered hearing it as a girl once. For all I know I could've mistaken it and heard it when I went to London!" She shook the papers at him. The mother cat raised her head from the basket that one of the maids had placed by the fire.
"Élise."
Élise huffed, setting the papers down. She grabbed a pen, scrawled her name and then lit a candle. She dribbled a pool of wax before grabbing the silver seal and pressing it in. The square and compass encasing the G glared back at her. The seal of the Templar Grand Master. "Do I have to use this seal?" Élise asked, looking at the object in her hand. One of Weatherall's agents found it in Germain's old house.
"That symbol has been used for generations by Templar Grand Masters. Since Julius Caesar, himself," Weatherall pointed out. "You should feel proud you're using it."
"Caesar was a fool whose ambitions turned on him, killing him." Élise looked over at the cat, who gave a soft mew. "I'm the first female Grand Master in France. I feel like there should be a change"—she turned her attention to Weatherall; set the seal down— "we'll discuss this later"—she gathered the papers and set them aside— "I'll bring the list down to Trenet tomorrow in the morning." Élise said and sat down as Weatherall poured them both some tea. "Now, I need to find more Templars for after the ascension ceremony. Any luck?"
"A few. Joachim Murat seems a promising candidate."
"I think Arno mentioned him once," Élise said, taking a sip, "had to sabotage some canons a group of royalists were hoarding."
"Well, I'm not sure how Arno will feel about Murat being a Templar. There is Charles-André Merda, claims to have shot Robespierre in the jaw the night they captured him," Weatherall said. Élise grimaced, remembering that night, how she shot Robespierre in the jaw when he refused to give them Germain's location. It scared her more than Arno, how willing she was to inflict violence upon someone. She poured herself another cup of tea.
"I'm not that person," Élise mumbled.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, who else?" Élise asked.
"François René Mallarmé," Germain said, "a lawyer. Always good to have a lawyer in your pocket"—Weatherall winked at her— "Jean-Lambert Tallien, a strange man— soldier, named Hippolyte Charles; as he's with the army, he won't be able to meet you in person, but he swears allegiance to the de la Serres and the Grand Master. And finally: Lady Raphaëlle Edmée Françoise von Strübenhäagen. French born noblewoman from Prussia. An old Templar that left France sometime during your girlhood. Her husband's dead now and she decided to return to Paris." Weatherall rolled her eyes and added, "why she decided now is beyond me."
"Oh, don't be so harsh, Freddie," Élise quipped, "the city is so beautiful." They both chuckled. "I'm sure the first five will make fine additions to my order and once I've been officially appointed Grand Master, more will follow. Especially, when those names on the list start dying off."
"Be careful Élise," Weatherall warned, "don't use the Assassins like your own personal blade just because there is a truce and your close relations with Arno."
"I won't," Élise said. "I promise." She smiled when the cat came over to her and jumped on her lap. "Hello, madame," she said, stroking the cat's silky coat. "Need a break from your kittens?" The cat mewed softly in reply.
"Good." Weatherall's face softened, "It's good to see you smile again. It's like sunshine."
"It's good to smile again," Élise agreed. She took a sip of tea, savoring the taste, laughing when the cat nudged her hand. She petted the cat; her mind drifted to when she and Arno shared a bath together, and they talked about names, and names they thought about their future children. She sighed. "Julie… or Julien." She wondered if the child she lost would have been a boy or a girl. If it would have looked like her or like Arno or a mix of both of them.
"Pardon?" Weatherall asked, looking up from more paperwork. "What are you mumbling about?"
The kittens began to mew, wanting their mother. The cat perked up, jumping off Élise's lap in such a hurry that she nearly lost her tea cup. She watched as the cat entered the basket, licking the tiny heads of her kittens before settling down to nurse. She could easily imagine herself, rushing to her hungry baby and nursing the child. A powerful pang of grief and jealousy clenched her chest. "Nothing." Élise set her tea cup down. "Just thinking… I told Arno I wanted to name a child after my mother. Julie for a girl or Julien for a boy."
"That…" Weatherall stopped and took a deep breath, "your mother would've loved that."
"Yes, well"—Élise looked away— "maybe another time. I'm not ready for a child. The miscarriage was a blessing."
"Élise," Weatherall said, "you lost your child. Yes, you weren't that far along, but it was still your child. A child you and Arno created, together. You know how my relationship with your mother ended?"
