A/N: So here we are, on the good side of the AC:R release. Hope everyone made it through okay :D I got a little misty eyed playing Altair's last memory, not gonna lie, I DID NOT want to go sit in that damn chair. hee. And Embers nauseated me at the end; I was physically ill. So yeah, that took a good 10-12 days out of writing while I inhaled that. Hopefully I can get on track to post maybe two chapters a month. That'd be nice.
Once again, thanks to Shamazaki for working beta. And to my reviewers: flyingcrispi, Assassin's Creed superfan, eliina, sophia can shove it (LOL), ecanl, and Not Bob713. Also much appreciation for those that have added OAB to favorites or alerts!
I listened to a lot of Handel, Russian folk music, and Infected Mushroom (which one doesn't fit? LOL) while writing. So some weird moods. Fleshing out the OCs here and getting the cast ready for the Moscow finale which is still a couple of chapters away. Enjoy this world created for us by ubisoft!
Dino Demasi
A white flare of pain cascaded over him, taking his breath away as it jolted up his spine and fisted into the base of his skull. He was catapulted from the pleasant confines of sleep, only slightly distracted by the sensation of a warm body beside him. The wash of sparklers gradually dimmed out of his vision as the pain receded and his eyelids cautiously descended, allowing him a glimpse into the blissful cradle of sleep once more.
Then the jab of pain came again, and he reflexively flung the offending source away with a snarled curse.
Taking a couple of careful breaths, he felt the pain subside somewhat and he was able to focus on his surroundings. Alessa stood at the foot of his bed in her working garb, looking for all the world like she had just been roused from sleep; her hair down and tousled, eyes blinking with the abrupt return to lucidity.
What the…
"Woman!" he roared in sudden understanding.
"What? Jesu," she said, shoving her hair out of her face. She looked young and vulnerable with her hair down.
Way too young and vulnerable to be…
"In my bed? Kicked me!" he wheezed, pressing a hand to his side.
"Baby."
"What the hell were you doing in my bed?" he asked when he had a full breath to spare.
"Actually," she felt the need to point out, "It's my bed. They made a cot for you in the closet next door, don't you remember?" She sat at the room's vanity and began brushing out her hair.
He remembered the fight. He remembered the church. He remembered getting shot. He didn't remember this room…
"Want to enlighten me?" he growled, peeking under the blankets – just in case, he wouldn't put it past her – before he flung them aside and set his feet down on a rug. The thick nap was still warm from the radiating heat of the coal-pans underneath the bed.
"Well," she said, hiding her grin, "Since they only had this room available – and you very well couldn't stay with me – they put a cot in my closet."
"Uh huh," he prompted, standing over her, his hands on his hips. For a moment, as he watched her, he was reminded of Claudia; it struck him how the women he'd been acquainted with in his life, no matter the circumstances, exhibited the exact same little intimate movements whenever they dressed their hair.
He was briefly transfixed as he watched her fingers deftly weave her braid, and the only difference between her and Claudia from this angle was the color of their hair; Alessa's was noticeably darker. He'd never noticed this about her.
Probably because she'd never slept in a bed with him before. It was somehow more intimate than huddling together for warmth out in the field.
Ai, fottere.
"Stop looming, ciccino," she said, "I thought you'd be more comfortable on the bed. And I wasn't going to sleep in the closet."
"You are a spoiled brat," he grumbled.
"And you snuggle," she replied merrily, her eyes alight as he groaned in mortification. Then her vaguely playful expression turned to one of concern, her tone softening, "How are you feeling? You look like hell."
"I won't be going dancing tonight," he snarked. She made a noncommittal sound and returned to her hair so he began to prowl about, familiarizing himself with the new location.
The bedroom was noticeably larger than their entire suite at the previous inn, with only one bed, centered on a dais just large enough to contain it. The damned thing was big enough that they probably could have fit Markku and Tullio in with them last night without even having to worry about jostling for space.
Not that he had plans on testing the theory; no fucking way.
A set of six tapestries were lined up on the long wall directly opposite the foot of the bed, the thick hangings likely covering windows for the winter. Simple geometric designs were picked out in soothing, dark shades of purple and gold; the colors contrasted well with the rich walnut wainscoting and deep green walls.
"This is a nice place you picked out," he said as he poked one of the tapestries, feeling the outline of shuttered windows underneath. He moved on, noting the cheerful fire going in the little fireplace and then stopped to curl his toes in a luxurious rug behind a privacy screen in one of the corners.
"I picked it for it's tactical advantage," came Alessa's self-satisfied reply. Dino peeked out from behind the screen and raised an eyebrow skeptically. She grinned at him, entirely unapologetic as he came out into full view.
"Tactical?"
"Tactical."
"Maybe for hosting a tea social," he sneered.
Alessa scoffed,
"Give it a couple days, you'll be settled in like a content housewife. And bitching when we have to change quarters for something a little more pragmatic."
"Yeah, speaking of that, how the hell are we going to pay for this?"
"Let's just say you'd better keep winning your fights."
"Really?" he said, his interest piqued, "So I'm the one paying for all this?"
"I'll show you the rest of it," she said, ignoring him as she took a few steps away from her vanity and swept open the bedroom's single door. With her dark eyes alight with excitement, her man's trousers and shirt slightly rumpled, and her hood down, she looked like a young girl that had just stolen her brother's clothing.
He resisted the urge to tousle her neatly pinned braids and followed her into a small sitting room.
This room's fireplace shared a chimney with the little on in the bedroom, and was circled by chairs upholstered in vibrant silk. Short, squat, brightly colored, and heavily cushioned, the chairs looked like a quartet of fluffed-up songbirds huddling for warmth around the fire.
Dino fell into one, liking the feel of the rich silk on his bare skin and dropped his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. The silk was warmed by the fire and felt like the satiny warmth of Claudia's skin. He felt a brief pang of homesickness – what would she have done to comfort his hurts? The speculation made his skin rise into gooseflesh and he smiled briefly.
A gentle knock on the door interrupted his reverie.
"Go answer that!" Alessa hissed at him in passing as she fled for the bedroom.
"What? Why me?" he answered as he reflexively rose from his seat.
"Because it would look suspicious if I answered the door dressed like this."
He caught a glimpse of her flapping a hand at her obviously inappropriate clothing just before she passed into the confines of the bedroom.
"Ugh, then give me my damn…"
His shirt flew out of the open bedroom door and hit him in the face.
Grumbling, he eased it over his sore torso as he shuffled to the door. He ran a hand over his head to finger-comb his hair, only to have the still shocking sensation of stubble rasp against his fingers.
When he opened the door, a demurely gowned and veiled maid stood on the other side. Her eyes widened briefly as she took him in. He supposed he might look a little strange; his shirt gaped, revealing a part of the spectacular bruise spreading over his right pectoral. Khiril was the only Russian he had seen so far with hair as short as his. Not to mention the post-fight condition of his face – damn, he was a right handsome fellow wasn't he?
