*****Notice: HIATUS HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN*****

You know what that means? Yeah, I'm afraid so. Exams have arrived...I hope to finish Everbound after they've stopped (only a few lengthy chapters to go!) but my top priority right now is school/exams. Anyone who lives in the UK will know just how stressful GCSEs are, so thank you in advance for your understanding!

It really saddens me that I won't be able to write, but I'll try my best inbetween revision slots. I've also gone on complete tumblr lockdown, so no forms of media for me for a while...

Anyway, this is a very long chapter (which is the other reason why it took so long! Sorry) of about 7,000 words – so that's double the usual number. Make sure to review – it's always useful to know what could be improved!

Thanks for reading :) you're gonna hate the ending again...

ZIIO

"Mother?"

Imala's voice downstairs barely scratched my mind's surface. The door was pulled to; I was stood alone by the bedroom mirror. I looked at my reflection, but did not truly see it. Long black gown, ruffled at the hem. A black hat which obscured much of my face. Black silken gloves, clutching at a black shawl around my shoulders. It shawled me completely in shadows; I had retreated within myself. I was like I had been in my slavery days, except now one thing was missing.

Soyala.

I hadn't even heard Imala push the door open, but in she crept. Here eyes were prematurely chasmic, as if sleep had been sucked from her. A frown was deeply set on her brow crest. "Mother, we need to leave now...or we'll be late."

I took a deep breath, glanced in the mirror once more and nodded quietly. I had never been to a funeral...or at least, not a mass funeral like this. The Kanien'kehá:ka dismissed the dead from this world very differently. Even after the death of my father and brothers, their send-off was not what I would've called a ceremony.

Imala left; I wandered mindlessly to the dresser. The locket containing Soyala's drawing caught my eye. I had been avoiding wearing it; I couldn't. I had never worn it even in Soyala's lifetime, but I picked up the eroding metal and opened the catch. The African eban symbol was still there. Security, it was meant to mean. Now, the only sense of security I had was one that couldn't be contained in a locket. For that reason I placed it back on the dresser.

It wouldn't bring her back. I had no need of an object to remind me of that.

A cremation. That was what this was in reality.

We all gathered outside the Davenport homestead, the light September rain splintering the clouds. We had only just arrived, and already this was turning into a pathetic fallacy.

Bowed heads, familiar faces. Laced handkerchieves. More than just objects, the homestead had become a sea of black lace. The warbling from the crowd was low, fickle and little like prayer. The only people here were those associated with the Assassins. Soyala, Jack and Prudence would eventually have respective funerals.

I didn't want to be here at all. Nor did anyone, in truth.

After Ohitekah and Imala walked off to join the Matieu family, I stepped down from the carriage and sighed. Everyone here seemed to be talking to someone else; for once I wanted to do nothing more than conform. I looked for someone to help me with this. The first person I saw atop the hills was Eva. She smiled (or tried to) on seeing us, subtly beckoning us with her fingers.

"It was Flood," she murmured, bypassing a hello. "I've been making investigations ever since this happened. Flood organised this."

I nodded gloomily, not considering this properly. I only stood observing the deep red crevices in Eva's eyes. Heaven knew what George's would look like. Where was he, in any case?

Ah. He was stood a little further down the hill, speaking to Ratohnhaké:ton. Both stood in black suits by a large pyre of wood. George glanced up for a split second, then saw me looking his way. Both he and my son wandered up to join us.

Ratohnhaké:ton looked beyond tired, raindrops dappling his cheeks. Caring for Achilles had taken a huge toll on him; if I wasn't here to reflect on other lives, I'd have told him so. I stretched my arms – restricted in my small dress – and embraced him. "Hello," I breathed in English.

"Hello," he grunted, turning to hug Haytham.

George swiftly pecked me on the cheek, then walked over to join his wife. Eva extended her hand to him and – oddly – squeezed him encouragingly. "Are you certain you can do this?"

"Do what?" Haytham asked.

"Give a speech," George responded, unusually gruffly. "About Soyala."

