Chapter 15: The Lesser Evil
The orb shone in Kira's hands and it felt oddly as though it belonged there. She turned it about, eyes alight with the reflections of what glow seeped from the patterns etched deep into its surface. It felt right- drawing her in with the familiar pull of a homeward road one hasn't walked for years. She thought about Connor's stories, of visions and voices, of otherworldly powers, and perhaps- when she steadied her breath and surrendered- felt a daunting certainty that all of it was true.
The glow intensified: a response to her fast-fading cynicism.
The door to The Green Dragon swung open, and the reverie was broken. Kira stashed the artefact back into her satchel with fearful belligerence, mind unclouding, her surroundings loud in her ears. For a brief moment she was aware of everything. Senses heightened; she heard the rasping breath of the patron who had disturbed her, even the muffled drum of his heartbeat. Time was slow- too slow- as the door swung sluggishly closed behind him, and she listened to the bleeding life of all within: fragments of conversations, echoes of footsteps and movement.
Down the street, a redcoat barked threats at a civilian who had wandered a little too close, and Kira's gaze flicked to the disturbance. The man's voice was clear, though his words and gestures were slowed, trapped- like the rest of the world- in a sudden, almost static state.
A blink and it was over, and Boston was alive once more.
Kira glanced down to where the orb was buried in the satchel. She had always had control of her senses, had always been able to focus- even augment them when she needed to. It was a talent she had inherited. A talent she had trained.
This had been different. This had been stronger.
She looked up at The Green Dragon with a scowl of distaste as though the building itself offended her. Stealing the orb had indeed been simple: a testament to how little a threat Connor's people estimated the outside world to be. It was a weakness the young man had griped about frequently- the same weakness that had pushed him to act in the first place. At the very least, it had allowed the woman to slip into the village unnoticed, and leave- like its inhabitants- unscathed.
Reminding herself that this, above all else, was what mattered, Kira opened the door and stepped into the tavern.
It was early evening, and the establishment was already brimming with customers. It was dishonestly innocuous: warm and inviting in a way that made it easy to forget that her sworn enemies were close by. She didn't forget, though. Her skin prickled with apprehension as she looked to the stairs, on high alert, even though her presence was surely expected.
Perhaps Haytham would be elsewhere. Perhaps she could spare herself the journey upstairs, and the company of whichever Templars had settled there for the night.
One of the proprietors was handing out drinks, and Kira approached her optimistically. "Excuse me-" she had to take a step back as the woman swung around, drinks sloshing- "I was wondering if you might help me find someone. Haytham Kenway- is he here?"
"You're a friend of his, dearie?"
There was a faint suspicion there. One that made Kira wonder just how long the woman had been serving her mysterious regulars. She shrugged a noncommittal 'yes', and the innkeeper at once brightened.
"Yes, dear- he's just up the stairs."
Hiding her utter displeasure at this answer, Kira smiled gracefully back. Without another word, she reached for one of the drinks and downed a few mouthfuls of it before the woman could protest. "Mr Kenway will be covering my expenses," she offered to the affronted look she received, before adding warmly: "thank you."
This seemed to set the innkeeper at ease; she nodded back, though still a little wary. Not wishing to perturb her any further, Kira made her way to the stairs, set on being done with her escapade as soon as possible. Pausing only to sip at her drink a final time, she set the near-empty glass down and began the short climb to whatever suffering awaited her.
There were two Templars at the top of the stairs: William Johnson- who seemed too absorbed in his work to notice her approach- and Charles Lee, who on the contrary noticed her at once, and was glaring at her from across the room. He muttered something under his breath before turning his attention back to a flintlock pistol he was cleaning.
Kira shifted awkwardly on her feet, unsure of what to do. Haytham was inevitably in one of the nearby rooms, though she didn't exactly fancy pacing between the different doors, knocking on each until she chanced upon the right one. She glanced between her options- the Templars present- and decided to opt for the more civil of the two.
"Mr Johnson?" she addressed firmly, resenting the way her voice rung out in the quiet of the room. Charles looked up once more, and similarly, William turned in his chair to face her, looking none too pleased about being disturbed.
"Miss…" he hesitated, searching his thoughts briefly, "Lawrence. Can I help you?"
