"Remember, Verónica. Being a Dona is not about the name. You are a Dona by the way you walk, the measure of your stride, the straightness of your back, and the eloquence of your speech. Females are subservient in Spain, so don't get ahead of yourself in Rome. Play your part, and wait."
Yes, I remembered it all. The words of Marisol went over and over again in my head, as if the woman was still next tome, lecturing me constantly. But what would I have done without her?
It was strange to be back at Rome, because I had never seen this part of it before. An arching ballroom with what I now recognized as amazing architecture, with pointed lines to give impressions of strength or grace. Artistry was everywhere, even in the very buildings we walked through. Even my clothes weren't dreary anymore, instead bearing colorful threads and an elegant blend of shades. And the company I was keeping… It made me shiver, how close I was to the nastiest bureaucrats in Rome and several countries aside.
I, Silvia, was introduced as Verónica Reyes from Velencia, Spain by my personal servant upon entrance. My servant was pretty, with light brown hair neatly put up into a bun. But nobody was looking at her, the girl who kept her eyes cast downward and only spoke when prompted. Everyone in the ballroom seemed to have their attention fixed on me, particularly the young lads. Perhaps it was just my paranoid imagination, but I did catch some shy gazes darting away as I looked at them. I wondered if, perhaps, my guise was already seen through.
"If you have doubts, pretend they don't exist. Chances are you'll be given a lot of attention, and if you begin to crack underneath the curious looks that come your way, you'll stand no chance when it comes to socializing."
That's right. If I crack, I won't get any closer to him. Being a Dona, I was expected to socialize with everyone, and compliment them with a smile, not distance them with a wary gaze. Calm and inviting was the air I wanted to exude, and I walked about the ballroom with the warmest air I could muster. While perusing past a table of party foods, someone approached. A small touch from my servant alerted me to him, and I turned with a curious gaze.
He was a young man, near my age, with a boyish face and shining eyes. He smiled at me, and then made a quick bow while I curtsied.
"A fine dance, isn't it?" He started off, words shaking with the faintest nervousness.
"I wouldn't know, as I haven't danced yet." I giggled girlishly. "The ball, so far, is delightful, however."
This made him go pink in the face. I was glad he was not a Spaniard, as a Spaniard would have taken my jest as an insult. My smile, however, seemed to assure him that it was just a friendly joke. He continued to smile, and in fact seemed encouraged.
"Perhaps you would like to, then? Dance, I mean." He amended eagerly.
"The best way to get the precise man you want is to catch his attention, but attract someone he sees as below himself. Men are terribly competitive, and a man with power believes he will win in a competition over a lady."
The fruits of my recent labor came striding forward with large shoulders and a strong chest, holding himself like a man of power. He was well-built, and clearly not the young boy of a noble family, who had done nothing but find ways to fill his free time all his life. I knew the Captain, but turned my gaze politely to him, without recognition, when he spoke.
"You're asking her to dance without first telling her your name? How terribly rude of you." The Captain said, perhaps a bit too loudly.
"In the spirit of good form, then, what is your name?" I said kindly, allowing the Captain the same smile I bestowed upon the young man.
"I am Captain Cato." The man said, grasping my hand and kissing it charmingly.
"And I am Domitius." The other said quickly, as if hoping to regain the ground he had just lost.
"What might your name be, young lady?" Cato continued as if Domitius had not spoken.
"I am Verónica Reyes."
"A young Dona, perhaps?" Cato inquired.
"Where do you come from?" Domitius came in again.
"Yes, I am a young Dona living under the roof of Dona Marisol Flores, whose home resides in Valencia, Spain." I obliged both of them, quietly hoping for Cato to escort me away from the young man.
"Perhaps two of us questioning you at a time is a bit pressing." Cato said kindly, perhaps reading my thoughts. He offered his arm. "Would you join me for a walk, Dona Verónica?"
I placed my hand upon his arm and allowed myself to be escorted around the ballroom after ordering Ana, my servant, to wait for me. Cato's measured paces matched my own, and I hardly had to think about the proper way to walk. He did his best to compliment me.
