AUTHOR'S NOTE
-Happy new year! I wish you all the best of luck for 2015. For me this'll be a stressful year – GCSEs (basically loads of exams) coming up, with Mock Exams starting on the 20th of this month. This means that updates will be hugely hindered, as I have about 10 subjects' worth of information to cram in 12 days. Sorry about that.
-Secondly, I know there have been a lot of dialogue-heavy chapters. The pace will pick up soon!
-I promise I actually will finish this fic in 2015.
-The poem right at the beginning is Sir John Suckling's 'Sonnet I'.
-Finally, this may be my last update as a 15-year-old *sobs*
P.S. Thank you for all Everbound's support in 2014. Long may you guys continue to be amazing. OK I'LL SHUT UP NOW SORRY.
July 1777 (six months later)
ZIIO
"Aaron. Repeat that last verse, please."
For the first time in a while, I crept in to watch Ohitekah and Imala's tutoring. Their lessons were twice a week, for most of the day – and Haytham had insisted that they were taught equally. They sat at a desk side by side, a middle-aged man pointing to their books.
"The whole verse?" Ohitekah asked.
"Please, yes."
My son squinted at the page, ignoring my presence. Good to see he was paying attention.
"She ev'ry day her man does kill,
And I as often die;
Neither her power then, nor my will
Can question'd be.
What is the mystery?
Sure beauty's empires, like to greater states,
Have certain periods set, and hidden fates."
"Good." The twins' tutor rocked back in his seat. "And what message is the poet portraying?"
Imala shifted, hesitant to answer. "He...he says that his will cannot be questioned. And he writes about the woman's power. That means her love for him...at least, I think so."
"Yes," the man replied, but his voice implied he wasn't quite satisfied. "Suckling does keep the theme of unchanging affection. What else? I could tell you had more to say, Alexa."
"Do not be embarrassed by me," I reassured, leaning against the wall. "I only came to listen."
Imala nodded solemnly, pointing to a word on the page. "Here. Suckling mentions 'hidden fates', and 'the mystery'. Does that mean that...he does not know the future, but his love has 'certain periods set', so the woman is the only one he can rely on?"
A surge of amazement slipped through me silently. This poetry was not for children; even I made no sense of it. Imala could not only decipher it, but realise the beauty in its message. Oftentimes, I wished I'd learned English in this way...that I could see it as a work of art, not a necessary language. Especially if it taught me to be this intellectual.
"Well said. The meaning of Sir John Suckling's 'Sonnet I' is one of providence and fate. And most importantly, do you like it?"
Ohitekah and Imala glanced at each other, wondering if there was a correct answer. They both turned to me; I shrugged.
"It's...good," Imala said innocently. "Aaron? What do you think?"
"I don't know," he huffed. "I like parts of it. But is he really saying we have no choice in what happens to us? I want to decide my fate for myself, not let someone else write it for me."
"You never want to fall in love then, Aaron," I smirked.
Ohitekah snorted. "No! I want to care for myself."
As a mother, this made me chuckle. I knew one day Ohitekah would be married – being handsome as he was – but it amused me how similar my attitude was when young. Even when I met Haytham, I was reluctant to let anyone in. I was my own woman. I still was to this day, only I was more than that. But Ohitekah would grow bored if I explained this to him.
Feeling I'd outstayed my welcome, I turned and left the room.
I'll go and find Robert, I thought, and see if I can help with anything. He's most likely in the stable.
Haytham's butler certainly had his workload. Since the three of us arrived here, there were more mouths to feed, more clothes to wash and so little time to care for the two horses. It was in my nature to help Robert, however, since he had helped me in this house seventeen years ago.
Just as I headed for the door, I noticed an envelope on the floor. Why had Haytham not seen it? I bent to pick it up...only to find that I did not recognise the writing. It was addressed to 'The Keyways': something which gave me a rush of satisfaction.
No. It probably was just for Haytham.
"What's that?"
On entering the hallway, his shadow covered the writing on the letter. When his clothing finally touched mine, I passed the envelope to him. "It must be for you. I don't recognise the writing."
Haytham took it from my hand, his nose screwing tightly. "Neither do I. Hm, are you sure it's for me?"
"Open it," I shrugged.
So open it he did. The parchment he lifted was crisp and fresh. "Aha," he grunted. "You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Aveline Jeanne de Grandpré and Gérald Olivier Blanc, on the fifteenth of August, 1777."
