Assassin's Creed 1. Old Wounds

**Forli****, August 1488**

Eyes fluttering open, Ezio let out a soft groan as the sunlight burned and blurred his vision. Struggling to sit up, he flinched at the sharp pain that flared through his stomach. Shuddering, he fell back onto the soft surface of where he lay. However, the melodious sounds of Caterina Sforza's voice immediately washed over him. Listening as she explained how her men found him in the mountains, nearly dead and bleeding out from Checco Orsi's dagger, he could barely believe his own survival.

He refused to rest, even as Caterina insisted that a few days in Forli would be for his own benefit. Though her personal physician had neatly stitched up his wound, her apothecaries tending to him for the two nights and three days he slept, there was still certain danger of it reopening. Which could in turn to lead to infection, fever, and possibly even death.

But he was man who would not be deterred. Not longer a child, he was an Assassin now, bearing responsibilities to others besides himself. It was something the Lady of Imola and Forli was well aware of, considering her position and fierce defense of her people. Especially her children.

_Yet a dead assassin serves no one, _she said, cradling his head in her lap. He leaned into her touch, the fine, dark velvet of her skirts a welcome comfort after the fighting of the last few days. Her warm, soft hand ghosting along his scruffy cheek, he certainly didn't mind her fluttered sigh as she affectionately twirled a lock of his dark hair about her slim fingers. _Surely, bello mio, you should rest for but a few days, hmm? We wouldn't wish you to fall ill upon your journey back to Florence._

Taking her hand in his, he pressed his lips to her palm. _Would that I could, bella mia,_ he murmured, _And yet I must follow my duty._

Knowingly shaking her head in disbelief, she admitted aloud that she admired his resolve. In turn, she gifted him the map of the remaining codex pages her husband and the Templars had tracked down. As she kissed him goodbye with a knowing, wicked smirk (and it was a rather _memorable _kiss, he assured her with smile), she renewed her invitation that he would always be welcome in her territory. Thankful for her continuing alliance with his fellow Assassins, he left Forli for Florence. Likely, Paola and La Volpe would know of the best methods for retrieving the Apple.

* * *

Riding through the mountains proved far more daunting that Ezio imagined. While it usually took him only a couple of days or so to get from the outskirts of Forli back into Florentine territory, this time, it took him nearly the week. Mostly on account that he quickly found that it was impossible to ride at full speed. At least not with his stomach wound threatening to tear open at every bump and loose cobblestone on the road. It was unusually muggy as well. The full heat of the Tuscan summer bearing down upon him certainly didn't help either. Frustration causing him to grind his teeth, he proceeded along the winding trail at an achingly slow place.

Thankfully, the villagers he ran across were hospitable. Apparently not put off by the mysterious, armed and hooded rider, they allowed him to stay the night in their homes. Though none of them asked a fee, he still left handfuls of florins with them, at his insistence. One old woman, the mother of a sheep herder he stumbled across at the close of his third day, even re-bandaged his wound.

"Careful, _ragazzo_," she clucked her tongue in dismay, the next morning. Despite her advanced age, she speedily slapped away his hands as he fumbled with lacing up the ties of his undertunic. Instead, she took it upon herself to do so, helping him back into his armor as well. Usually, he was easily able to dress himself with little hindrance. But now, he found it nearly impossible to lift his arms above his head. At every attempt, the stitches would tug at his skin like hot, metal claws. He swore he could feel each fiber of the individual threads threatening to break every time he made any large gesture. "If you move too much," she sighed, "It will reopen. And then, you will catch fever-"

"I'll survive, _signora,"_ he muttered, even as he bit back his hiss of pain at the feel of her tightening the straps of his cuirass. "I've certainly dealt with worse," he winced.

"_Il mio caro bambino," _she shook her head in disbelief. Sharp, crystal blue eyes narrowing with concern, she frowned. A few strands of her curling, grey hair escaping from her black hairnet, she tucked them behind her ear. It was a nervous habit of hers, he'd immediately noticed. For over the course of his stay, she only seemed to do it when lecturing him about his wound. "You are young and strong, I'll grant you that,_ mio grazioso. _Almost enough for me to wish I was a few years younger," she knowingly chuckled.

"Ah, but beauty is like a fine wine, _Madonna_," he winked, pressing a hand to his heart and giving her a low bow. "As it ages, it is to be even more savored, _si?_"

"You are shameless!" she laughed, cheeks flushing a bit as she lightly swatted at his arm. "Oh, the hearts you surely break wherever you venture!"

"Come now, I know not of what you speak," he smirked.

"Oh, of _course _not, _messere,_" she arched a brow of disbelief. "But," she continued, voice swiftly becoming serious as she placed a comforting palm against his cheek, "You are not God, eh? Take care, and rest here for another day. You are our guest, as my son insists," she smiled, "And I do not mind the company as I weave and tend to the little plot of herbs we have in the courtyard."

Grinning, Ezio took her hand in his, brushing his lips across her fingertips in a chaste kiss. "Forgive me, _mia cara_," he declared, giving her hand a soft squeeze, and expression flickering with regret as he withdrew, "But I have much to do in Florence. I cannot be delayed."

Patting his shoulder, she shook her head in understanding. Giving him a bag of provisions she'd prepared from the remainder of dinner last night and breakfast that morning, she adamantly refused the florins of thanks he attempted to press into her wrinkled hand. Regardless, he surreptitiously left a small pouch of them on the windowsill overlooking their veranda. Mounting his white steed, he continued on to Florence.

* * *

"You certainly look near death," Volpe declared behind him.

Ezio learned long ago not to be startled by the thief's sudden, silent appearances, though his hand instinctually snapped out one of his hidden blades at the sound of his voice. Spinning about on his heel, he quickly sheathed it as Volpe's gaze flickered over him in quick appraisal. His usually cheeky expression apprehensive, he frowned, "You're nearly swaying on your feet, _ragazzo."_

"'Tis but a scratch," Ezio quickly waved him off, the thief falling in step with him as he made his way to Paola. "Unfortunately, I found myself on the wrong end of Checco Orsi's dagger."

"I assume he found his way on the wrong end of yours, then?"

"Neither he, nor his brother are of concern to anyone, now," Ezio pointedly replied. Volpe shook his head in understanding as Paola let them in. Quickly ushering them up to her study on the third floor, she gracefully took a seat at the round, heavy oak table in front of her desk.

Unlike the rest of the brothel, which was decorated with plush carpets and expensive tapestries lining the scarlet, painted walls, her study was relatively sparse. The walls were painted a pale cream color, their edges glossy black. Outside of the desk, the table and the four chairs surrounding it, and the large, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with various parchments and codices, there was little to see. The windows did not bear the usual stained glass, with their intricate, swirling, multicolored designs. Rather, the glass was opaque, with thick, wooden shutters. Though they were flung open to let in the afternoon sunlight, they were also barred with black wrought iron. Likely, to keep her assassin's duties completely secret.

As Paola poured the men goblets of wine, Ezio quickly took in dying embers of the fireplace, which sat in the wall opposite the bookshelf. Without thinking, he walked over and added a log to it. The room immediately warming, he no longer shivered.

"It's quite warm in here already," Paolo fleetingly grinned after her usual greetings and pleasantries.

"Is it?" Ezio swallowed, cracking an eye open from where he'd taken a seat at the round table, leaning back in chair and nearly asleep, "It feels like the middle of winter."

"Does it?" Volpe shrugged.

"Aye," Ezio replied, pulling his robes tighter around his shoulders.

"You're sweating," Paolo arched a brow. Before he could react, she placed her hand against his forehead. Without warning, his mind shot back to his childhood. The hazy image of his mother floated up, her smiling face at his bedside, watching over him whenever he fell ill. He found himself leaning into her touch, closing his eyes again. "You're not burning up though," Paola continued, "Well, at least not yet."

Eyes snapping open, Ezio groggily blinked a few times as she withdrew. "_È di nessuna preoccupazione,_" he speedily replied, "For I have failed," he sighed.

"The Apple?" Paola replied, eyes widening slightly.

He nodded, quickly recalling what happened, and of the nine-fingered monk who acquired the Piece of Eden. Though all agreed it was significant setback, they drew up a plan for tracking down the thief. Word would be spread to the other assassins, in various cities throughout _Toscana, _including their allies within the church. Ideally, this Savonarola fellow would soon be found. In the meantime, Ezio would set Leonardo to deciphering Girolamo Riario's map, as it was encoded. From there, hopefully it would be easier to track down the remaining codex pages.

After an hour or so, La Volpe soon bid them goodbye, urging Ezio to take care. Giving the newly initiated assassin a look of disapproval at his insistence that he was leaving for Venice that day, the leader of the Florentine Thieves Guild shook his head in disbelief. "Do not punish yourself for your supposed mistakes," he nearly ordered, "It does none of us any good if you are dead," he warned, leaving.

As Ezio turned to follow La Volpe to the roof, he was stopped by Paola's gentle touch to his wrist. "Ezio, _amico mio, _you really should rest," she declared, lips pursed with concern, "You look absolutely exhausted."

"I'll rest once I get to Venice," he breathed, wiping his forehead. "Antonio, Bartolomeo and Sister Teodora must know of the Apple-"

"I can send word of it through messengers," she replied, cutting him off.

"It is too dangerous," he insisted, eyes flashing, "After all, we always know of the Templars' next move by intercepting the Borgia's messengers, do we not? What's to stop them from doing the same to ours?"

She had no answer for him, though she still held him by the wrist. "_Va bene," _she slowly replied, "But I insist you at least wait until morning to set out. The sun already sets for the day."

"But-"

"You're in no condition to fight the scoundrels prowling the roads at night," she shook a finger at him in reproach. "They'd gladly kill a lone traveler for a mere pittance of the weapons and florins you carry," she insisted. "Come," she nodded towards the door. Despite that she was at least full head shorter than him, and her form was lithe and elegant compared to his own younger, broad-shouldered, brute strength, she nearly dragged him to it. "I'll set up a room for you," she ordered, her tone beyond arguement. A mere flick of her head sent a couple of the courtesans who lounged about the stairs to go do so. "As per usual, the girls know not to disturb you with their work. So you should get a good night's sleep, at the very least."

