Part Two

Chapter 8

When my eyes open again, the world has turned dewy and gray. Hours have passed since I closed my eyes and fell asleep, and yet it feels like I haven't slept at all. It's all one long blink. Eyes shutting close one second to open again as Ezio slips out of bed.

"We should get going soon," Leonardo whispers from the door. A small smile of excitement on his face as his gaze drifts over us. "The first ferry leaves an hour after sunrise. If we miss it, we'll have to wait until midday".

"Finish packing, Leonardo. I will wake them," Ezio tells him, gently ushering him from the room. Leonardo all but races away, smile still on his face and eagerness pouring out from every inch. Ezio closes the door softly after him, his own small smile on his lips.

"Ken," I whisper, voice still just the tiniest bit raspy as I gently shake him awake. He grumbles but squints one eye open enough to peer at me as I pull out of his arms to sit up. "It's time to wake up. The boat's going to be leaving soon."

That just causes him to grumble more. Both with reluctance and annoyance as he buries further into the pillows and covers. A quiet chuckle from Ezio pulls my gaze up just as he reaches the bed. Climbing onto it, he waves me away and takes over waking Ken with that small smile still in place.

"How long do we have?" I ask, ignoring the rasp in my voice as I shuffle towards the foot of the bed. Our belongings are still thrown there, resting on the bed trunk. I grab all of ours just as Ken yelps and the bed rocks under me. There's an accompanying 'thud' of someone crashing against the floor. "Everything okay over there?"

Looking over my shoulder, I find Ken sitting up and clutching the sheets against his chest, a startled look on his face. Ezio quiet snickers come from the floor on the other side of the bed. Ken glares at him or tries to at least, but the sleepy look on his face just makes him look confused as he peers down at Ezio.

"Ah, um, yeah, something poked me, is all," he mumbles sounding as confused as he looks. I ignore them as I tug our belongings onto the middle of the bed and start rummaging through mine. Reluctant to actually leave the bed, I sit at the foot of the bed, back turned to them and feet resting on trunk. "What are you doing on the floor, Ezio?"

He's your 'something', dork.

As I pull my last clean set of clothes from it, I realize that I probably should have done laundry while we were here. Not that I even brought many clothes to begin with. Other than the dress I wore on the way here, this is the only other one I brought with me. So, laundry is definitely on the to-do list. For all of us.

Ken's pack had been as light as mine, if not lighter. So when he eyes the clothes he pulls from his pack warily, I know he's probably out of clean clothes too. Ezio, on the other hand, hadn't even bothered to pack anything now that I think of it.

I haven't even seen him change other than to sleep.

And, even then, all he does is peel off everything until he's in just his shirt and breeches. The whole trip here he has worn the same set of clothes and none of them are dirty or smelly. As he begins to pull on his doublet and armor, I realize there's probably a laundry system in the taverns that we haven't been told of.

Bathes, I've also come to realize, are only taken at night. Considering the vast majority of jobs in this era involves some form—if not entirely—hard labor, bathes are taken to wash away the day's grime. Which means, unless you were rolling around in mud, you probably won't bathe until bedtime.

"If we want to wash our clothes where should we do it?" I ask Ezio as I change my socks. They're long, calf-high, and extremely comfy. They go perfectly with my boots, keeping all the sensitive parts cushioned. Seeing as I wasn't sure just how this trip would go, I opted out of wearing anything heeled or flimsy. The last thing I need is to end up with blister if we suddenly need to walk. With that same train of thought, I've decided against anything too heavy.

My dresses are light-weight and simple. Though calling them 'dresses' is a bit of a stretch. They're peasant clothing, really. With only two layers each. One low cut, floor-length, chemise and a bone-less bodice with an attached over-skirt. The only difference between both outfits is in the Bodice, where yesterdays had been pale blue, today's is soft pink. Despite the light coloring, I do look like your average peasant, unassuming and easily forgettable.

"Just ask the Tavern wenches to clean them," Ezio says as he begins to pull on his chest armor. It's all metal, shiny, and inlaid with vines and feathers designs carefully engraved into the metal. The attached cape is rich brown leather with blood-red silk lining on the inside. "If you would like, I can ask them to tend to your clothing at the next Tavern we stop at."

Missaglias armor.

The highest-level armor before he gets Altaïr's armor and proof that he's well on his way to the last sequence of the game. Though, I'm not too sure he hasn't already collected all the Assassin's Seals. Considering he isn't wearing the armor, I guess not.

"Yes please."

Before I can think too much on it, I pull off the chemise I fell asleep in and replace it with a clean one. There really isn't any privacy when traveling in this era, or Altaïr's for that matter, so I don't bother to attempt hide as I change. Nor do I even bother to blush as I change out my under-garments.