"I agreed to do Jack's. Toby will be speaking about Prudence, and George...you know."

I nodded. In fact, I had been asked to deliver a speech about Soyala. It made perfect sense for me to do so, but I was anything but a public speaker. I could give commands in battle; I could put forth a strategy in the largest of Assassin meetings, but I couldn't do this. Now, I was busy contemplating what Eva had said earlier. Flood. Thomas Flood had been the one who ordered this attack. Flood who robbed Soyala of her freedom before, and did so again out of pure spite. Flood, the bastard whom I'd waited years to see suffer like we did.

But he was only making me suffer more.

"That's them," Haytham murmured, gazing out over the hills. "Connor, you ought to greet them."

It was easy to locate in this black sea: the wooden bier (shouldered by four freedmen) covered by a sheet. I wanted to tear my gaze from it, but morbid contemplation had the better. Soyala was there. In body – not in spirit – she lay spread-eagled, her little eyes and lips forever closed.

People began to form a large circle around the pyre. Haytham turned to me, gave my hand a small squeeze, and led me down onto the grass. Ohitekah and Imala were already down there somewhere, but it took me several seconds to identify them. My daughter stood filtering her hair through her fingers: something I'd noticed she did when under stress. Ohitekah stood solemnly beside her. I had expected him to be far more emotional, sensitive as he was. But no. His lack of expression was almost alarming.

We dispersed from Ratohnhaké:ton and the Stirlings, who took their places with Toby at the back of the procession. A haunting silence descended over the homestead. The people around me hardly noticed as I pushed past them to be at the front. Part of me wanted to see this.

When the bier was laid down on top of the pyre, the freedmen stepped back into the crowd and stood by Jasmine. Eva, George and Toby came round to address the U-shaped crowd.

"Dearly beloved," Eva said strongly. "We are gathered here today to honour the lives of three great Assassins. Jack Ethan Wilding, Prudence Frances Barnes and Soyala Stirling were wholeheartedly dedicated to the Brotherhood, and moreover, to the greater good."

My eyes wandered to the black horseshoe of people surrounding the pyre. François, Rose, Hector, Jasmine, Mister White, Aveline, Gérald, Hamish, dozens of freedmen...

"Today, we repay their years of service in prayer and harmony. While this is not an official funeral, we ask you to treat this occasion with respect and sincerity. I ask you to bow your heads in prayer with me now."

I wasn't listening to the words of the prayer. Inside my head, behind closed eyes, my mind was at work. Flood. He was all I could think of now. If only Soyala had known Flood would be her downfall, how would she react? Would she try to prevent it? Kill Flood? Accept that this was her fate?

Eva's speech about Jack was not brief. She spoke of his best qualities, from his strategy behind the mission to the way he smiled calmly when addressed with a problem. Solving problems was the coal which kept him burning. The Brotherhood was what saved him from loneliness. We were his family. There would never be another leader quite like Jack Wilding.

Next was Toby. One thing I had never imagined was him, praising Prudence in the pouring rain. Even if I had imagined it, not as Prudence being dead. Even in his most solemn state of mind, Toby was able to incorporate some humour into his speech. That was probably why he was chosen to do this. Perhaps he volunteered; felt immense guilt for the way he had irritated Prudence through all these years.

"If I could describe my relationship with Prudence in one word, it would be...turbulent. I think we all know I was a pain in her arse." And there were a few laughs at that. "The truth was, it was fun to watch her temper quicken. It was fun to see her cheeks colour in that way they always did. All this time I believed she loathed me for my childishness – and I was content with that. But what we must all hold in our hearts, is that this woman died to save someone who did nothing for her." Toby's throat rose and fell, like the pitch of his voice. "That is the true definition of courage. Ladies and gentlemen, if you (like me) underestimated the bravery of this woman...I'd like you to take a moment to reflect on her actions. And in prayer...repent. Thank you."

Then it was George's turn.

Suddenly I felt a rush of overwhelming guilt. I should be delivering this speech. I knew Soyala better than anyone else. For no other reason that my own self-consciousness, I'd left the task to another. Was that fair? Did that show any respect for Soyala at all?