For all her desire for civility, Kira had to resist rolling her eyes. He must have known why she had come. "Haytham- where is he?" she pressed.
"You have the artefact?"
"No," she folded her arms, bearing her teeth with a sneer. "I thought I might simply trouble you all for some tea and conversation."
William looked back at her, stern but patient, as though enduring the antics of a child who doesn't know any better. "You may give it to me," he said, reaching a hand out to her. "I shall see to it Haytham knows you have retrieved it for us."
"No, I-" Kira's confidence faltered; she took a step back. "I need to give it to him myself. I need to hear from him that he will uphold his side of our agreement."
The man withdrew his hand, pondering this- appreciating her sudden turn to sincerity. "Very well, I will-"
"You have reason to doubt the Grand Master's words?"
It was Charles' voice, aggressive and far too close. Startled, Kira spun to meet him, her initial surprise buckling beneath her aversion to his question. His ridiculous question. "Of course I do," she spat. "He is as much a snake as the rest of you, isn't he?"
"The only snake here is you, woman," Charles snarled, low and dangerous. "Why should we trust you?"
Another question, still ridiculous. "You shouldn't."
"No?"
"No." She stepped towards him. "Trust is irrelevant. I have your artefact- that's all that was required of me." The man refused to shrink from her challenge. Looking at how he bristled- chest puffed, fists clenched- Kira realised how best to provoke him and couldn't resist. "Relax," she assured gently, dropping her anger and adding with a sympathetic smile: "I am not here for you."
Charles reddened, eyes burning. Men's pride always did make for an easy target. "I am not afraid of you, Assassin."
She smiled still. "I'm counting on it. Why don't you ask your precious Grand Master to explain the consequences of underestimating me? He is well-acquainted with them."
A figurative pulled trigger: the only way to improve on insulting one man's pride was to insult two. Charles drew his sword in a movement too quick to be calculated, pressing the tip to her throat in threat. "Silence," he demanded.
Kira obeyed; she did not need words to quarrel with him, least of all a sword. Her grin shone victoriously- gloatingly. Only one of them had lost control.
"Charles…" William entreated, enforcing this suggestion, pouring salt on the wound.
Something flickered in Charles' eyes, and Kira prepared to move, sensing she had crossed a line.
"Charles!"
If William's voice had not affected Charles, Haytham's certainly did. The tip of the sword fell from Kira's neck as the Grand Master approached. "What in God's name are you doing?" he exclaimed.
Charles had been staggered, though he rediscovered his confidence. "She is an Assassin!" he cried, and Kira had to keep herself from making a comment. Her being an Assassin alone was paltry, as excuses go, though she could not imagine it was the first time a Templar and Assassin had fought over the fact.
"I am well aware," Haytham spoke, similarly uninspired. "But she has what we need." He turned to her. "Do you not?"
Aware that she was for once in her life on higher ground, Kira nodded quickly in agreement. Charles released a resentful sigh, sheathing his sword, and received a warning glance from Haytham for his efforts. "Miss Lawrence," Haytham addressed her again, turning back to his room and gesturing for her to follow.
Kira spared a short glance to William- who shrugged- before setting off after his leader. As she passed Charles, she felt a hand tighten around her arm, and she was dragged towards the man with a harsh tug. "I am not finished with you, Assassin," he growled into her ear, his closeness repugnant.
She snatched her arm back from him. "Nor I, you." She indicated Haytham with a nod of her head. "Be thankful he was here to save you this time. You might not be so lucky the next."
…
Mathematically speaking, Haytham's room was less of a threat than the one Kira had just come from, though it certainly didn't feel that way. It was one thing to be away from William and Charles, and another- far more unnerving thing- to have Haytham to herself.
He had settled, resting back against his desk, and he watched her intently as she closed the door behind her. Turning back, she met his gaze- the simple action proving more difficult than she remembered.
"I am sorry for how Charles behaved," he stated evenly, crossing his arms. He didn't sound particularly apologetic.
"Don't be." Her nerves preyed on her voice, and she forced a smile. "I only wish you had not intervened. I'd have liked to have taught that conceited bastard a lesson."
Haytham smiled back cordially- a courtesy- though it wasn't sincere.