Haytham thrust the parchment into my hand. I reread the words, wondering what we had done to earn this invitation.
"You must be joking," I scowled. "We have only known them for...how long? Six months?"
"We have assisted them greatly," Haytham pointed out. "As they have us."
Well, he wasn't wrong. These past six months had been the most eventful for the Assassins since the death of Benjamin Church.
Our first mission was taking over McPhearson's headquarters. Aveline entrusted Gérald to take Jasmine to Virginia, while she hunted down and killed their treacherous informant. As a bonus, not only did Jasmine provide false documents proving she was McPhearson's daughter...but Jasmine's grandfather agreed to be one of Gérald's informants.
And so Aveline showed Jasmine's 'birth certificate' to the authorities and claimed her inheritance: the New York Templar Headquarters. Aveline was swift to take the Templar documents from the office, setting up two new spies there to make it an Assassin base.
In the meantime, Jack and Eva set up a mission to liberate all of McPhearson's brothels. We travelled across America – from Newport to New Orleans – and set free all one hundred and sixty enslaved women. Yes, one hundred and sixty. There was barely any space for them at the homestead; as a team effort we installed large huts as temporary housing. Constructing buildings was never a joyful memory for me. Not that I did a lot of it: I was busy with Eva and Soyala, doing the liberating.
Many of the women – healthy and strong – were determined to help free more like them. And so Ratohnhaké:ton offered to train a number of them as a female ship fleet. We would more ships first, of course, but the plan was to sail around and unshackle those on plantations as well. As foretold, any women unwilling to do this moved away out of their own will. According to Achilles, most of them found a place in either Virginia, New York or the bayou, checked on occasionally by ours and Gérald's informants.
Oftentimes Haytham and I would be at the Davenport homestead, assisting our son with training these women. He was an inspiring leader, Ratohnhaké:ton. I knew that – one day when Achilles was gone from this world – he'd lead the Brotherhood to greatness. But all his efforts would be wasted without more ships.
Luckily, Jasmine used her 'inheritance' to purchase three large frigates. I remember how – next to the Aquila in the bay – they looked like wolves against a terrier. Their holds could take up to forty slaves at once, even if not in luxury. And so Ratohnhaké:ton appointed three women captain, three more women quartermaster and a crew of twenty per ship. In April, they set off alongside the Aquila and liberated plantations from Mexico and Cuba, before returning in June.
I missed my son in those months, but I was proud of what he had achieved. We'd constructed more huts while the crew were away, and some of the women had left anyhow. There was enough space (just) for two hundred people.
Some began toiling the fields of the homestead...for money, of course. Others wished to return to Africa. Despite Eva's advice against it, Ratohnhaké:ton sent one of the frigates filled with men and women to West Africa. They had still not returned. At this moment, there were about fifty former slaves under our protection.
So Haytham was right: Aveline and Gérald had seen a lot of us in the past six months.
"I wonder if Connor was invited," Haytham thought aloud.
"Most likely. He has known Aveline for the longest. But what of Aaron and Alexa? Would they be allowed to attend?"
"I hope so."
Well, a wedding sounded alright. A celebration; a rest from otherwise restless work. We would be among friends. Music. Dancing and...
Wait...dancing.
"Haytham?" My voice was wary.
"Yes?"
"What is the accustomed clothing for a wedding?"
"Formal. Very formal." He knew why I asked this question. Haytham teased me by smiling on saying what I least wanted to hear. "Frocks, neckties, smart breeches, corsets...all of it."
I cursed in Mohawk, which only amused him further. "Does it have to be?"
"I'm afraid so," Haytham chuckled innocently.
He knew I despised formalwear. I loathed the restriction of a long skirt; the suffocation of a corset. I hated having my hair pinned up so high that I could brace ceilings with it. The only thing I could liken formalwear to was a circus: the one that came to Philadelphia when the twins were young. No...I refused to dress like that. Where was the entertainment in gasping for air; walking while brittle as bone?
"And they expect me to go dressed like that?"
"Shall I confirm our attendance?" he sighed sarcastically.
"Fine," I hissed. "It would be rude to say no. What? Why are you laughing?"
Haytham shook his head. "Nothing. Just...you."