Even as George cleared his throat, I felt my heart sink. What was he going to say? Would it be similar to what I'd have said?

"Ladies and gentlemen. Family, friends, honoured guests. It should be clear to you now who I speak for. And what a woman. What a woman Soyala Stirling was, and will be in our family for generations." He looked at Ohitekah and Imala at this; both dropped their gaze to their dappled shoes.

"Now I know what we all are thinking. Why did this have to happen? We should not be stood upon this grass at this moment. In a way we have Soyala to thank for our being united...and not because of her death. Because of her life."

For a short time, George spoke of the horrors she'd endured as a slave. Moving as his words were, nothing could capture the crack of the whip; the constant ache and fear and starvation we felt. She had been positive through it all – or so George eulogised – though we all knew that Soyala's positivity was only childish innocence.

Childish.

All of a sudden, a haunting chill seeped through my heart. I'd met her as a child. The image was still clear as scent; her eyes, shimmering with caged curiosity. Her hands, coarse and rough from labour. Her thin frame which barely kept her on her feet at times. And as I looked over to the freedwomen, I was sure of it. I was sure it was what caused me to gasp – stifle it just in time – and stand bolt upright. I saw her. Young, but aged. Lips dry and choked of moisture. Eyes streaked with mud and tears.

I bit my lip and exhaled. No. No, no, no. This was not the day for mind games.

"I am told that when we met Soyala, the Brotherhood was on its knees. We had but three among our known ranks. The enemy was everywhere, causing more harm than we could rectify. My wife would agree in saying that we were on the brink of abandoning hope. But one day..." George's pitch rose unexpectedly. "There was a young girl. Her age was only fifteen, and she spoke words we never thought we'd hear from her or anyone. Those words were –"

I want to join the Order, I finished in my head. You heard me. I want to join the Brotherhood.

"You could imagine our reactions without much difficulty. She was too young! Why, she would never be able to kill another human being! Her reasons were invalid! And goodness, how we were wrong. Ladies and gentlemen, Soyala's decision to join the Brotherhood was what inspired us to continue. At a moment when defeat was imminent, this girl – this child – was what kept our fire burning. Her determination outlawed our logic. And if hope can outlaw logic, it is a very powerful force indeed."

My stomach gave a horrible lurch: she was there again. Same child, stood amongst the mourning crowd. Her lips were parted like she wanted to speak to me. I inhaled very sharply, not concealing it quite so well this time.

"Are you alright?" Haytham mouthed, though I hardly noticed.

I nodded – and when I turned back, Soyala was gone. My heart was still racing.

"...Even in the act of killing, Soyala was unbelievably humane. She vowed that in the next life, she would make amends with every single enemy she killed. That is love beyond respect. That is an act of true courage."

"Ziio?"

My head jolted so suddenly, several people looked around to stare. It was her voice. Where was her voice coming from now? Why was my mind doing this to me? Why was my heart frozen, yet racing?

"...So if you take one message from Soyala's inspiring life, let it be this: naïveté can be bravery in disguise. Innocence is not ignorance. No man or woman on this God-given earth has a speck of simplicity."

I missed the very last part of George's speech; I lost focus in the crowd. I hadn't had visions of anyone for years now. Even then, it was only when I was at my worst. But I was too numb to feel any grief. Why was I somehow able to terrorise myself with my own illusions?

Too numb to feel any grief, so I thought. That was when I heard the crackling of the flames. I saw Ratohnhaké:ton raise the lit torch. Eva began to speak a prayer, but the words were almost consumed by fire. And it was then – in the crowd of bowed heads – that the shock and loneliness and loss hit me all at once. I forced myself to look as the flames quickly engulfed the pyre. Jack, Prudence and Soyala were wasting away. There was no trace of them left: even their belongings were not theirs any longer.

I hadn't noticed my hands were trembling. Violently. I grasped my gloves to suppress whatever emotion this was. Around me were solemn, bowed heads. George, Eva, Ratohnhaké:ton and Toby stood to attention around the pyre. Although the smoke was thickening, I could see tears in Eva's eyes. She had never been too affected by sentiment. But this...this was unimaginable for her.