He seemed different; it was unlike the man to not attempt repartee. Such detachment was altogether harder to confront than his quick wit, and Kira glanced down at her feet, vulnerably unsure of herself. "How much did you hear?" she asked of what had occurred next door.
"Enough to know that you were not guiltless in the affair."
Kira looked up once more, defensive. Her eyes blazed. "Passion makes slaves of only weak men."
Haytham considered this before smiling again, this time ironic. He nodded slightly. "That it does."
There was silence, thick and somehow loud. It wasn't often that the Assassin could think of nothing to say, and she didn't care for the sensation.
"The orb," Haytham spoke, relieving her of her anxiety as he outstretched his hand. "Let me see it."
With a huff and a swell of displeasure she was almost grateful for, Kira reached into the satchel that hung at her side. After a moment of rummaging, she recovered the artefact and stepped forwards with it- already feeling prickles of warm energy dance through her fingers. Warned by a sudden yet distant instinct, she placed the orb into the Templar's hand before she could lose herself to the feeling.
Her eyes remained fixed to the object, even as the man examined it, turning it about reverently in his hands. It glowed, still: weak, but indisputably powerful. It did not seem to react to Haytham's scrutiny as it had her own, and she wondered if he could feel it, regardless- that pull. That inexplicable need to surrender.
She had inched closer unconsciously. It was drawing her in again, and in resisting it, her gaze lifted to Haytham. His face was gilded by the artefact's light, his eyes wide with something she could only describe as wonder. It was then that she recognised she was seeing something new of the man: he cared about this- whatever it was, and whatever it meant.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, endeared by the honesty of his reaction.
Haytham tore his eyes back to her, lips curving in agreement. He still looked a trifle awestruck. "I would thank you for this, you know, had I not forced you to retrieve it for me."
Kira clicked her tongue; the word 'forced' had been exaggerated in a way that grated her patience. She stepped back- putting some much-desired space between her and the Templar- and she crossed her arms, trying desperately to be assertive. "Connor's people are not to be harmed," she commanded. "You gave me your word, remember? Furthermore, you must return the orb when you are done with it."
The first order had received a nod, though Haytham raised an eyebrow at the second. "Is that so?"
"If you possess even a modicum of decency or respect- yes."
Haytham grinned ominously, as though the very idea of this was right to be in question. He straightened, rounding his desk slowly to sink down into his chair. "If it truly proves to be of no use to me, then yes, I will return it." He leant back, still toying with the artefact carefully. "Have any trouble getting it, did you?"
His tone was smug- designed to make a point- and Kira's patience wore even more thin. He knew it had been easy. He knew the ease of it had made the task feel so much more of a betrayal. The Assassin gritted her teeth. "No."
"Good." It was praise that made her skin crawl. "Then I trust this ordeal has been adequate punishment for the trouble you caused me."
Kira stared back at him, rigidly calm. She would not grace him with a response. Could not. The entirety of her will was focused on keeping still- on keeping her from shouting at him, at lunging at him, at doing anything to reward his provocations.
Haytham leant forward in his chair. "From now on, I hope you will have the good sense to stay out of my way."
It was almost too much. So that was what this was all about: establishing authority. She had worked hard to maintain her calm, and she would keep doing so- this being the one small victory she could secure for herself. But she would not stand for what he wanted. She refused; consequences be damned.
"On the contrary," she spoke- a tamed threat- before she leant across his desk, distanced from him, but still breaching his control. "I will oppose you. Again. And again. And then again until my dying day, because this? This is my promise to you. And it is the only devotion you shall ever have from me."
Haytham's eyes narrowed in the ensuing quiet. "Speak like that and your dying day may come sooner than you'd expect."
Kira smiled, withdrawing casually. "Perhaps. That does not change my resolve, however."
It would be an effective sentiment to leave the Templar with. The Assassin turned, content that she had not been defeated. She relished each passing second of silence as she made her way to the door, this triumph exhausted only as she reached for the handle.
"I lied, you know."
She stopped. Turned back with a look of impatience. "What?"
"Yesterday afternoon. The threats I made?" Haytham set the artefact down on the desk. "Empty."
"But you-"
"Inconceivable though it may seem, I do not make a habit of harming innocents. Better yet," his eyes hardened emphatically, "they are Ziio's people. I would not hurt them for the world, let alone for something as trivial as you."
