Hi! So I've decided to put author's notes at the beginning now, because it always kills the mood at the end! I really hope you enjoy this chapter – I sure know I loved writing it! Thanks as ever for all the support. I've spoken to loads of followers over the week; it's been amazing to get to know you all! I appreciate every single one of you :)
Now, as promised! After several months without Haytham's POV, here it is!
HAYTHAM
Well, what had Ziio missed?
Surely Connor couldn't recite his life story now? Even in the cabin, it was clear the stars were fading, like all the mysteries before them. It had taken Ziio about three and a half hours to finish her story – and by now, it looked like she hadn't slept in a century. How she looked quite so radiant with chasms under her eyes, I didn't know. Connor was seated on the floor by now, his robes fallen around his legs like a white nest. I acted as his mother's nest, my arm still around her as it had been for hours. As I slipped it away, the blood returning to my fingers was like the slow drip-drab of revelations.
Injustice, abuse, terror, rape, depression, heartache...she'd seen it all. Yet here she was, pure as the heavens, with eyes that gleamed. Every day, this woman had continued to amaze me. How did she bear all this?
I placed a hand on her thigh to comfort her, though Ziio needed no comfort as Connor concisely spoke of his sixteen years.
Very concisely. He'd already shared his childhood highlights, so began from the age of thirteen. Knocking on Achilles' door. Training as an Assassin. The Boston Massacre the following year, when my fourteen-year-old son had laid eyes on me for the first time. I never knew he saw me in 1770. I wish I'd looked for him. Recognised him earlier.
Assassinating Johnson. Assassinating Pitcairn. Assassinating Hickey...trying to, at least. Talking about Connor's near-execution was a joint effort. Ziio clasped a hand over her mouth; as vivid as her nightmares, she watched her son being pushed to the gallows; tormented by Hickey, condemned by Lee. She, too, watched as my throwing knife sliced the noose, and Connor's (alive) body sprung from death's trap.
And finally, The Great Collaboration of the Kenways.
"And what a collaboration," Ziio chuckled softly to herself. "I have faith you made a powerful team."
Connor was about to protest, when I cut across him swiftly. It was best not to explore our rocky start in too much detail. Instead I spoke of discovering that Ziio could be alive.
"Johnson kept a diary," Connor explained, understanding my digression. "He rarely wrote in it, in fact his last entry was years before his death. He mentioned you by name."
"I never knew." Ziio's lips barely moved.
My son took this as disappointment in him; suddenly he became distressed. His eyes melted into ovals as he said: "And nor did I. Mother, if only I had looked at it before now...if only I'd seen that entry beforehand –"
"Then you would still be powerless to find me. Rato – Connor, all that matters is that we are one again. Even more so than when you were a child – your father is here."
My gut plummeted: Ziio obviously assumed I'd been a good father. She thought I saw eye-to-eye with him from day one; that I hadn't been the one to ratify his execution (before regretting my decision), still treating him like a smudge on my vision. Ziio thought I had been a good person.
"It was Father who said exactly that," Connor half-smiled. "Followed by a meaningful saw."
No, no, no...he was giving her the wrong impression. Yes – I'd offered a source of comfort to Connor a short while back. One heart-to-heart didn't make up for twenty years of my absence. That wasn't to say it was useless...it had awoken some form of older, wiser conscience. But what good was that as a turbulent Templar?
As if she could decrypt my thoughts, Ziio leaned into my shoulder. "Your father is full of meaningful saws," she said. "He doubts himself in every field."
That wasn't exactly true: if I doubted myself in every respect, how did the Templar Order stay in one piece for so long? Moreover, I was dissatisfied with Connor knowing that. I'd just about regained a father-son relationship – and I wasn't hopeful to drag my insecurities into it. I didn't protest. I couldn't protest: it was Ziio.
"Although, there is something...even I have doubt about," she murmured, her voice box vibrating against my neck. "Haytham, are you still Grand Master?"
Not this. Any question but this.
"That is a complicated matter..." Connor rushed to my aid. Convincing though his umber eyes were, it didn't stop Ziio sitting upright to face me. Now I had two pairs of umber eyes, waiting for me to dissect the issue.