This was what the Templars had reduced us to. This was what Flood took pride in doing. How much did he have to torture Soyala before he was satisfied? The complexity and cruelty in that man's heart was unthinkable. Unforgivable. Enough to make my heart retch, and spill out all its bottled anguish.

And unexpectedly I began weeping. The tears just kept on crashing and crashing down; my gasps were beyond recognisable. Haytham's arm was quickly around me. Both arms, pulling me into his collar and holding me. No words were needed. No words could describe this bereavement and anger. Haytham only stood there, tall in his silent vigil, but his thumbs stroked my arms comfortingly. This continued for minutes, and – although my tears eventually died down – I stayed rested against him for the cremation.

In my head, a storm was gathering. My thoughts were slowly beginning to take form, then came crunching together in the form of rage. Right there, right then, I made a vow.

I will avenge her, Thomas Flood. I will avenge her. I speak not just on her behalf. Not on mine. On all the men and women you enslaved. Starved. Tortured. Neglected...even killed. I will make sure that when I find you, you'll answer to every last crime. And I will find you. I will.

"Why would you think that?"

A week later, Ratohnhaké:ton sat himself in our drawing room heavily. It had been almost a month since he came to dinner with us: Achilles' deteriorating health was demanding of his time. He looked much better than the previous week, but his eyes had seen brighter days. Certainly too tired to be having this conversation.

"Why would Mother think what?" Imala asked, her head suddenly appearing around the door.

"That Flood killed Soyala systematically," Ohitekah responded bluntly. "Which can't be true, can it? She just...happened to go into the Templar base first."

Imala came into the drawing room, closing the door behind her. "No, I see your point. It could have been..." She broke off, frowning. "I can't remember why I came in here now."

"Was it a message from Haytham?" I asked.

"Ah! Yes, dinner is in twenty minutes." Smoothing the creases of her dress, Imala seated herself between me and Ohitekah. "In fact, Father and I were talking about this on the way to church this morning...how it's strange. Why attack now? First the huts, and now this?"

The last thing I wanted was an in-depth conversation about my best friend's death. I was unsure how Imala could speak so casually, knowing her age.

"There seems to be no pattern in their deeds," Ratohnhaké:ton sighed.

"No, not pattern." I shook my head. "A pattern of strikes would be far too obvious. It was not damage Flood aimed to create – it was fear."

Ohitekah's face twisted; clearly I was speaking a foreign language to him. I sighed, and tried again: "You don't understand. None of you understand. Flood knew that Soyala was coming to that base. He knew they were all coming for him – he had Templar guards ready and waiting to chase them."

"How did he know?" Imala frowned.

"That is unimportant at this moment. The question is...why were the Assassins coming for Flood?"

"To punish his men for burning the huts..." A breath or realisation left Ratohnhaké:ton's lips.

"And who do you think burned the huts?"

"The Templars." His eyes fell to the floor.

"Why? Why did they burn the huts?"

"The...the land!" If he wasn't so drained, my son would've leapt from his seat. "So you're suggesting..."

"That Flood is doing all this to taunt me. He is trying to force us out of our hiding places so we will attack him."

The crest in Ohitekah's throat rose and fell as he looked me in the eye. "Mother, you just answered your own question. It's a trap...he is trying to provoke you so he can find you. So he has an excuse to kill you!" His face glistened with emotion for a brief moment. "Do not fall for it."

"How can you understand? You are only fifteen."

"That's what you all said to Soyala."

I opened my mouth to scold Imala for that, but soon realised that she was right.

"Thank you, Imala," Ohitekah murmured spitefully. "I am not the only one who sees sense in this family."

"All of you – stop." Ratohnhaké:ton held out a hand, eyes closed and grimacing. "It was a theory – no more than that. Has it not been a difficult enough week for all of us? We don't need this."