For that, I didn't even protest as he put his arms around me. He was fortunate to get away with that. Next time, I would refuse. I would refuse to attend any wedding, or ball, or soirée. They were not meant for a child of the forest.
The twins, on the other hand, were delighted to hear of it. We did explain that it was a long day's travel to New Orleans, however, so they would have to behave.
"But the wedding isn't in New Orleans," Imala mused, pointing to the invitation when we showed her. "Look here. It says Virginia."
Ohitekah got up to have a look, and nodded his head. "Why Virginia? Why not their home?"
"Why do you think, genius? Because it is closer to everyone else. How can they expect one hundred people to turn up in New Orleans?"
"Don't talk to me like that! What if most of their friends are from New Orleans?"
I rolled my eyes, sick of their bickering. "No matter where it is, I still need you two to behave yourselves. Understood?"
"I don't think Aaron understands the meaning of 'behave yourselves'."
"Alexa! That was unnecessary!" Haytham and Ohitekah protested simultaneously. At that, the four of us exchanged glances and burst into laughter. Well...if this wedding wasn't going to be enjoyable, at least the thought of it was.
A few days later, the Matieu family visited us from Virginia. It was the first time – of all the occasions François was in Boston – that Rose and her children came too. Haytham was delighted to see an old friend. Rose herself commented on how pleasant it was to be a visitor, not the Kenway maid.
It didn't stop her offering to help with the cooking. It took Robert a while to convince Rose that he did not need her assistance. When she finally sat down with a cup of wine, the wedding invitation caught her eye.
"Have you only just received yours?" Rose asked.
"Yes. Although we weren't expecting it," Haytham replied.
"And neither did we." François sat forward in his chair, eyes playful. "Now, I mean no rudeness, but...was I the only man surprised at Aveline and Gérald? As a couple...nothing personal."
"What was surprising about them?" I challenged him uncertainly.
"Oh, you know...Aveline seemed so thirsty for adventure, but it struck me that all Gérald wanted was peace and quiet."
"No, I thought that myself," Haytham replied, sipping his wine. "Not to mention his goddamned stutter."
"I thought he was sweet," Rose murmured defensively. "When they came to dinner with us, he –"
"What? They had dinner with you?" Haytham spluttered.
"It's not as if any other family speaks French," François emphasised.
"Uh – no! You and the children speak French. I just listen and wish I understood you." Rose tutted at her husband, before complaining: "Honestly, they speak nothing but a foreign language in front of me. I am a foreigner in my own home!"
"It seems I am not alone, then," Haytham chuckled. "Sometimes I wonder if they're plotting against me – the three of them and Connor."
"Oh, that is unfair!" I protested jokingly. "We speak in English...most of the time. As do your children, Rose!"
"Papa?"
Young Louis Matieu couldn't have picked a worse moment to walk in. Needless to say, speaking French. I suddenly found all three adults glaring at me; I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright."
"What?" The seven-year-old's hazel eyes were wide. "What did I do?"
"Oh, nothing," Rose laughed. "What's the matter, Louis?"
"There's a man waiting outside the door."
I sighed, rubbing my forehead in despair. "Not again..."
"Aha!" Haytham, on the other hand, stood up. "That would be my surprise for you all."
"Surprise?" I looked at Rose worryingly.
"Well – I helped," François added.
"What is it?"
"You'll see," Haytham replied smugly, slipping out of the drawing room.
"No – Haytham please, I'm concerned! What is it? Who is it?"
No response...which was probably a good thing, because when we found out what it was, I could have choked him.
"This is not funny."
"It is for us," Ohitekah chuckled from behind.
I could hardly believe it. The man at the door was no guest...he was a tailor. He had come to equip us all with outfits for the wedding. Outfits – needless to say – of the formal sort.
"You refused to go to the tailor..." Haytham looked ready to implode. "So I brought the tailor to you."
"Why, you...you didn't!"
He and François looked at each other smugly. "How else were you to clothe yourself?"
The poor tailor must have thought me incredibly rude, sitting and scowling at his presence. Rose went first to ease the tension; I watched as he measured her in places he shouldn't breach...but Rose thought nothing of it. What sort of logic was that? It seemed wrong, in every sense. Nonetheless she agreed on what sort of dress she'd want, what colour, what fabric and other uninteresting details. Would I have to sit through this?