"Well..." My throat was dry as desert sand. "There stands no-one to be Grand Master of. Unless you count Charles."
Connor looked ready to snort; even Ziio's eyes flickered disapprovingly. Of course, I hadn't told her about the row before I left...and for that, I was unlikely to ever forgive Lee. In other words, I had no close Templar subordinates. Even the other's I'd worked with occasionally...what work was I really giving them? Was it worthwhile? If it meant cutting down any threats, it meant...it meant slaying people like Ziio; like Connor. Eva. Jack...even those who'd had anything to do with Assassins. Was that not why my sister was taken, many decades ago?
I thought of men like me, involving innocents in a war they did not fight. Aaron. Alexa. They were just children. If the Templars weren't the main reason for their leaving home, what was? Flood had driven them to the point where it was safer to be on a war ship than near Templars. And who was the epicentre of all this?
Me.
"Father, you don't count Charles. You said –"
"I know what I said, Connor."
"Did you mean it?"
"Of course I did."
"You truly would convert...?"
"Please, Connor. Not now." Yes, I had said I would convert to the Assassins. It was the only right thing to do; Ziio's presence only magnified it. Not to mention the hospitality the Virginian Brotherhood had shown me. But the idea still seemed...well, foreign. I couldn't rationally explain it. Was I ready to sever all ties from being a Templar? Not that there were any strong ties to begin with. All were but dissolved.
"Convert to what?" Ziio asked softly.
"The Brotherhood." The word was zest on my tongue: something that had saved Ziio from death and despair. Something which had raised Connor to be the just, courageous young man he was now. Something that had given Eva a purpose despite being childish, and Prudence a closure despite being widowed. Something which offered the exact same as the Templar ideals...only with altruism and love.
"And will you?" she asked.
Ziio's question was not would I...but "will" I. Oddly, the answer was ready for me. Just like when Connor had asked, it waited for years; a vow preened from childhood, and grown into the wrong path. Or rather, the same path, only twisted. But with Ziio here beside me, and through my son's unwavering, kind eyes...I saw where I belonged. And with them I would stay.
"It would be an honour," I smiled.
Ziio's eyes unclouded; the fibres in her iris untangled like our incredible circumstance. For years she'd waited to hear that – she'd always had faith she'd hear it. But just before she could smile, she said: "Are you certain of it? Haytham, if this is only to assuage me...I want you to speak the truth. Only the truth."
"That I have. Ziio, I've had months, if not years before then, to decide this." My voice raised so rapidly, I almost woke Toby and François next door. "Do you remember the discussion we had shortly before you left? About resilience to the past? About the inescapability of being a Templar, and whether I was comfortable with that? I rightly remember saying I wasn't, and never had been. And Connor!"
"What?" he frowned.
"I seem to remember you telling me that a Templar is only a twisted Assassin. Are you convinced now?"
She laughed: the delicate titter I'd missed for so long. "Convinced, convinced."
Connor yawned broadly. "Well, with the small matter of Father's affiliations settled...we all need to rest."
"Agreed." Ziio and I spoke simultaneously, smiling at our doing so.
Part of me was afraid to sleep, in fear of this whole encounter being a dream. I highly doubted it could be; if it was, this was a ludicrously long dream. I had a half mind to think I was in bloody hibernation.
But hibernating, I was not.
I woke...not to winter's white fangs, nor to the familiar cabin of the Aquila. Connor still slept in the bed farthest from the hatch: a different bed. Different, smooth wooden walls. Different noise: two female voices yonder, raised over the chinking of china. Different sunlight, on a different side of my face. Different...different Haytham?
When I remembered, I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Did I truly say those things to Ziio? Did I really consider converting to the Assassins?
As fairly new, muffled voices grew louder, I absorbed the night's events like sunlight. Somehow, neither Ziio's presence – nor my words – seemed so shocking. I'd always mused over taking a different path...only I was never this direct. Even so, conversion was no laughing matter. But what choice did I have? To return to Boston as Ziio and Connor's enemy? To serve a so-called "greater good", in which the only good came from oppression and force?
God, I was too tired for this...
When I woke agin, it was to find that Connor had vanished. Hardly surprising, judging by the intense daylight gushing through every crevice.