All of our muscles lost their tension. Ratohnhaké:ton was right: we were all far too tired to rationalise this. "Sorry," I mumbled.

Ohitekah grunted in acknowledgement; Imala only continued the topic of the Brotherhood. "What does Father think of all this?"

"I don't know," I huffed. "He has been behaving strangely once again."

"I haven't noticed," Ohitekah shrugged. "How?"

I paused. How was Haytham behaving differently? How could I narrow down what it was? "He is...quiet. He barely speaks all day, and he has been less than productive in his work."

"How do you know that?" Imala asked.

"The paperwork has been mounting on his desk," I replied.

Imala sniffed, glancing out of the window. It was spattered with drying raindrops, but it was hard to see in this September twilight. "Perhaps he is affected by Jack's death. Or Prudence."

"No." My voice was a little harsh. "He befriended them both, but he was close with neither of them."

There was a brief pause, in which our eyes wandered into our laps. Haytham rarely changed his pattern of behaviour; when he did it was for a dramatic reason. None of us mentioned it again, but just assumed that Imala was right.

Ohitekah placed his hands on his long thighs. "Well," he said, pushing himself to stand, "I should probably help Father in the kitchen."

"You never volunteer to help," Imala chuckled, batting him with her hand. "I always have to remind you!"

"I don't need you reminding me, sister," he joked. "I am a grown man now."

"No, you're not."

"Yes I am."

"Define 'grown man'."

"More grown than you!"

Ohitekah reached for the door handle, but it twisted without him touching it. He retracted his hand – surprised – and stood back. It was probably Haytham, coming to remind him to do what he was already heading to do. But the figure in the doorway wasn't Haytham. It was someone taller. Slimmer. Dressed in a long coat and boots. Ohitekah froze on the spot, such that none of us could see the visitor's face.

When he spoke, we didn't need to.

"Oh, hello. Pardon me for intruding like this."

Ohitekah was paralysed; Imala's chest swelled in a gasp. That voice. They had never heard it...but they didn't need to. The way their brother reacted was enough. As if the visitor had plunged a blade into his flesh, Ratohnhaké:ton's fingers twitched madly. His eyes grew into a state of panic, then snapped into anger. No, more than anger – purest, unadulterated loathing.

It was a voice I hoped never to hear again. A face which sickened me to the bone; filled my body with hatred and bile. My heart was thrashing against my throat, but I was cold – colder than I knew this man was.

This is a dream. It has to be a dream...

"Charles Lee..." Ratohnhaké:ton steadied himself, rising to his feet.

"Hello, Connor." His shadow draped over my feet like binding fabric. "Oh. I expected Haytham to be with you. Is he here at all?"

"How did you get in?" His voice was a shuddering whisper.

"I was invited," Charles retorted. "But clearly you were ill-informed. Perhaps your father forgot all about our arrangement –"

By this point, Ratohnhaké:ton's wrist shook uncontrollably. So much, that I feared he would lash out at Charles – or so Imala feared, because sat down, she gripped her brother's arm softly. "Ratohnhaké:ton..iah."

The tension was like that of my nightmares. The fear, the inevitability of something drastic taking form. And it always did. What would happen now? Would anyone dare speak, or was this a game of chess? I looked to the others to make a move; to say whatever I lacked the strength to say.

Too late: Charles beat us to it. "Well...this house certainly has not changed." His shooting blue eyes locked into me...and it somehow purged me of fear. It soured it, turning it into anger.

"Who let you in?" My heart pounded as I stood. "And why are you here?"

"You'll have to forgive me...I used the spare key. I did knock, but –"

"So you broke in?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, no...such a strong accusation."

"Why are you here?" The resonance was returning to my voice, like the blood to my head.

"And that was the exact welcome I thought I'd receive," he grinned, stroking his moustache. " I see your conduct has not improved. Though I must say, Ziio, you look well."

"Leave her alone! Stop!" Ratohnhaké:ton bellowed.