He grinned at her and she shrunk back minutely.
"Your Lady's things are here, gospadin," she murmured, lowering her gaze and gesturing to a trunk that was being set down by a pair of bored male attendants.
"She's sleeping," Dino replied, uncomfortably aware that his accent was very Italian and probably almost incomprehensible. The maid frowned slightly as she struggled to understand him and then her face smoothed admirably.
"Shall I just have everything left in this outer room, then?"
"Uh, da, eta kharasho," he eventually replied, reaching up to smooth his hand over his head again. He received a bob of a curtsy in reply just as the bedroom door burst open and Alessa breezed out, appearing pristine in her gown from the night before. She looked so enormously inconvenienced that he had to resist the urge to laugh.
He stepped aside as she assumed command of the situation. The maid, used to obeying – and politely overlooking – the heinous attitudes of pretentious nobles, repeated her information. Alessa nodded coolly,
"I'll be resting today after the… activities… of last night. Please send our meals up and have the proprietor see to securing a room next door for my bodyguard. I don't want him far," here she lowered her voice to affect the intimacy of a co-conspirator, "But it is a little cramped in here with him around."
The maid dipped her chin and cautiously looked Alessa in the eye.
"Yes, ma'am," she replied, her tone decorous. But her expression was slightly mischievous. They were just a couple of girls, remarking on the inconvenience of having to deal with men.
Great.
He shuffled petulantly to his chair and planted ass. Crossed his arms over his chest. Glowered.
Because it was all for show, right?
Alessa sat demurely on one of the settees to direct the placement of their luggage, while that maid began briskly ordering the male servants as multiple trunks and packages were brought in.
When they left, Alessa crossed to the door and locked it. She went straight to one of the unassuming clothing trunks and produced a key. This particular trunk, marked with an inverted V that appeared to be just a chance nick, had a false bottom containing the majority of their tools.
She unlocked the thing and began unselfconsciously tossing out a pristine collection of those oh-so-mysterious and highly coveted items of a woman's wardrobe. He left his chair to go and kneel beside her, watching as she released her hidden blade to disarm the mechanism that would sever the fingers of any would-be thief. They both breathed simultaneous sighs of relief after she pried up the false bottom to reveal their stash.
Dino reached in for his hidden blade; he hadn't wanted to chance taking it to the fight last night, in case someone stole it during his match. He settled the blade and vambrace onto his forearm, feeling as if a part of him had been returned. Tension eased from his shoulders, and he even offered Alessa a smile.
"I'm going back to bed," he yawned.
Alessa Ricci
She watched from the outer room as he fell into the bed and practically passed out, his left forearm and hidden blade cradled to his chest. Somewhat unsettled by his display of vulnerability and simultaneously concerned that he might accidentally deploy the blade whilst sleeping, Alessa refrained from fussing and went to pull the blankets up over him.
She dressed in layers; until she could get one of those combat-appropriate leather overcoats she had seen on Dmitriy and Elena, she needed the extra warmth. Close-fitted indoor garb was covered by a pair of leather trousers and knee high boots. She added a heavy wool Assassin tunic and hood in the mottled grey worn by all the recruits.
Mechanically arming herself – both hidden blades, vials of sedative, knuckle dagger, a bandolier of bolts for her crossbow, the crossbow – Alessa forced her mind to attend to the matters at hand.
Hopefully, Dmitriy had gleaned some information from the documents she had stolen. And hopefully, he or Khiril might have an idea who had fired the random gunshot.
She really, really hoped so; it would be more than a pleasure to take out the bastard. Dio, when Dino had gone down last night, she had thought it was the end for him. She really had; that brief moment of pain had been excruciating. And sobering. Watching him move about so gingerly this morning didn't help matters.
With a last tender look at her snoring companion, one she wouldn't have dreamed of giving him whilst conscious, she slipped out one of the bedroom windows and hauled herself onto the inn's roof.
It was impossible to tell the time for sure – they only had about eight hours of sunlight each day – but Alessa guessed by the slanting of the shadows cast by the watery sunlight that it was mid-morning. A quick glance over the edge showed her only light foot traffic. It was chilly down in the shadows between the buildings; most people were keeping to the more open thoroughfares criss-crossing the city.
She took a moment to look over the skyline from her vantage. The steel grey waters of the Moscow River wound through the city in a generous curve, and she could see the white walls and watchtowers of the Kremlin citadel crouching expectantly within the sinuous embrace of the waterway on the opposite bank further down current.
On her side of the river, the Eastern Orthodox churches were like bastions of purity amidst the pastel colors splashing the limestone walls of the ornate palazzos – dvortsi' – in the wealthy district. The unfamiliar tri-bar crosses rising majestically over golden domes and unadorned white limestone walls gave the city a suitably exotic ambiance. The pale, watery sunlight overlaid it all, giving the overall scene an almost otherworldly quality.
She heard herself sigh in appreciation; she wanted to paint it.
She shook herself to dispel the reverie, hitching her shoulders to settle her weapons and armor comfortably and familiarly against her body. At that point, Alessa was in fine fettle and she took a round-about route to Dmitriy's headquarters, ostensibly to give herself time to think. She took precautions to avoid potential (although highly unlikely) pursuit, grumbling to herself with malevolence about traitors and Templars.
The idea that someone might have betrayed them pissed her off to no end. If it had indeed been a betrayal, she was going to make damn sure it never happened again. She smiled grimly as she tested her hidden blades.
After descending to street level, doubling back through a couple of narrow alleys and taking to the rooftops a few more times, she made for the warehouse in earnest.
The squat, ugly building that fronted the river and contained Dmitriy's headquarters came into view. It was a veritable fortress, even if it was made of timber and not stone. Wolves prowled the rooftops; that was the title Dmitriy's men and women took for themselves, to distinguish themselves from common pickpockets, whom they regarded with special contempt.
The whole wolf thing made Alessa a little chary; her memories of the Followers of Romulus were still damn fresh. But at least these thieves didn't caper about in ragged wolf skins.
She nodded to a bored-looking Wolf as he balanced a stiletto on a fingertip and ducked into one of the roof access points. She liked this particular entrance because it gave her an opportunity to free run through the rafters. Free-running was her favorite part of her training; she loved the feeling of her muscles and sinews singing with the effort it took to leap and roll and sprint high above the ground.
She dropped to the ground near the area marked off for the Wolves to spar. She resisted the urge to join a group executing dagger drills and, flushed with her recent physical effort, moved energetically among the busy thieves, searching for Dmitriy or Khiril.
As luck would have it, they were together. In an out of the way corner, Dmitriy was gesticulating animatedly to the dour veteran fighter, whose arms were crossed over his chest, chin down as he listened. He noticed her first, and the abrupt snap of his head in her direction cut Dmitriy off mid-sentence.
"Where's Dino?" Khiril demanded without greeting when she got close enough, his arms going down to swing at his sides as he stalked towards her to close the distance.