Oh no...daylight.
I've overslept.
I loathed oversleeping. Whenever I woke to find the day departed without me, I felt idle. That was the last sentiment I needed, after an emotional and confusing night.
As I ascended onto the deck a while later, to discover all of the Belle Rose's crew were busied with ropes. Ziio was among them – even with her face strained, she looked wonderful – and Connor tugged on the same rope behind her. It looked as if the Assassins were raising the anchor. Only George stood by the wheel. Or at least, I thought it was only George.
"It's Haytham!"
Before I could turn, two pairs of footsteps pattered from the ship's stern. The twins bounded towards me, Aaron slightly in front, with broad smiles behind windswept hair. For one (somehow terrifying) moment, I thought they'd knock me backwards. Instead they halted, about four feet from me.
"Thank goodness," Aaron heaved. "We thought you would never wake!"
"My apologies." I shook my head, half-smiling. "I am usually awake before now, but –"
"But Mother exhausted you?" he cut in cheekily.
"No," I chuckled, "of course not!"
"She exhausts me," Aaron huffed dramatically. "What? Alexa, why are you glaring?"
"You make it sound like we've a difficult time," she sighed, just as dramatically.
"Difficult? Have you seen all the chores Mother tells us to do?"
"What does your mother make you do?"
Almost silently, a woman in a yellow dress had strolled away from the crew. She was of the darkest complexion, with long black hair swept back under a hair net. Soyala, of course. I hadn't met her...well, not properly.
"Everything!" Aaron moaned at her. "Serve the food, wash the dishes, dry the dishes..."
With a silvery voice, Soyala laughed at him. "It could be worse, little cub. Think of all the Assassins have to do on deck. It needs a strong hand to raise an anchor," she said, tickling Aaron's cheek.
"Do you need any help with that?" I asked.
Alexa was the one to answer. "I think they are finished," she said, looking over her shoulder.
She was correct: the crew had now dispersed, working on adjusting the sails. George seemed reluctant to bark orders at them: when he called "half sail", there was a tremor in his voice like the slight wind we were against.
Naturally, I scanned the deck for Ziio – and found her next to a tall man with tightly curled, strawberry blonde hair. Hamish, just as she'd described him. They worked at the sails like bees at a flower. I then found Connor, who – bless his soul – had taken to helping Eva on the other side.
"Perhaps we can help now. Aaron?" Alexa grabbed her brother's wrist. "Come, let's ask George if there is any work for us."
As soon as she dragged Aaron away, lilac dress sweeping sideways, Soyala addressed me formally.
"And here is the man Ziio spoke of so fondly," she purred. "I am Soyala, although she must have told you who I am."
"Of course." Unsure of whether to shake her hand, I placed them diligently behind my back. "She spoke just as fondly of you. And, exceedingly so of me, I fear..."
Soyala released her silvery laugh again. "Now, I find that difficult to believe. I think this is you being humble, Haytham Kenway."
I frowned, twisting my head away. I had been called many things in my time, not all negative. Humble was not one of them. "I...well, that is a new one. According to Aaron, I am supposed to be kind, brave, and ambitious."
"I sense doubt in you," she grinned.
At this point, I had an idea. What if I were to ask her about what Ziio thought of me? I needed Soyala to know that I did not live up to expectation. Was it risky to speak so openly, surrounded by others?
Oh, for goodness' sake. The Assassins are not like the Templars – they never hide secrets from one another. Whatever I say now, everyone will soon know.
Nonetheless, I checked that Ziio and the twins were out of earshot...and they were. "Soyala, may I ask you a question?"
"Please do."
"Last night, the twins informed me that Ziio...she..." I sighed; it felt far too soon to say this. "She wanted them to consider me a father-figure."
"It is true," Soyala frowned. "What of it?"
I hadn't expected her to agree. Well, what of it? Leaning in as not to be heard, I murmured: "I doubt that they ever can consider me such. For a start, I have only just met them..."
"Time will take care of that."
"Well, yes...but I am not the man Ziio idolised me as. I am none of the paternal qualities she described. That, or they have been...dormant for too long."
I was certain Soyala rolled her eyes, but I was such a great deal taller than her, it was difficult to see. "Qualities or no qualities, the twins have been taught to like you since birth. And they already do."