Charles swivelled on his heel brashly; my loathing grew like a bubble in my chest. "Stop what? I'm doing no harm. In fact, I came to do no harm at all. I only wanted to say a biref hello. I've been rather worried about Haytham for years now. There have been all sorts of rumours circulating the Order –"

"Liar," I hissed. "You knew. You all know where Haytham stands now."

Silence. My narrowed gaze shot to the door. I wanted Haytham to come in here; to explain what was happening. But could he? Charles was lying; he had to be. He was uninvited. Haytham would never do that to us...

The silence was broken by Lee's laugh. Not laugh – it was a cackle in reality. It was low; menacing...and it made Ohitekah gravitate backwards towards me. He didn't deserve to witness this. My arm fell around him and pulled him away from this monster. This only amused Lee more.

"Very good. Very good indeed. Certainly Haytham chose a bride to match his intellect. No, you're right. I did not believe a word of it. I knew Haytham was an Assassin."

"So what do you want?"

I almost let go of Ohitekah in shock. His voice was quiet, but aggressive. He looked Charles directly in the eye; something even I could not do. Imala's face slackened in alarm, as if telling him to stop.

"Pardon?" Lee spluttered.

"What do you want from us?"

The look Charles gave Ohitekah made me want to gouge out his icy eyes with my fingernails. He wrinkled his crooked nose, and – once again – laughed. "I don't believe we've met, boy. What is your name?"

Ohitekah gave no response. He shuffled a little further back, until all three of my children were enclosed around me. All I could hear in my head was the pounding and screaming.

Kill him...
I wish I could kill him now...

"Well, that was quite rude," Lee patronised Ohitekah. "You know, when an adult speaks, you should always respond –"

"Don't." The pressure was rising through my bones. "Don't talk to him."

"I was merely teaching the boy some manners." He raised his eyebrows in a way which made me nauseous. "And since he's no mother to learn them from –"

That was it. That was enough. He had done enough to us – to me – to restrain my rage any longer. In a horrific voice, I cried: "No! Leave them out of this! You've harmed them enough for one lifetime."

I could barely see clearly. But when the blood cleared from my head, I saw that I'd swiped an arm at him. Chest heaving, I brought it down to my side. This time, he wasn't laughing. He was puzzled. He looked from me to the twins; the twins to me.

"Harmed?"

"Look around you," I snarled. "You may see children, but do you know what I see? Scars. Scars of everything you've done to us."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do."

His eyes darted from me to the twins...then back again. Nothing had changed in his expression, visibly. But I knew the cold, chaotic calculation happening inside of him. It was a sixth sense to me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. I knew that – even a force of evil like Charles Lee – was assessing himself and his actions. I had never said anything so dangerous to a Templar. It was what I'd wanted to say for years.

"Ziio? I heard raised voices. Is everything alright?"

If there was one good thing about Haytham coming in, it was that it broke my staring at Charles. Ice met fire for a moment of confusion, of channelled hatred, then both turned to face Haytham. The silence he brought to the room was a different kind. It was...unnerving. His eyes were the size and coldness of stone. His body locked, like a snake waiting to strike. But he couldn't strike. He lacked the words, with his mouth open.

The door clicked behind him...and the scene came to life.

"You..."

"Hello, Haytham."

The veins bulged in his hands as he let go of the door. His arm moved slowly...and he edged closer to the man he once called friend. As he looked at me in questioning and shock, chills slithered down my spine all over again.

"I thought...I made our position quite plain..."

"Position?"

"That you were not, under any circumstances, to approach my land?"

The two men orbited each other, like two cats preparing to fight. It was so quiet, I feared that the thump of my heart would be heard. I could feel Imala's shoulder trembling. We couldn't watch...but we couldn't escape.

"You don't even know my reason for being here," Charles stated. "In these circumstances, it is justifiable."

"What circumstance would ever make you welcome here?" Haytham said maliciously.

"Haytham." Lee held up a hand for effect. "I came to you with a warning. This is an act of amity."

"Amity?" he scoffed. "Since when have you tried to be civil? For how long must I ignore your letters, avoid your subordinates and obstruct your goals? When will you realise that I am not interested in your lies?"

