The crowd had already become audible.

"Crazy to think about, isn't it?" Arno said.

"What?"

"The king's execution. France has turned upside down in less than half a decade."

Élise sighed. "I never much liked the idea of monarchy, but after getting to know him personally it...it feels different." She took a few more steps forward as the crowd in the distance rumbled. "Or maybe it's because I know those Illuminati demons want him dead as well."

"And his poor children. They -" Then he chocked on his words. "- I guess we shouldn't be the ones to talk, with all the men we've killed."

A breeze, cold and harsh like the realities they discussed, blew past them. Indeed, she rarely thought about the families of her victims. How many widows and orphans had they left in the world?

"I suppose it's best not to think about it."

She could see where the crowd was staring to bleed into the streets, mercifully cutting this discussion short.

"I'll taper off here," she said. "You head around to the opposite side."

A blue butterfly fluttered past her path.

She began to worm her way into the crowd. The platform on which the king was to be executed was far away, decorated with the tri-color banner. Yet there were other platforms that caught her eye, seemingly a place for the more privileged to view the execution. She was almost certain this is where she would find targets, in one of those, if they were present. She started to make her way in the direction of the closest one. The stand which she headed towards was about seven feet high. It was draped with a reddish brown cloth. There was another tented section on its top.

She had with her sword and one pistol. In the most dangerous situations, she would usually bring two pistols, but two seemed too obviously threatening. But she had her hidden blades as well.

As she was approaching the stand (on her right), she was beginning to get the bigger picture. It was, with another platform, in a cordoned off section. She could see guards, with Roman style broom helmets, on the opposite side, facing opposite her. Oddly, the side she was approaching was unguarded at the moment.

If she were spotted in the restricted area, she very much doubted the guards would attack on sight. She would likely be questioned first. She could spin a yarn about looking for her husband, or being late. She did not look a gift horse in the mouth, just entered, passing an empty carriage. The stairs to the top of the first platform were on the opposite side, and in the chairs up top she could see -

Élise's blood ran cold as a musket barrel came out from under the cloth drapery. One musket barrel soon became two, and then six armed man. Two rifles, one halberd, one axe, and two swords. It was too good to be true. It had been a trap all along. In seconds, her fortunes had turned damningly cold and dark.

Then, from a curtained section above, emerged Robespierre. Red coat, pompous demeanor.

"I expected they'd send someone: the Assassin jackals or the conservative Templars. Élise-Emma de la Caen, am I correct?"

"Oui. And you're Maximilien Robespierre, the traitor and puppet of Weishaupt." These might be her final moments before discovering the great beyond, she would conduct them with dignity.

"Puppet? Traitor? We're both subordinates in someone else's cause. And traitor? Have we not established I know all about your Assassin background? Treachery is not ignoble. Quite the opposite, it takes a strong man, or woman, to turn on those he loves for a higher cause. And what is righteousness if not sacrificing that which we love for the greater good?"

"You've brought nothing but death and destruction with your rebellion, both to the Templars and l'France."

"Virtue without terror is impotent."

"And this is your ultimate act of terror? Killing the king?"

"Yes. Not only will this strike fear into the hearts of monarchs across Europe, but it will show them we are free from old world delusions, the fears that kept the common man complacent! Divine right is a false pretense! This is the truth Molay died for, after seven years torture at the hands of Philip the Faire. This is year one of a new age, what our brothers in the crusades tried and failed to achieve before they were cut down by the minions of Al Mualim."

"You're a mad dog."

Somehow, Marat had emerged onto the scene without her notice. His horrible skin condition had worsened since she last saw him. "You're the dog, Élise," he said. "Loyal, stupid, made for subservience. We are men, free and awakened."

"You're both stupid. Weishaupt sees both of you as nothing but tools, shields, men to carry the Apple while he hides away safely away in Bavaria!"

"What makes you think he's in Bavaria?" Robespierre asked smugly. "You've no idea where we found the wonderful device that lets a man project his mind across a hundred miles, and you never will. Even your murder of Ignaz brought you no closer to that truth."

Then, in the distance, came the slice of the guillotine, and the thunderous cheers of the crowd. It was the first time she had heard the sound of a modern execution. And her death might not be far behind.

"Jacques de Molay, tu es vengé," Robespierre said. "I'm afraid we must take our leave of you now, Élise. Guards, kill her."

But there was loud bang as one of the musket men was shot! The other turned his attention to the new threat. Élise snagged the opportunity with viscious speed, drawing her pistol and firing it right into the her adversary's chest.

She turned to see her mysterious rescuer: Benoît-Jacques.

Élise had little time to thank him, with four men still remaining. The axe wielder was quickly upon her. She rolled backwards to dodge. It bought her just enough time to draw her sword and block his second attack. Then she punched into his side with her left hidden blade.

One man humbled and neutralized, his colleague went for a stab, which she narrowly evaded. Chilled by the close encounter, she backpedaled. He swung. Élise blocked. She blocked again, and again. He was aggressive, his fat face red and teeth barred. He went for a stab. She dodged. He went for a hearty strike, she blocked and found an opening to elbow him in the jaw. Momentarily off his game, she hacked her sword between his shoulder and neck.

Two down. Her focus immediately shifted back to her savior. He had killed hostile, had one opponent left, a fiend with a halberd. The Assassin's back was to the platform, the assailant's back to her. She rushed forward and skewered the foe, eliminating the threat.

Combat was over, now it was time for pursuit.

"Come, run, we don't have much time!" She pointed towards Robespierre and Marat, who were bolting towards a red and yellow carriage, coat-tails flying in the wind.

The three Romanesque guards who had previously had their back to her were covering their retreat. The odds of catching the pair were bleak, but they could not disown the opportunity.

Élise and Benoît charged. The soldiers stood stalwart, even after witnessing the fate of the Sans-Culottes. Élise was hoping they might lose their nerve. They did not.

In range, she leaped for the left-most soldier with a spinning strike. He blocked, and nearly punched her in the teeth. She backed up, he advanced and went for a stab. She parried. He stood in brief hesitation. Then he stepped forward and tried for a strike. She intercepted it and kicked him in ribs. He fell flat on his face, and she planted a sword in his back. He cried horribly.

She shifted her attention to Benoît. The poor young man was on the defensive, the other two soldiers advancing like lions. Maybe they had underestimated her for her sex. She charged the nearer one, and he began to turn around right before she drove her sword through his torso, now red with the blood of five warriors. That got the remaining soldier's attention, and Benoît took advantage of the brief opening to impale the final man.

A mountain of dead in their wake, she turned back towards her targets and resumed her charge.

But the hopelessness quickly registered. Robespierre was already in his seat on the further side of the carriage. Marat, shorter and thus naturally slower, was just about to climb in. They were about twenty paces away. She slowed to a stop. As soon as Marat's foot touched the step of the carriage, the reigns clapped and the carriage began moving.

"Condamner!"

Failure.

But she should be relieved to be alive. Marat and Robespierre might be cursing their luck. If Benoît had not shown up, by sheer coincidence, she would be dead. She turned to her colleague.

"Thank you, Benoît. I-"

"Hey, you two!" a voice behind them yelled. A couple of National Guardsmen stood with their muskets raised.

Their mission had failed, but their escape was hardly over.