"I think I should help Robert," I said coldly, standing up. "The children can go before me."
It took all five of them no time at all. I supposed the measurements would not be as articulate, but it was bad news for me. I had barely entered the kitchen before the voice of Hazel Matieu called my name.
I tried to be grateful. I stood still – if uncomfortable – while the stranger wrapped strip after strip of measuring parchment round me. He pulled them tightly; I flinched far too obviously. That was when Ohitekah sniggered from behind me.
The measuring strips gone, I could finally breathe. Granted it wasn't as hard as it had looked...but I knew the wearing the dress would be worse.
"Right...well, any specifications you wish for me to add? A particular colour, perhaps?"
"The choice is yours," I said monotonously. "But nothing too colourful."
"Hm. Alright. Sleeves? Nothing spectacular, I suppose."
"Thank you, no."
"Hm. I'll see what I can do."
The moment the tailor left was the moment that everyone – including the Matieu children – sniggered like a pack of wolves. I had no choice but to laugh with them: I was overreacting, after all. I did thank Haytham for sorting these 'important' wedding matters. He did not accept my thanks, but instead spoke.
"Ah. But there are more matters to sort yet."
"Such as?"
Imala and Hazel Matieu grinned at each other. "Your hair!"
Now this was too much.
The final result wasn't horrendous as I had expected. In fact, the highlight before we left for the wedding was seeing Ohitekah and Imala. Somehow I despised the idea of preening my children for society alone, but they had grown into this lifestyle. The excitement in my daughter's eyes as I fastened her dress; watching Aaron wriggling as Haytham combed his hair...it was exhilarating.
My attire was far too tight – yes – but the tailor knew his craft. It was a deep blue...simple, but sophisticated. That was what Haytham had said. I wondered how Ratohnhaké:ton would look. Was his attitude similar to mine? Was he used to these sorts of gatherings? I didn't know; I had not seen him since his return from Cuba. Yet there he stood by the church entrance, looking – in every sense – like a gentleman. White ruffles on his shirt, smile on his face. I had missed him greatly.
After a stolen greeting, the five of us walked into the church together.
Thankfully, the service was short. While gleeful gasps filled the building on Aveline's entrance, I sat silently. Yes, she did look beautiful – but in my culture, even the vainest of women would dress up to this extent. Still, this wasn't my culture...and it made both Aveline and Gérald contented. Gérald's smile was warmer and brighter than fire. It was the first time – in the few occasions we'd met – that he seemed a qualified fit for his bride.
As the service took place (partly in French), I looked around the room. There were many faces I did not recognise; some resembled former slaves. There were a few Frenchmen and women...well, I presumed they were. Eva, George and Soyala were seated near the back, next to François, Rose and their children. I caught Soyala's eye; she flashed a grin at me. Eva saw me...yet her signal was not one of total pleasure. It was nothing to do with me; the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. An attempted smile.
What was the matter? I'd ask her later.
As it happened, I barely saw the Stirlings, even after the service. The Blancs' after-gathering was on Jasmine's grandfather's land. As a gesture of gratitude for saving his granddaughter, he had rented out the field for the afternoon. He even arranged for a string quartet (part of which consisted of Hamish). It looked like a promising party.
After a while, the twins and Ratohnhaké:ton disappeared. They were probably inside Mister White's house, finding comfort away from their parents. They would be fine. There was food in there, after all.
I tried to look for Eva, but my vision was bursting with a pallet of flamboyant fabrics. They swished around me as ladies danced with their partners – all beaming like the August sun. All but me.
I barely noticed as Haytham took my hand. "Shall we dance? I believe this is Bach's minuet in G minor."
"How do you know that?" I grinned on realising: "Wait. You don't. You only want to sound knowledgeable."
"Or perhaps I enjoy classical music," he smirked.
"Either way, I would look foolish dancing in this." I indicated the fabric of my skirt, the corset pulling me in as I tried. "How do these women do it?"
"Pointless to ask a gentleman," Haytham shrugged. "Come on. You pretend you despise it, but each time I have persuaded you to dance, you've loved it."
"When I am drunk or otherwise delirious."
"For pity's sake." I should've expected it, but Haytham pulled me onto a flat bit of grass. "Give me your palm."