"Yes, I can see that...but I fear I will disappoint Ziio. Even if they do call me 'Father' one day, and even if it's merely a title, do I deserve it?"
"Connor calls you 'Father', does he not?"
"That is different."
"Ah. But if the twins could not name you as such, who would they name? They have not a father. They never have had one."
"What about George? He has provided for them, more than I ever will –"
"But to call him 'Father' would mean calling Eva 'Mother'. Believe me, George was a guardian to the twins, and yes – to the public eye, he was their father." Soyala stopped, her cocoa brown eyes pleading with me. "But they have waited all their lives for you. By my reckoning, they will consider you a father before we even return to Achilles."
At this, I could've imploded. "What? No. Impossible!"
She tapped the bridge of her nose softly, chuckling to herself. "I know those children, Haytham. I also know that soon enough, so will you. All you have to do is familiarise yourself with them."
Being on a month-long voyage, this would not prove a challenge.
The children wanted me to spend my every free moment with them. Within those prime days, Aaron and Alexa treated me as an old family friend. Could I help them serve the dinner? Could I tell them about my past? Could I explain how I met their mother? Could I help them climb the mast, that they might glimpse the Aquila tagging behind? (If it wasn't obvious, the answer to that was a stern no).
Despite Ziio's restrictions on them, the children wanted me to entertain them. Not because I was the most entertaining person on the ship, but because of what Soyala told me. They were prepared to accept me as father...but nothing had prepared me for this. Nothing had prepared me for saying I'd join the Assassins, either.
I was still concerned about that two days later, when we arrived at the island. The entirety of the crew (Aaron and Alexa included) left the Belle Rose to retrieve George's medical supplies. In the excitement of finding Ziio, I'd forgotten that this was the purpose of our mission. Not that it was much of a mission: the crates were all stored in a roughly-thrown-together warehouse.
As soon as we entered, Connor's jaw almost dropped. There were dozens of them, stacked roof-high as one unit. It would take days to shift them all into the ship's cargo bay.
Not with Jack as leader, it wouldn't. He stood his sandy ground and began to give commands.
"Alright. We work in pairs, taking one crate each time. Aaron? Alexa? Wait here while I find something you can do."
Immediately I scanned round for Ziio, but Wilding had already paired her with Connor. Already they had set to work, wedging a crate free from the stack and lifting it (with noticeable ease). God, I knew Connor was strong, but Ziio? She defied everything about a woman's body. She was possibly more apt than me at this.
"Soyala, watch how you hold the crate!" Wilding's sharp bark snapped me back to here-and-now. "Dropping it on a corner could cause the whole box to split."
Wilding's voice also made me realise that I was in Toby and Soyala's way. Quickly shifting aside, I wondered if I was an odd number. Shame...I wanted to contribute; not because I felt charitable, but because it was an obligation. These people had been accepting enough to let me onto their ship. I could at least act as one of the crew.
What if that wasn't what they wanted?
Soon I noticed Jack heading towards the stack alone. Surely he wasn't going to lift it alone? While the boxes were hardly that heavy, they were too much for one man to handle.
"Can I help you with that one?" I called.
Wilding's head swivelled in surprise, then back in relief. "Thank you."
Even now, most of the Assassins never looked directly at me. Jack, however – despite his presumable mistrust – was not afraid. I admired the way he led the Brotherhood: a calculated, no-nonsense approach...but with empathy and acceptance all round. The trust he had from his associates was what I could only dream of.
We lifted the crate in silence, which I soon broke. "Given your hospitality, I feel I should be contributing as a crew member."
"If that is what you deem necessary, Haytham," he replied coolly. "You're hardly a burden on our part."
Of course not, I thought sarcastically. Only an extra mouth to feed, an extra guest to sleep and outwardly a Templar, at that. "Well, I feel that perhaps I am. If not that, I am certainly a foreigner to the Assassins."
"I thought you denounced yourself as Templar to Ziio."
"I did," I sighed, wondering how he knew of this. "Yet...I don't know. It is as if to convert now is implausible, having been a Templar for so long."
