Prologue
When I opened my eyes, all I could see were flames. They licked at the walls, the floor, the windows, the ear-splitting sound of glass shattering echoing in my head. I blinked back tears as my eyes watered, coughing up ash and blood. My chest hurt. Everything hurt. Looking down, I could see a thick red substance covering the ground where I lay, and it took me a moment to register the fact that I was bleeding.
This was my fault.
All of this was my doing.
I should have known.
But no; I was so caught up in the notion that my brother was alive that I did not even begin to think about how he had managed to survive all those years.
I forced myself to believe that he had escaped by pure coincidence; of course, I was wrong.
And now here I was, about to die alone in a home no longer my own, all while knowing the truth of who I really was.
A Templar.
At least, that's who they wanted me to be.
But who ever cared about what I thought?
I laughed drily, biting back a pained cry as my ribs protested.
It was ironic, really; dying in a home meant for order, while I stained its oak floors with rebel blood.
Somewhere off in the distance, I heard someone screaming my name, and I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came. Weakly I reached for my hidden blade that William had thrown to the side, my charred fingers brushing the side of the blade before I lost strength.
"I'm sorry, Haytham. For everything," I said, though there was no reply. With a sad smile, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the welcome embrace of darkness.
Haytham would have loved it here in Virginia.