Shoulders slumping, he realized she was right. Besides, it would be faster to travel by day. As he gave a silent nod, she furrowed a brow; normally, he would laugh and joke about the welcome interruption from some of her girls, offering himself over to their charms. But he remained silent as he followed her to the far side of the brothel.

At the back and overlooking the courtyard, the spacious room was reserved for only the highest paying clients. But considering his profession, and his constant help in protecting her girls from the abuses of the City Guard over the years, Paola insisted he take it, free of charge. The walls painted light blue, their edges were detailed with white crown molding. Above, a stunning mural of ancient Roman goddesses in various states of undress was painted in dazzling frescoes upon the ceiling. The hardwood floors inlaid with gold, they were freshly polished and nearly sparkling. The matching shutters framing the window were inlaid with gold as well.

But Ezio didn't notice any of it, already removing swordbelt. Watching as he winced and struggled to unstrap his armor, Paola quickly relieved of him of it, as well as his robes.

"_Grazie_," he yawned, nearly falling back onto the bed. Shoving back the covers and resting on his back, his was already half-asleep.

"If you need anything, just pull the cord," she nodded to the thick, braided, scarlet rope that hung from the ceiling, in between the window and the bed. "One of my girls will be up here straightaway."

"_Grazie," _he repeated again, eyes closing.

"Do not worry about it. You are like family, after all."

"Paola?" he suddenly and tiredly asked as she turned to leave.

"Yes, Ezio?"

"You….you are too kind to me…_Madonna_." And with that, his quiet snores began to fill the air.

Shaking her head, she couldn't help but smile. Especially as she saw that he'd fallen asleep with his boots on. _Sometimes, he still almost seems just a child,_ she wistfully thought as she leaned down and quickly unbuckled them. She wasn't surprised to find a small dagger sheathed into one, two throwing knives sheathed in the other. Pulling them off, along with his stockings, she left him in his trousers and undertunic. Gently pulling the blankets over him, she silently left the room, locking the door behind her to preserve his privacy. Come morning, likely he would leave through the window, as per usual.

* * *

_Just…a little…farther…a few more houses, _Ezio furiously thought, struggling to keep his eyes open and on the road.

Due to his obvious sheer exhaustion the next morning, Paola nearly forced him to take a carriage to the docks of Forli. Using a pass Caterina gave him when he left her city, he boarded the boat to Venice with little issue. Now, three days later, he was in the grand City of Canals.

Stopping by Leonardo's shop, he quickly remembered the artist was back in Milan. According to one of Leonardo's apprentices, left behind to pack up the last of Leo's supplies, he'd been commissioned by its duke, Ludovico Sforza, Caterina's paternal uncle.

"_C-cazzo!" _Ezio angrily stammered. Leaning against the door of the workshop, he closed his eyes, his breathing shallow and labored. He skin seemed to be on fire. His throat sore and itching with pain, his head throbbed, sweat pouring down his brow. _I am fevered! _he frantically mused. It took all of his strength to nearly stumble forward. His vision now swaying with every step as he took in the direction of the Seta, Ezio's last concern was Leonardo's latest patron. Especially as he felt the blood beginning to seep from his stomach.

His wound had reopened as he disembarked from the boat in Venice. Thankfully, he'd removed his armor long ago, leaving it with a blacksmith at the Venetian docks to repair (as it was still damaged from his defense of Forli). Otherwise, he'd be cursing even more at the feel of it scraping across his stomach. Glancing downwards, his eyes widened in alarm. For he now bled through his undertunic, tunic, and doublet. Within a few moments, it would be evident upon his robes.

He _had _to get to the Seta. The thieves…his allies…they would help?

His mind struggling to string his thoughts together, he leaned against the archway of the bridge, over one of the canals. Curious bystanders stared, but made no move to help. Thankfully, the Seta loomed right in front of him, over a couple of bridges.

Stumbling forward, he nearly knocked over a guard.

"Hey!" the guard yelled, regaining his balance and brushing off his uniform, "Watch where you're going, _figlio di puttana!" _Marching forward, he shoved Ezio backwards with both hands. Normally, the assassin would've simply turned heel and silently left, as not to attract too much attention. Or slammed his hidden blade through the _bastardo's _neck, was he feeling particularly annoyed. But he was in no condition to fight.

"_Mi d-dispace_," he stammered, holding a shaking hand up in surrender. "_Mi…dispace_," he slowly repeated.

"Oh, you'd _better _be sorry, you little _figlio di un can_e_!" _a second guard to his left snarled. Ezio hadn't even noticed him, utterly focused on getting to his destination. "Who do you think you are, eh?"

"No one," Ezio grit, temper flaring. _You can't fight, _he distantly thought, even as his hand instinctually went to his dagger on his swordbelt, _Not now…_

"You're god-damned right!" the first guard said.

"Perhaps you miss the executions?" the second guard sneered, "I know I do. I haven't drawn and quartered some _pezzo di merda _little citizen in quite a _long _while," he snickered. Ezio nearly growled, struggling to stay his hand and not draw his blade.

"He looks like a strong one," the other guard said, poking him in the chest over and over again for emphasis.

"Good, it'll take longer for him to die!"

"I'm sure his wife will need someone to warm her bed afterward."

"Of course!"

"What do you say? Likely, she enjoy taking both of us, at the same time, eh?"

_Dio mio, why don't they just shut UP?_ Ezio rolled his eyes, nostrils flaring with warning.

Their voices melding into a dull roar of rising irritation echoing in his ears, despite his best intentions, his hand unsheathed his dagger with silent, practiced ease. Yet the two guards were _still _talking, wholly oblivious to his action. The insults flowed freely from their mouths now. Especially as they went into vile, stomach-churning detail of how they planned to violate his apparent paramour.

_Shut up…shut up…heaven above, SHUT. THE FUCK. UP…_

"Are you listening, _amico?"_ one of them snapped, shoving him backwards again by the shoulders, "I'm sure her mouth would appreciate my ball-"

Ezio didn't even realize he'd sliced open the first guard's neck until the man gave a wretched, bloody gurgle of protest. The guard's hands speedily turning red with it, he clutched at his now useless throat and stumbled to the ground. The second guard still frozen in shock, Ezio made quick work of him; grabbing him by the hair, his dagger slashed across his neck before he kicked him away. Writhing on the cobblestones in their death throes, both of them left bloody handprints across the ground and the wall of the archway. Within two minutes, both were dead.

"He's here! _Get HIM!" _

Apparently, his fevered mind also forgot that the guards tended to patrol in groups of around four or so. And this group also had one a rather heavily armored, snarling, fat _bastardo _with them. Carrying a battleaxe, no less.

Seeing the other two guards quickly closing in, the surrounding citizens fled in the opposite direction; this was Venice, after all, sparks of seemingly random violence a part of life. Frantically looking around, Ezio saw a group of thieves behind him. The natural rush of adrenaline spurring him on, he fled the scene. "I have florins!" he found himself nearly yelling at the thieves, who glanced up from their game of dice in surprise.

"Ah, the famous _assassino!" _one of them smiled, recognizing him, "How may we be of serv-" But his words were cut off as the two guards shoved through the fleeing crowed, bellowing for Ezio's head.

Fingers numb, he struggled to undo the ties of his money pouch on his hip. After what seemed an eternity, he finally managed to get the infernal thing open. Vision swimming again, his stomach lurched with pain, causing him to count out the florins for what seemed the hundredth time. Finally gathering the usual fare of 150, he nearly threw the gold at the thieves.

"Keep…keep them…off…off of me!" he stammered to the thieves, who were energetically picking up the florins that'd fallen to the ground.

"_Si,_" one of them replied, already drawing his sword. Glancing over to Ezio, he frowned, "You need to get the hell out of here, _assassino_. You look bloody terrible."

"At death's door, I'd say," another thief flippantly replied, even as he engaged one of the guards. Despite that he looked no older than fifteen or so, his sheer speed at which he struck quickly caused one of the guard's lieutenants to go on the defensive. Within a few moments, a scream filled the air. Though whether it was one of the thieves' or the lieutenant, Ezio didn't know. He prayed it was the lieutenant. But he could barely keep that thought straight, as his eyes began to droop.

Vision swirling into a mass of blurred colors, everything before him seemed to move at half-speed. Finding himself stumbling forward yet again, he clutched at the wall. It was then he quickly realized that instead of moving forward, towards the Seta, he'd backtracked, Leonardo's studio in sight again. "_Jesu Cristo!_" he swallowed, still hearing the sounds of the melee behind him. Leaning back against the wall, he pressed his hand to his stomach. The warm wetness of his own blood pulsing out across his fingers brought little comfort.

"Wondrous deeds he has done for the good of all!" the braying voice sang in front of him, plucking the strings of his lute out of tune, "Sent to kill the evil ones, sent to make them _faaaa-haaaaall!"_

_And now, one of the figlio di puttana bards have to draw attention to me? How bloody convenient! _

He would've gladly snatched the lute out of the bard's hands and beat him to a bloody pulp with it. Even if his off-key screams would likely attract a crowd. Hell, swiping a few florins from his twitching, unconscious body would be an added bonus, guards and shocked Venetians be damned. But by now, he was nearly brought to his knees. By the pain of his wound that was, rather than the singing. Though what passed for "singing" certainly wasn't doing much to contribute to his well-being.

"Ezio?" a voice rang out somewhere behind him.

_And so dying must feel like dreaming_, he sleepily frowned as he felt his eyes slip closed. His breathing harsh and guttural in his ears, the sound of someone calling his name echoed around him again. Though not enough to drown out the next song of bard, who now stood in front of him. Much to his chagrin, the last thing he remembered was his ceaseless desire to strangle the little _bastardo_ with the strings of his own lute.

"Ezio?" _Ugo…is that Ugo?_

"Some-where on a rooooof-top, a hero wears a hooooood…"

"Ezio!" _Aye, that sounds as though it's the thief…GOD-DAMNED bards!_

Unfortunately, God apparently did not see fit to grant him his last wish.