"Vaguely, Mama never really talked about it."
"Well, we were on a mission, several actually. We had a passionate affair… your mother ended up… well, with child," Weatherall said, a melancholic wistfulness coming over his face. "Your mother miscarried before the end of her third month. I was… crushed, your mother was devastated. A distance sprung up between us and your father came into the picture around that time." Weatherall shrugged. "They married and you were born shortly after."
"What's the point, Freddie?" Élise asked.
"Well the miscarriage nearly broke your mother. It certainly signaled the end to our romantic relationship, but your mother grieved for that lost child. You should too… probably even need to. Wasn't that child an expression of your and Arno's love for each other?"
Élise swallowed, shifting in her chair. She saw the hurt in Arno's eyes; that melancholic resignation of another tragedy cruelly heaped upon him. "We can have other children, Freddie," Élise said, curtly, though she didn't look her mentor in the eyes, favoring her tea cup instead. She tried to block out the chirping mews of the cats by the fire.
"Yes, but Arno was hoping for this child!" Weatherall said, thumping his hand on the table.
"Arno didn't even know about the child until it was too late!"
"And who's fault is that, hmm?" Weatherall asked, leaning towards her. Élise scowled, trying to escape his gaze— no, her own guilt. She knew it was her fault Arno didn't know sooner. She had her suspicions and should have told him then, even it was just a suspicion, he had the right to know. He was the child's father after all. She stared at her knees, eyes tracing the stitching in her skirt; she placed a hand over her empty womb. "You kept it from him! You knew the entire time you were pregnant and refused to tell the man you profess to love! The child's own father! Not only did you keep this a secret from him but he also lost the child he desired, all in one fell swoop," Weatherall spat. "Yet you are trying to brush it off as nothing!"
"So, I'm the villain in this tale?" Élise snapped, jerking her head up. Tears welled in her eyes, her color was high with mortification, with shame, but most of all— a profound sense of grief she refused to accept.
"No," Weatherall said calmly, "you are not the hero nor the villain, Élise, neither is Arno. This matter isn't so black and white as you'd like it to be." He reached out and took her hand.
"He shouldn't've accused me of killing my child," Élise spat. Tears welled in her eyes, she wiped at them furiously, refusing to cry.
"He was drunk—"
"That doesn't excuse him!" Jerking her hand free from Weatherall. She stood up, almost throwing her tea cup onto the table. "I was worried about him and he just… I wanted to tell him I was sorry I shoved him away like that." She hung her head, hands twisting about, remembering Arno's look as she told him she didn't need his help. It was a look of hurt, rejection. "He just wanted to make sure I was alright." She paced around the room, skirts swishing with each step. It was becoming difficult to breath as she tried to hold back her tears. Stopping, she turned her gaze to the ceiling, her lip trembling. "And I pushed him away…" When I needed him the most.
"Losing a child," Weatherall began, "even one unplanned at this particular child was, is never easy. Arno is dealing with this in his own way. You and Arno need to come together, to talk, be united. Too long have you and Arno fought your demons alone. Both of you are going through difficult times. When's the wedding?"
Élise sniffed, wiping at her eyes and face her mentor. "December, the first week of December, maybe the second, not sure. Arno and I haven't exactly set a day. We've both been busy."
"December's quickly approaching. You two need to learn to… being married means everything is…" Weatherall paused. "How do I put this," he muttered, "your battles become his battles, his battles become your battles. There is no more yours or his, but instead it needs to become ours."
"Unity."
"Yes," Weatherall said, "exactly. Unity. You two need to be united. In all things. Not just… romance. You and Arno were once two halves, now it's time for those halves to become whole."
Élise bowed her head and a gave a small snort." Damn."
"What?"
"You're right," she said, a soft laugh escaping her lips, "you always are. Alright," she said, trying to ignore Weatherall's pleased grin, "I'll talk to Arno. I'll work on bridging the gap that's sprung up between us."
"Good," Weatherall said. "You two need each other now more than ever. Each in your own ways" —he pointed a finger at her— "and you also need to come to terms with your grief."
"I'm not—" she snapped her mouth shut when Weatherall gave her a look. "I'll deal with it," she said tightly. Weatherall nodded. Élise was pleased with what she had accomplished for the day and was about to call an end to their little meeting when a knock sounded on the door. Before she could grant permission however, the door opened to reveal a man in a disheveled looking suit and Helene behind him. "Helene?"