Alessa suppressed a sigh.
Such a jerk.
"He's recovering from last night," she replied evenly, watching his face carefully. His eyes narrowed over the bump of his long-ago broken nose.
"He shouldn't be out of sorts. It wasn't that bad of a fight. In fact, he needs more training; he shouldn't have engaged that type of fighter that way."
No, of course not. What had Dino been thinking?
Imbecile.
"Well," she drawled, "He's not recovering from his fight injuries. Although I daresay that he'll need at least a day to heal from those…" Her tone was dry as dust. "But he was also shot last night."
There. Chew on that, cazzo.
Khiril was silent for a moment as he stared at her, trying to process her words. Then realization dawned and his tone became very brusque. She got the unexpected impression that he was actually concerned.
Huh.
"So he's alive…" he prompted, sounding a bit dazed.
"His armor stopped the shot. Luckily. But it didn't stop the impact; he is not moving so well today."
"Where is he?" Khiril demanded.
Uh oh. Looked like it was back to being a hard ass.
"We secured rooms at a new inn, just in case someone decided to attack us at the old one." Her tone grew hard, "And no offense, but you will leave him alone for today."
"I will?" Khiril's tone was dangerously soft, his eyes flinty. Alessa bared her teeth in a smile, took a readying breath…
"What's going on?" came Dmitriy's jovial tone, piercing the palpable tension between her and Khiril like a spear of sunlight though storm clouds.
"There was an attack last night, you know anything about it?" Khiril growled, not taking his eyes off of hers.
"Haven't heard any unusual reports, but I'll have some of my people look into it. What happened?"
Khiril abruptly stalked off, leaving the warehouse through a nearby portal and slamming the door behind him. The bang echoed loudly and the bustling activity in the huge warehouse actually quieted for a second. Alessa resisted the urge to follow him and make sure he wasn't going off to badger her brother.
Instead, as she explained the situation to Dmitriy, she found herself calming down in his presence. The man was naturally cheerful and shared that part of his personality with whomever he was near.
Except Khiril.
When she finished, Dmitriy looked thoughtful and his honey-colored eyes became unusually somber. She had a random thought that his curly hair and his almost feminine, dark lashes made him look totally unsuited to be the leader of a band of thieves.
"Did you see who it was?" he asked suddenly, distracting her from considering the pretty fringe of his eyelashes.
"If I had seen who it was," Alessa growled, her brief good mood vanished, "I would have hunted him down and shoved my blade su per il culo!" She fell into Italian at the end with her frustration.
Dmitriy asked her a few more questions about the attack and reaffirmed his promise to have some of his thieves watch for rumors. During the discussion, he led her to a familiar satchel and pile of documents. The cache was strewn across a sort of makeshift trestle – a wide board set up on top of a couple of stacked crates – in a far corner of the building, away from the industrious bustle of the big room. The area was demarcated from the general population by precarious stacks of more empty crates.
She chuckled to herself as she passed through the teetering shadow of one unsteady tower. They were an ambitious bunch of thieves; had their baskets all ready to be filled with pilfered goodies.
Dmitriy gestured to the documents and pulled out a couple for her to look at.
"We've reviewed Solari's history. He was murdered inside the Kremlin itself. Grand Prince Ivan's investigators could only agree on the suspect, one Ridolfo "Aristotele" Fioravant."
"That's one of the other Italian architects," Alessa recalled. Dmitiry nodded,
"Exactly. But they were unable to find any evidence, or even determine a motive and Aristotele conveniently disappeared right after."
"What was he working on at the time?" she asked.
"A couple of different projects; he was finishing the Cathedral of the Dormition and was also consulting on the renovations of the Ascension Convent when it all happened."
"Back the Kremlin then, I'll see if I can pick up the trail there."
"Do you want to take one of my men?"
"No. But I thank you; Dino and I will go tomorrow," she replied, distracted. For some reason, she was thinking about the courtesans and how to approach them; she didn't want to rely only on the thieves. "However, if your men discover any leads from last night, let me know as soon as possible. We've changed inns…" She gave him directions.
"Kharasho. I will."
She took her leave of the curly-haired thief and made her way back to the inn.
As she swung in through the window, she saw one of Dino's eyes open to acknowledge her before he shifted under the covers. She saw a sliver of chance sunlight glint off of his hidden blade as he turned away from the window. She latched the shutters carefully, returning the lighting in the bedroom to a soft twilight.
Her Assassin work done for the day, it was time to take care of her cover persona.
She wanted to go find Irina, and see if she could be taken on as a lady's maid; the girl seemed observant and bright. And her off-handed comments gave Alessa the impression that she probably knew a lot about the more sordid details of the women of the court. She'd be an invaluable informant…
…and the girl definitely liked to talk.
Another clothing change; modest black gown, unadorned crucifix clasping her neck, black veil for her hair.
The weapons were still there, just a little less in evidence.
Well, she was going to a convent, maybe she didn't really need the crossbow…
She had just finished dithering with her hidden blades in time to hear a commotion at her door. She opened it to find Khiril arguing with the red-faced proprietor, a lean middle-aged woman with her steel grey hair swept back into a severe bun.
He gave Alessa a brief surprised glance as he looked her up and down and then returned to his normal expression of resentful tolerance.
"I apologize, lady," the rather flustered woman was saying, "I could not stop him; he insisted upon seeing you."
"It's fine," Alessa replied, "If you could just have one of the girls send up some refreshments for my guest? He won't be long." She gave Khiril a pointed look.
"Took you long enough," she said archly after she had closed the door, "What do you want?"
"I came to see about the well-being of my fighter," he said in that raspy voice of his.
"He's sleeping, I told you already. And he's fine."
"He was shot," he corrected her sharply, "I am concerned that his victory last night may have made him a target. It's usually not a problem until the fighter becomes popular, though…"
"It could have been any number of people," she reminded him gently, "He is more than just a pet bodyguard."
Khiril only grunted and his blue eyes began to look thoughtful.
The contemplative silence was interrupted by the arrival of a light repast. Alessa was also surprised to be presented with a pile of letters by their maid.
"What are these?" she asked, selecting one and breaking the seal to find a 'welcome to the city' narrative and an invitation 'to lunch sometime.' She had no idea who the Rurikid Andrei Nikolayevitch was.
"They have been coming for you all day," the girl replied excitedly, "Invitations from the noble families." She lowered her voice and it was tinged with awe as she selected a particularly lavish envelope, "One is even from Prince Vasiliy."
Khiril's expression went openly disapproving. He was silent until the girl left and then he just couldn't help himself, apparently,
"What were you thinking?"
"Not you too?" she exclaimed in mock horror. He ignored her sarcasm,
"Everyone is going to think you are going to try and marry him now."
"You think I could get him?" she beamed, "That's actually very nice; I would have thought people would be saying other things after I dragged him back in the dark." She chuckled to herself at the sudden memory of him dashing off to save her from her made-up threat.