Though it didn't cross my mind back then, I may have actually admired Cato. Well, I might have if a bit of research hadn't pegged him as the one who pulled the trigger so long ago. As it was, my only thoughts were upon deceiving him.
"So you are a Captain? That is an admirable position."
"Appointed by Cesare himself." Cato replied. I suspected he was reining in a level of pride.
"You must be very good, then."
"Fairly." He said modestly. "But what of you? What brings a Dona of Spain to Rome?"
"Marriage." I replied simply.
"You are to be married?" Cato asked without surprise.
"Not quite yet." I giggled. "I am looking for someone to be married to."
"So you are not yet betrothed?"
"No, I am not. I suppose it is a strange thing, at my age."
"Not so strange."
I opened my mouth to say something, but it caught in my throat as the sound of violins, making a slow introduction, reached my ears. My mouth ended up closing, instead arcing in a pleased smile as my eyes turned to view the orchestra that was playing. I could see their concentration upon the notes, and their fingers on the frets.
"You enjoy this music?" Cato said, pulling me from the nostalgia of my lessons.
"It is a silly thing to admit," I smiled sheepishly, "but I have a terrible weakness for strings."
"Would it be wrong to theorize that a weakness for music results in the best dancing?"
"Would you like to see?"
Cato extended his hand with a pleased expression, and I lay my own on top of his, to be enclosed as he led me to the floor. The song was slow, almost whining, as the violins' pitch rose and then fell. The rest of the orchestra joined in, and the sounds became a little softer. Cato and I danced slowly, elegantly to the rhythm. I had to remind myself of a few things.
"No! You're going too fast!" Marisol had said as she focused on my dancing. "Listen to the music, breath it, feel it. You're letting your fire get in the way. Again! But slow. You must be elegant, not strong. A Dona is not known for being strong."
I made an effort to allow my footsteps to go with the music, instead of with my beating heart. We were graceful, though Cato was a bit heavy at dancing. It bored me, but I did my utmost to enjoy the dance and the music, or at least pretend. When it ended, we stood apart again.
"You are good at dancing." Cato said.
"And you are learned." I replied graciously.
"Which is a nice way," someone else said, interrupting our pleasantries, "of saying you two don't match up."
I turned to see Cesare Borgia. It was all I could do to keep my face in a pleasant smile. If I weren't here with another plan, my first reaction would be to reach for the blade I had stashed away in my ridiculous dress.
"Isn't that right?" He said, prompting me.
"Very astute." I said, a tad bit tense. "Not that I dislike your Captain, but my partner's feet are usually lighter."
Cato stared at his superior, an expression on his face akin to that of a child who had something taken away from him by a parent. There was no way he could contest with Cesare. Still, in Cato's mind, he spotted me first. Cesare, on the other hand, was doing what Cato had done to Domitius earlier: ignoring him.
"It seemed to me you were having a hard time with this song." Cesare noted.
"How so?" I returned curiously.
"You were forcing yourself to dance slowly."
"You are sharp." I stated, clearly impressed. It was at this point Cesare turned to Cato.
"Don't you have other things to do, Captain?"
With an imperceptible frown, Cato took his leave. I took the moment as an opportunity to glance around the room and regain my bearings. The appearance of Cesare had blocked out the rest of the world for a moment, which was vastly dangerous when you were a sheep in a wolf's den. I noted the position of the guards, Borgia's family members, his wife, and my eyes flicked upward- something I found myself doing ever since I had gotten back to Rome. I looked back at Cesare and found him watching me.
"What do you say, Verónica?"
"To what?" I asked, quite perplexed.
"I figured you would want a faster dancing partner."
I did a quick intake of Cesare. The image in my head always wore armor, so it was strange seeing him out of it and into what was considered proper clothing. That wasn't to say he didn't have any protection or weaponry on him, but he almost looked like a normal bureaucrat. His muscles showed through the clothing, and I smiled appreciatively, telling him he looked suited to the task with the curve of my lips.
"Well, growing up in Spain, I am a little more accustomed to faster, more spirited dancing. But I hardly consider that proper dance at a party such as this."