"I tried to stop him, mademoiselle," Helene protested, a worried look on her face, "but he insisted and—"
"Joseph Fouché, at your service Mademoiselle Grand Mas—" Élise cut the man off by marching over and grabbing his bicep. "Mademoiselle Grand Mas—" he yelped when she trodden on his foot as she led him out of Arno's room. "Can you please explain what is going on?" Fouché asked as Élise marched him outside into the bustling street; it had stopped raining. She refused to answer his questions until they had crossed the bridge, directly across from the Café Théâtre. She made a sharp turn and dragged Fouché into an alley. "Care to explain to me now, Mademoiselle Grand Master why you had to drag me out of the room like that?" he asked tugging at his waistcoat.
"You clearly are a Templar," Élise stated, "so I'm sure you realized where we were a few moments ago."
"An Assassin's den, I'm well aware," Fouché said, "I don't see why you had to manhandle me in such a fashion." Élise rolled her eyes.
"The truce between the Assassins and the Templars is tenuous at best. I'm granted clemency there, because of my relationship with Arno Dorian," Élise said, "Mr. Weatherall and Helene are also under my and Arno's protection. You, however, are not. So, the fact you came to call on me in my home in the midst of the Assassins is incredibly stupid of you."
Élise watched as Fouché's color rose, causing the whiskers on his cheeks to stand out in sharp contrast. "Grand Master, I—"
"I don't remember you ever being a part of my father's circle nor Germain's," Élise cocked her head, "just who are you anyway?"
"My name is Joseph Fouché, I'm the Deputy of the National Convention," he said, puffing up a bit with pride. Élise gave a solemn nod.
"That still doesn't explain how you escaped Arno's blade if you sided with Germain."
"I didn't," Fouché said tightly. "I left the Order shortly before your honorable father's death when he proposed a truce between our Order and the Assassins. I felt that I cannot divide my loyalties between furthering our goals and bettering the lives of the people of France."
"If you didn't side with Germain, why have you decided to return to the Order now?"
"Germain was a rabid dog that needed to be put down," Fouché said. "I never supported his ideals or his methodology." Fouché looked at her, his expression softening. "You prove a new beacon of hope in these troubled times. The Assassins are stronger than ever now in both Europe and the New World, our only remaining strong hold is in Britain. I offer you my intimate knowledge of our government in hope that you use it to your best advantage"—he bowed—"Grand Master, I am your willing pawn."
"Unlike my father and Germain, who fawned over those that spoke prettily," Élise said, straightening and folding her arms, "I judge a person's worth on their actions and the merit of those actions. Prove to me that you are loyal and true and I'll grant you favor." Élise smiled, adding, "betray me…" she shrugged, palms open and upwards, "my soon-to-be husband is an Assassin after all." She turned and headed out of the alley, only to pause and look back over at the man. "Oh, and I do hope to see you at my ascension ceremony. I'll make sure you get an invitation. There'll be a soirée afterwards too."
After she left Fouché standing in the alley, Élise didn't feel like returning to the café to deal with more problems that lacked solutions. She hiked up her skirts and entered the street, allowing her mind to wander while her body was swept along the tide of humanity's sea. People babbled, they jeered and cried out. Revolutionists with their tricolored flags and ruffled cockades, peasants and beggars looking for bread, displaced nobility and disgraced statesmen wanting to be heard. All came together in a strange cacophony that was on the cusp of music.
A boy jostled her hip in his mad dash down the street. Élise checked to make sure she had her purse only to realize that she hadn't taken anything for an outing when she grabbed Fouché by the arm. "Damn." Élise looked around realizing she had wandered over to the Right Bank's Marais district. Bit bored, Élise entered a few shops at random. She entered a jewelry shop last. "Ah, citizeness!" the plump jeweler cried, "Welcome! Welcome!"
Élise offered him a smile, her eyes falling on the young assistant. She gave him a smile too, the lad flushed scarlet. Élise ignored the jeweler and began to browse the items in the shop. Silver, gold, platinum and electrum gleamed back at her, while gemstones and jewels of various shapes and colors glittered before her. It surprised her that the shop had survived this long. She noted the tricolored flag hanging proudly in the shop. Interesting shield. She thought, placing her hands on the counter and leaning over to look at some rings.