* * *

**Translations**

_Bella mia – _My pretty/sweet one. Sign of affection

_Ragazzo_ – Boy

_Il mio caro bambino_ – My dear child

_Mio grazioso_ – My pretty one

_Mia cara_ – My dear

_È di nessuna preoccupazione_ – It is of no concern

_Mi displace_ – Forgive me/I'm sorry

_Figlio di un can_e – Son of a bitch

_Pezzo di merda_ – Piece of shit

_Dio mio _– My God


	2. The Sin of Omission

Rosa abhorred lateness.

It fouled up schedules, created unnecessary confusion, and most importantly, wasted her precious time. And as one of Antonio's most trusted lieutenants, she rarely had any of that sort of thing to keep as her own anymore. Not that she'd change her position for anything in the world. It'd taken her many years to earn such respect, after all. Especially considering she was of the fairer sex, within a guild full of men. In turn, deference meant respecting her time.

So as she looked towards the sky, judging it to be about ten or so in the morning by the position of the sun, she grit her teeth. For Ugo was supposed to meet her roughly an hour ago. God knew they had their hands full. Even though neither of the thieves were officially part of the Brotherhood, Antonio trusted them implicitly. Hence, he revealed the truth of their current missions; since the Templars were quickly recovering their resources after their loss of that cursed artifact a couple of months ago, no stone could be left unturned in their attempts to stop them.

They were in the midst of a centuries-long war, after all.

But the battle between the proverbial forces of light and dark were at the back of Rosa's mind, at least for the moment. Due to her livelihood, she'd long become accustomed to being a night owl. So by all rights, she should have been sleeping in the warm, familiar comfort of her bed right about now.

_Where in flying hell is that little bastardo?_

Letting out a hiss of retort, she hopped up from the stairs, near the back gate of the Seta's courtyard. Easily scaling the walls, she made her way to the roof. From there, she could get her bearings, clear her mind, and try not focus on how utterly exhausted she was. Not to mention, devise even more ideas for the verbal assault she was going to unleash upon Ugo. If he bothered to show up, that was.

Leaning against a chimney and crossing her arms, Rosa tried to ignore her rumbling stomach. Yet it made her all the crankier, reminding her that she'd yet to have breakfast. Dark eyes scanning the courtyard below, she found herself frowning. _Well, that's odd,_ she mused. Usually, there were at least a few of the thieves lounging about. Either waiting for their next assignment, chatting amongst themselves, or playing various games of dice or tarot. All in all, most of them preferred being outside, in the fresh air. Despite that the palazzo was a stunning construction of marble and mosaics, nearly all of the thieves despised being trapped indoors. It reminded them all too much of a lack of freedom.

But something was amiss this morning, her instincts rarely out of tune with impending disaster.

Increasingly jumpy, she moved to the edge of roof, taking a seat and allowing her legs to dangle. She was little danger of falling off, natural talent and the years of running over the rooftops giving her near-perfect balance. Only Ezio excelled her in that regard.

_It seems that he's not back from Forli yet…_

Without warning, there was a loud commotion from below, shouts and curses drifting up to her. Out of habit, she found her hand flying to the short-sword sheathed on her hip. But glancing down, she quickly saw they weren't under attack. Instead, a swell of well over a dozen or so thieves was pouring into the front gates of the compound. Clumped around something, they were packed in too close together for her see what they were irately gesturing at.

She hated being the last one to know of the latest news.

Swiftly moving to her feet and backing up a bit, Rosa simply ran forward until the roof ran out. Before she was met by thin air, at the last moment, she spun on her heel so that she now faced the building. Then, she went into freefall. To anyone else, it looked as though she'd suddenly gone insane, causally flinging herself right off the palazzo. But her hands easily reached out, grabbing stone rain pipe that ran parallel the marble roof tiles. Using her own momentum, she swung forward, lightly landing on one of the inner balconies of the third floor.

Pressing her back against a column, she couldn't be easily seen from the ground. However, she was able to peer through the wrought-iron lattice at what was going on beneath her. A handful of the thieves were barking for the rest of the group to go ahead to the infirmary. Carrying someone between them, they shoved through the growing crowd. Gaze darting to where Antonio's office was, she was surprised to not see him come out at all the noise. Likely, he was busy elsewhere then. Which meant that she and Ugo were in charge at the moment.

Blinking and shaking off a wave of sleepiness that washed over her, she vaulted over the open section of the balcony. Speedily making her way to ground level, she dropped almost cat-like to the cobblestones. Her movements so quiet that no one noticed her behind the crowd, she couldn't help but smirk at that skill, even as she briskly tapped one of the thieves on the shoulder.

"What the hell is all the bloody commotion about-?"

"One of the thieves took a bit of a fall," a smooth, but mildly irritated voice said behind her.

"So I see you finally decided to show your face, eh?" she nodded, turning around to face Ugo. Narrowing her eyes, she bared her teeth a bit, "About god-damned time!"

"Oh please, as though you've never been sidetracked," he waved in dismissal.

"To the contrary, _coglione,_" she retorted, biting back a yawn.

"How quickly we forget our own misdeeds with faced with others', eh?" he snorted. However, he gave her slight bow. It was his apology, she knew, though he'd never admit to it out loud. Well, at least not in front of all these people.

"So, will he live?" she gestured back at the group carrying the thief indoors. They'd nearly swept out of the courtyard.

"Likely," he drawled, though his gaze darted to the doors slamming shut behind the group.

"You don't sound so sure," she arched a questioning brow.

"You should by now that I always ere on the side caution," he shrugged, snapping his attention back to her. "You look as though you could use a few days' sleep," he continued, taking in the dark circles beginning to form under her eyes.

"After we get some breakfast," she ordered.

"It shall be on me," he offered, already walking towards the entrance of the Seta.

"I know, considering you were late," she smirked.

And with that, they headed over the nearest tavern, Rosa leaving that morning's scene to contemplate later.

* * *

"Piero?" Ugo said with alarm, the little boy racing up to them as soon as they returned to the Seta roughly an hour later. Stammering and shaking a bit, Piero held up a hand as he doubled-over, panting for breath and nearly wheezing. Stooping down, Ugo patted him on the back in an effort to calm him.

Full from breakfast, Rosa found herself even more sleepy, not bothering to hide her yawn. However, her attention quickly snapped back to the freckled, round-faced, green-eyed boy of around ten or so. Like the rest of their kind, he was dressed simply, in a grey tunic and breeches, with white stockings and soft leather shoes. His shaggy, dirty blond locks tousled and wind-blown, they stuck out at odd angles from under his knit cap. Another of Antonio's apprentices, the thieves took him in a couple of years ago. He'd stumbled across a group of them while escaping from the guards for stealing an apple from one of the merchant's stalls. Not that anyone blamed him. At the time, he was a thin little thing, near starving and desperate for food.

"_S-signorina…_Rosa!" Piero called out, straightening back up, "Thank God! I've found you…the i-infirmary!"

"_Che cosa?" _she tossed out, "Why do I need to go to the infirmary?"

"B-because-!"

"I'm sure it's some mistake," Ugo retorted, swiftly cutting the boy off. However, Rosa shot him a doubtful expression, stepping forward and taking Piero by the hand.

"Come now, _ragazzo, _what is it, eh?" she asked.

"Y-you have to go…to the infirmary!" Piero panted, nearly dragging her with in that direction.

"Why are you so worn out?" she tiredly grinned, allowing him to lead her.

"'Cause…cause I spent all morning looking…for you…running all over the city!" he retorted, "And now I have you! Bianca insisted-"

"You're really need to get some sleep, Rosa," Ugo lamely said behind them, "I'm sure I can take care of whatever it is-"

"_No!" _Piero snapped, throwing Ugo a withering look over his shoulder, "She has to come. Bianca _ordered _it."

"What?" Rosa snorted, "Why the hell would she-"

"Because!" Piero groaned, stomping his foot in frustration, "Ezio is badly injured!"

* * *

As soon as the words left Piero's mouth, Rosa ran into the Seta as fast as she possibly could. Likely, she judged, as she fast she had in recent memory. And that even included a recent escape from a handful of battle-ax wielding guards, but a few weeks ago.

All but ignoring the sounds of the other two at her heels, she nearly collided with the door Piero pointed out. Quickly sending the boy on his way, she purposefully waited until he'd disappeared out of sight, down the long hallway. Then, she spun on her heel.

"Why the _hell_ did you lie to me, you _pezzo di merda?"_ she snarled, shoving Ugo backwards so hard that he nearly fell back into the door. "I saw you earlier down in the courtyard when he arrived this morning," she quickly put the pieces together, "Yet you had me go eat _breakfast? _All while he's fucking bleeding out? Have you lost your GOD-DAMNED MIND?_" _

"You would've worked yourself up to utter exhaustion," Ugo tightly replied.

"And _this_ is not me worked up eh?" she nearly roared, face contorted with mounting rage. "Oh, well then, we'll shall have to work on that, _now won't we?"_ Letting out a pained gasp, she wrenched herself away from him. Beginning to pace the hallway and muttering curses under her breath, Ugo watched her dispassionately for a bit. However, he let out a deep breath that sounded rather close to a sigh relief when she didn't stop to smack him, mid-pace.

"_Jesu Cristo, _he could be _dead_, Ugo!" she spat after a few moments. "I know you two have never quite seen eye to eye, but-"

"For god's sake, Rosa! I swear on my life that I would never watch him die, like some dog in the streets!" he retorted, crossing his arms, "Not when he is such a valuable ally. In fact," he insisted with a wave of his hand, "I'm the one who found him, just outside Leonardo's workshop-"

"Yet you didn't tell me-!"

"Because Bianca had to stitch him up without any…distractions." She was about to accuse him of further insult, but she snapped her mouth shut as he plowed onward. "You know Bianca does her best in healing us all when she's left to work on her own, and with no one but her own assistants," he quietly said. "In fact, she's the one who ordered me to keep you away, at least for the moment."