Why I voiced this to a stranger (especially while ambling backwards in the sand, lugging a crate) escaped me. If it were any other man, I'd have been concerned for what he might say. But Ziio had spoken highly of Jack Wilding; I was prepared to let him listen.
"I understand," he replied, placing the crate by the shore. "You doubt your decision...not due to flaw in logic, but to the unknown impact that logic may have."
"I am not afraid of abandoning the Order; far from it," I reassured, not wanting to be seen a coward. "I fear more for those who might target Connor because of it...and Ziio, too. My men knew of our communication in the first instance. The twins, also. We have seen them involved in Flood's plots against Ziio's will."
Jack wiped his greying hairline, watching as two other pairs approached with wooden boxes. Purposely, he tapped my back and pointed me in a different direction to them. Clearly, now was a perfect time for a private chat. Just as well he was headed for the shade of a greener palm forest. The whistles of wildlife covered the calls of labour from the beach. Now, Jack faced me.
"Supposing the Brotherhood eliminated Thomas Flood on our return...what do you think would happen to the Templars?"
I blinked. What did he mean by that? Who would be affected if Flood were killed? The only prominent Templar who would notice would be Charles. Between us, we managed the finances and the larger scale projects, but little else. It was usually low-key men like Flood who did the killing. "I couldn't say, in all honesty. I seldom heard from men like him; they rarely heard from me. But supposing I left the Order? Hmm...Charles already doubts my alliances. He'd most probably have nothing to do with me – only continue trying to claim George Washington's political post."
"And if Lee tried again to assassinate Washington? I heard of his conspiracy; it almost had Connor hanged."
"If Lee were to succeed in another plot," I hummed thoughtfully, "then he'd be appointed to Commander of the Patriots, of course. And that'd mean corruption for all."
"Interesting." Jack clearly expected me to defend Charles, the bastard. "Haytham, I will ask you now, and I want you to answer honestly: where do you stand in this war?"
Whatever I'd prepared myself for, it wasn't that. "Which war? Assassin and Templar?"
"No, the Revolutionary War."
"Oh. I want nothing to do with it. When once I used it for my personal profit, it seems pointless now. All of it." Uncomfortably, I itched the back of my sweat-glazed neck. "You? Where do the Assassins stand?"
Jack adjusted his lenses, clearing his throat. "It depends from person to person. If you were to ask François, for example, he would say he fights for freedom. Not because he admires Washington, but because some of his ideals inspire François. But take Eva, on the other hand. If you were to ask her the same question, she'd say her war is the Templars, not the governments of either side. It is all a matter of perspective. A man can raise his flag – claiming to wholly support a cause – but that won't make him a saint. His motives – not his actions – are what matter."
This kept me thinking for the week that passed. When I was a Templar, my motives were creating order. But why? Was it simply following the mantras of men who knew no better? But if my actions were unimportant, according to Jack, why did I come to want order? How far was I prepared to go to enforce it?
Too far.
Yes, even now I still believed that it was important to be in control. But while Templar motives were supposedly to help, why were we interfering with people who did not want order – Ziio's tribe, for example? Was that for the greater good, or was that a form of unnecessary force?
That makes little sense. If motives are what matter, and the Templar's motives are to help and guide others, why are there always violent outcomes?
There was only one explanation: the Templars' goals were never to help. Not really. In truth, they wanted to help themselves by forcing their ideals on others, killing any who disagreed. They'd created a dark void of purpose and direction, dragging everyone into the centre, be it wilful or kicking and screaming. Now I saw this self-fulfilling prophecy as I never had done.
But was I doing the right thing for Ziio and Connor?
The more time I spent with them and the twins, I doubted my decision less and less. Whatever my beliefs, my family would remain unchanging. But what of when we returned to America? Would Ziio and the twins go back to live with Eva, and Connor with Achilles? Much like this journey itself, I was in the dark about what would entail.
A few nights into our voyage, however, I had an inkling of what the answer would be.
It all began when I heard a voice in the middle of night. Connor was fast asleep; myself, still desperately trying to understand my place. It came from the cabin next door, by my reckoning. I assumed it was Ziio talking in her sleep, smiled, and turned over.
