To the outside, she seemed to have spent the past two weeks engaged in the usual mundanity of household chores and training. On the inside, she was tortured. A precious secret was harbored in her head. The Café Théâtre.
Timothee, she feared, would use that information to have them killed. Arno...she was not quite sure about. But there was the chance he would join them.
There was always the possibility of an olive branch if she told her superior, but it did not seem worth the risk. Perhaps she was not quite the loyal Templar she thought herself. But if they became a threat, surely she would spin a story to expose them, surely she would sacrifice her old family to save her new one. But for now the Assassins seemed to be focusing on the Illuminati, who were winning the war for Paris.
She had come chillingly close to confessing her secret once already, with a story about something she had heard in the city while on an errand spun as a way to cover her transgressions. It seemed the rational thing to do, to give her superior information about his enemies, but her instincts would not have it. The deaths she had caused three years ago still haunted her conscience.
Yet she would have to commit, one way or another, and soon. The others could sense her pain.
As she polished the mansion's largest vase, she pretended not to be listening to the increasingly tense political argument going on in the main chamber.
"What I'm saying is no one cares for a home better than when it's their own. That's why France has to go its own way."
"But our order has always sought unity, Denis! Peace!"
"Unity under the superstitious chiens of the church, those who tell us to look towards Bronze Age savages to tell us how to live our lives?"
"Preferably no but...amicable relations never hurt anyone! Whether with Catholics, or Protestants, Mohammedans -"
Sophie spoke up, a rarity. "Sometimes you worry me, Denis. You sound almost...sympathetic to Weishaupt and his Illuminati."
"They may have taken things too far: closing the Sorbonne, killing our own Grand Master...But this war, it would have happened sooner or later."
"Which war?" Timothee inquired. "That war with Austria and Prussia, or that between ourselves and the Illuminati?"
The front doors flew opened. She stopped her chore.
"Monsieur!" It was Martin. "The Grand Châtelet is under attack!" Those words hit her like a musket ball!
He continued, "The Fédérés, and some rogues from the National Guard, they've marched on the prison, under orders of a man named Captain Rouille! I think they intend to murder the prisoners!"
"Rouille...Frédéric Rouille. Damn! Another defector!"
"Danton's stirred Paris up in a frenzy. They...they seem out for blood!"
"Élise, you and Dorian should head there immediately! It's on the bank of the Siene, near the Bastille! It's a large, gothic building! Kill the traitor Rouille! Save some lives if you can!"
"Where is Arno?"
"Helping Doctor Grimaldi with the herbs outside! Fetch him, gather your arms, and be off at once!"
She turned, put down her cleaning rag, and took a couple of brisk steps before Denis spoke up. "Timothee, at least give her a description of the sod first." Rouille. She did not know what he looked like. That was a good point, she turned back to Chobat.
"Oui, oui. He's...got bright, orange hair! Wears it down to his chin last I saw him! And he's twenty-seven years old, handsome, masculine complexion! That's all you should need to know!"
Was this the cleansing Marat and Georges has spoken of at the Café Procope?
She burst through the back doors with the same gusto as Martin. Arno was indeed hunched over the medicinal garden.
"Arno, we need your help, quickly! There's been an attack at the Grand Châtelet, a prison! Someone's murdering prisoners!"
"Where?"
"It's on the river bank! Please, I can sh-...we just have to leave now!"
"D'accord, let's gather our implements!" Arno said, rising from his duties and briskly striding towards the cellar door on the side of the house, which connected to the basement armory. She followed. Her mind was buzzing with all the secrets she had kept from him. How would she deal with those now, with this sadistic turn of fate?
He opened the cellar door and he briskly descended the steps, Élise in tail, then headed towards the armory.
Both their arms were laid on a table, Élise's to the right, Arno's to the left. This seemed like a time to go all out on her armaments. She strapped on her bracers, with the dart-shooting modification. She took her pistol and her sword. She stuffed a couple of smoke bombs into her pouch.
Arno was ready as soon as she was. He nodded at her, and they made their way back up the cellar steps, exited back into the daylight, and broke into a run.
As they ran towards the stables, Arno asked. "Are the Templars really so eager to play hero for the degenerates of France, or is there something more I should know?"
Is there something more I should know. Those words stung her. But she did not let it shows.
They began mounting their horses. "They're not all 'degenerates', Arno. Priests, dissidents...But, yes, there's an Illuminatus named Rouille commanding them. Timothee wants me - or you, I suppose - to kill him."
"Figured as much."
She jolted the reigns. She would have to think of a plan to deal with Benoît-Jacques on the way.
The front gate was already opened.
As their horses galloped towards the city, Élise was already debating internally. Her soul was once against twisted in moral dilemmas.