ZIIO

"You're going away?" I repeated. "Where?"

"A place in the forest," Haytham replied. "I told you, I shan't be longer than two days."

Two days? That was a long time to have no-one but Rose and Henry to visit. I'd miss Haytham's little check-ups during the day. I enjoyed his company immensely the night before. It was...gentle.

Gentle? It was more than that. He was moments away from kissing you!

I ignored my subconscious and continued: "What is it for?"

"Some work on –" he stopped, and smirked. "Hold on, Ziio...why should you want to know? It is classified."

I couldn't help but laugh as he tapped his nose. "Where will you stay? Is that a secret?"

Haytham rolled his eyes jokingly, straightening his jaunted cap. "Possibly the Wright Tavern, or the Green Dragon Inn. I'm yet to decide. You never know: we may be finished before sundown."

The Wright Tavern. I itched my crimson leg, remembering the wounds from Haytham's brawl with redcoats there. I remember treating them and seeing a sudden look of astonishment as I touched his face.

I shook my head like it'd clear my mind. "I hope so."

Ssh, Ziio.

He smiled warmly at my pathetic words. "You will manage without me for a couple of days, surely?"

"Of course. I will be fine."

"Good." Haytham's hand twitched like it was reaching for me, and moved closer. Suddenly a voice from downstairs interrupted his hand's steady approach. He jumped in fright when he heard it:

"Haytham! Where are you?"

"I am upstairs, William! I shall be down in a moment!" He turned to me and muttered: "Dammit. I was probably speaking too loudly. Never mind."

"I will see you soon, then. I hope you are successful in your...outing."

Haytham's hand – itching to move closer – quickly ruffled the hair above my bandage. The skin on it was still crusty and singed, I noticed – but it was nothing on my casualties. He flashed a brief, warm smile and left the room.

Usually between visitors I would sleep. But today, I had trouble with closing my eyes. I supposed that the restless warrior within continued to thrive in me, even in a broken body. Perhaps it was the midday sun glaring through the glass window. It was unusually humid in the room, even while I was used to living outside. Or...it was the thought of Haytham the night before. Something was keeping me wide awake.

I was still shaken by his actions. The way he caressed my cheek with dry, yet gentle hands. The way I suddenly soared like a bird, falling at the same time. The way my heartbeats were light, fast, dizzy. That was when he leaned in closer...and I heard the blood pounding in my spinning head. I closed my eyes. He was even nearer. I came close, so close, to his embrace. My god, I was a fool. Although I now trusted Haytham enough as not to shout at him, I couldn't take us back in time. Here we were now. The pretence that we were never apart was unreasonable.

So why did it feel like nothing had changed?

There was a sharp knock at the door. "Hello?" came a muffled voice behind it.

I rolled over uncomfortably and sighed. "Come in."

Rose nudged the door open, juggling a bowl of essence in her hand. In the other she clutched a piece of soaked cloth, dripping onto her white apron. She looked up from her intense concentration and smiled.

"Sorry I was delayed," she said cheerily. "There was cleaning to do in the kitchen."

"It is fine. Do not let me distract you from your duties."

The young maid placed the bowl on the bedside table and the cloth inside it. She knelt to the floor and busied herself swishing it around the bowl. That was when something caught my eye. Well, not caught my eye as such; I knew what it looked like, but I suddenly took in how unusual it was. I noticed how impractically long Rose's black dress was. I knew that women in Haytham's society dressed like this. But why? Surely – as a maid – a shorter robe would make Rose's life easier?

"This may appear as an arbitrary question, but..."

Rose swivelled. "Please, ask."

"Why do women here wear skirts that are so long?" I suddenly slunk in embarrassment: why on earth would anybody ask something that ludicrous? I expected the young woman to look at me like I was speaking a foreign language to her, but no: she simply grinned.

"That is a good question. It's always been done. And so it probably always will. I'm not to know, in honesty." She squeezed the soaked cloth and looked thoughtful. Perhaps my words made her reflect on the society that Europeans had built here, and how our cultures were poles apart. Yet how come we were talking quite happily? Such differences were likely to push us away from each other.

I pulled back my covers and let Rose press the essence on my leg. At first it seethed and stung like nettle, but the pain slowly settled. I watched as the blisters drank in the liquid. There was barely time to notice the scent of herbs. Forest fruits. Nostalgic, taunting scents from the home I felt miles away from. Rose continued to apply the healing juices, before she spoke again.

"On the subject of arbitrary questions, may I ask you something, Ziio?"

"Please."

"Why are you here?" She squinted searchingly into my eyes. "I know that Haytham saved you, but...why? Why are you really here?"

For a moment her words distracted me. The stings – beginning to become more painful – simply stopped. I looked into Rose's hazel eyes...and found something that I trusted. With a softness almost equivalent to when I first met Haytham, I saw a friend in her. I can confide in her. She is a friend.