But her voice grew louder by the second. Even through the thick walls, I could hear her breaths become urgent; strenuous. The words she spoke were not English...but I knew they were shrill moans of distress. Suddenly I sat upright. Was she in pain? Was she...alright?
I didn't care that I had no nightshirt on. I flung the covers on the floor, rushing to the corridor in the dark.
Her voice grew in intensity. God dammit, where was the handle for her cabin? Fumbling helplessly, I found it, and nearly shoved the door off its hinges.
The dark silhouettes of Soyala and Ziio asleep...then Ziio moved. The swishing of her covers was more like clawing. I edged closer; the door clicked closed behind me. The muscles in her face were tense as the silence that followed. Her head was shaking; her lips moving slightly.
"Ziio?" I murmured breathily.
I knew what was happening now, but not what to do. I edged cautiously to her bed, knelt, and began stroking her sweating forehead. "It's alright. Ziio, wake up. It's alright..."
And wake up she did. The moment her eyes fluttered open was the moment the devil released her throat. Gasping for air, she immediately closed her eyes again. She moaned softly in resentment. A nightmare – one of the horrors she had to live with – was what I'd just witnessed.
She must've known I was there, however, because as I reached for her hand, she squeezed it in gratitude. Then – as if knowing of my lack of nightwear – her fingers worked their way slowly up my arm. I felt a spark of sadness and static as her thumb stroked my bicep. "Sorry."
I rose to sit on the edge of her bed. "For what?"
"For letting you witness this," she whispered. Slowly, she sat upright to look me in the eye. "That was the worst for a long time."
Now I was completely clueless. I supposed I should provide her with some light: nothing was worse than waking from a nightmare to darkness. "Don't you apologise for this. Here, I'll light a candle. Where are the matches?"
"Next to Soyala," she murmured.
I reached for the box on her nightstand and struck a match. The glow illumined Ziio's pupils, which were returning from wretchedness to reality.
"There," I lulled, lighting the candle. "Are you alright now?"
"Yes, thank you," she smiled. "I...I do not understand why I have such visions now. My son has returned to me...and you. I should be overjoyed."
"And you are. I know you are. Although...in ways it must remind you of the past, does it not? Triggers these nightmares in your subconscious."
Ziio gave a breathy laugh, stifled. "How do you know this?"
Embarrassed by my sentience, I shrugged. "Experience?"
"Of course," she grinned dryly. "Is that why you were awake, or did I wake you?"
"Neither. I struggle to sleep on nights like this. But what do you normally do, when...this happens?"
Her eyes centred in her lap. "On the ship? Well, I have only had one sleepless night like this. I think I dressed and went up on deck. The sea air is calming."
Immediately I stood; she frowned in confusion. "Come on, then," I whispered. "Let us away."
Calming was one way to describe the air outside; another, was bloody freezing. I clutched my (newly equipped) shirt and cloak around my shoulders, following Ziio out onto the empty deck. The moon and stars shimmered across the water; tears in a great gleaming eye. Not a cloud in sight...not that I could see beyond the waves.
Ziio strode in front of me, leaning gracefully over the ship's stern. Behind us was a journey the Belle Rose was yet to make; in front, a few desolate islands, which – even as we were anchored – looked the size of a small house. The moment Ziio breathed the salty air, she seemed tranquillised.
And so I played along, hiding chattering teeth. "So peaceful out here. Cleansing, in a way."
Ziio laughed, brushing her hair from her eyes. "You should have seen the sky on the way to Martinique. It was like...looking across time."
"How so?"
She flinched as I came closer, hoping for her radiating warmth. "I don't know. Every time I am under the stars, I think of...that night. The best we spent together."
Internally, I squirmed at the thought of this. In this romantic, starlit midnight, the last I wanted to think of was the night Connor was conceived. But a thought struck me as Ziio's hand slipped into mine. I was careful to voice it.
"How strange...somehow, I always associate the stars with that. Almost as if..." I trailed off, already hating the sound of my own voice. "No. It sounds ridiculous."
"Say it," she coaxed.
My face must've flushed like a fountain of wine. "Almost as if I could sense you looking back at me."
I expected Ziio to joke about my occasional poetic bursts. Instead she turned, such that she truly was looking back at me. "Perhaps you did. The stars are countless, so stories tell me. In their eyes, the distance between us was no distance."