"They're spreading that rumor, too," he replied. She shrugged,
"Manure has to be shoveled too, I guess."
"You know, you are very flippant about all this." He made no effort to be cordial. Alessa sighed, wondering if changing the subject would…
…Inspiration struck,
"Look, I'm just as concerned about Dino as you are," she ignored him as he started to protest, her tone businesslike, "So if you'd like, you can stay here and make sure nothing happens to him, while I go out and try to gather some more information about what happened last night."
As Khiril sputtered protestations, his brows alarmingly low, she rose to her feet and bestowed a generous smile on him,
"I thought you'd agree. Make sure he eats something when he wakes up?"
"I'll not play nursemaid," he growled, lurching to his feet and stalking past her to the door, "You should be caring for him."
She grinned at the door as it slammed shut behind him and sank back into her chair. Dio, Khiril really was a misogynist; he'd gotten the hell out of here like his ass was on fire when she'd suggested he assume a feminine role. It was something to remember. She chuckled ruefully. She probably shouldn't pick on the miserable bastard; he was a very good ally.
But then again, while she didn't really believe that he was the betrayer, she'd stab him in a heartbeat if she found out otherwise. She jammed at her plate with her fork, skewering the remnants of her light lunch.
Dio, she was irritable this morning…
…and this blini was fucking delicious! The food at this inn was noticeably superior to that at the previous. At least she was getting her damn money's worth.
Or Dino's money's worth.
As she munched on the sweet pancakes and sipped at her tea, she made an effort to focus on her next move. Thoughts of where she would start her research within the Kremlin brought her focus back to Vasiliy and she idly opened his letter and read the single line under the centered salutation:
Uvazhayemaya Alessandra
If it would not trouble you overmuch, I would be delighted to settle the terms of my debt tonight.
It was signed with an ornate rendition of the Cyrillic letter "V."
Looked like her day was abruptly full. After finishing what remained of her lunch, she called for the maid to clean up, roused Dino to let him know where she was going, and donned her amazing white fur cloak. After the chafe of leather and wool, enveloping herself in the luxuriant warmth seemed decadent and sinful.
She checked her hidden blades and their concealment under her sleeves and then reached for the door.
Time enough for a quick visit to the convent.
Alessa Ricci
The Starodevichiy Convent within the Kremlin was noticeably more modest the Cathedrals of the Dormition and the Assumption that dominated Cathedral Square within the Grand Prince's fortress. It made sense; the buildings were older, and some still ravaged by a decade old fire.
She surmised that the full sisters were like any of the traditional Catholic nuns she was used to. Their robes were black and they wore full wimple and veil of fine, opaque black linen. Their veils were kept in place by plain coronets of brushed silver. Many wore their Orthodox tri-bar crosses on matching silver chains around their necks.
The sisters at this convent, however, seemed to be a little more well-to-do than the average; finer cloth, comfortable lodging, their very own choir. Which made sense, since the princes of Moscow interred their royal brides here for safekeeping. Widowed noblewomen also came to live out the twilight of their lives in the elegant simplicity of the Maidens' Convent.
Irina, in the white scarf and plain linen robes of the novice sister, spotted her before Alessa could even flag down one of the nuns for information about the young girl. The elfin features of the petite teenager crinkled with delight as she rushed to Alessa's side with her sprightly grace.
"Let's go to the altar and talk," she whispered mischievously, curling her hand into Alessa's, "No one will bother us there."
"But, I don't want you to get into trouble," Alessa protested as she was led down a deserted corridor.
"I won't," Irina scoffed.
"I thought you were a novice, isn't it disrespectful for you – anyone really – to talk within the actual church?"
Irina scoffed,
"I have better conversations with God than most of these prudish blowhards could even imagine; as if they even try. And I don't think He'll mind."
"Indeed," Alessa murmured, trying vainly to school her expression as she nodded serenely at a sister passing through the silent cloister. The woman eyed Irina with an expression of faint exasperation, before giving Alessa an apologetic smile.
Back indoors, they rounded a corner and Alessa found herself in a small chapel. She hastily checked her veil as she entered and then knelt with Irina before the simple iconostasis at the main altar.
"So did you come to see me?" Irina inquired as she clasped her hands and bowed her head. Alessa copied her posture and they whispered together in the quiet serenity of the dimly lit chapel.
"I did; I need a lady's maid and –"
Irina didn't quite squeal, but her voice ascended a couple of octaves. Quite a feat to accomplish in a whisper…
"Really? I would love to!" Alessa felt herself shrink away from the girl in alarm; she was in for a verbal inundation of teenage proportions…
A tall, willowy novice entered the chapel, cutting off the beginning of Irina's gleeful tirade. The new arrival's face was framed almost alluringly by her white wimple and veil; the purity of the color highlighting the pale luster of her skin. The features were surprisingly young… and familiar. Alessa surged to her feet in alarm.
"Kakoga cherta?"
"Che diavolo!"
They both spoke at the same time, eyes narrowing in identical expression of surprise and suspicion, while Irina looked back and forth between them. She rose to her feet and a slender finger went up in the air,
"You know," she said, her childlike voice bright with pensive enthusiasm, "It's like you've met before!"
Elena – for it was indeed the leggy thief from the Kremlin – spared a withering glance for the younger girl before returning that clear blue-eyed gaze back to Alessa. Alessa, feeling somewhat short and stumpy next to the tall blonde, unconsciously straightened her spine in an effort to give herself more height.
"What are you doing here?" the thief (nun!) asked, her tone modulated into neutrality.
"Visiting." Alessa could do neutral too.
"No libraries around," Elena pointed out.
"There's one right across the cloister," Irina piped up helpfully. Alessa grinned at her.
"Why is it that you can never behave?" Elena admonished the younger girl. Alessa looked at them in interest, noting the similarities in shape of the nose and the unconsciously haughty lift of delicate chins.
"Are you two related?" she asked curiously.
Irina, of course, beamed,
"She's my sister."
"Why don't you just tell her everything about our family," Elena said drily, expressionless.
"I already did!" Irina explained. Elena's expression went sour with disapproval as the girl continued, "Well, just about me. I didn't tell her about you. I met her at Vladimirskaya two nights ago. She was crying. Nobody who's bad cries for the Lady."
"I wasn't crying," Alessa muttered.
"She is interesting, so I wanted her to come see me," Irina continued. Her lower lip went out in a pout, "You never let me do anything. She wants to take me out as a lady's maid."
Elena was clearly unmoved by Irina's accusation,
"Absolutely not; she's not a noble. She's a –"
"I think that perhaps now is a good time to pause the conversation for a more auspicious location," Alessa interrupted, giving Elena a meaningful glance; she didn't want her secrets blurted in public. She didn't know a damn thing about the layout of this place, and couldn't vouch for who was listening. "We can retire to my inn to discuss this in detail. Irina is welcome to stay with me."
