ZIIO

Even reciting the tale exhausted me. I sighed deeply and fell into the sheets, listening to the silence Haytham was somehow emitting. The awestruck look on his face said that this silence was not a tranquil kind.

"Well?" I barked. "What have you to say?"

No reply but a hard swallow.

"I know your true intentions, Haytham. You knew everything that I just said. I am here that I will give you the information the Templars need about the store –"

"I have no part in this." His voice was shaky; his eyes shimmering with disbelief. "Are you sure it was my men?"

"I am certain. I recognised each one of them."

Haytham's gaze didn't quite meet my own. Instead he stared at the wooden floor, his trembling mouth open. "Ziio, I told them to stay away from your village. I told them to remain by the precursor site and –"

"It is too late," I snarled. "It is done, and that does not make it any less your fault."

"Pardon?"

"Should you have disciplined your own brutal men, they'd have listened." I watched in hidden triumph as Haytham's eyes bulged. "You see? It is in a Templar's second nature to destroy. Should something or someone destruct them, they're sure to pay a heavy price. And what for? For your own selfish satisfaction."

He looked like he was about to protest, but thought better of it. Haytham took a quivery breath – quickly stabilised – and released it. His indigo eyes at last met mine...and something possessed me. Somehow his eyes glittered with sincerity; perhaps even concern. They reached down and sparked a strange feeling in my heart. Sparks of longing that had been dormant for five years, suddenly flashed their colourful clarity. Nostalgia? I couldn't tell. I'd been hurt countless times; many emotions were indistinguishable now. Maybe – maybe – for a moment, I saw Haytham's flawless eyes as I used to see them.

What was wrong with me? Confusion, I predicted, and pinched myself away from these glowing emotions (and Haytham's gaze). I diverted my eyes and continued: "Now, please enlighten me. Why am I truly here?"

"That you might recover. I have told you many times before. Why would I lie to you, Ziio?"

"Why would you lie to me?" I repeated, my anger stirring like a hive of wasps. "Why wouldn't you lie to me, is a more suited question! You told me that you were 'not the enemy'. You told me that you loved me. You told me that you were an Assassin. And do you not remember your parting words? 'I'll see you safe. You have my word.'?"

"Yes, and for that, I am sorry. But –"

"You promised," I cut across him swifty, "to keep us from harm. Did I not warn you that all a Templar thirsts for is the blood of those obstructing their goals? You did not listen. And now my village is in ruins."

"Ziio! How could you say that I inflicted pain upon you? I saved you, remember?"

"Why, Haytham?" I shouted. "Why did you save me? If not for the Templars, then what for?"

No answer. But to me, his face softening was enough. He used to do that whenever I kissed him, I remembered with a certain sadness. Why was Haytham's subconscious seduction working on me? That was a trick of the past.

"I saved you for me," he said quietly, shuffling closer. "I saved you because you were once important to me. It was an instinct. A necessity. And it hurt."

To my amazement, he knelt down by the bed and rolled up his sleeves. Even as the fabric was halfway up I saw them...and grimaced. It turned out I was not the only one with blisters: Haytham's hands were swelled and red as blood. Lumps and swirls of broken skin extended right to his fingertips, and beyond. I was so stunned that I didn't notice that one of my plaits was brushing his palm. I jolted it away.

"The rubble was still hot when I found you. So..." he began to cover his hands with the white sleeves. "I had to make some...sacrifices."

I gasped, suddenly wanting to snatch back what I'd said. Haytham, chief of one of the cruelest Orders I knew of, saved my life out of the kindness in his heart. He'd peeled away half of the skin on his hand so that I wouldn't die. Were all Templars really the same? It made me wonder.

"Look, while we're on the subject of paying prices, I have a favour to ask."

Having just witnessed what Haytham did for me meant I couldn't refuse. Not that I knew what this 'favour' was.

"The Templars and I are having a meeting here tomorrow evening, to discuss our –" He cleared his throat to cover up my disgusted snort, "progress. I would appreciate it if you were to keep noise to a minimum."

"Why? In case your men discover a savage in your bed?" I scoffed.

Haytham ignored me (much to my annoyance) and stood up. "For your information, my chambers are in the room next to yours. You have this room to yourself, as you will. But listen: heaven knows that it's best for both of us that my men do not know of your existence. Not a sound, you understand? Else they'll kill us both."

"Well, it would hardly a new mission to them," I hissed. "They have plenty of experience."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Fine."

"Excellent." Relief filled Haytham's voice, stifled by a false cough. "I shall see to it that you are looked after in the meantime."

With that he departed, leaving me to fall asleep.

HAYTHAM

I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. Charles, William and Thomas, disobeying my orders? All right, that was not the incredulous part. What was simply beyond comprehension was their deeds. I couldn't have been them. The only men likely to burn a peaceful village to ashes, nearly killing dozens, were the redcoats. But from the way Ziio described them...it could only be them.

My god, I'd never be able to look them in the eye at the meeting. I'd have to listen with clenched fists while they lied about their 'progress' by the precursor site. Why disobey me? Well, their disregard for Mohawks was apparent, but why venture into their land? Perhaps I should ask them.

No. It'll look too obvious.

On top of that, the other revelation was still buzzing in my mind: the boy. My son. My own flesh and blood, created in the image of Ziio and me. And he'd never even crossed my mind. Though I did not know of his existence beforehand, I felt terrible for not knowing. If I'd only known...my life would be very different. Would Ziio and I still be together, for our son's sake? I pictured him again: fly-away dark hair, sun-kissed skin, brown eyes...my son.

Poor child. He probably presumed his mother dead, and had little knowledge of his father.

Oh my god...I am a father.

Usually that'd be a wonderful virtue. So why did the word make me feel so...disgraceful? Careless? Lowly? If anyone ever found out about this...there'd be scandal around every turn. I shuddered at the thought.

That wasn't the only thing bothering me: somehow I felt that Ziio and I had unfinished business to settle. Her words were venomous, as I'd predicted. But could I turn her around again? Probably not. But some of the things she said were no more than presumptions. I wanted to prove her wrong in so many ways. But sparring with her was exhausting us both. Before we spoke again, Ziio needed rest; I needed to think.