"What I'm about to say is no word of a lie. It may well save your life, so I advise you all to listen carefully." Charles' teeth were bared, dirty, like his tone. He straightened up to address all of us. "Now. No doubt your intelligent...family...have solved the most recent mystery. The sudden death of three Assassins." He took great pleasure in watching my face twitch uncontrollably. "Do you know why your friends were killed that day?"

"They were avenging a crime which deserved punishment," I hissed.

Lee chuckled, folding his arms arrogantly. I wanted nothing more but to strike him on the spot. "Good gracious, no. Those Assassins died because they were foolish. Foolish enough to think we didn't know that they were coming. They good as skipped into death's clutches –"

"How did you know?" Ratohnhaké:ton snapped. "How could you have known, if not even Father did?"

One of his arms unfolded to tap the crooked nose. "You see?" he chuckled. "You'll never know. We are always watching you. We have eyes and ears everywhere...and no matter how many of them you cut down, we will only grow another with twice the strength. Nothing you do goes unnoticed by the Templars."

"Am I meant to consider this a threat?" Haytham murmured monotonously.

"A warning, if you prefer. I don't want to see you dead, Haytham. You were once my closest friend. I still admire you in countless ways...but your thoughtless behaviour has left me no choice."

Haytham's chest swelled and dropped under his day shirt...until he caught his breath. "Listen to me," he said coolly, "I don't know who or what made you believe yourself welcome here, but I think you should leave."

"But we have unfinished business."

"What business could I possibly owe you?"

"Think." Charles took slow steps around the drawing room, so he was facing all of us. "What did you take from me recently?"

I watched as Haytham's eyes flexed – confused – then narrowed in anger. "The Kanien'kehá:ka land was never yours to keep."

"Nor was it yours. And yet, you still claim the right to banish me from it –"

"Of course I banished you from it!" he yelled. "Contract be damned, you'd have wrecked the lives of every single Native on the land!"

"Ask yourself this, Kenway: what did you gain from buying the land? If the Templars can bring your Brotherhood to its knees, kill your finest Assassins...then what sort of safety does a document guarantee any man?"

Catatonic silence erupted from the room. I could almost feel the floor around Haytham boiling; his vision turning red. But Charles was right – for the first time, I realised that he was right. How safe were my people, really? Lee saw the revelation unfurl, a wry smile spreading across his face.

"And your children...what safety can you guarantee them? You are the most wanted Assassin in America, after all –"

"Leave."

Charles stopped in his tracks, stunned by the ferocity of Haytham's murmur. "I'm sorry?"

"Leave. Right now."

I wanted to reach out to him; to steady his shaking hands. But I couldn't. All I could do was stare.

"Very well," Charles chuckled, holding out his arms amusedly. "Be sure to heed my warning, all of you. Especially you, Connor."

"Get out!"

"Patience! Do none of the Kenways harbour any manners?" He shot a look at Aaron which made me sick with loathing. "Luckily I already knew your name, boy. It was nice to meet you, Aaron. Alexa. Be careful, now – don't listen to a word your parents teach you about the Templars –"

What happened next made my heart stop. In a split second, Haytham produced a gun from under his belt and clicked it at Lee. Gasps erupted from everyone; as a unit the Kenways took two leaps backward. I wasn't sure what was more terrifying: the passion in Haytham's eyes, the thought of him shooting Charles in front of the twins or the fact that he was carrying a gun in the first place.

"Don't make me shoot," he said thunderously.

"No!" cried Ohitekah.

"Haytham, don't..." I pleaded. I burst through the huddle of my children and snatched for the weapon. He couldn't be doing this meaningfully...he was never this irrational.

"Stay out of this!" he roared...and he shoved me backwards. I gasped in surprise at his force. But he was only trying to protect me. I knew that. But it did no good. I was paralysed again, watching the scene unfold.

Once again – with his arms up – Lee was laughing into the barrel. "Now, now. We both know you haven't the stomach for that."

Haytham's scarlet thumb flicked the trigger. "Provoke my children...provoke me..."