They were engagement rings with wedding bands. She and Arno would need rings for their wedding. "Can I see these?" she pointed to the box containing the merge selection of wedding and engagement rings designed for men. The assistant flushed as he nodded, pulling the velvet lined box out. She looked at them, noting that they didn't have a companion wedding band. "Where's the wedding band?" she asked.
"We-Well, n-normally the man doesn't… he uhm… he doesn't wear his before the wedding," the assistant stammered. Élise arched a brow. "Some do. To show their commitment to their bride, but most… don't."
"So, the groom removes it before the wedding?"
"Typically."
"Huh." Élise looked at the rings, wondering which one Arno would like. There were unmarked signet rings, large and bulky. Élise knew those wouldn't do, not for an Assassin. Some of the bands had too many glittering gemstones and Arno had never been the flashy type. His tastes were always simple. She sighed, looking for just the right one. Then she saw it.
A golden band, inlayed with three small stones: two diamonds on either side of a small sapphire. "May I?" she asked. The assistant nodded, plucking the ring form the box. He placed it in Élise's hand. She turned it over smiling as the stones caught the light and shimmered. This was the ring; she could already see its simple elegance upon Arno's finger. "How much?" she asked.
"Ah, an excellent choice, citizeness," the jeweler said, swooping in vulture-like and ignoring his assistant's frown. "That'll be eight hundred livre."
"Actually, citizen," Élise said coolly, glancing at the assistant.
"Joachim," the assistant said. "Joachim, citizeness."
"Joachim was doing a wonderful job helping me. I think I'll continue to have his assistance," Élise said. The jeweler flushed, but not wanting to lose a costumer he backed down, leaving her with Joachim. She looked at him. "Is it really eight hundred?"
"I'm afraid so, citizeness."
Élise swore. She didn't have that kind of money on hand. She and Arno hadn't discussed what to do with the money de Sade gave them for retrieving the manuscript. She knew if she left now, she'd never see the ring again. She looked at her feet and allowed the saddest memories to trickle in. She heaved a great sigh and nestled the ring back amongst its gleaming fellows. "My fiancé is going to be t-terribly disappointed," Élise said, allowing her voice to catch just slightly. She gave Joachim a wistful smile, pulling her handkerchief from her bodice; she buried her nose in the white cotton. "We're getting married soon," she told Joachim and gave another huge sigh, adding a slight sob, hands covering her face. "We wanted to give each other rings… but if I can't afford one—"
"Oh, citizeness! We can work something out!" Joachim said. Élise sniffed, dabbing at her eyes demurely.
"No, no. I wouldn't want you and your master to lose money."
"He can take it out of my wages," Joachim assured her.
"Y-You… you'd do that for me?" Élise asked, brightening a little as she placed a hand on Joachim's. He flushed and nodded. "Oh, I can't make you suffer like that. It wouldn't be proper."
"Citizeness I insist, clearly your fiancé means everything to you, I'd hate for him to be disappointed on your wedding day."
Élise chewed her lip, she took a quick glance around the jewelry shop, watching the people outside for a brief moment before coyly returning her attention to Joachim. "I don't know…"
"I insist," he said.
"Well, if you insist," Élise said, smiling a little bit, "I can hardly say no."
"I-Is there anything special you want on the band?" Joachim asked her.
"If you can put j'taime Élise, on the inside of the band?" she asked.
"Of course," Joachim smirked, "he's lucky," he said.
"Who?"
"The man you're marrying," Joachim said, pulling out some paper and a pencil. He scribbled down the inscription. "I mean; you're going through all this trouble for a ring for him." He gave a bemused little snort. "Maybe you can get it for a worthier man," he said with a cheeky grin and a saucy wink.
Élise chuckled, though her eyes were frigid. "Aw, I appreciate it, but"—she leaned forward, smiling beatifically at him— "you can rest assured the man I'm going to marry is plenty worthy."
"Well," Joachim drawled, "are you sure I can't persuade you otherwise?"
"Quite sure," Élise said, giving him a wink.
"Joachim!" the jeweler shouted, startling the young man, "quit stalling and sell her the damn ring or ask her to leave!"
"Ah, but citizen Soucy," Joachim muttered, going over to the jeweler to discuss with him the arrangement. Élise watched, tucking her handkerchief back into her bodice. The jeweler was at first livid, glancing at Élise then back to Joachim. Then he settled down upon realizing he'd benefit from this. Joachim returned, his cheeks a bit pink. "I'll have the ring done in about three or four days," he said, "come back for it then."