"Wait," Elena said, looking over her gown with sudden interest, "Are you the Italian noblewoman that just arrived? You don't look like one of the Russians."
"Alessandra Lopresti-Ricci," Alessa confirmed, sketching an ironic half bow.
"Na zdoroviye," Elena replied with the barest of smiles.
"You have a better one?" Alessa asked.
"Elena Vitaliyevna."
"You're right, your names here are entirely lacking in character."
"At least they don't sound like you're stringing together random syllables."
"Aha," Alessa replied with a chuckle, "My bodyguard might have to say something about that, he – "
"Oh! You should see him, Elena," Irina breathed, her gaze going unfocused, "He's like one of the Roman gods painted on the ceilings in the Palace… like Mars. Or maybe Hercules. She brought him to Moskva for the fights."
"I told you to stay out of there," Elena admonished her, just as Alessa begged,
"Please don't ever say anything like that in front of him!"
"It's hard to talk to you two," Irina observed. Her comment earned her identical glares from the two older girls and she giggled to herself, completely unaffected.
"You don't need to be part of this conversation, sestrenku. Now get back to your tutor before she comes looking for you."
"I'm smarter than that durak," the younger girl blustered.
"Idti. Or I won't take you with on my next mission," Elena threatened.
"Chort!" came the startled reply.
"Now."
The younger sister darted away in a flash of white.
The girls watched Irina until she disappeared around the corner, before turning to face each other and speaking simultaneously. Again.
"Look here, Rimskaya,"
"I have a question for you, vorovka,"
Elena's blue eyes narrowed, vibrant against the pure white of her head scarf,
"You first," she conceded, "And watch who you're calling the thief…"
"You know anything about someone attacking my fighter last night?" Alessa rejoined softly, not bothering to hide the subtle threatening tone. Elena stepped closer, so that they were nearly nose to nose.
"You put him into a fight, devushka, what did you think was going to happen?" Elena's tone was mildly derisive and Alessa's fists bunched at her sides. She pressed her forearms close to her body to resist the urge to unsheathe her hidden blades.
"It was on the way home, ragazza. Someone shot him. And you are the first footpad in the city that I have seen with a firearm."
"I only shoot people I know, Rimskaya; and I don't know your man."
"That's reassuring," Alessa told her, "Are you sure you weren't aiming for me, then?"
A glacial smile.
"I don't miss."
Alessa snorted. Fucking nun was threatening her; what had the world come to? They glared at each other. Alessa had never had to look up at a woman before; it was a new experience. She didn't like it.
Finally the cool blue gaze softened.
Minutely.
"Look, he survived right? Where was he hit?"
"Bullet hit his armor," Alessa muttered.
"But didn't penetrate?" Elena looked surprised. Alessa confirmed with a nod, "Then I will come look at it; maybe I can figure out what type of bullet was used. Narrow down the population of your shooters."
A peace offering.
Alessa accepted it with grudging acquiescence,
"Va bene."
"I don't understand Italian," Elena said breezily.
"Eta. Kharasho. Want to bring Irina with you? We're staying at the River's Edge."
"She doesn't need to be among the nobility. What if she's recognized?"
"It doesn't matter if anyone recognizes her; where else would I get a lady's maid but from a convent?"
"Should have brought your own… Oh wait, you're an imposter, so of course you wouldn't bring your own. I forgot."
Alessa chuckled, unable to take offense. After all, she would have made a similar comment. She couldn't fault honesty, no matter how sarcastic.
As long as Elena didn't try to blow her cover.
"And you have a problem with that? Obviously you're training her to follow in your dubious footsteps; worst thing that can happen is that she gets a good idea of the rhythm and layout of the palace. Might be useful information for future… endeavors."
"I'm just saying, I don't want her involved in court politics. Our mother has a history there and… well let's just say that she is not well. She's not been well since… since…"
"Irina is already involved if she's here; too many of the court ladies come through here for her not to be involved in their gossip," Alessa replied gently as the other woman's face went expressionless, "But if she's with me, I can take care of her; I won't let anything happen to her, I swear it to you."
Elena looked at her for a long time, and then finally replied,
"I don't know who you are – or what you are, for that matter. But I hope so, Rimskaya, by God, for your sake," the cool exterior faltered, for just a second, "And for hers."
She abruptly spun on her heel and left; the ethereal white robes and dignified stride making her look like a virgin queen. It was a day for dramatic exits, apparently. Alessa didn't linger, and left the convent.
After asking for directions out.
Outside, as she ambled along the street, the thick ruff of her hood hiding her face from passersby, she wondered just what was in Elena's past that made her hate the nobility so much. And that led her to wonder just who Elena's father, the only unaccounted for family member, was.
It was a pretty puzzle, making her wonder at their meeting. Another random encounter with someone of Assassin lineage. Fate? Coincidence? Hell, she didn't believe in either. But still, maybe if she scanned the nobility for…
A sudden wave of nausea swept over her, and she stumbled, swallowing repeatedly as her salivary glands went apeshit. Fucking Russian food, it –
Stolto!
She had just eaten her food earlier without checking it, what if she had been poisoned?
Her heart started to pound as a cold sweat enveloped her, and she pressed the heel of her hand to her clammy forehead, her pace slowing. When the wave passed, she quickened her stride, anxious to get to Dino and his medicine chest. Her thoughts raced as she thought about what she had eaten, trying to remember any unusual taste or texture. She could think of nothing, and her panic calmed somewhat, until another thought made cold bloom in her chest.
Weird episodes of nausea, her emotional spectrum all over the fucking place…
Dio, what if she was pregnant?
Her vision swam and she damn near pitched forward onto her face. She halted there in the middle of the street. The light crowd moved around her before she came to her senses and got the hell out of the way.
She still wasn't sure if she could even get pregnant after… well, after…
…but nothing was ever absolute.
Merda.
Eventually, somehow, she made it back to her inn. She staggered in the door and Dino looked up briefly from the dining area as she entered.
"Dino?" she rasped.
"Ya?" he called back distractedly, his brows furrowed as he concentrated on pouring his tea.
"What if I'm pregnant?"
He fumbled with the tea pot, missed the edge of the table, and watched in horror as the pot shattered on the floor. He must have just emptied the thing; the mess was mostly tea leaves and pottery. His stricken gaze slid up to meet hers.
"Do what now?"
Alessa fidgeted, and then said,
"I mean, I don't know for sure…" she slumped into one of the armchairs.
"Uh, don't you girls kind of know the signs?" he asked, distinctly uncomfortable; he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. She was too frazzled to enjoy it.
"Don't have a, er… regular cycle anymore."
"Guess we just have to wait, then."
"Wait for what?"
"Until something…" he shrugged, standing up and coming to take a knee beside her, "Happens."
"That's maddeningly unhelpful; I thought you were a dottore?"
"But not a midwife! It's not the same thing, tesora. Just… Jesu, just be careful for now. What symptoms are you having?"