The declaration sunk in.
It was supposed to be cutting. Intended to incur wrath- to stress just how meaningless Kira's betrayal of the Kanien'kehá:ka people had been. For this sole purpose, Haytham had willingly divulged a weakness. An unexpected shortcoming: that he was as prone to sentiment as anyone else.
Kira was supposed to be angry, but she wasn't. She looked between Haytham and the orb. The orb so unashamedly treasured by the village. The orb they would be distraught to lose.
The Templar did not see the irony, and she pitied him his blindness.
"There are worse means of hurt than violence, Mr Kenway," she said, so devastatingly simple. No malice. No resentment. "I am sure you know that better than most."
Haytham's gaze flickered briefly to the artefact, and that was enough. Kira reached for the door, stepping through it, satisfied, though without pleasure.
If she could not claim an outright victory over the man, she would settle for making him think.
…
It was not until the following evening that Kira made her way back to the manor. She had taken the initiative to retreat home in the meantime, had managed to silence her mind enough to achieve a few hours' sleep, and- vaguely revived- had decided it was time to at last grace Achilles and Connor with her presence.
She sat at the dining room table, eagerly enjoying the dinner that had been prepared as her mentor talked her through all that had occurred in her absence. Connor's training had been going as remarkably well as it tended to ('the boy would be an asset to us if he were not so unspeakably stubborn- though I suppose I can hardly look to you for assistance there'), and the renovations to the manor were proceeding with just as much success ('the place is looking fine, isn't it? It makes me wonder why another of my pupils did not take it upon herself to fix it years ago').
Kira chuckled at the last remark, glancing up with a broad grin.
Connor himself was absent; he had been called to his village urgently, for reasons Kira could very accurately surmise. As Achilles continued to explain the specifics of what exceptional changes to their lives the young man had been making, Kira's mind began to drift- as it ever more regularly did- to the things her mentor was not privy to. She thought of all she had endured of Haytham, of confrontations and conversations, but most of all? Most of all she thought of Shay.
She thought about the lie she had been fed for half her life.
Realising she was missing the entirety of what Achilles was saying, Kira looked up at him once more. He was speaking of some word he had received from their contacts in the Caribbean, and some advice they had offered regarding the situation with the-
Kira was finding it tremendously difficult to think of anything other than his lies.
As she watched the man talk and gesture, she decided this was as good a time as any to confront him. It was not often they had the manor to themselves, and she'd rather not drag Connor into the complicated web of whatever it was she was about to broach. All at once, she was tired of having questions. Tired of having doubts.
"Achilles?" Her voice interrupted a rather impassioned speech about how invaluable the other branches of the brotherhood were. "There is something I need to tell you."
Embers of a confession, and Achilles tilted his head, intrigued. "Is something the matter?"
Almost always, though Kira didn't have time to address all that. "Everything is fine, it's just…" God, how could she phrase it? You hurt me. You lied. "Something happened, Achilles, and I want to understand. I need to understand-"
It was as far as she made it before Connor came barrelling through the door.
"Achilles!" He practically crashed into the dinner table with the momentum of his approach, his eyes wide. "It is gone. Stolen."
"What was stolen?" Kira stood, her chair screeching backwards. It was only half an imitation of surprise; she had been startled by the sheer suddenness of her friend's appearance, despite knowing exactly what was wrong.
Connor's breath came out in ragged bursts, and in-between them he expelled an answer. "The artefact. The orb. They must have taken it."
'They' was to be consistently translated as: "The Templars." Kira exchanged a furtive glance with her mentor.
"It has to have been," he acquiesced. "Who else would recognise its importance?"
It was a seed of worry; Kira tended to it. "The artefact has tremendous power, Achilles. If the Templars realise this, if they learn how to exploit it, they could-"
"I know, I know," the older man waved a hand dismissively. He had also stood at Connor's entrance, though he now resettled thoughtfully into his chair. "There is little we can do if they have it," he lamented, pressing his fingers to his temple. "It will be heavily guarded, and we are in no position to confront them yet. No, we must bide our time- strike only when we are ready. We must hope they prove unable to unlock the artefact's potential until then."