While our travels so far have been far better than my travels with Altaïr, it's not like we could afford separate rooms. Just like last night, we've been sleeping in the same room the whole way here, so I've already lost all sense of embarrassment when it comes to changing.

'Sides, Ken and Ezio only have eyes for each other.

Lacing up my bodice, I make sure to keep my eyes on my own two hands. As much as I love these two and can appreciate their good looks, I really don't need to see more skin that is strictly necessary. The same goes for them, of course. We run on locker-room etiquette: everyone keeps their eyes in respectable places.

Above the chest or on your own person.

"Hey Ezio," I call as I tie the laces on the bodice. There's a rustle of fabric as Ken finally shuffles off the bed and begins to change so I don't turn around. "Have you collected all the Assassin Seals yet or do those not actually exist in this world."

"The Seals?" He asks, voice slightly muffled as if he's covering his mouth. There's a grunt as the quiet 'click' of latches sliding into place before he speaks again. "Yes, actually. I collected them all a few months back."

"Then why aren't you wearing Altaïr's armor," I ask as I begin to run a brush through the tangles in my hair. Though I don't go as far as trying to style it. Instead, I just throw it up into a ponytail, only leaving a few curls loose along with my bangs to frame my face. "Isn't it stronger than the Missaglias armor?"

"It is," Ezio agrees, coming around the bed just as I pull a toothbrush and paste from my bag. Used morning routine by now he doesn't question it as I begin to brush my teeth. "And I do have it, but it seemed a little…disrespectful to run around in a supposedly dead Assassin's robes in front of the said, still living, Assassin."

"But you weren't wearing it when you first came to my world, before you knew he was still alive," I remind him after spitting the toothpaste into my empty water cup from last night. I rinse my mouth out with water straight from the jug, all propriety forgotten. "You weren't even wearing armor. You were just wearing your white robes."

"Contrary to the popular belief," he starts, amusement in both his gaze and words as he watches me struggle to drink from the jug without spilling. "I do, in fact, have more than one set of clothing and running around my own home in armor seems a bit silly."

"Then how come you only ever wear the white set?" I ask, setting the jug down and fishing a stick of deodorant out from my pack. Knowing that we have a long, sun-filled day ahead of us, I apply a thick layer. Once done, with that I shove everything back in my pack.

"It is the Assassin's uniform," he says, taking my pack when I finish closing it. He throws it over his right shoulder, slipping his arm through the strap as he does. "So I have more than one set of it. Plus, it is comfortable. While these clothes are bulky by your era's standards, they were designed with comfortability and mobility in mind. I have to able to run, jump, and scale buildings, after all."

"Makes sense."

He offers me his hand then. I take it and let him help me get to my feet simply because I don't know how steady I'll be. Despite the calm of the morning and the routine of getting ready to start the day, images of fire and smoke still linger in the back of my mind.

Taunting.

Last night really was something else.

Thankfully, my legs turn out to be stable. My knees don't buckle or shake. Still, I keep my grip on his hand as I test out a few steps. The caution turns out to be unnecessary. My legs are steady as ever under me so, with a soft squeeze, I let go of his hands and move to pull on my boots.

No one asks about my 'dream'—nightmare is a better word for it honestly. Despite the curiosity I can see burning behind their eyes, no asks even as breakfast is served and eaten and our packs are collected, and we start our journey.

They keep their questions to themselves even as we walk down the slightly bustling streets, past the merchants setting up the market for the day, and board the ferry to Forlì. And I'm thankful for it in more ways than they can ever know.

It may have been a dream, but it felt so real.

If I try, I can still hear the screams, low and distant, echoes of ghosts that died in the flames I can still see. That I can still feel licking against my skin, searing and melting. And the smoke, it chokes me, robs the air from my lungs and fills them with something burning and rancid, suffocating.

The smell of burning flesh.

"You okay?"

Ken's voice comes from somewhere far away, even as he takes my hand in his and pulls me into his arms. I cling to him, taking in the warmth of his body, savoring it as the cold morning breeze slips through my clothes and chills me.

"I miss him," I tell him because I don't want to talk about it. I'm not okay no matter how much we both wish I was, but I don't want to face it. Not now, when it's still so fresh. When I can still feel my skin burning, can still hear it hiss and crack as it melts down to bone.

Not when he's not here to make it better.

It's childish and stupid and embarrassing but I can't help it. I can't face it. Not alone. Or at least not without him. So instead I bury myself into Ken's arms and ignore his words. He holds me against his chest, head resting on mine as he leans against the ship's railing.

Despite the way the ship rocks, I don't fear we'll tip over the side. Since this ship is for ferrying customers, the railing is tall, past waist height to keep everyone as safe as possible. The only problem comes when the ships finally begins to sail away.