"Unusual nausea. Mood swings."
"You sure you're not just under a lot of strain?" he asked carefully, "We are in unusual circumstances here."
"I don't understand why that would cause such a problem," she said, "Ezio does it; he's been doing it for over twenty years. By himself for most of it."
"Ezio," Dino pointed out, "Is an aberration of nature. And I'm not entirely convinced he's not some sort of supernatural creature."
He said it so dismissively that she was reminded of Irina's earlier guileless remark about Dino looking like the ancient Roman god of war. She laughed suddenly, a mad note ruining the joy of it.
"Okay, maybe that's what's happening." She took a deep breath, trying to relax, as he rested one of his hands on her forearm. "But I'll need to make sure I don't get pregnant."
She was so stricken that she couldn't even laugh as his mouth opened and closed like a landed fish in reaction to the new statement.
"Uh, you're not suggesting…" he gestured meaningfully, "Are you? Because I refuse to end it; especially when papa doesn't have a say…"
"What?" she almost shrieked, "No! No dammit! Dino, this is serious. I can't… I can't get pregnant. What do I do?"
He took a breath, looking calmer now that his surprise was wearing off.
"Well, I guess you and Ezio could, ah, not… I mean, that's obvious, you don't need me to tell you that." He waggled his eyebrows and leered.
"Stop it, Dino. When we get back to Roma… and… well, I…" she flushed, "I can't have my work interrupted. Once, having children was all I wanted. Now," she took a shuddering breath, "Now, I can't… I just – I can't. Not now…"
"Whoa, whoa, it's okay… it's fine. Jesu," Dino mumbled, rubbing his forehead, "Yes, yes I know some teas you can make. They're not safe to take for a long period of time, but I suppose, when in Rome…" He grinned at the bad pun, but then his expression turned serious and he leaned toward her, his dark eyes fervent, "A child is a gift, tesora, not something to dread."
"Maybe," she replied, slightly mollified, "But what does that do for me as an Assassin? I can't do what we do with a big belly and a swarm of toddlers clinging to me!"
"I had no idea you intended to be so prolific…"
At her flustered look, he took pity on her, and reached out to press her forehead against his shoulder, dropping a kiss on top of her head.
"Whatever happens, it'll all be fine, I promise."
She sure as hell hoped so. Problem was, she wasn't totally sure which outcome she preferred.
Alessa Ricci
He insisted on accompanying her to Vasiliy's summons. She made him wear his leather armor, though. That damn Armor of Romulus, while sturdy, was way too conspicuous.
She was embarrassed at her outburst; she was turning into a real shrinking-fucking-violet. So it was with a sense of resilient purpose that she donned yet another outfit for the night.
Going through the wardrobe changes was beginning to be exhausting. She now understood why Ezio was more of a lurker than a participant when he gathered his intelligence.
Dino was a reassuring presence at her side as she entered the Kremlin a second time that day. The church bells had just finished ringing the hour of Vespers and the dolorous, nearly subsonic vibrations still trembled in the misty night air. It had been dark for about an hour and the inside of the fortress was well lit by ornate lanterns of subtly colored glass that gave the streets and buildings an almost violet glow.
The Terem Palace was only dimly lit; the windows were dark pits amidst the walls glowing in the ambient outdoor light. An inquiry to a bored palace guard at the main gate while he checked her invitation revealed that the Grand Prince was out of the city with the majority of the court. The guards were especially agitated by the presence of Dino's weapons. Her comrade performed admirably; giving up his sword and crossbow and the dagger at his belt with a convincing display of reluctance.
Enough reluctance that Alessa noticed some of the nearby guards palming the hilts of their swords and taking careful steps towards him. She went forward and placed a placating hand on his forearm and he subsided, grumbling in Italian about twitchy Russians not letting him do his job. He gave her a quick wink as they turned to head inside…
They hadn't noticed his hidden blades. And they hadn't even searched her.
An attendant was summoned and she and Dino were led through a dimly lit corridor. Alessa didn't have a chance to take in the splendor draped in shadow; she was preoccupied with memorizing the layout. They ascended a broad marble staircase and out onto the balcony of an enclosed courtyard before finding themselves in a warm, well-appointed receiving chamber.
She removed her coat, but handed it over to Dino, politely turning down the attendant's offer to take it away. After the man left to announce her arrival, she and Dino prowled about the room to note exits and potential hidden alcoves for spies. Once they were satisfied that the room was secure, they both sat near the fire and waited, softly discussing their options in case they needed to hastily retreat.
They needn't have been concerned about ulterior motives on Vasiliy's part; Alessa leapt to her feet when he suddenly entered through the inner door, an open and welcoming smile on his face.
She was startled to see that he was a much different man from the drunken fop he had been the previous night. For one, he was perfectly sober, his shoulder-length, dark blonde hair neatly combed and arranged. He was more regally dressed this evening in black trousers and well-oiled Spanish leather boots. He wore a peculiarly Russian style tunic; well-fitted and buttoned down the front, with a simple, high collar. The fine linen was red and embroidered in black and green.
A slender-bladed saber was belted at his left hip. It was not overly decorative, but the area where the grip met the crossguard was stamped with his crest of a two-headed eagle, and the pommel was inset with a chunk of uncut red gemstone.
She curtseyed hastily as he approached her, not nearly as practiced as she probably should be. He didn't seem to notice, and as he leaned down to brush his lips over her knuckles, she saw that his eyes looked a little strained in the lambent glow from the fire. She imagined that the combination of alcohol and drugs last night hadn't left him feeling his best. Frankly, she was astonished he had summoned her so soon.
Maybe he was just bored.
He raised his head and nodded slightly at Dino, who gave the prince a short bow.
"Your fight last night lost me a lot of money, gospadin," Vasiliy said, his tone slightly petulant.
Dino only grinned and shrugged, playing ignorant.
"His Russian is very primitive," Alessa explained, giving Dino a meaningful glance as she spoke the last word. He bared his teeth at her where Vasiliy couldn't see it.
"Ah, well his fighting skill is not," here Vasiliy turned to Dino, raised his voice and spoke very slowly. Alessa had to clear her throat to stop her laughter, "I plan to bet in your favor in the future. Do not let me down, eh?"
Vasiliy then apparently thought this was enough interaction with Dino and he faced Alessa, raised a hand to take hers, and then lowered it hastily, as if he didn't want to fluster her with an actual touch. She smiled at him nervously, not sure why he would be so hesitant.
"To business then?" he asked her with a winning smile, "That is, if your bodyguard feels comfortable allowing you out of his sight? In the company of a more humble guardian?"
"I'm sure he'll be glad of the opportunity to visit the kitchens," Alessa said, a hint of question in her voice. Dino could gather intelligence from the servants as opposed to sitting around in an empty room. She'd learned that from Markku; if they all thought he couldn't understand the language, they'd talk more freely around him.
"Ah, yes, my staff will be thrilled to feed such a mighty warrior."