I could've teased her for her lyrical nature, but felt no need. As a slight breeze came our way, I pulled my cloak around both of our shoulders. How long I had waited to do that, I wouldn't like to say. "I missed you all the same."
"And I you."
This was like some sort of romantic fantasy. Gazing on the water, the warmth from us both was raising the quiet energy in my blood. Like an orb brighter than the moon, I felt the overwhelming desire to kiss her. Not yet...it was too soon. Instead I pulled her closer as she buried her head into my side. Her loose mane of hair brushed my skin soothingly.
"Is it not extraordinary?" Ziio's throat hummed against my heart. "That we stand as one again."
"Indeed. Everbound, as you wrote."
Unexpectedly, Ziio flinched. "You...remember my letter?" she frowned.
"I keep it with me always," I chuckled. "I could quote it word for word, like poetry..."
"Don't!" she laughed in alarm.
"'I love you, Haytham Edward Kenway' –"
"Stop! Haytham, you'll embarrass me!"
"...'and I always will'. My personal favourite."
Ziio's lips parted to protest, then sighed. "All right. I cannot believe those words came from me..."
"I can," I grinned, kissing her scalp. "Because I knew they were trapped on your tongue. Even before you had written the words."
"H-how did you know?"
"Because you always speak your mind. I know you, Ziio: if some words would hurt those you cherished, would be the only time you'd keep quiet. You did not express your mind...and that was how I knew you cared."
When once I had to think about everything I said, now I was flowing as the waves below us. Well, that was until Ziio spoke again. "And so did you. You told me so...well, in a way."
"What do you mean?"
"On our last night. You whispered to me: 'I love you', remember?"
Oh God, I did remember. I did not want to remember; what a foolish thing to do. "What?" I barked. "Y-you were...awake when I did that?"
The moonlight danced playfully across her face. "But you did not want me to be. Because you didn't want to hurt me. You see? We were thinking the same thing."
It was useless. Every time I tried to be a gentleman; I tried to be romantic, Ziio would outsmart and fluster me. Not to mention set my heart at a passionate speed. But there was a truth to Ziio's words: the reason I never expressed my true emotions was as not to hurt her.
"And I lived with the regret of that for years," I mumbled, becoming sorrowful. "If only I had spoken my mind..."
"Ssh." The cloak floated to the floor: Ziio reached up, and put a finger to my lips. "It does not matter now. We are here."
Take care not to ruin this, Haytham. Don't you dare do or say anything that could jeopardise this...
"Everbound." That was the one word I could say while lost for all others. It was a beautiful word. Shame it wasn't in the English language.
"Will you ever stop quoting me?" Ziio whispered, her finger slipping away smoothly. It stroked the front of my neck; melting my voice momentarily.
"Only when the words are meaningless."
"Is that so?"
Silence. Charged as the stars themselves, but one that could warm the cold. One that let me stand and admire the woman before me: the moonlight gloss in her hair and face. Her angelic purity, in a billowing white nightgown. And her eyes...they contained an ecstasy which mirrored the night we fell in love. She bit her lip, gathering her sentence like the fruits of a perfect harvest.
"Then I will quote you. I...I love you."
I knew it. I knew she would set my heart beating far faster than it ever had. I knew she would let my entire life – newly changed or otherwise – fall into place with three magic words. I'd been expecting it...yet Ziio managed to blow me away from composure. Her words settled like pure snow: someone in this world could see my flaws, and still love me.
Someone no, not someone, the epitome of perfection – loved me.
"Will you ever stop moving me?" I breathed.
"Only when the words are meaningless."
"I love you too..."
And with the force of a thousand sparks, our lips collided in a whirl of passion. The world around me – the sound of the sea, the bitter night air, the gaze of the October moon – was blurred by Ziio's glorious presence. Even the hammering of my own heart was inaudible. She was my every sense; my every salvation. The fabric of her gown caressed me like wings; her shallow breath on my nose was my warmth. All I could do was hold her, letting the passion withheld by floodgates for sixteen years come crashing through.
Whatever happened to me, her arms were my true place in this world.
I will never force myself astray again.