"You are meant to have fun at a party." Cesare said, offering his hand.
"Is that alright?" I remember asking after a rather rigorous dancing lesson.
"Perfect!" Marisol exclaimed. "But Verónica, I think it best you don't dance to fast music while you are entertaining or being entertained. It will show who you are, and if you are serious about this, you cannot afford to let people see how strong you are."
But how could I turn him down? As I was supposed to be a Spaniard, I wasn't given to embarrassing anyone or making them look in the wrong. Half of the eyes in the room were upon us, however discreetly in some cases. I apologized silently to my teacher and, after a slight hesitation, put my hand in Cesare's.
Cesare signaled to the orchestra, and the flavor of Spanish music was immediately apparent. I felt my body shifting to accommodate its tone and rhythm. My partner and I went about the center of the dance floor, testing each other's footwork with the introduction to the music, going through the paces while accommodating a more intimate sensation.
The transition between that, an almost stiff dance that symbolized the caution and walls between us, and the closeness following was so natural that I only noticed it afterward. Cesare took the lead, and I intuitively followed his movements, allowing myself to be pulled close and then twirled away. Our footwork became a mix between the dance and the battlefield that Cesare knew so well, with me moving along with him. My body did exactly as it had been taught when our steps transitioned to something more of an intimate tango- it got closer to my partner's. Cesare took it all in stride, enjoying the dance as fire leapt from our bodies.
We spoke, Cesare and I. Not through words, but through body language. I could only wonder how much of it he understood, could only hope he didn't know that language well. Yes, I had fire coming out of my soul, but my fire was the fire of vengeance, and it fueled the same moves that his lust was behind. Our heat brought us together on the final note, close and staring into each other's eyes while our lungs yearned for air.
Applause brought me out of my thoughts, and suddenly the ballroom full of people was back. I pulled away from Cesare, who let me go somewhat reluctantly. His eyes still shone with the lust I felt from him through the dance. Now I was acting modest, and he was quick to try and stop me.
"Cesare, we have other guests to entertain." Lucrezia, his blonde and beautiful sister, said while approaching us. I could hear the spite in her voice, and the glare she cast toward me was ill concealed. She took him away, escorting him to other important people.
Captain Cato approached me once the coast was clear, and did his utmost to impress me and recapture my attention. I gave it to him, although I was thoroughly spent already. Still, I made sure I was on his mind when the party had ended.
After the party, I came to the suite I was using with my servant. It was warm and well decorated, modified under the expectation that I would stay for a while.
"Ana, help me with this blasted dress." I grumbled as the doors to my room were closed.
Ana moved over to me, helping me untie the fiercely tight strings in the back and alleviating a great deal of pressure from my lungs. While she helped me out of the dress and redid my hair so it wouldn't get near my face, she talked. It was nice to hear her talk again, instead of pretending she shouldn't be allowed.
"How did it go tonight? The dance with Cesare looked successful."
"I wasn't supposed to dance like that. If Marisol found out, she would be furious."
"True." Ana said with a slight sigh. Marisol was the hardest of my teachers. Between her and Anastasia, my mother's friend from England, Marisol was a devil lady. I learned very quickly not to say that in front of her, however.
"However, yes, I think this is a successful first step. Now, let's just hope I can pull off the other half of my training correctly." I sighed.
Once my hair was tight upon my head, I strode to the closet and moved the hanging pieces of silk to find a compartment in the back, out of which I pulled a dark set of clothes. Donning them, it looked something like a set of breeches put together with the robes I had seen on Ezio Auditore three years ago. This version was modified, however, so that the robes functioned to hold weapons, but were not so fly away, moving less easily in a breeze. I also lacked the hood, instead tying a piece of cloth over my nose and face.
"How is it?" I asked finally.
"You look like a bandit." Ana said, looking skeptically at my costume.
"As long as no one will recognize me." I said, somewhat miffed. It didn't matter how I looked, really. Still, I did feel a bit silly.
"Wish me luck." I said softly after peeking out the windows and making sure no one had the compulsion to look at my suite window at this late hour. Then I snuck out the window, climbing my way quietly onto the roof. Now, to find my dear Captain Cato.