Alessa choked on her laughter this time.
"Indeed," she coughed, as Vasiliy rang for a servant to fetch Dino. The big Assassin gave her an unreadable look before he left.
Vasiliy wasted no time in tucking her right hand into the crook of his elbow and leading her deeper into the palace. Despite his assumption of command over her, he was solicitous of her feelings and unfailingly polite in his carefully easygoing conversation.
At the first intersection, he gave her an apologetic look as he produced a length of black cloth from an inner pocket of his jacket and said,
"Forgive me, malyutka, but I must blindfold you before we enter the vault."
Every instinct in her clamored at her not to comply, but she found herself allowing him to smooth the silk scarf over her eyes and tie a loose knot behind her head.
She leaned on him as he cradled her forearm along his, more to free up her concentration on recalling the turns and the change of flooring than because she needed it. She felt the softest touch over her shoulder blade – his hand, gently guiding her.
He liked the protector role, it seemed. She had picked a good one for her ruse in the tunnels last night.
They descended three separate flights of stairs and she began to catch the dry, dusty scents and echoing sounds that indicated they were traversing a narrow stone tunnel. She suspected that they were underground. Her heart sped up just a little in anticipation; she shouldn't have let him put that stupid blindfold on!
She doggedly counted steps and memorized turns until Vasiliy pulled her into a halt and the blindfold was lifted from her face.
The room that was revealed was surprisingly bare and she was confused for a moment when she found herself in a high ceilinged, but disappointingly plain, rectangular room that was not much bigger than her bedroom at the inn.
And then her eyes took in the heavy, ornate boxes of varying size and shape crouching unassumingly atop pedestals of white limestone. The room was lit by massive candelabra that hung from the ceiling. Each pedestal, there were about two dozen of them, could be spot lit from above by smaller fixtures. These all remained unlit and so the room was probably not as illuminated as it could be.
The light from the candelabra didn't quite reach all of the room; the walls were dimly lit at best and the corners were nearly dark. Paintings of unmistakable value were set in ornate gilded frames that lined the walls in a fashion that was pleasing to the senses.
Somehow, the lack of opulence seemed more significant than an obvious display of wealth and she felt a fine tremble of excitement thrill through her muscles. The whole affair of the gambling had seemed sort of playful to her and she had not really expected anything out of it. Maybe a trinket at the most. But her heart began to pound in unrestrained greediness as Vasiliy grinned at her knowingly. One of his hands went out and briefly touched the closest lockbox as he passed it, the long, regal fingers brushing over the dense metal possessively before lifting away.
What a show-off!
It was actually quite endearing, watching his fair-haired figure move across the room energetically, beckoning her to follow. This man made her war with herself. She was ridiculously pleased by his attention, as it seemed genuine. But at the same time, she couldn't imagine how a man of his stature could manage to retain that sense of merriment while growing up amidst the political machinations of the court. Especially with the undercurrents of hostility that were forming between the two factions supporting Vasiliy or his nephew, Dmitriy, for Ivan's crown.
How could he trust anyone after that? She sure as hell wouldn't.
She watched as he stopped and considered one of the flatter boxes. His hands came up to gently frame the thing as it sat there. It took a moment, but he made a decision and pulled a set of keys from a pouch at his belt.
He eased the lid back, revealing a lining of deep blue silk. Alessa was rigid with anticipation as he reached into the box with exaggerated slowness and eventually produced a coronet of gleaming platinum. The metal was worked in a manner that reminded her of the maze-like whorls of some of her own creations. The curves of platinum appeared almost living and, like tendrils of ivy, seemed to unfurl towards the center of the piece to support a huge, incandescent aquamarine. The tear-drop shaped stone was balanced by modestly cut diamonds set throughout the curves of platinum.
Well, pinky nail-sized stones were modest next to the fifty-some carat monstrosity that was the aquamarine.
"Not the most valuable of gems, but I must say quite breathtaking," he said, as he nonchalantly settled the thing over her head, "It was my mother's, commissioned by my father as a betrothal gift. And so it has only ever been worn by an unmarried princess. We call her Snegurochka, 'The Snow Maiden.'"
Despite the illusion of fragility given by the delicate lines of the metalwork, it's weight was astonishing and she inhaled in surprise, looking up at him. His eyes were intent on the piece as he adjusted it in her hair, minute movements of his fingers centering it's mass more comfortably.
"The who?" Alessa gasped, the artist in her drunk with the splendor of color and form.
"A fairy tale of my people; Snegurochka is the immortal child of Winter and Spring. Until she falls in love with a human… then her heart warms, and she melts. Lost forever. Like all beautiful things, destroyed by the ravages of too much emotion. It puts a bit of a damper on happily ever after, does it not?"
"Nice of your father to give his future bride a stone with such a name; was he not worried that she would suffer the fate of the namesake?"
He laughed appreciatively,
"Royal marriages are not for love," he informed her, as he proffered a gilt hand mirror that had been tucked unobtrusively under the lining of the case, "So my mother was safe."
Not sure how to reply to that statement, Alessa admired the decorative backside briefly before turning it over to find her reflection staring back at her. The contrast between the darkness of her hair and the ethereal paleness of stone and metal made the crown, for it was indeed a crown, gleam in an almost otherworldly manner.
Dio, the huge stone, that breathless pale blue… It reminded her of good things like Vito's eyes on their wedding day, the faint rasp of a paintbrush on canvas, the warmth of Ezio's hands on her skin, a hint of jasmine on an evening breeze, the sweet tang of a grape just plucked and cool with morning dew.
And the arduous sensation of weight on her head; what would it be like to actually possess the title that came with the heavy burden of the crown? Her neck strained under the weight of the dense metal and heavy stones. But all that did was make her want to hold her head even higher against the press. She would bear that burden and all it represented. She could…
What.
The.
Fuck.
She glanced up at Vasiliy, who was watching her intently, and felt her eyes narrow in suspicion. She removed the coronet from her brow and held it in her hands, gazing down at the luminous stone in it's wintry setting one more time before handing it back to him with a thwarted sigh.
He was a prince. He probably couldn't help it, giving his transient favorite a glimpse of what it might be like to become his princess. It was a nice thought and she'd be lying to herself if she couldn't admit that she was like every girl who dreamed of a dashing prince from a foreign land come to sweep her off to a life full of delights and comfort and the exclusivity of being royal.
So here was the real thing before her. And as she gazed up at him, she realized that all of that was utter bullshit. Because what exactly made one royal? Heredity? Possibly. But how did a family acquire the status in the very beginning?
They took it. Proclaimed themselves such. Made others believe in the idea; creating a veneer of gold over an ordinary foundation built under extraordinary circumstance.
And when that foundation crumbled? What was left then? An insubstantial coating of glitter held up by the frail scaffolding called royalty.
Nothing is True.
"Fascinating," she heard him murmur.
"Chto?" she asked defensively, feeling herself blush a little under his scrutiny.