"I am here quite by chance," I huffed, staring at the (now sore) blisters. "I suppose that I was in luck that Haytham found my village on fire. He told me it was instinct." I chuckled to myself, remembering teaching my son about the 'sixth sense': a human instinct gifted from the spirits.

"Instinct?" Rose began applying the oil to my other leg.

"Instinct. To come and find me. To see if I was alive. I suppose that when we parted, a part of me...stayed in him."

"He knew you beforehand?"

I half-grinned. "Oh, yes. I surely knew him before this. We were lovers, at one time."

The maid's hand stopped; her grip on the cloth slackened. Her eyes came alive with disbelief and wonder. She needn't have said anything: I could read her face. Lovers? It said. Haytham took you as a...?

"Yes. We met on a...well, a mission, you could say. We became very close over that year. I treated his injuries; he taught me to use a sword. Soon after he saved the life of my closest friend, Koshisigre. I saved his life. He freed our people...and so it went on."

Rose lifted the cloth from my skin. Clearly she was no longer interested in my injury: she wanted to listen to my story.

I sighed. "Alas, it was never meant to last. One night I made a terrible discovery."

"What was it?"

"I was with child."

Rose looked like I'd given her the plague. Her face fell in dramatic shock; she bit her lip. "You were pregnant?"

I nodded.

"Why, that's terrible! My sister is with child as we speak. She was overjoyed at her discovery."

I stifled a snort. "Hm, your sister is most blessed. I – as I would soon see – was not so fortunate."

"Why? What happened?"

"Our relationship ended moments before I could tell Haytham of our baby. I remember watching him walk away...and he looked just as heartbroken as I. But my life was not completely ruined. In the summer of the year after, a miracle came along. My little boy: Ratohnhaké:ton." I purred like a cougar at the mention of my son, though a hint of sadness was ripping a hole through my pride.

"D-did Haytham know?" the maid asked timidly.

"Now he does, yes. I told him a couple of days ago. Apart from that, no: I did not want my son to take after his father in any way. But now...I'm not so sure. He has changed in many ways...yet he is exactly the same."

Rose puzzled over my words and frowned. "What exactly does that mean?"

"I am not sure myself," I laughed, and she joined in. "Men are perplexing."

"I agree with you there!"

Suddenly I felt extremely selfish. I'd talked about myself non-stop. This was unlike me! Seeing a friendly face like Rose made me want to act with more empathy. "What about you? Is there a man in your life?"

At the word 'man' the young woman seemed to swoon before my eyes. She gazed lovingly at the window and sighed lightly. Well, I thought, I shall take that as a yes.

"Yes and no."

"What? How come?"

"I am in a courtship, you could say," she giggled, "but...romance is a work-in-progress for us."

"Who is this man?" I asked, intrigued.

"He is from France. When I moved here from England as a child, I found myself living near him. Much like Master Kenway and yourself, we became inseparable. And one day, he turned up to my front door with a flower on his hand."

"Such a gentleman," I chuckled. "What did he say?"

"He told me that he wanted to take me into Boston, as a young lady and not a friend. I was flattered, naturally." Rose beamed at the thought of her sweetheart; she closed her palms together as if they were his.

"Of course you were! So, how has this progressed since?"

"Oh, we are this close –" she pressed her index finger to her thumb – "to becoming lovers. But...something is holding me back."

"What is it?" I gasped. How could the makings of a perfect relationship be ignored?

"I feel as if..." she paused, and looked pensively at the ceiling. "As if I am too timid for him. He is a very boisterous chap."

"Do not give in!" I cried, a little too passionately. "Do you not see, Rose? This man deeply cares for you. He will not unlock your throat and make you less quiet. That is for you to do, in your own time. He loves you for who you are."

Rose's eyes lit up like the sunlight outside. "Really?"

I nodded. "I am certain."

"Thank you, Ziio. That advice means so much to my confidence; I...I cannot express my gratitude."

I smiled, my heart filling with warm contentment: my wisdom was channelled into something useful. Maybe I wasn't so helpless after all.

I continued to chat with Rose for much of the afternoon. Finally, I had found someone in Haytham's society whom I could relate to. I thought that all women – even the working-class – were toffee-nosed, prudish clownesses with false, flounced hair. I was wrong. Rose was just like me. At the end of the day, our culture, language, age and appearance made no difference. Perhaps, perhaps – Haytham's actions the night before taught me a valuable lesson.

Trust.

OK! Sorry that Ziio's been a right little so-and-so in the story so far. She does have her nice side, and she's beginning to get it back. You never know, Rose could be a friend...hehe ;)

At the end of this chapter I have to give a shotuout to RoFer! Thanks for your support in reviews and behind the scenes. It meant a lot to me, and keep up your amazing artwork :D

Until the next update!