"This is bullshit!" Rosa hissed, still pacing back and forth, though she shot him a look that could turn him into stone. "You both should've told me the bloody truth-"

"Rosa!" Ugo snatched her by the shoulder, hard enough to spin her around to face him. He was met with her murderous glare, her fist thumping on his shoulder, though it was not hard enough to quite be considered a punch. But he was thoroughly unphased. The benefits of growing up together, her moods were as familiar to him as his own skin.

"_WHAT?" _she snarled, though she made no move to shake free of his grasp. As he did her, she considered him family. And as such, he was one of the few she would never raise hand against, no matter her state of fuming rage.

"He is…Ezio…does not go so well," he finally said, holding her narrowed gaze.

"So?" she literally snapped her fingers, "Bianca's dealt with worse-"

"But not after such a long time. From her examination of him, she was able to tell that he was wounded some days ago. It's plenty of time for the infection to set in." Eyes slowly widening with realization, her hand covered to her mouth in shock. "He's utterly delirious with fever," Ugo nearly whispered, gently unhanding her, "You know as well as I what that means, _piccina._"

Suddenly, she let out a snort of derision, attention riveted to the door in front of them. "How long does she say he has?" she strained. As the infirmary was located in the back of the Seta, with impossibly small windows that let in little sunlight, the hallways were dimly lit. So she could barely see Ugo, the flickering torches within the alcoves lining the fresco-painted walls casting their long shadows. But she knew enough from his silence to quickly come to the conclusion that it was worse than she initially assumed.

"A few hours?" he slowly began. Tightly shutting her eyes against his words, her breath audibly caught in her throat at his admission. "A day? It is unclear. But even under the best of circumstances…" he sighed, closing his eyes as well and rubbing his bridge of his nose.

Expression suddenly set with stubborn determination, she shook her head in disagreement. "He's dealt with worse," she resolutely declared, swatting away his hand as he tried to take hers in reassurance, "He'll get through it."

"He's good, I'll grant you that," Ugo muttered, flexing his fingers, "But he's not God. The infection-"

"Will run its _fucking_ course!_" _she stomped her foot with almost childish disagreement.

"Rosa-"

"Don't go digging any graves just yet, Ugo," she hissed, shoving the door open. As it slammed closed behind her, he shook his head with disbelief. Even as he speedily made his way down the hallway to Bianca's study, fetching more medicine.

_Don't you dare die on her, assassino._

_

* * *

_**Translations**

_Coglione - _(You) Balls

_Che cosa? - _What?

_Ragazzo - _Boy

_Pezzo di merda - _Piece of s**t

_Piccina - _Little one_  
_


	3. The Burning Question

It'd happened roughly seven years ago. After she'd awoken from Bianca, the thieves' resident apothecary, stitching up her leg from the arrow she took to her thigh. Utterly shocked to find him in her quarters, she was silent with disbelief at the sight that met her.

Asleep and lightly snoring, the _assassino_ was sprawled out on her worn, threadbare chaise. She quickly noticed that he'd moved it from its usual position, against the opposite wall, to flush against her bed. Granted, he was little threat, considering he was currently unconscious. But her instincts told that even if he was awake, he would still pose no danger. Though he was essentially a stranger, she didn't feel any discomfort at finding him there. Or have her usual urge to wake him up with her dagger pressed against his throat, demanding answers as to who exactly who he was.

Antonio seemed to know that the famed _Assassino di Toscana _was making his way _La Serenissima_. Which was why he sent her out to scout for his arrival. Granted, she couldn't resist snatching the large bag of florins from his belt, as he stood chatting with little artist friend. Judging from his almost comically heated reaction to her theft, she didn't expect him to help her outrun the guards and archers, after her botched assault of the Seta. And she certainly didn't expect to awake to him watching over her, afterward.

For some reason, she didn't wish to wake him just yet. So she fell back into a deep, comfortable slumber.

When she awoke the next morning, he was already awake. Apologizing profusely, he at least appeared genuinely contrite on her behalf. Nevertheless, she immediately brushed him off. After all, he wasn't the one who saw fit to shoot at her from the rooftops. But he insisted on staying, swearing to see her through her injury. In return, she threatened to have the other thieves toss him out of her room, likely via the window next to her bed. He only smirked in reply. However, he did leave, gracefully climbing down though her window, yet swearing he'd be back.

She didn't believe one word that spilled from that almost sinfully wrought mouth of his. However, she soon found out the joke was on her.

Apparently, he was a lot of things, but not a liar. For over the next weeks, he visited her often. Why, she had no clue. Well, she did have _some _clue, judging by the constant appreciative looks he shot her way. His never-ending deluge of compliments were a dead giveaway as well. Plus, his little gifts of lemon cakes and potted flowers he foisted upon her. He was certainly a smooth one, obviously used to getting his way with the fairer sex.

But she was having none of it.

She warned him from the beginning that she was not one to be bought. While she had a healthy appreciation for the various nighttime activities they eventually fell into after some months, she had no desire for anything beyond that. No need to have her emotions involved with this charming _diavoletto_. After all, his kind were all the same; it was obvious that no woman could hold his attention for very long, especially after the initial conquest. Even if he did keep his promise to see her through her injury.

Now, the roles were reversed.

* * *

Sitting on the old, overstuffed armchair in private room of the infirmary, she watched over him. None of the thieves were surprised, or commented on her constant vigil. After all, they were well aware of the friendship the two carried on. Not to mention, none of them wanted to be on the receiving end of her snarled curses of vengeance, a black eye and/or a broken nose. As over the years, everyone had quickly learned that any teasing about her being "his woman" was strictly off limits.

Not that she was such _at all_. No, they came and went to each others beds as they pleased. No comprises were necessary, all awkwardness and unease avoided. Besides, she was a thief, relishing her freedom and refusing to relinquish it to anyone. Especially to some richly outfitted, charming, yet arrogant noble.

Aye, he was the thieves' ally, through and through. Ever-loyal, he remained steadfast in their cause to defend the city from its usual tyranny. Yet he was no more hers than she was his. She certainly liked it that way, reveling in their easy give and take. For seven years, it left things uncomplicated and straightforward.

_Easy._

So the other thieves left her to care for him through the day and into night. Well, save bringing her food and re-supplying the medicine Bianca instructed her to nearly force down his throat, every four hours or so. "It's ground white willow bark and leaves," the apothecary said, leaving her with the glass vial of white powder. "Mix it with a cup-full of warm water. It should lessen the fever, at least until it breaks...pray that it breaks," she'd murmured with concern.

As he somehow survived the first night of the fever ('_A few hours to live' my ass, __Ugo!_ she triumphantly thought), Rosa had him moved to the familiar space of her room the next morning. On the third floor of the Seta, and down the hall from Ugo's room, it was one of the more comfortable quarters. Such was her privilege, as one of the most skilled and respected thieves of the Guild.

Bianca and a couple of her apprentices had stripped him down to just his braies before putting him in her bed at her command. So it was easy to see that he was flushed all over. The wide, white scar of his newly stitched wound wasn't hard to miss either. Cutting along the left side of his stomach in startling reality, it made her visibly flinch when she first saw it. Her only relief was that it was healing well, as it was no longer as swollen or seeping fluid, as it had yesterday. Now, it showed little sign of the tell-tale red puckering of new infection.

Yet unfortunately, by the second night, he was little improved. Putting a hand to his forehead, Rosa let out a string of frustrated curses at the feel of his burning, sweaty skin. Biting her lip with worry, she speedily wet the compress with the herb-infused water from the bowl on the nightstand Bianca left her. Pressing it to his brow, she shook her head with disbelief; mouth cracked and chapped, and face twisted with worry, he muttered in his sleep. Pressing her hand against the conditioned, hard swell of his chest, the fluttering beat of his heart was unmistakable.

"_Cazzo! _You're stronger than this, Auditore_,_" she muttered aloud, nearly thumping him on the chest with her fist in frustration, "For the love of God, fight this, you _figlio di un can_e_!"_ But goading and threatening him into recovery resulted in no miracles. Instead, he remained silent, save for his labored breathing. And the occasional, garbled words of feverish musings that fell from his slightly parted lips. Growling in frustration, she lay back on the chaise, which she had pushed flush against the bed earlier.

Now, there was nothing to but wait.

* * *

_"The Eagle of Florence!" the crowd called out, ebullient and reckless, shouting his name in adoration, "He comes to us, do you not see? Guardian of light, enemy of the bloodied cross!  
_

_But the great bird of prey did not acknowledge them. Shooting into the sky from his perch upon the city's walls, he spared nary a glance below. Wings outstretched in utter abandon, he soared through the air. Boundless and uninhibited, no one could dare catch him from so far above. _

_The forest soon stretched out beneath the scattered clouds. Yet even from on high, he could see the smallest blade of grass, the scattering of green moss growing upon the bark of the trees, the white caps of the rushing river. As well as the hunting party moving along the canopied trail  
_

_The looked uncannily similar to Sister Teodora's flock. But where should have been tight bodices and loose skirts, they were draped in shimmering silks. Bound with silver ribbons, they fell in waves about their figures. As though temple priestesses of ancient Rome, their gowns were the colors of spring: sky blue, pale green, sun-kissed yellow, delicate lavender. Feet bare, twined throughout their hair were jewels and precious stones, circlets of flowers about their bare arms. Each bore a bow and quiver of arrows slung across their backs, the glint of their daggers sheathed within their sashes._

_But it was their leader that stole his gaze. Eyes large and black-lashed, her glittering green gaze sparkled with depthless mischief. Her expression endlessly amused, her full lips were curled with a smirk, a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Pale skin flushed with exertion as she stole across the forest floor, her movements were silent and graceful. Her hair was nearly black, tresses bound back into an intricate knot. Her gown of snowy white, it was bound with gold braid. She wore nothing upon her head, save a slim, gold circlet, wound about with dusky blue roses  
_

_Diana, goddess of the hunt and of the moon. Waited upon by her loyal nymphs of the wild. _