I looked uncertainly at those around me. From not far off, Rose caught my eye waltzing with François. She flashed me an exhilarating smile; I shot a mock frown of worry her way. She laughed, spinning away from me again. I turned to Haytham, pressing my small fingers against his warm hand. Slowly, like a spirit swirling round the soul, we stepped in a circle. Our eyes locked...and for some reason, my heart began beating irregularly. Despite the sunshine, the dresses, the years that had passed...it felt like the first time we waltzed. I couldn't help but lose myself – not in the music, but his eyes.
Haytham looked similarly lost, his arm now around my tight waist. Unsmiling but satisfied, I looked at his shining lips. Then back into his eyes. They did not quite meet mine, but looked at a point on my head.
"You have another streak of silver showing," he murmured.
"Oh." I let go of him, reaching to touch the bun on my head. "Not again. It must be my age."
My other hand was about to reach for it, when Haytham encased it in his. "No. Not age. A streak of wisdom."
I laughed – not nervously, but with the breathlessness I'd felt while falling in love. "And what does that make you?"
"All-knowing," he whispered.
"That will come to haunt you, Mister Kenway."
And he kissed me softly, that the corset capturing me seemed to fall away. My hips swayed freely, slowly...relaxed. Haytham was right. I didn't like dancing, but I loved dancing with him. It was one of our most spirited moments in 1760.
Just as we broke apart, I heard someone call: "Ziio! There you are!" It was a woman's voice; a young one at that. I let go of Haytham's shoulders to see Jasmine Webb rushing towards me. "Have you seen your son?"
"Connor?"
"No, Aaron."
"I – I thought he was inside. What? Why are you laughing?"
If anyone assumed Jasmine was quiet, they were deceiving themselves. When we met her she'd been through a tragedy, but in her true form, she was the social sap of every gathering. This was why I wasn't surprised when the girl grabbed my left hand. As she dragged me away from Haytham, I saw why.
The couple dancing nearest to the string quartet were Aveline and Gérald...or so I thought. Jasmine pointed a little way behind them; when I squinted I saw Ohitekah hand-in-hand with Hazel Matieu. A twelve and thirteen-year-old playing at being adult, their footsteps shoddy like foals...but both my son and Rose's daughter looked extremely happy. It was a heartwarming sight; one I would come to tease them about when they approached us.
Flushed, Ohitekah ambled over to me, Jasmine and Haytham. I was the first to comment.
"Well, this young man looks affectionate."
Ohitekah spat defensively: a black cat with white tails. "What do you mean?"
"Ignore her, son." Haytham tutted at the sight of his scowl. "She's teasing you."
"About the dance?"
Jasmine's cheeks were peach as her skirt. "Maybe," she giggled.
"Urgh! Mother, I'm twelve years old. A child! How can you even think it as serious?"
"I am not," I simpered, rolling my eyes. When Ohitekah wasn't looking, I murmured to Haytham: "Although, Hazel would make a wonderful bride for him –"
"Mother! Stop!"
And so the afternoon continued lightheartedly. Embarrassed and bored of our company, Ohitekah left to join his sister. It was at that moment that Ratohnhaké:ton appeared from inside the building. Jasmine was the first to see him; she motioned jovially for him to join us.
Awkwardly, he shuffled past the dancing couples and greeted us all. "Jasmine. Were...were you inside?"
"No," she shrugged. "I was watching your brother serenade Miss Matieu."
My son's face clenched – half in confusion, half in amusement. "Is that so?"
"Not a word of it," Haytham warned. "Aaron may skin you alive."
"Why not?" He stifled a chuckle. "I have not seen Aaron in months. The one chance I have to bait him –"
Jasmine's cry was of genuine shock. "You? Laugh at your brother's expense? I thought you were the mellow Kenway."
This seemed to embarrass him; he shrunk into a suit far too smart for him. "I...have nothing more to do here."
"You could dance?" At her own suggestion, the girl gasped and elbowed Ratohnhaké:ton. "Connor...I know it's far from my place to ask, but I will anyhow. If you could take the next minuet with any woman here...who would it be? Regardless of who they are with now."
"W-why do you ask?" he spluttered.
"Oh! Don't fret, I've asked at least a dozen here the same question. Toby Collins, Jack Wilding, Soy – oh, how do you say her name?"