"Hope?" Connor's voice was desperate. "We must act, Achilles. We cannot stand by and do nothing."
Kira had sat back down, and her fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as she considered all that was being said. "Perhaps we can do both," she proposed. "It is true we lack the resources to retaliate outright, though this does not mean we should be idle. Let us do what we do best- scout from the shadows, assess the strength of whatever security lies around the artefact. At least then, we may ascertain what further action can be taken."
Would stealing the artefact back be a breach of the contract Haytham had forced on her? She didn't think it would; all he had asked was that she retrieve it, and that she had done.
"A wise suggestion," Achilles chimed. "It never hurts to be informed. We shall make plans tomorrow morning. For now, Connor, there is nothing more to be done."
Connor grumbled in understanding and then drew up a chair, his listlessness speaking volumes of his displeasure. These went unread by Kira, who on the other hand was quite contentedly entertaining plans of reclaiming the artefact. Why hadn't she thought to do so sooner? She saw no reason why its return should be dependent on something so fickle as Haytham's moral decency. By taking matters into her own hands, she could at least-
"What is it you had wanted to ask me, Kira?"
The woman's heart stopped, though lamentably not for long enough to spare her the consequences of falling into the hole so graciously left by the prior conversation; in all the excitement she had quite forgotten digging it. "Nothing, Achilles," she spoke timidly down at the table, as though if she were quiet enough, the focus of the moment would somehow overlook her.
"Really? You seemed quite anxious," Achilles pursued, before adding with a wry smile: "Since when do you suffer your troubles so quietly?"
Kira chuckled dryly; it was a rare day indeed that she did not speak her mind. There was some reassurance in recalling that this was hardly new territory: the pair had shared many years, and accordingly, many conflicts. Leaving this prospective one to simmer would only see it boiling over some other day.
With a regretful glance to Connor, who was set to be an unwilling spectator to a battle he could not begin to understand, she turned to her mentor, wincing anticipatedly. "Well… I wanted to ask you about Shay."
Achilles tensed marginally. Then his smile broadened, which was the opposite of what was to be expected. "Come now, Kira," he dismissed with a gentle laugh. "That is what has you so disturbed? We have discussed this time and time again, there is nothing more to-"
"I know he is alive, Achilles."
The ensuing silence was unbearable. Achilles' face dropped, his eyes dark as he realised the gravity of what was occurring. Even Connor- with no knowledge of Shay, nor idea of the significance of his history- had seemed to grasp the feeling of imminent catastrophe, though was unsure of what to do with it. He was breathless. Waiting.
Kira was sick of waiting. "I know he is a Templar," she added, toeing the all-too-still water.
Achilles' breath caught. "How?"
"The man that Haytham met at the docks? The one I did not recognise?" Her tone was relentlessly soft, her gaze grave. "It was him."
The revelation was met by more silence- silence so sweet it made Kira nauseous. She didn't want calm; she rejected it. It was nothing, and she wanted everything. Answers. Explanations. Emotion. She needed rage she could rise to meet. Rage she could whet eighteen years' worth of guilt against.
All at once the need was overwhelming.
"You lied to me, Achilles!" A break in the dam. "All those years," she stammered, "all those years you let me suffer- let me think he was dead when you knew how I cared for him. You have watched me spend half my life hating myself for letting him down, and you allowed it- no- you ensured it, consciously, and… without remorse. How could you? I don't- I cannot even begin to understand why you would-"
"For you, Kira." Achilles had stoically tolerated each accusation levelled against him, and his voice was pleading- a gentle coolness that sought to encompass and soothe the heat of her anger. "I did it for you."
"How?" she hissed, the word wracked with disbelief. "He was my closest friend."
He sighed. "If I had told you the truth, you would not have been so fond of him."
"Why?" Another hiss. Another question to be artfully evaded, and she answered it for him. "Because he was a Templar? I would not have cared, Achilles!" Her eyes watered with frustration. "I still don't care!"
Connor was visibly shocked by the declaration, though Achilles was anything but surprised. "Don't you see?" he exclaimed, temper finally budding. "Even now your affection for him blinds your judgement. He is a Templar. He betrayed us- killed our people- and you would forgive him this? You are a better Assassin without him, Kira, you always were."