_"We have caught his fancy, dare I say," one of nymphs smiled. Her cerulean eyes turning upwards, her flaming red locks swirled about her in the warm, spring wind.  
_

_"Aye, the eagle watches us," her mistress murmured. Her voice rich with laughter, it echoed about him, like church bells within the belfry. "Perhaps I shall take him for my own?"_

_"Ay, but he flies so high, m'lady," another, dark-haired nymph laughed, the sound musical and light. Stretching a graceful arm, she pointed upwards towards the clouds, "See? He is but a shadow on the wind!"  
_

_"And even shadows may be captured," Diana smirked. "Fetch me my bow, signorina."_

_A beautiful instrument, it was carved of yew wood, polished and shining. Molded to her hands as though it was born to them, she lovingly caressed it before drawing the flaxen string along its opening. Reaching back to her brace of arrows, she selected one. Fletched with gleaming green and gold feathers, its point was tipped with a blood-red ruby. Razor sharp and carved to a deadly point, it facets flashed and glittered, liquid fire in the noon-day sun.  
_

_Nocking it to the bow, she pulled the string taunt, raising it to sky. Squinting, her lips drew a satisfied grin, her fingers steadied, arm braced against her weapon. Leading her target, though she could not see him, she knew he was in her sights._

_Even from above, he could hear the unique thrumming of her heartbeat slow to a steady, echoing murmur.  
_

_And then, she let arrow fly. _

_Evading it would have proved no more difficult than drawing a breath, especially from so far on high. Yet he slowed his wings, the air gliding through his feathers. Feeling his descent within the freefall, he let out a cry of triumph. Then came the dive, the earth rushing up to meet him.  
_

_The arrow would be faster, he well knew. _

_"Even shadows may be captured…"  
_

_The arrow soared clear and deadly in its journey upwards. Nevertheless, he flew towards it. _

_It struck him in his breast, piercing his heart, full square center. Crimson blood exploded across his snow white feathers, warm and wet.  
_

_Yet he felt no pain._

_The earth was but a few seconds below him now. As was the goddess, her arms outstretched in tantalizing welcome.  
_

_Closing his eyes, he drew a sharp breath and smiled, releasing himself over to her embrace… _

* * *

Without warning, Ezio's eyes suddenly snapped open. Their usual sparkling, playful hazel now focused, sharp and golden. Slowly searching the room before meeting her surprised gaze, they widened. Almost as though seeing her for the first time.

"R-Rosalind-?"

She froze. He'd only ever called her by her full name but a handful of times. And even then, only when riding along the utter highs and lows of emotion.

"_Si_, Ezio?" she swallowed. Yet her voice was strong and steady, refusing to show any fear.

Glassy eyes skimming her face, he reached down and took her hand where it rested upon his chest. Squeezing it, as though for comfort, he brought it up to his cheek. Then to his parched lips, pressing them to her palm in near desperation. "Rosalind," he repeated. "_Ro-sa," _he drew out, slowly blinking, "My only...my dearest, beautiful friend_…siete il mio cuore, la mia vita stessa…__sposami__…__sposami__._..marry me!" he begged a third time.

Eyes widening, her mouth hung open with absolute shock. The roar of her heart in her ears drowned out all other noise, his feverish whispers a distant buzz as his mouth fluttered over her fingertips. _"Marry me!" _they echoed in her head.

_Surely, he is out of his mind with fever…he cannot…it is not possible…_

Without warning, the door creaked open, causing her spin about in her seat and snatch her hand from his. Hand flying the dagger sheathed on her hip, she relaxed a bit as Ugo greeted her.

"He's alive, at least," he said, leaning over and inspecting her patient. Except he was fast asleep again, no sign of his previous disturbance evident.

She didn't miss the undertone of relief in Ugo's voice. "Hmph," she snorted, sheathing her weapon, "What he _needs_ to do is wake the fuck up!" she snapped. But Ugo easily saw the worry reflected in eyes.

Reaching out, he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Not surprised as she made no protest at the gesture and leaned into him, he quietly said, "Figured you'd want a bit a food," he nodded at the small table by the fireplace. Sitting on it was a small decanter of wine and a plate of bread, cheese, and sausage. "You've been up for two days straight, _piccola. _Take a few moments to rest," he insisted, pulling her to her feet. "I'll watch him in the meantime," he assured her, taking her place on the chaise.

"_Si,_" she mumbled, making her way to the fireplace.

After eating and quickly downing the contents of the decanter, she quickly found she couldn't fight the heaviness of her eyelids. Within a few moments, she was asleep, still sitting in the chair but sprawled out across the table.

Even as Ezio's words still rumbled in her ears.

* * *

He slept through the second night and into the afternoon of the next day. Roughly around the second hour after sunset, Rosa awoke from her usual spot on the chaise to find him awake. Propped upon the pillows, he leaned back against the headboard. Still in just his braies, the blankets thrown over his lap, he was eating soup and thick crust of bread.

"You're up." Arching a brow, she swiftly sat up, crossing her arms, "So, your fever has broken?"

"Forgive me, _bella mia," _he smirked, giving her an appreciative once over, "My slurping must have disturbed you."

"Not particularly," she guardedly replied.

Turning his full attention to her, he frowned, taking in her irritated expression and stiff posture. "Are you sure?" he said, voice dropping and mildly serious, "You look…unhappy with me-"

"I am not," she shrugged, cutting him off. "How do you feel?" she quickly asked.

"Tired as hell," he yawned, finishing the soup and putting the clay bowl on the nightstand next to the bed. "They tell me I was quite ill," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"They?"

"Piero, actually," he replied, "That blond-haired boy of about ten or so?"

"Aye, he's the one who fetched me."

"I'll have to thank him for that then," he replied with a grin.

"You were delirious with fever," she slowly said, "Your wound reopened on your way back from Forli," she continued. "Somewhere along the way, you pissed off a mess of guards, hiring some of us to deal with them. You apparently removed your armor, too, as it's nowhere to be found. Bleeding all over your robes, babbling nonsense, and clearly hallucinating with infection, Ugo found you collapsed in the street, only a few steps from the Seta." His eyes widened at that revelation, causing her to cast him a dubious look. "You don't remember any of that?" she pointedly asked.

"Ehrm…no?" he swallowed.

"Nothing at all?"_  
_

"I'm afraid not," he sighed, gesturing for her to continue. "The last thing I recall was entering the city and heading to Leonardo's workshop."

"He's in Milan for at least the next six months," she snorted. As the artist was an ally of the Guild, they always knew his whereabouts. "Anyway, Bianca and the others brought you here," she waved around the room.

"So I had to be dragged to your bed? I must have been utterly out of my mind to be forced into it," he mischievously said, eyes sparkling at his own joke. "Normally, I need no convincing, _piccola."_

"That much is obvious!" she snapped.

"_Che cosa?_" he replied, expression wrinkling with confusion at her angry retort, "Rosa, _mia cara, _is everything alright?"

"Do you remember _anything_ of the last three days?" she ordered, ignoring his question.

Biting his lip, he furrowed his brow in concentration, thoughtfully rubbing at his scruffy chin. Closing his eyes, after a while, he opened them again, looking at her with no deception in his gaze. "I have bits and flashes," he declared. "Mostly pain," he winced, feeling along the healing wound at his stomach, "And you, of course." She blanched, inhaling quickly and dropping her hands to her lap, twining her fingers together. "_Si_," he slowly said, "I remember you…your voice mostly. Though I thought I was, well, dreaming."

"Oh, really now?" she doubtfully replied.

"_Si, _of course." It was not said in his usual flirtatious way, or as an invitation. He was steady and factual, his face still scrunched up as he struggled to remember. "Murmurs and whispers, the occasional creak of the door," he nodded at it. "I think there was…a bard? No, that makes no sense," he glanced around the room. "_Perdonami_, Rosa, but that's all I recall." Ignoring him as he stared at her, drumming his fingers on her nightstand, she closed her eyes, letting out a visible sigh of relief.

But somewhere, distantly in the back of her mind, his words from last night continued to echo. Their whispered pleas refused to be forgotten.

_Siete il mio cuore, la mia vita stessa..._

_Marry me._

* * *

**Translations**

_Diavoletto _- Devil

_Cazzo!_ - S**t!

_Figlio di un can_e_!_ - Son of a bitch

_Siete il mio cuore, la mia vita stessa…__sposami__…__sposami__ - _You are my heart, my very life...marry me...marry me

_Piccola_ - Sweetheart

_Bella mia - _My pretty one (feminine)

_Mia cara_ – My dear

_Che cosa?_ - What?

_Perdonami _– Forgive me

White willow bark and leaves – these naturally contain a compound called salicin, which from which aspirin is derived. The use of willow to reduce fever, headaches and general aches and pains dates back Hippocrates of Ancient Greece, around 460 B.C - 377 B.C. Though aspirin wasn't created until the early 19th century, the use of willow was known throughout Europe. So I assume an apothecary would be aware of its uses as well.

Braies – essentially underwear worn from the Middle Ages through to the Victorian ages, before the advent of somewhat modern undergarments. Usually made of linen of cotton, they were like loose leggings sort of things that went down to knee. Oh, and Ezio's stockings are _not_ like modern ones. They're simply long, woven socks men and women used to wear back in the day, before the invention of normal socks with elastic, around WWII.

**Author's Note: **I'm not quite sure color Rosa's eyes are; in the database, they look to be dark blue, but during game play, they look generally dark, as in brown.

Edited to add, per **iguanablogger**, Rosa's eyes are light green or hazel, so I'll go with that. Thanks **iguana!**


	4. The Keys to the Kingdom

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the long delay and the filler in this chapter. Though Claudia will be playing a role as the story unwinds, don't worry, as I'm swinging back to Ezio/Rosa focus the next chapter.

* * *

**September, 1488: **_**Milano**_

_My Dear Sister,_

_I hope all is well, and that my niece and nephews aren't driving you too daft in the head with their usual antics. Then again, likely they are, considering how troublesome we both were in our youths…_

Claudia couldn't help but laugh out loud, almost hearing Ezio's voice echoing in her head. Despite that hadn't seen her brother in nearly a year, when he put quill to parchment, he wrote exactly as he spoke.