Ken turns green almost instantly.

Shoving me into Ezio arms, he leans over the rail just as this morning's breakfast comes rushing up. With a sigh that has more to do with defeat than exasperation, Ezio begins to run his hand through Ken's hair, pulling the long strands away from his face. He wraps his other arm around me as he comforts Ken, holding me steady as the ship begins to rock in earnest.

"Oh, my," Leonardo gasps when he spots Ken leaning over the railing. Rummaging through the pouch on his waist, he pulls a long, blue ribbon from it just as the second wave of nausea rolls through Ken. "You poor thing," he coos as he pulls Ken's hair from his face and ties it back for him. "Why did you not let me know you could not handle boats?"

"Is there another way into Venice?" I ask, confused from the shelter of Ezio's arms. With Leonardo now tending to Ken, Ezio wraps both arms around me, letting me cling to him as the ship lurches away from the dock. The worst part of sailing is always the takeoff and the docking. The closer you get to land, the harder the waves crash.

"Well, no," Leonardo amends, slowly, cheeks flushing slightly as he runs a soothing hand over Ken's back when he gives a particularly wretched groan. "But I would have not fed you guys breakfast. Or maybe something a lot lighter."

I have half a mind to ask him what could be lighter than bread and wine, but it sounds both rude and ungrateful in my mind, so I don't. Leonardo didn't have to feed us. He didn't have to help us, share his food, and let us spend the night.

"It's not your fault," I soothe him, instead. He looks as worried as Ezio had the first time, which would be odd if I didn't already know that's just the kind of person he is.

Compassionate and caring and more than willing to risk his life for Ezio, who was already a wanted man at only seventeen, even though he'd only met Ezio once before. He didn't have to help Ezio then, but he had, and even took the beating that came with it when the guards came looking for Ezio. All without ever giving him up.

He'd protected him then, when Ezio had nothing to offer. And he will again when Caesar Borgia starts his reign of terror by telling him exactly where all the war machines he'll be forced to make will be.

We don't deserve him.

Beautiful cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure.

"He was like this yesterday too," I tell him when he throws a worried look our way. He runs his hands soothingly down Ken's back, patting when Ken chokes and begins to cough. "Ken just doesn't do well with boats."

"I would offer you water," Leonardo says to Ken when Ken clears his throat and leans heavily against the rail. With his stomach now empty, he slumps pitiful, legs struggling to hold him up. "But I fear that would just give your stomach more to vomit rather than settling it."

"If he didn't just throw up this morning's bread, I would have said to try easing his stomach with that."

"How would bread have helped?" Ezio asks, both curious and doubtful. It sounds farfetched, I know but it's the closest thing to saltine crackers that I can think of.

"It would have helped soaked up the acid in his stomach, for the most part," I explain as Leonard continues to run soothing hands up and down Ken's back. "Less acid would mean less reason to be nauseous, though I'm not too sure if that would actually work when it comes to seasickness."

"Evidently not," Leonardo agrees, something like regret in his words as Ken starts up again. This time the only thing that comes out is bile. The sounds of retching would have been more disgusting if they weren't coming from him, my best friend. Instead, I wince sympathetically with every cough and gag. "Might it be best to lie him down somewhere out from under the sun?"

"Yes," Ezio agrees, arms slipping from around me as Ken heaves one last time. This time when he slumps, Ezio pulls him back, sweeping his legs out from under him as he does, and cradles him against his chest. Ken doesn't even fight him, just lets Ezio carry him away as Leonardo leads the way below deck.

I watch them, shivering as the sea breeze wraps around me, chilling me in seconds. There's no fighting the shiver that crawls up my spine, then. I let it shake me, raising goosebumps as it goes. It stings, bites at the tips of my fingers and nips at my cheeks, but I savor it.

I relish it as it cools the searing heat of the flames. Like jumping into an ice-cold pool in the middle of summer's heat. When the next shiver hits, I stretch with it, letting it relax stiff, burning muscles even as my teeth start to chatter.

I don't know how long I stay there, standing under the rising sun and enjoying the breeze, but when the cold slowly starts to disappear, I quickly search out a shady spot to sit. This ferry will take a few more hours yet, and I have no desire to bake under the sun when I'm finally cold.

When I find a bench set perfectly in the shade of the walls of what I assume to be the Captain's quarters, I lounge there. Uncaring of the rocking ship and it's other passengers, I lean back against the wall, eyes closed and oddly enjoying the gentle rocking.

At some point, I doze off. Lost to everything but the cold winds, gentle rocking, and quite crashing of the waves against the ship, I don't open my eyes again until the shade shifts enough that the sun finds me again. I can almost feel my skin sizzles as soon as it does.