"A better Assassin?" the woman cried. "What does that matter, Achilles? What about me? As a person- my own person, not merely some instrument of death? Do you have any idea of the hell you put me through when you told me he was dead? When you refused to tell me how? Why?"
"He betrayed us, Kira."
"I don't care!"
Her hand struck the table, rattling the nearby crockery. As if 'betrayal' was enough. As if that damned excuse could bring any solace at all. It was not sufficient- not for all she had suffered. It was designed to alleviate Achilles' pain, not her own.
The man glared back at her with worse than anger: disappointment. Even Connor looked slighted.
A knock rang from the front door, and Kira was spared the stifling focus of the room. They all glanced up, eyes following the sound before it was repeated once more. The youngest Assassin began to stand, but Kira waved him back down. She practically flung her chair aside in her hurry to get away.
Chest heaving with emotion, her mind refused to settle, even as each step took her further from what had happened. She could not stop seeing the way they had looked at her, as though she were being irrational; they believed her to be at fault. Her quest for clarity- one that had been so deeply overdue- had somehow resulted in her becoming the malefactor. She needed answers, but instead had received nothing but contempt.
Kira reached the door and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, forcing aside the hurt that blurred her thoughts. Ready to embrace any distraction, she opened the door with a sharp tug, not prepared in the least for what waited on the other side.
Her eyes widened with- what- relief? Surprise? Fear. There was certainly fear.
"Shay?" she gasped.
The man's broad smile was as playful as always as he took in the sight of her, though it sunk as he registered her obvious state of distress. "Kira? What is it- what's wrong?"
It was asked with a tenderness that only served to make the woman ache. Concern. For her. With a sob tearing itself from her throat, she lunged forwards, wrapping her arms around him as though to keep him from slipping away. His arms wound similarly around her, holding her close as she buried her face against the familiar warmth of his chest. She shook as she thought of all the years where such comfort had been denied her. Of all the times she had been cheated of it.
More than anything she tried to recall the last time Shay had held her as she cried. With a shiver, she realised she could simply not remember.
Kira stayed for a small while in what she had reclaimed of the past, enjoying an embrace she had long believed impossible. Then her mind turned to Achilles again, and she straightened, realising her companions could be upon them any minute.
Shay released his hold on her a little, leaning back to get a better look at her face. "Are you alright?" he asked, hand raising, thumb feathering over her cheek as he brushed away a tear.
She answered with a weak smile. "I am. I missed you, Shay. More than you could ever believe."
He chuckled fondly. "That much, eh? I can't blame you- I certainly couldn't live without me."
"Heaven forbid," she laughed, releasing him and taking a step back as she found her strength. Cool air seeped through the open door, and she crossed her arms, once again reminded of her circumstance. "Why are you here? If Achilles sees you…"
"I needed to talk to you. Something happened, and-" he stopped, his gaze shifting to something over her shoulder. Dread alone kept her from turning after it.
"Kira?" a voice came from behind her.
She relaxed- barely- then finally turned. "Connor, I-"
"Who is this?" the other Assassin interjected, moving closer to inspect the man standing in the doorway.
Kira's heart thundered as her mind conjured images of the night she and Connor had eavesdropped on Haytham's gathering. That night: Shay was there, it was dark, and the Templars had been a distance from them. Would Connor recognise him?
If he did, he did not demonstrate it. He looked at Shay with suspicion, though it was vague- uncertain in its conviction. The older man had even tucked the hand bearing his emblematic ring into his coat pocket, and for a moment Kira saw a glimmer of hope: a future where Shay's identity remained unrealised, and each of them could escape intact.
The Templar, however, was at a loss as to why his friend had fallen silent. He withdrew his hand from his pocket. Then he offered it to Connor.
"Shay Cormac," he announced with a grin.
Author notes:
Hi, everyone. Thanks for taking the time to read my story so far. Please review, follow, or favourite my story, as I appreciate all feedback, and I'd love to hear what you think. :)
I am so sorry it has been so long since I last posted a chapter, but exam season sort of snuck up on me, and I haven't had time to write. I've made this chapter longer to hopefully make up for it, I hope it was worth the wait.
I will get the next one out extra soon, now I've got a lot more spare time on my hands, and especially because I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter. Thanks again!
Kittycat312