The twelve years since the murder of half of her family had thankfully been relatively kind to the now-youngest Auditore child. Much like her brother, Claudia had barely aged. However, at 27 years-old, she was a woman full grown. Tall for her sex, she now stood a bit above her brother's shoulder. She also shared his features, with her full lips, striking cheekbones, glittering hazel eyes and attractively dusky olive complexion. Their mother's contribution was unmistakable as well, her nearly black hair, button nose and curvy figure evident. She also carried herself with far more confidence, the volatile, fiery temperament of her youth not quite as obvious.

However, she frowned as she continued reading. Taking in how his letter suddenly became sloppier, her brother's usual fanciful, elegant script was now sloping and ink stained. It was almost as though he set aside his message for a while before continuing it. For he abruptly skipped over his greetings…

_The battle in Forli proved far more serious than I assumed it would turn out. For the Lady of Imola and Forli was ambushed by the Borgia troops. Thankfully, the Brotherhood was there to repel the attack, and we soon found ourselves victorious. And so Caterina still holds the town, her subjects thankful for their mistress' rule once again. She also sends your husband her regards, especially for the battalion he convinced the Duke of Milan to send in aid. If not for her cousin's persuasion, I do not know if the Duke would have so readily assisted his niece in her time of need…and I shall leave it at that. _

_Unfortunately, I was injured during the melee. However, it was but a scratch. So please do not worry yourself into any sleepless nights, piccina, for the Eagle of Florence still finds himself whole, and with nothing in the way of any sort of permanent damage… _

Glancing up from the missive, Claudia couldn't help rolling her eyes; Ezio had never been one to hold back in his almost constant bragging about his kills. Which is why she shook her head in disbelief as the blonde-haired woman sitting across from her relayed the tale of the aftermath of her brother's exploits in Forli. And of the true nature of his injury.

"You don't seem too surprised," her guest drawled after she finished telling of how Ezio collapsed at the Seta, near-death. Pouring them both another goblet of wine from the decanter between them, she chuckled, "Or worried." They both sat at a small, square table in Claudia's study, on the third story of the palazzo she and her husband shared. Along _Via Pontaccio _road, the palazzo lay in the shadow of _Castello Sforzesco, _the Duke of Milan's stronghold and residence.

"Oh, trust me, Cecelia, I'm worried," Claudia huffed, "Especially when Ezio comes so close to dying!" she nearly growled before taking a long sip of wine. "Though thank you for delivering the letter." While he did try to write her as often as he could, due to the nature of his profession, Ezio had to pass his letters through mutual acquaintances, such as Leonardo and others of the Brotherhood that operated in Milan. That way, it was harder for their Templar enemies to track him.

"_È niente. _especially for a friend," Cecelia smoothly replied. "No doubt Ezio has little wish to worry you…but," she quickly added, seeing Claudia heated expression, "I can understand why you'd wish to know of his well-being. By all accounts, he is back to full health now, going about his usual duties with his typical…aplomb."

"Well, that's a relief," Claudia sighed, "I'm still going to give him a sound talking too next time I'm in Venice!" she snorted, "Ideally, sooner rather than later."

"It's been a while since I've made a trip to the famed City of Canals," Cecelia shrugged, "Considering the Templars are on the move again after they lost the Apple, I'd say it's high time Antonio and I gather our resources."

"Do all the Thieves know each other throughout _Italia?_" Claudia knowingly chuckled.

"Considering most of us are the only family we all have? Yes," Cecelia enigmatically replied, even as she smirked. Her blue eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight that streamed through the windows surrounding them, she tossed her boot-clad feet upon the table. Claudia didn't mind in the slightest, thoroughly used to the other woman's more masculine traits. It was to be expected of the leader of Milan's Thieves Guild.

Dressed in a plain black doublet over a crimson red tunic, black leather pants and tall, soft leather black boots, Cecelia_ 'La Strega,' _or 'The Witch' could have been mistaken for a man, at least from behind. Of medium height, she contained an athletic build, slim of hip and small of breast. Her straight, golden-blond hair was cut boyishly short, in feathery, razored layers that couldn't be tied back. She also wore fingerless black gloves, which covered the tell-tale brand upon her left ring finger.

Within her black swordbelt was sheathed a beautifully wrought Milanese sword on her right hip, a silver dagger on her right one. Sitting on the floor next to her was her signature, compact crossbow. A handful of its small bolts were also sheathed on the back of her swordbelt. Draped over the back of her chair was a black cloak. Its inside lined with scarlet silk, outside of her weapons, it was the only obviously expensive thing she wore.

Round-faced with a spray of freckles across her aquiline nose, she had relatively plain features. However, her eyes were utterly captivating. Large and blond lashed, they were a bright, warm blue, flecks of green reflecting in the light.

Claudia went back to reading the letter, which went into more detail about her brother's exploits. Unexpectedly hearing a rustle of paper in front of her, she looked up to see Cecelia flattening out a small roll of parchment across the table. Approximately two feet by one foot, it was rectangular, small enough to be rolled and stuffed into a pocket. Covered with various colored numbers within wavy borders, it looked to be a map of some sort. Yet it bore no labels or a legend, despite that page was nearly filled with scribblings. They seemed to spread from its edges inward, in a counter-clockwise spiral.

"What's that?"

"No idea," Cecelia shrugged, "But it's another reason why I dropped in," she nodded upwards at the open, stained-glass skylight. "I received this a few days ago, before one of my thieves delivered the letter from Antonio that he passed from Ezio for you. The envelope that held this," she gestured at the parchment on the table, "Had nothing to identify its sender. So I figured it was from Ezio."

"Well, he does include this in my letter." Claudia held up an envelope, which was sealed with simple circle of red wax that bore no identifying mark, "He doesn't mention it in here," she pointed to the letter. Carefully opening the blank envelope, she unfolded the parchment she found within it. Like Cecelia's, it was the same size, also containing a random array of multicolored numbers. Moving it about on the table, she quickly saw that it indeed matched Cecelia's scrap as well. Even though the notes on it still made no sense.

Cecelia narrowed her eyes, running a calloused finger along the edge of one of the pieces. "Any idea of what exactly it is?"

"Another codex, perhaps? Though it's awfully big…do you mind if I take your piece to Leonardo? Somehow, I think he may be one of the few who can make this…work."

"Do with it what you wish," Cecelia chuckled, sliding it across to her. "I have the feeling it's meant for you anyway, considering Ezio usually sends those codex pages to you to pass onto Leonardo, now that he has his commission is here."

"_Grazie."_

"So, where are you headed to now?" Cecelia asked of Claudia, who moved to her feet, sweeping her silken dark green skirts behind her.

"To drop these off to Leonardo's shop, up near _Castello Sforzesco_," Claudia declared. "With his commission, it'll likely take him a bit longer than usual to translate it."

"Ah," Cecelia smiled, jumping to her feet as well, "Send him my greetings, eh? Antonio wasn't speaking in long truths when he sent word of _signore's _arrival to the Duke's court; that man is an absolute genius…until later?"

"_Certemente_," Claudia inclined her head.

"Safety and peace, _mia cara." _With that, _La Strega _quickly said her goodbyes, gracing her with a kiss on each cheek.

Tying on her cloak and sheathing her crossbow on her back, she effortlessly scaled the stone wall behind them, pushing open the skylight a bit more. From there, she disappeared up to the roof without a sound. Watching by the window, after a few seconds, Claudia took in how the woman cautiously skirted across the courtyard before melting into the morning crowds along the street. Moments later, she vanished, swallowed up by the populace.

* * *

A week or so later, Claudia awoke just before dawn. Rolling over and looking to where her husband lay, his arm draped over her in protective embrace in their large, four-poster bed, she grinned. As per usual, he'd come home late from the Ducal court, his clothes scattered on the dresser of the far side of room. The fact that he didn't even bother to loosen his auburn hair from the green ribbon he tied it back with also signaled as much.

Gently removing his arm from around her, she silently slid out of bed, throwing on a robe over her sleeping dress. "See you in a bit, Alessandro," she murmured, leaning down and brushing her lips across his cheek. He didn't respond, save a mild mutter, still deep in the throes of sleep.

Spinning on her heel, Claudia quickly lit the lantern sat on one of the bookshelves that lined the wall, just to left of the bed. Pressing in two unmarked stones that sat in the wall at eye level in turn caused the wall to immediately slide back. It revealed a short, dark tunnel that led further into the house. Knowing it like the back of her hand and depending on her hereditary, heightened senses, Claudia required no other light besides the lantern guide her.

Stepping through the entrance, the door sliding closed behind her, she took the spiraling, stone steps downwards. Within a few minutes, she came to another wall that seemed to be a dead end. Pulling the down the metal alcove that would normally be used to hold a torch, a soft groan echoed around her. The brick wall then swung inwards. A little ways longer, and she was in the stables, clear on the other side of the extensive grounds of the palazzo.

In the unused corner, furthest from the entrance of the stables, was a small storage closet. Unlocking it with a key she pulled from within her bodice, buried beneath a pile of horse blankets and hay was a plain wooden chest. Glancing around to ensure no groomsmen were about and closing the door behind her, Claudia opened it, revealing a plain set of male livery: a plain, dark brown hooded cloak, an unadorned, brown doublet, a white, lace-up tunic, and brown leather pants. At bottom was a pair of well-worn, tall brown riding boots and a brown belt. Though the belt held no visible sheath for weapons within its front, on its back was a set of five throwing knives and a small, but sharp dagger.

Claudia quickly dressed, stashing her clothes in the chest. Tying her long, curling hair back into a simple bun, she pulled the hood over head, her face now hidden in its shadow. Slipping out the closet, she easily climbed the stables. Nimbly running across rooftops soon led her to the palazzo's barracks. Silently dropping into the window of the second floor, she wasn't surprised when she startled her trusted Captain-At-Arms from where he was reviewing paperwork at his desk. Nor when he swiftly leapt to his feet, his sword out and at her throat.