"Soyala," Ratohnhaké:ton was doing anything to escape this question. His eyes darted to every female on the field – Jasmine included – and his eyes settled fleetingly on one. Only for a moment, and I could not see which woman. "Regardless of partners...Aveline looks...graceful. Why? What of it?"
"I don't know," Jasmine shook her head, tossing her golden plait behind. "Curiosity. If you asked me, I would say...that man over there."
Haytham and I glanced at each other, then in the direction Jasmine indicated. A young man – black – waltzed away with another woman. He looked much older than the girl; ten years at least...though I had to agree: even from here, his eyes were sickeningly sweet.
"Well..." Her voice was testy, but cheerful. "I suppose none of us always have our way. Want to dance, Connor?"
"Um...all right. Thank you."
Nonchalantly, Jasmine grabbed his arm and pulled him away from us. For Ratohnhaké:ton, the notion of dancing with a girl was like walking on driftwood. He looked completely at sea – and Haytham made no secret of pointing this out.
"The experience is good for him," I replied, not looking away. "And Jasmine looks apt at this craft. He is in safe hands."
"Hands? It's his feet that concern me."
"Haytham!" I nudged him...sharply this time. The two of us chuckled – rolling our eyes – then watched Ratohnhaké:ton. He clutched Jasmine's waist loosely, like he thought he would hurt her. I murmured: "Do you think he was being honest? About...Aveline."
"As Jasmine said, it was only a game." Haytham seemed immediately disinterested. "He is allowed to admire a woman...married or otherwise. He didn't say...oh. Hello, François. How fares the minuet?"
Before I could even think, the Matieus were approaching us. Both were rosy in the face – either from dancing, or the sting of the sun. None of the children were with them, which was some form of relief.
"Not the same, without you two!" Rose teased us. Clearly she'd indulged in a little wine. "Why have you stopped?"
"We were...observing Rato – Connor's dancing. Not to mention your daughter's."
"Oh, we saw!" François laughed heartily, clapping his hands together. "I was surprised at Hazel myself. She has never been one to...bring her confidence to light. As a father it was a pleasing sight."
"Speaking of confidence..." Rose grinned, edging to face the couple of the day. "Why, would you look at Gérald! What happened to him?"
At this current moment, he had his fingers firmly settled in Aveline's hair, a grin on his lips like a brilliant moon. I remembered that feeling; it was when Haytham and I were on the deck of the Belle Rose last year.
"Marriage happened," Haytham replied sarcastically.
"Quite," Rose replied. "A changing experience, would you not agree?"
Suddenly, the sun on Haytham's back turned to tension. Shoulders up, cheeks twitching...what was wrong? "Ah," he winced. "Well, Ziio and I...we...are not married. Contrary to popular belief."
Rose wore her surprise like her scarlet dress. "What?"
I couldn't understand Haytham's reaction. No, we were not married. What was the issue? I glanced up at him; he squinted awkwardly back down. A cultural taboo which did not entirely exist in my world. "No. Surely you knew that? We have never flaunted rings."
While François seemed casual, Rose was still trying to solve this complicated concept. "So...you and Ziio are living under one roof, yet –"
"Yet...?" I challenged.
"N-never mind. But would you ever plan on marriage? Not to call you out or anything."
This time, I was also turned to stone. Neither Haytham nor myself had even mentioned the topic of marriage; I assumed that was since he was not interested. Was that a sign of weakness? Of miscommunication? I looked at him slowly; his expression mirrored mine.
"We...are yet to discuss it," Haytham replied simply.
"If we had the time, I – I wouldn't know yet. I am a Kenway already...and so are the twins."
"Non –not legally."
"Written on parchment or otherwise, Aaron and Alexa wish to be addressed as Kenways. And so I will let them."
"Have the Stirlings agreed?" Rose whispered.
"They only wanted the children to be happy," I replied. "Although I am sure they were hurt."
Suddenly I remembered Eva's face earlier on. What had she been concerned about? And more importantly, where was she? I couldn't imagine that she was inside feasting all this time. I had certainly seen Soyala out dancing with other men, but Eva and George were nowhere to be seen. I asked the Matieus about this...and immediately the August climate of the conversation faded.
"She frowned at you? During the service?" Rose repeated.
"I know why." François paused, cleared his throat and adopted a different tone. I had never heard him with such gravity. "Ziio...Eva has received word of the Templars. Bad news."
"What news?"
"Charles Lee has been...released. From prison."