The year and a half of training under Marisol served me well. She taught me the proper way for a Spanish woman to flirt and attract males, and now here I was exercising her other half of training. Free running was just another way to get around. In the darkness of the night, few saw me upon the rooftops- even the guards, who stood around with only periodic circuits around their areas.
Perhaps my earlier years were spent living around the outskirts of Rome. That didn't mean I had no understanding of the structure inside the walls. Roofs kept all areas closely connected, and performed the job of transportation almost as well as the streets. These same roofs, which I had only begun to see the value of three years ago, served me well in taking me to Captain Cato.
Despite the party, Cato still had his shift to perform. He, unlike all the rich folk, didn't have the liberty of heading home to sleep off whatever he had consumed. Therefore, he was at a tower, doing his duty. Not much consisted of a guard's duty here in Rome, it seemed. All I had ever seen them do, even from when I was a little girl, was pick on passersby who glanced at them. Thankfully, it was too late for anyone to be walking around in restricted territory. I saw Cato quite easily from the rooftops, surrounded by only a couple of his guard friends. All it would take was a single well-aimed throwing knife to his neck, and he would bleed to death. But no, I couldn't kill him like that.
It was strange. As I reached for the throwing knives, silent as the stars above me, I found my hands shaking. A part of me wondered what I was doing. What was I doing? Was this a joke? I was avenging my mother by murdering the man who both killed her and tortured me in the process. This was no time to question the right of it. The world was better without Cato here to terrorize other families. Thoughts of protection stilled my hand, and I took careful aim.
Two knives each found their target, and in the panic I downed another guard and wounded a fourth before it became necessary to move. A rooftop guard was drawn to the commotion, and I hid behind a chimney to avoid his arrows before disposing of my last throwing knife. This gave the guards below enough time to hastily regroup. Disappointed, but not beaten, I moved myself to the other side of the tower. The majority of the guards- two out of three- were watching where I had been. Dropping from the wall, a dagger found the one smart guard's stomach. Now there was only Cato and his lackey. No, wait, strike that. The lackey dropped his spear and ran, leaving only the Captain.
"Who are you?" The Captain shouted, bearing his sword at me.
"I'd show you my face, if I weren't in need of it." I said in a low voice. "So you'll have to die only in the knowledge that I am your past, come for revenge."
Cato spat on the ground, a clear sign of his distaste for my decree. But no matter. I had to finish this before he was given backup. The roof guards were probably curious by now, and certainly a frightened guard running through the streets of Rome would attract some attention. I moved into sword reach of my victim.
He thrust his sword, which I parried easily with the dagger in my hand. If only I had something more substantial than just its limited blade, but it would have to do. A sword would be too easy to find in my quarters. I stepped closer, and he stepped away. We did a little swordplay. Now it was a game. Thrust, parry, twirl, counter, strike. Not for the first time, I counted the similarities between a fight and a dance.
I waited not so patiently, but my persistence won me an opening. I took it, and the blade found his stomach. Cato stopped, his mouth open in either surprise or pain. Perhaps both. Then his body fell heavily to the ground.
My hands still shook as I stood there, gazing at the dead body of the man who was found to be my mother's murderer. Adrenaline still pounded through my veins. For some reason, I felt no better, though victory certainly was a testament to my first outing since my lessons with Marisol and Anastasia.
There was no time to ponder. The frightened guard had certainly caught attention, and friends of Captain Cato were coming. That is, if Cato, a lecherous man who was less than gentlemanly, could have friends. Their armor made heavy noises with their footfalls, however, and it told me not to stay. I had done what I came to do. There was no reason to waste time with more soldiers.
They came around the corner fairly quickly, but I was already running up the side of the tower. There was a set of boards that provided a runway to me. The only problem was that there were few roofs nearby, and the further I ran, the further from any safe distance I went. Eventually, my fleet feet took me too far to jump, and I had to halt at the top of the tower, where there was only a bit of straw for the odd lazy guard and a few barrels of gunpowder.