"It's me, Duilio," she murmured, throwing back her hood and revealing her face. Eyes widening, he sheathed his weapon, rapidly throwing up his hands in apology. However, Claudia quickly waved him off. "No time for such formalities now," she grinned, pleased that she still moved so gracefully after all these years and having two children of her own.

"_Che cosa?"_

"I have a friend I have to see and wished for your company," she blithely said, "The streets can be dangerous, you know." With nary a word and a nod of agreement, Duilio accompanied his mistress. While she descended to the first floor via the window, he took the more conventional route of the stairs, meeting her at the back porch. With the guards out on their usual morning exercises, the barracks would be deserted, they both knew

Soon, the two slipped out of the palazzo and onto Milan's deserted roads.

* * *

She wasn't surprised to find Leonardo already awake when she knocked on the door of his studio, despite the sun just breaking over the horizon. For years, she'd known the polymath required little sleep. It was almost as though the constant deluge of ideas wouldn't allow him much of it. Despite that, he still looked as young as ever, especially in the soft light of the rising sun.

After gracing her with a customary greeting of a kiss on each cheek, he quickly waved her over to his draft table. Pulling out a large piece of rolled-up parchment from a secret compartment built into the bottom of it (which Claudia suspected the artist added to the table himself), he swept away the sketches, sticks of chalk, paintbrushes, and bits of wire and wooden sticks he used to build models, laying it out. Ezio's documents were now bonded together to form one, large piece. Yet, it certainly didn't look like any codex page they'd ever seen. Not to mention, the parchment was new, rather than the aged, yellowing, papyrus-hewn pages Altair seemed to prefer centuries ago.

"So, rather than a codex page, he sent us an encoded map?" Claudia asked, inspecting it from where she stood next to him.

"Precisely."

"And you mean to tell me that back in Forli, someone gutted my brother and left him to die on the side of the road over an infernal…_map?"_ she hissed.

"That and the Apple," Leonardo muttered

"_Cazzo!"_

"Thankfully, Ezio survived the attempt?" the artist blithely said. Seeing her cheeks beginning to burn with indignation, he shook his head in agreement as she set her mouth set into a grim line.

"_Barely!_" she snapped with a furious wave of her hands. However, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh. "_Mi dispace,_ Leonardo, I have no quarrel with you," she assured him, meeting his worried gaze. "I swear to God," she breathed, "You'd think after over a decade of this, I would've long ago make my peace with him nearly getting himself killed all the bloody time!"

"Trust me," Leonardo shrugged, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "It is never something one 'becomes used to.' Nor his way of dropping in at all hours of the day and night. Or bandaging and stitching up his endless array of injuries. Or the constant looks of suspicion from the guards who patrol the district. One either comes to accept it…or they don't," he sighed. "Obviously, we have both chosen the former course of action."

Reaching out, Claudia took the artist's hand in both of hers and brought it her lips in silent thanks. Grinning in understanding, he gave her a quick squeeze of reassurance before withdrawing.

Jumping to her feet from the chair at the far side of Leonardo's drafting table, she swept her cloak behind her and began to pace the artist's large and extensive studio. Eerily similar to her brother, she was soundless upon her feet. The only noise was the purposeful, light jingle of her necklace. Her husband's coat of arms etched onto the back of the square, sapphire and gold pendant, she wound its long length of gold chain back and forth along her fingers. Pausing for a bit by the window, she quickly drew back the curtain, taking in trickle of Milan's crowds beginning their morning errands.

Gaze momentarily glowing tell-tale golden, she let out a barely audible sign of relief. For there were no enemies among them, all of them reflecting either neutral gray or the blue of allies.

"No one followed us, _signora, _I assure you," her captain-at arms quietly said from where he stood leaning against the wall behind her.

"Oh, I figured as much, Duilio," she muttered, "But I am always cautious, as you well know," she patted the sheathed dagger along her back, which was hidden by her cloak.

Duilio shook his head in disbelief at her gesture. However, a small grin crossed his face for a moment, lighting up his dark green eyes. "I do not blame you, _signora_."

"Leonardo?" Claudia called out, turning to face the artist again, "I don't think you've met my Captain-At-Arms…Duilio Sforza, this is Leonardo da Vinci," she formally introduced them with a deferential wave of her hand.

"It is a great honor, _messere," _Duilio quickly said, his smooth voice lilting with polite regard as he placed a hand over his heart and gave the artist a deep, respectful bow. "I have personally seen your work at the Duke's court. It is without equal."

"_Grazie," _Leonardo said with surprise, also bowing in greeting, "But I am afraid you flatter me, _signore_…"

"I do no such thing," Duilio insisted, eyes quickly flitting over the artist, "For talents such as yours are apparent to even the blind," he smiled. Leonardo suddenly found himself blushing. Especially as Duilio arched a knowing brow, smiling even more and revealing a straight row of flashing, white teeth.

The man looked to be no older than twenty five or so, with his pale complexion and curling red hair loosely tied back. Though he stood a bit taller than Leonardo, he was more lean and lithe than expected of a professional soldier. But his steps were assured, belying a deadly sort of elegance. Dressed in black leather pants and expensive, black buckled boots, about his hips was a matching swordbelt. Sheathed within it was a _schinova _sword and long dagger. The pommels of both weapons were wrought of swirling, warm gold, indicating his high station. No doubt, he also had other weapons hidden on his person as well.

His dark blue doublet shot through with silver thread and laced up over a bright white tunic, he also wore a heavy, deep blue cape. Tossed over his shoulders with a flourish, the inside of it was white and embroidered about the edges with swirling blue vines. Its interior was also emblazoned with a coat of arms. Comprised of a shield of four quadrants, in the upper left corner was a crowned, black heraldic eagle upon a field of yellow. The upper right corner bore a crowned, dark blue serpent, in the process of swallowing a flailing man whole. The images mirrored in the bottom two quadrants, its identification clearly marked him as a Sforza.

Claudia's voice snapping Leonardo out of his wandering thoughts, he heard her continue, "Duilio is my husband's cousin on his mother's side, and a dear friend."

"And how does _Signore _Paleologo?" Leonardo rapidly asked, tearing his gaze from the Captain and focusing squarely on Claudia.

She swiftly hid her fleeting grin, glancing between the two other men before she replied, "As per usual, my husband waits on his uncle up at court, at _Castello Sforzesco_." Rolling her eyes, she sniffed, "In other words? Alessandro's bored out of his mind. He's always preferred home or patrolling out in the field, with little patience for constant intrigue up at the _castello._ He's general of the Duke's cavalry, not some sniveling politician!" she snorted.

"Unfortunately for _Signora _Paleologo, one may not refuse the summons of the Duke," Duilio knowingly drawled from behind them, "Especially if he is the said duke's nephew."

"Ludovico _has_ been rather jumpy lately," Leonardo shook his head with dismay.

"There are those who wish him to share the same fate as his brother, I am afraid," Duilio muttered. Claudia remained silent at that admission, though she did close her eyes for moment, pinching the bridge of her nose in worry.

What Duilio spoke of also happened twelve years ago, just a few days before the betrayal of the Auditores. Ludovico's brother, the reigning Duke, Galeazzo Maria Sforza, was assassinated the day after Christmas, in San Stefano church. It wasn't until years later that Claudia and Ezio found out the full truth of their father's involvement with the affair. As Lorenzo de'Medici released Giovanni Auditore's private journals back to his surviving children, the siblings came to know the extent of his attempts to stop the unfortunately successful Templar conspiracy.

In the meantime, as a result of the murder, Ludovico took his brother's position as the current Duke of Milan. However, he was technically the city's regent. For after Galeazzo's death, the duchy passed to his legitimate, seven year-old son, Gian Sforza. Some even whispered that Ludovico openly usurped the position from his own nephew. But of course, such people were…_permanently_ silenced. On the other hand, as the Sforzas never forgot an insult or favor to their House, Ludovico was all too happy to welcome the Assassins into his extensive spy network. Hence, the alliance endured to this day.

Crossing his arms, Duilio gracefully leaned back against the banister of the stairs that led to the second floor of the studio. "Fortunately," he rapidly added, "There are those such as myself and Alessandro who shall do everything in our power to put down any plots of assassination."

"Not to mention his allies within the Brotherhood," Claudia quietly replied, "Speaking of which, what of the codex…I mean, the map?"

"I'm afraid this is not the usual encryption one finds in the codex," Leonardo sighed. Utterly confused, Claudia could only arch a brow of retort as Leonardo gestured for her to come closer to inspect the map. "Here," he said, pulling a small, gold cylinder from the table's hidden compartment, "Look at the page through this and you shall see."

Doing so, Claudia let out a gasp. For the cylinder contained a large piece of multifaceted glass within it, similar to a kaleidoscope. That in turn caused certain sequences of the numbers to meld together, forming straight lines of text versus their spiral to the center of the document.

"It uses the Alberti code," she swallowed with discomfort.

"How do you-?"

"Alessandro's received documents just like this that Duke's spies have intercepted from their various enemies," she replied, still looking through the glass. "Of course, no one in Milan's employ has been able to decode any of the damn things…"

"Because you need the physical cipher to do so," Leonardo frowned, his tone causing her to look up from the map. "The code, or rather the Alberti Cipher, employs a polyalphabetic method that was developed by Leon Battista Alberti of Rome, about twenty years ago," he waved, as though she should've known all this already. She shrugged at his gesture, long ago accepting that he would almost always have to diligently explain his theories to mere mortals such as herself. "While it's similar to substituting letters and shifting them over, it's _far _move complicated...which explains why it's the desired code used by Papal spies," he cleared his throat.

"So this comes all the way down from the Pope?" Claudia strangled.

"Perhaps…though Rodrigo Borgia _is _a Cardinal. Likely, he'd have this sort of thing at his disposal," he snorted. Gaze sliding to Duilio, who was flipping through some of his sketches stacked on a small table along the wall opposite them, Leonardo leaned in closer to her, "Can he be…trusted?"