"Although they aren't your children, are they, Haytham?"

I closed my eyes, expecting to hear the crash of a bullet, but all I heard was Haytham's jagged breathing. Huddled together, the four of us flinched simultaneously – but heard no fire. When I opened my eyes, Charles had backed towards the door and opened it.

"Regards to the Brotherhood," he finished. "I can only pray that they see sense one day."

"Do I have to escort you out?" Haytham snarled, teeth bared.

"No need. I know my way out." With the pistol still aimed at his head, Charles strolled out of the drawing room and into the hallway. Haytham followed him and held the door open with his heel. The gun – despite his trembling – did not waver. Not until Charles turned around once more. "You can't keep me from this house forever, Haytham. I've every right to be here."

And we listened as the front door opened...then clicked shut.

I felt as if my neck had been released. I took a deep breath – knees shaking – and my hands fell loosely to my thighs. I wanted to sit down...but the tension was far from over. Ratohnhaké:ton collapsed into a chair, pale with shock. Ohitekah and Imala's eyes were frantic; from each other, to me, to Haytham. Already both of them were crying. I wanted to comfort them, but I couldn't. I couldn't even bring myself to.

Haytham. With a spear-like arm, he still held the wooden pistol at eye height. I dared not speak, wondering what was going through his head. So many questions, hitting me like a stream. I could not answer any of them.

Why did Haytham have a gun in his belt? How had I not noticed? Was he paranoid?

Finally, a shaking arm dropped. The gun returned to his belt; he turned to face us. I had never seen his face so furious. "Which one of you let him in?" he struggled.

"He let himself in," I replied. "With the spare key."

"There is no spare key...I removed that as soon as Charles began sending...sending..."

I was stupefied. How had he entered our house? And why was it always us who received unwanted visitors? This was only scratching the surface of my thoughts. Beneath, I was melting. Melting at the thought of who that man was. At what he had turned our family into.

"I'm going to kill that bastard."

"Haytham, no..."

"I'm going to kill him!" he yelled suddenly. "Coming into my house...threatening my family...tormenting my children!"

I shivered – but not out of my own accord. It was like waking up from one of my nightmares...only prolonged and torturous. It was too real to be a dream. Too dystopic to be a real.

"What right had he? What right had he?"

"Stop…" I struggled. "Stop shouting."

"I think I've every right to be furious, Ziio," he said, whirling on me. "It's awful enough that he threatened me in front of you. Let alone threatened the twins' safety!"

"No, you don't understand…he had every right to be here…and he will probably come back."

"What the hell are you talking about?" If there was a table, Haytham would've overturned it with an ear-splitting crack. "Whose side are you on?"

"Please!" I cried, feeling myself falling apart. "Stop this madness."

"What right had he?" Haytham roared, at which Imala struggled to stifle a terrified sob.

"Father, be quiet!" Ratohnhaké:ton shouted. "Look what you're doing to Mother."

"What I'm doing? What I'm doing? Were you absent for the past five minutes, Connor? Or did you see the way he looked at her? At you? At Aaron and Alexa? Were you blind?"

"Both of you, stop!" And this time, a tear rolled down my cheek. There was silence for a moment, in which nobody moved. All four pairs of eyes on me, I knew where this was heading now. My heart was racing and racing; my throat and stomach were lined with bile. I couldn't label what this emotion was – but I knew it too well. It was how I always felt after a nightmare…only worse. Much, much worse.

"I think you know something that we don't," Haytham breathed.

"Please…"

"Care to tell us? Care to tell us why Charles came into our house?"

"I…don't know…"

"Then what do you know?" His voice was quiet; ruthless. "How could you say he had the right to be here? Why will he be back?"

I couldn't. I couldn't say it aloud. I was one second away from breaking down. Could I really tell him the secret I'd kept all these years? In one frantic moment, could I spill the one secret which put our family in jeopardy? There was no telling how he'd react; how I'd react.

I have to tell him.

I tried to take a deep breath; to clear my lungs; to brace myself for the ugly truth.

"Because…because Charles is their father."