"Thank you, Citizen Joachim," Élise said. "I hope you meet a woman worthy of your good heart soon."
Joachim bowed his head. "Alas, citizeness"—he said looking up at her— "I already have." He gestured towards her.
Élise gave him a brittle smile, the words making her think of Arno and the distance that had grown between them. "Merci," she said and left the shop, promising to return in a few days for the ring.
Élise returned to the café by evening, the dinner crowd was already well underway by the time she slipped into the seat opposite Weatherall. He munched on a chicken thigh while watching the performance. He arched a brow at Élise, before setting his chicken onto the plate and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I see the prodigal Grand Master has returned," he mocked, she rolled her eyes, "just what were you thinking, dragging Fouché out of the café like that?"
"I couldn't very well have him discuss Templar business in Arno's room," Élise hissed in a low voice, before flagging down Noémie and requesting some food. The head maid gave a nod and went off to fetch Élise her dinner.
"So, where did you go gallivanting off to with our Mr. Fouché?" Weatherall asked, going back to his chicken.
"Not far, an alley, he seems like a respectable ally, but," Élise paused as Andrée came and set her plate before her. Élise exchanged a smile and watched the woman retreat to the kitchen. "He's a spider," Élise finished, she picked up her chicken thigh and bit into it. She stopped speaking for a while, enjoying her dinner. Élise finished, sitting back and took a sip of wine. It was Bordeaux and it made her think of Arno. "I also got Arno a wedding ring."
"And how did you manage that, pray tell," Weatherall said, "considering you left without so much as taking your dagger."
Élise grimaced, taking another sip of wine. "I flirted with the shop's assistant and he told me I could have it and that the jeweler will just take it out of his wages."
"You do realize you doomed the poor lad," Weatherall pointed out.
"He insisted," Élise huffed, "besides the ring was eight hundred livres! Where would I get that kind of money?"
"I'm sure Arno would've given you the money if you only asked," Weatherall said. Élise scowled. "He's not a miser."
"Of course he isn't but this is supposed to be a surprise for him and I can't very well keep it a surprise if I ask to borrow money without telling him why I needed the money in the first place!" Élise said.
"Oh, come now," Weatherall said, "I'm sure you could've thought of something to tell him." Élise huffed, setting her wine back down. "You still haven't talked to him, have you?"
"No, she hasn't," Arno said, appearing besides their table. She and Weatherall both jumped. She put a hand over her chest.
"You startled us," she chided, "dear." Her lips twitched into a smile at the mischievous grin on his face.
"What can I say"—he pulled a chair over at sat down— "I'm light of step." He took her wine glass, pouring himself a glass. She smiled, putting a hand on his knee.
"You aren't going out tonight? You've been going out lately," she said, watching as Arno's Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow. She knew if she kissed him there, he'd groan. The crowd laughed, her attention torn from his throat to the stage. She missed the what happened, pouting as the laughter was now confusing.
"No," he said, setting the wine glass down. He burped. "Pardon," he mumbled. One of the maids came over and put a plate before Arno. Élise watched him eat, returning to her own dinner. Weatherall grunted as he stood.
"I'll leave you two alone," he said, and thumped of to another table. Arno shifted to the empty spot. Silence fell between, the crowd crowing in delight at the skit's conclusion, Arno's knife and fork clink-clinking against his plate, she drummed her fingers against her other hand. Élise wondered if the Father of Understanding was cackling at her; she wanted to talk to her mentor, but she knew if she brushed Arno off he'd be hurt. Even though his spirits seemed to be high. She reached across with her napkin, wiping some sauce from his chin. Her cheeks tinted, as did his.
"Uh… thank you." He glanced down at his food. "Élise, I—"
"I want to speak to Trenet," she said. "About Lady Eve."
And another chapter is over. Yay! Thanks for stinking with me guys.
Suspense builds up, who is Lady Eve? How fairs Arno's investigation into Le Chevalier? When will they get married? What is it that Élise wanted to tell Arno? All questions will be answered, gentle friends, in due time.
Citizen/Citizeness - these replaced monsieur/madame/mademoiselle as the former were too closely tied to the ancien regime. As the jewelry shop is very patriotic they refer to costumers that way.
For progress up dates and me yammering about life and my work, check out my Instagram story, I'm soliloquy_nemo there.
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Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
Nemo et Nihil