"Yes, as he's a Sforza first," she grinned, "And they certainly have no love for the Papacy, considering how often the men of the family have hired themselves out as _conditierri _against the papal armies over the years. Not to mention, the pope constantly threatens to place Milan under interdict for some perceived insult or another. As for this?" she waved at the map. "_Merda! _What the fuck has Ezio gotten himself mixed up in?_" _She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples with both hands. "So," she grit her teeth, "You said something about a cipher?"

"Aye." Leonardo muttered. "I've only heard rumors of it, but it apparently consists of two metal discs. One lies on top of the other, attached by a common axle so that the inner disc may be rotated." Grabbing a piece of chalk and beginning to scribble on a bit of parchment he snatched the floor, he began talking faster and faster, continuing with the description as he drew it. "The outside of the outer disc is carved with uppercase letters in the Latin alphabet, as well as the numbers one through four. However, the Latin letters don't include _H, J, K, U, W, _or _Y_."

"Oh, that's not complicated at all," Claudia sarcastically replied, though Leonadro quickly waved a finger to quiet her.

"It gets better," he chuckled. "The letters correspond with a codebook, which contains hundreds of commonly used phrases. On top of _that,_ each phrase is assigned a four-digit value. So even if you have the cipher and order the numbers properly, you still have to know what the numbers represent and translate them to language."

"Yet we have no idea of where to find either!" Claudia balled her fists in frustration.

"Venice, of course," Leonadro shrugged.

"What?" That…you know that how?"

"Ezio took this map from Caterina Sforza, aye?" Leonardo smiled, "And her husband…well, her recently deceased husband, Girolamo Riario drew up the map, from what I understand."

"_Si,_" Claudia curled her lip with derision, "All the Riarios are Templars. Girolamo was even supposed to rule Florence upon Lorenzo's assassination. Except Ezio saved _Il Magnifico,_ foiling the Pazzi conspiracy. Meanwhile, Girolamo's brother, Giuseppe, has close ties to the Templar side of the Barbarigos."

"The same Guisseppe who still lives in Venice?" Leonardo smiled.

Realization slowly beginning to dawn on her, Claudia's expression slid to pleased. Baring her teeth in a predatory smile, she declared, "Considering I haven't seen my brother in what seems forever, it's as good an excuse as any for me to head there. Ezio will appreciate getting all of this information in person, for it's certainly far too dangerous to send by messenger, Assassin or not."

"Will Alessandro be accompanying you?" Leonardo asked.

"It's yet to be seen as to whether or not the Duke can spare my husband from court," she shrugged. "What of you?"

"I shall have to ask permission, since I've, ehrm, fallen a bit behind on my commission of the interior frescos of the cathedral…" he trailed off.

Claudia arched an obvious brow of disagreement, causing Duilio to give a lighthearted chuckle from where he stood behind Leonardo. "I think _signora_ has some ideas forming in that rather cunning head of hers," he said in reply to Leonardo's arched brow of question at his reaction.

"Quite so, Duilio," she exclaimed, "For that won't do!"

"I know," Leonardo sheepishly grinned, rubbing at the back of his neck, "I'm a rather terrible procrastinator, unfortunately-"

"What?" Claudia retorted, "Oh no, I wasn't talking about you finishing your commission. What won't do is you _not _coming to Venice with me." Eyes lighting up, Leonardo shook his head in immediate agreement. "_Si, si_," she continued, plopping down in a chair and leaning forward to rest her elbows on his worktable. Steepling her fingers together, she thoughtfully said, "Paintings can wait. Especially," she conspiratorially whispered, leaning in closer to him, "When there are Templar plans afoot."

"Whatever _Madonna _requires," Leonardo laughed, racing to his feet and giving her a grand bow. "_Dio mio_, I could use a little excitement!"

"Excellent!" Claudia clapped. "I'll have Alessandro put in a word for you with Ludovico. The Duke has always considered my husband one of his favorites among his nieces and nephews, so I've no doubt he'll be convinced to spare you for a couple of months. May I use a quill and some parchment?"

"Of course!" He quickly dug them up from the bookshelf on the wall to their right.

"I take it you wish this delivered as soon as possible?" Duilio asked, moving to Claudia's side as she swiftly penned her missive.

"It would be greatly appreciated, _grazie_," she gratefully replied.

"_Sarà fatto_, _signora."_

After she finished with her message to Alessandro, Claudia asked Duilio to deliver it to _Castello Sforzesco._ Swearing to return to the workshop as soon as it was done, he slipped out the back entrance of the studio, quietly closing the front door behind himself.

"He certainly is…helpful," Leonardo offhandedly said, still looking at the door.

"_Just_ helpful?" Claudia smoothly replied. Spinning on his heel and taking in her mischievous, hazel gaze, the artist was uncannily reminded of Ezio. Right down to their shared smirk of amusement and the pleasant blush of their cheeks whenever they held back a laugh.

"So," he quickly replied, "What about getting close to Giuseppe Riaro to get the cipher and codebook?" he speedily changed the subject. Despite her nodding in agreement, judging by her arched brow, he knew that she knew that he was avoiding any further mention of the handsome Sforza Captain…

"Well," Claudia began, "How much do you want to bet Giuseppe has it locked up somewhere in his palazzo?"

Leonardo scratched his chin in thought. "That may be true. But getting our hands on it shall be difficult. No doubt the Templars already know Ezio has the map, considering Borgia launched the attack on Forli in the first place. Which means, Riaro likely has the cipher under rather heavy guard…_cazzo! _How are we going to get our hands on it? It will be nearly impossible!"

"Ah, but nothing is _absolutely _impossible," Claudia replied with authority.

"We can't just run in, kill the man and snatch map," Leonardo retorted with discomfort.

"As much as I wouldn't mind Ezio doing just that," she shrugged, causing Leonardo to shoot her a cautious glance, "It would be too obvious." Cocking her head to the side and resting her chin upon her hand, she worried her lip.

"Are you alright, Claudia?" Leonardo quickly asked, moving to her side. For silence had never been one of Claudia's attributes. "You look a bit pale."

"Eh, it's nothing," she waved in dismissal, "Just…I just never realized how dangerous it was!" she chirped.

"You're right…I need to clear my head," Leonardo muttered, taking his seat opposite her and quickly taking up his usual charcoals again, as well as a large pad of parchment. "In the meantime, how goes your usual work for the Brotherhood?"

"As busy as ever," she shrugged. "The assassins have far more assets among them than one would think just looking at them," she smirked, "Certainly far more than those at Monteriggioni. So managing their incomes and keeping records of all of their holdings and properties admittedly takes up much of my time. I'm constantly elbows deep in ink, quills and parchments!"

"Thankfully, you've all of years of practice from acting as Monteriggioni's castellan," Leonardo smiled. His fingers slowly becoming covered in red chalk, he balanced the pad on his knees, almost absentmindedly sketching away and every so often glancing up at her.

Immediately picking up on what he was doing, Claudia remained relatively still as he continued with her impromptu portrait. Inclining her head slightly, she replied, "True. Though if I never have to say 'Would you like to take a look at the book?' to Ezio ever again, I might strangle him!" she laughed. "Thank God mother serves as castellan now," she genuinely grinned, "It helps her to have some sort of routine back at the stronghold."

"And Alessandro doesn't mind that his noblewoman wife pursues such a vocation?"

She laughed, "Since when has my husband cared for the mundane? Or followed anyone else's example of what society views as 'acceptable?' Fortunately, he's so very similar to Ezio in that regard, it's sometimes uncanny…not that I've married my brother's twin," she quickly added.

"You know," Leonardo declared after a while, "There is a different approach to this conundrum."

"_Che cosa? _The map, you mean?_"_

"He could…'borrow' the cipher and codebook?" the artist slowly continued, setting aside his sketch. "Granted, getting in and out without be noticed I'm sure will be challenge. But," he waved at the map upon the table, "It's impossible to decode without the proper information. That's the only way I can think of doing this, at least for now."

"Well then," Claudia grinned, sitting up straighter in her chair, "Ezio will have to figure out some way to steal them, now won't he?"

* * *

**Translations:**

_Piccina_ –Little one

_È niente_ - It is nothing

_Castello Sforzesco_– Sfroza Castle

_Grazie_ – Thank you.

_Certemente_ - Certainly/Of course

_Cazzo!_ – F**k!

_Mi displace_ – Forgive me/I'm sorry

_Merda - _S**t!

_Sarà fatto_ – It shall be done.

_Che cosa? _– What?

**The Alberti Cipher** – is real and was created by Leon Battista Alberti, revolutionizing encoding and encryption. Alberti describes the cipher in his 1467 treatise _De Cifris. _The cipher is used pretty much the way I described it, save for it being used exclusively by Papal forces.

**Galeazzo Maria Sforza** (January 24, 1444 – December 26, 1476) - was a real Duke of Milan and Caterina Sforza's father. Caterina's mother was his mistress, Lucrezia Landriani, a noblewoman. And the wife of one Galeazzo's best friends…considering Galeazzo was known to be a violent, treacherous, psychopath, I'm not surprised.

Galeazzo was actually assassinated on December 26, 1476. After that, his brother Ludovico Sforza took over as Duke, which makes Caterina Sforza the Duke of Milan's niece. Galeazzo's real assassination likely wasn't a Templar plot, as shown in the prequel _Lineage _movie. In _Lineage,_ Giovanni Auditore fails to stop the Duke's assassination by the Templars. This in turn sets everything in motion in AC2, and unfortunately leads to the executions of Ezio's father and brothers *a moment of silence for the fallen Auditore men*.

However, considering that Galeazzo was killed six days before the end 1476, yet Ezio's family is executed that same year, it kind of doesn't make sense for Giovanni to be able to travel approximately 188 miles all from Milan back Florence in the matter of a few days. And we're not talking about traveling by car either, but by horseback, which I assume he'd take, versus a slower carriage...I guess you could argue that the Auditores were maybe executed around New Years's Eve, 1476? Oh, well, I'll just handwave Giovanni's mad efficient traveling skillz.


End file.

Assassin's Creed, Adventure, Romance