Wait, gunpowder? I glanced behind me at the swarm of guards, all of whom were already counting their victory. They shouted up at me about what torture would await me after I was caught, but others skipped torture entirely and presumed they were going to kill me. Either was possible. Death was more likely. Ever the one to play confident, I smiled from beneath the cloth wrap and ran onto the landing. I grabbed a torch, threw it onto the barrels of gunpowder, and then ran to the farthest piece of wood I could find. It extended only a foot past the edge of the building, but it was enough for me to feel marginally safer than the soldiers who were running straight into the explosion.
The guards ran up and continued to do so until the man in front realized the danger of what he saw. Then everyone backpedaled. I saw them all turn and run, and as the fire finally heated up the barrels and touched the powder, I had to turn away. The explosion hit me like a full force punch in the back, and I flew from my perch. I panicked in those moments of falling. What had I done? Why hadn't I planned out an escape route before blowing myself up? But then, very suddenly, I landed in a cart of straw. Well, that was very convenient. Who would have thought that something like a thick cart of straw would be sitting right here, where a blood spatter would have been otherwise?
I jumped from the straw before the fire from above would create an inferno where there had once been safety. Quietly, I made my way through the streets and cautiously maneuvered back to my suite. For some reason, I felt the need to double-check my surroundings, the nagging feeling that I was being watched persisting. The streets were empty, no windows opened, and the roofs seemed abandoned. There was a group of thieves, but they seemed interested in some manner of gambling game.
After returning inside, Ana rushed to me. She gave me a brief hug, and then informed me that the guards seemed to have all been loud out on the streets, and she had begun to worry about me. I thanked her, but proceeded to quickly take off all of my assassin's garments.
"There's more." Ana said quickly in Spanish.
"What more is there? They haven't asked for me, have they?" I returned in the same language, but not as quickly.
"Well, no, the guards haven't asked for you. But you did have a visitor."
"Who?" I asked, turning to her while I peeled off the upper half of my clothing. My sweat had it all but stuck to me, and I was quite happy to be rid of it and switch it for proper bed wear.
"Cesare."
"Borgia?"
"Yes." Ana said, quite breathless and nervous.
"Well, he wasn't too insistent, was he? You're alright."
"Yes, I'm fine. It's just, I had to tell him you didn't have enough energy to do much else tonight."
"Then you've done well. He went away. There is no problem."
"I suppose. I just… worry."
I turned to Ana, handing my killing garb to her with a certain amount of reluctance. Ana and I were old friends, with no real measure of a master-to-servant relationship between us. She had to play the part and volunteered to come with me and help me, but I by no means enjoyed giving her every dirty job that I, the former street rat, could just as well perform.
"Rest easy, Ana, my old friend. Cato is dead. I have no intention of bringing down every Captain that thinks he'll stand between me and my final target. I'll sneak past them all and murder that Borgia bastard. Then we'll pretend to be bewildered, I distraught, and we leave."
"You make it sound so simple…" Ana whispered. "Was it that easy just a few minutes ago?"
I was silent for a time, trying to gain my bearings in this new sea of emotions that I had never once encountered. The hate was normal, and the need for vengeance I recognized. How I felt about everything was still being processed.
Three years ago, I encountered a similar problem. After I had stopped running for my life, I wondered if it had been right to kill all those soldiers. After all, a few at the end had died only because of my spite, not because they were an inch away from killing me. In the end, my decision had been that those soldiers had died because of my necessity to stay alive. They were no different than the deer I had shot in the woods. But this wasn't the same. This time, Cato had died because of my need for revenge.
"I'll tell you when I know. For now, though, I am just Verónica Reyes, the young Dona looking for a husband. If Cesare would jump for a mistress, this should be a short trip."
Shieb: I told you things changed a bit. This little girl grew up and got smarter- with training, apparently. There's a sense of flirting throughout this and the next chapter. Yes, I know it's a bit odd to have Cesare being all pervo, but, as far as how he was written in AC and his historical information, it could be very possible he was like that. It fits for the story I want to tell.
Let me know what you think about this, yeah?