A few hours have passed, the sun sits heavy and hot in the sky and the breeze has warmed enough to match it. The rocking has increased again, lurching the boat around as the dock grows bigger in the distance. Already the deck has begun to fill with travelers eager to be the first off.

Despite the heat, I linger on the bench, both unwilling to move and in no mood to join the slowly growing crowd. Instead, I just watch them, waiting for the others to come above deck. I'm sure they'll stay below deck until we've docked so I don't get up even when, with one final lurch, the boat stops.

Everyone dashes off the ship then, almost squabbling over one another. It's not like anyone was going to keep them from getting off, yet they shove and push. I have half a second to wonder if something is wrong before Ezio appears in front of me, Ken leaning heavily against him.

"Did you kill anyone?" I ask, slipping my pack from his shoulders and taking Ken's as well. Despite having already docked, Ken won't feel better until he feels solid, unmoving ground under his feet. Leonardo hesitates when he sees me with both packs, one on each shoulder, but he has his own gear to carry as well.

Where Ken and I have packed light and Ezio not at all, Leonardo has both a pack and a box of supplies he totes around. It doesn't look heavy, but it keeps both of his hands occupied. When I see the worried look on his face, I offer him a small smile and lead the way off the boat.

"What? No, why?" Ezio asks, confused as he helps Ken off. Once back on solid ground, Ken takes a deep, relieved breath. If it wasn't because Ezio's still holding, I'm sure he would have slumped on the ground and kissed it.

"No reason," I tell him, giving him a smile too. We stop then, but only long enough for Ken to get his bearings back. He grabs both our packs once he does, a grateful look on his face for both the help and putting up with his sensitive stomach. "Lead the way to the horses then."

With no possible way of bringing them with us, we've boarded them at the stables before our ferry ride to Venice. The stable manager greets us with a smile and quick orders to the stable boy to have the horses saddled and brought forward quickly.

Though it's only when my horse—a soft golden one with a shiny blonde mane, a white stripe running down from her forehead to her nose, and white stockings on all four feet—is brought out that we realize we have a bit of a problem. As I tie my pack to my saddle, I count again, but the numbers don't change even as the last horse is led out of the stalls.

We have three horses.

And four riders.

"I knew we were forgetting something," I tell Ezio, but he's already noticed it as well. He eyes the horses, weighing something in his mind before shaking his head. "We could ride doubles."

"No, we need another horse," Ezio disagrees, soft 'clicks' leaving his lips as he begins to lead his horse—an all-white one that reminds me so much of Hamza (Altaïr's horse) that it hurts—away from the stables. "These are Jennets, they would not withstand it for long. Had we brought a Destrier, maybe."

"Jennets?" Ken asks as his own horse—a chestnut one with white socks on his feet—starts after Ezio, following the clicks he continues to let out. Ken follows his horse, hands tight on the reins even as it pulls him forward.

"Riding horses," Ezio explains, stopping his clicking. He smiles as Ken's horse continues to drag him forward, eager to reach Ezio even as the clicking has stopped. It's ingrained in them after all, to follow their Assassin's every command. "Woah, easy there, Baldo, easy."

He stops Baldo effortlessly, hand coming out to grip his muzzle before Baldo can think run past him. My own horse perks up at the clicking, ears and eyes swiveling expectantly towards Ezio. If I didn't have a stronghold on her reins, I'm sure she would have started forward too. As it is she hangs back, more than willing to follow my commands even though she watches Ezio, waiting.

The horses know him better than they do us. Born and raised in Monteriggioni, he's worked with all of them in some form or another. Just like the horses in Masyaf, these are fiercely loyal to their Assassins. So much so that Baldo doesn't resist the grip, he just stops, ears swiveled towards Ezio, waiting.

They all are.

"Jennets are lean and fast on their feet, but they lack the stamina and endurance of a Destrier, warhorses," Explains, taking the Baldo's reins so that Ken can tie his own pack to the horse. Once he does, he hands both reins to Ken. "Wait here, I shall see if the Stablemaster might have some horses for sale."

He does have a horse for sale. Just one, flea-bitten, scraggly looking thing with a dull brown coat and a white muzzle. Its mane and tail are a knotted mess of hair with no hopes of being saved. I don't have to look towards the others to know this is a no go. With the amount of traveling we'll be doing; this poor thing will probably drop dead halfway.

"I'm sorry, Sir Ezio," the stable master says as he commands the stable boy to take the horse away with a wave of his hand. "I wish I had a better horse to show you."

"It is alright, my friend," Ezio tells him good-naturedly, going as far as to clap the man's back. "Though if you do know where we might be able to find one, it would be much appreciated."

"Well, you might want to try—"

"Ezio!"