"Who are you?" he asked curiously.
"I – I don't know what you mean, she stumbled, affecting confusion. It wasn't difficult.
"Your face, so many thoughts that flash across it – it is like reading a book. I don't see that often."
"I am just a woman, Highness."
"Not like any I've known, that's a certainty. I don't usually show Snegurochka; she is the most beautiful, in my opinion, but women prefer the more valuable gems."
"You… you do it on purpose, don't you? The whole 'Here-put-on-this-crown-and-pretend-you're-my-princess thing? Cazzo," she muttered.
"It gets boring dealing with the same hundred or so people," he admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile, "Boyars. The old noble families. Men of the church. Ambassadors. Lackeys." He gave her a rueful look, "Women. All greedy for my father's power. They don't see me."
"I see you," she replied softly before realizing that things were getting a little too serious for her comfort. She changed tack, "I see you being a smartass. So is this the first thing you do with every girl you meet?" she asked, arching a brow.
"What is that?" he rejoined, vaguely distracted as he returned the exquisite crown to it's case.
"Show them your jewels?"
He stopped and looked down at her in surprise, saw her quirked eyebrow and suddenly roared with laughter.
"Wha- " he blurted, as he laughed, "I don't... I don't think… See, that's it, right there; the audacity! Who are you?" He reached out to briefly to touch a fingertip to her cheek.
"I told you, a simple woman visiting a foreign city."
"So why are you here, if not to land yourself a husband?" he asked, genuinely curious and refreshingly honest as he led her to a low bench and sat beside her.
"That's a good question," she murmured, eyes downcast as she thought of a good answer. Then she found herself responding before she thought things all the way through,
"I've been married. And widowed less than a year later. I have no children. My family is gone. So I think that this opportunity presented itself so that I can learn to find my own way in this world."
Interesting. It was actually a fully truthful statement. Looked like his sincerity was contagious. So she didn't feel guilty for his expression of sympathy when he reached out squeeze her upper arm comfortingly. This time his touch was firm, confident, and even authoritative.
They fell into companionable silence. From her position on the bench, she was advantageously placed to view a trio of paintings. They appeared to have been created by the same artist; they were characterized by dark, brooding backgrounds that contrasted with vivid, but surreal focal points in the foreground. A glowing lake cradled in the valley between menacing, rocky cliffs, a woman's hand holding aloft a sword from the depths. A horse with a lustrous, almost pearly white coat, and tiny wings at it's fetlocks.
The painting that commanded her attention was the smallest one; the subject of the painting was a large bird with a long, sweeping tail and graceful neck. The creature was done in colors of brilliant orange, yellow and red; the colors so exquisitely blended that it appeared as if the creature was made of flame.
It seemed to be reaching that lissome neck out, it's beak partially open, as if it were trying to grasp something from the branches of the dark tree in the background. She squinted to see what it was reaching for and her vision suddenly shifted and the colors of the painting inverted.
Now the focal point was a glowing orb; she could see the faint shadow of the bird reaching for the thing where the intense white dimmed at the edges. As she watched, fainter marks slowly appeared, overlaying the painting; joltingly straight lines and sharp angles – a map.
Breathless, she shifted her vision back to normal. Vasiliy was unaware of her discovery; his gaze was directed on the painting of the bird. She surreptitiously pressed fingers to her temples to ease the throbbing there. She stood carefully and approached the painting. Up close, in normal vision, aside from the almost invisible brush stokes, the painting was perfectly ordinary. She wondered at the eccentricity of Eagle vision; what sort of ink or paint did some Assassin use to make those marks?
She reached out to let her fingers hover over the more conventional visage of the painting, impressed by the color.
"This is exquisite," she said over her shoulder to Vasiliy, "Is there a story behind this painting?"
"The Firebird; another eldritch creature of my culture. In the majority of tales, it is the object of a hero's quest to obtain a feather form this bird, which has curious and magical properties."
"You are full of fairy stories here, vashe viysochestva," she observed, turning to face him.
"The people of Rus' are whimsical at times," he agreed.
"I have made my decision."
"The painting?" he asked skeptically, "I haven't even shown you some of the other pieces."
"I fancy myself an artist; this is a different style than what I have ever seen before and the colors are breathtaking. It is worth more to me than it's weight in gold."
Understatement.
Understanding dawned on Vasiliy's face,
"Then consider it yours, so that you will never forget me!"
She rolled her eyes and met his grin,
"I don't think I could ever forget you, Highness."
A faint touch of pink actually touched his cheeks and he abruptly turned away form her to remove the painting from it's moorings on the wall. He paused a moment before he turned and passed it into her arms.
The painting, unlike the crown, was light. It's frame was made of wood, not metal, and intricately carved. She noticed tiny, stylized renderings of the Assassin symbol assimilated into the frame's design.
What the hell was this thing?
Vasiliy's face was thoughtful as he watched her view the painting with the satisfaction of new ownership.
"I had thought to spend more time down here," he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment.
"I am more than happy to join you for dinner," she said, hoping to glean more information from him about the painting. He looked smugly satisfied, so she leaned closer to him to murmur, "Even if you did lose; I am more than ready to be magnanimous in victory!"
He chuckled.
This time, she turned her face up to his trustingly as he blindfolded her, her spoils cradled in her arms.
Russian:
Gospadin: sir
da, eta kharasho: yes, that's fine/good
Uvazhayemaya: esteemed
Kakoga cherta: what the hell
Na zdoroviye: bless you
Sestrenku: little sister
Durak: idiot/fool
Idti: go
Chort: devil take it
Rimskaya: Roman
Vorovka: thief
vashe viysochestva: your highness
Italian:
Che diavolo : what the hell
su per il culo : up his ass
stolto : idiot/fool/moron
vespers : approx 6pm
Russian history:
Some interesting historical insight for you, especially coming off the recent AC:R release:
Vasiliy's mother is Sophia Palaiologos (yes, that Palaiologos family; for those of you that haven't completed Revelations, Manuel Palaiologos is one of Ezio's targets). Sophia was the niece of the last Byzantine emperor, Constantine. As such, Ivan III (Vasiliy's father, the Grand Prince) made the fall of the Byzantine Empire a benefit for Moscow by declaring the city the Third Rome. And for himself, naturally, declaring himself the heir of the Byzantine Empire. This is also when the Russian rulers took the double headed eagle as their coat of arms and Ivan began to style himself as 'Tsar.'
Ivan the Third was married twice. Vasiliy is the product of his second marriage to Sophia. Hence the reason for the conflict of inheritance. Sophia is often regarded as being mainly responsible for the transfer of Byzantine customs to the court at Moscow. Unlike many of the women of the nobility at that time, she appeared to enjoy a good amount of power.
At this point in the story, Vasiliy's nephew (Dmitiriy) is still the heir to the crown of Grand Prince. For now. Hence the reason for my portraying Vasiliy as a little uncertain of his importance.