Paris, April 1799 - Brother

Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

We work in the Dark, to serve the Light. We are Assassin’s.

All that we do, all that we are, begins and ends with ourselves.

----------------------------------------------- Paris, Île Saint-Louis, April 1799 -------

There it was, the unmistakable sound of a heavily-armed man who had no fear of the consequences such an appearance might bring. Adeláire had only dropped her attention for the fraction of a lash stroke. Now, she bit down inconspicuously on the inside of her lip and scolded herself for her negligence. Carefully and barely holding her breath, she dared to shift her sight toward the entrance to her right, where the sound had originated.

She had guessed correctly. That was him, unmistakable. Even though his appearance no longer resembled the image of him that she had remembered. Gone was the characteristic blue coat, replaced by gloomy-looking leather. The rapier exchanged for a sword with an eagle's head and a pair of golden eagle wings. Unmistakable for those who knew what they had to look out for, however, was the distinct, left-hand bracer, giving credit to the hidden blade's name. New to her were the thigh-high boots, which certainly made sneaking an easier exercise. Everything about him screamed "Assassin" to the initiate. Didn’t even need the characteristic obviousness of the hood. What had led to Arno Victor Dorian no longer belonging with the Brotherhood?

Within a second, sudden alarms shrieked in Adeláire's head. Something crackled in her neck, which she clearly perceived as a threat. As unobtrusive as possible she sank her gaze into the cup of coffee, which still stood steaming in front of her. She concentrated and spread her aggravated perception, only to meet the sensation of the danger's source apparently doing exactly the same thing. She did not dare to throw Dorian a glance at this moment.

 

She had heard enough stories, rumors and whispered awe to know that he would now perceive every wrong impulse. What surprised her more was that this threatening feeling withdrew as if it hadn't been there at all, and from the entrance bright children's laughter drifted to her.

"And this is all yours, Arno? Incredible..!"

Adeláire's eyes flashed a heartbeat to the entrance to capture an astonishing picture. An Arno, who was pushed aside by a boy not older than 12, 13 years, so that he could storm into Café Théâtre. With large, child's eyes this boy looked around while Arno showed the way for him with a short flickering smile.

"Welcome to my home Léon. Take a look around, and when you're done, just come up to the first floor.” This voice. It sounded the same as Adeláire remembered it. Although the memory was from a long time ago, it triggered a gentle smile.

 "All right!" resounded from the boy, who continued his stormy and unabashed exploration of the establishment.

Adeláire's eyes followed the boy and again she let her attention wander for a moment. Immediately, she was punished for it. Almost too late she noticed the rather slow stroll of the Assassin toward her. Like a burning in her face, she could feel his gaze, resting and looking at her. Just don't breathe too hard, or behave strangely, the thought flashed through her head as she lifted her coffee to her lips again. Giving herself the semblance of enjoyment, she half closed her eyes, hoping that the redness on her skin would not rise to her neck.

What was he likely seeing? The dark brown hair, which today was tucked into a daedal hairstyle matching her appearance? The slim figure, equipped with muscles in the right places? The delicate pallor of her powdered skin? The green eyes? Or did he even recognize her?

Adeláire hardly dared to put down the cup of coffee again, and was relieved when the menacing shadow retreated from her, the air returning to her lungs. She knew that if she should rise now, she would likely have his blades in her body faster than she might say >brother<.

 

Dorian had always been known for his impulsive nature and stubbornness. Nothing made her believe that this Arno, now in his early 30s, had changed much. So she took the newspaper lying on the table, hoping to sink back into inconspicuous subtlety.

Adeláire's muscles ached from the sheer tension as Arno finally disengaged himself from his employee in the lookout, directly to the left the entrance near the stage. He took a fresh cup of coffee and seemed to be moving up toward the first floor.

Adeláire's gaze followed him only briefly, furtively, as to ensure that he'd not changed his mind. She waited a few breaths after he disappeared, and finally put the newspaper aside. Without ostentation she drank her coffee and then searched her purse for money. She left a reasonable sum in coins and rose at last. Looking around, as if she wanted to make sure she did not leave anything, she finally turned to go.

As soon as she walked onto the street, she spread her senses as far as she could. And she did well. She could feel his presence above her on a balcony. It did cost her an immense effort of will and strength not to look upwards, or even to run away. The first rule of staying hidden in plain sight had always been to keep calm. And precisely that was more important than ever at this moment, because she was being watched by someone well-versed in these rules and techniques.

Therefore, Adeláire decided not to apply the same to him here and now. It would only attract his attention further. So she strolled over the street with swinging skirts like any young lady, the appearance of which she'd wanted to give herself, and strayed ambitiously away from the cafe.

Again and again she gave her special senses a pulse to find out whether he was following her. It was only a few blocks down the road that she had enough security to use the next street corner to submerge purposefully. Even with the bagging skirts, it was easy for her to blend with the shadows. She took advantage of the numerous groups of people to move from one niche to the next and finally found what she was looking for; an open home's entrance. 

Determined and quiet as a cat, she was driven into one of the empty rooms. With a relieved sigh, she peeled off the flowing skirts and released her cloak from its hiding among them. Selective and just relieved, she pulled her curly hair and tied it together at the neck. When jacket's hood overshadowed her face, Adeláire felt more like herself again. Even though she painfully missed her hidden blade.

No longer bound by the hustle and bustle of skirts, she strived to reach the upper floors and found an open window to reach the rooftops of Paris. She allowed herself only a short moment to enjoy the view before she began her hasty and ambitious course to her destination.

Adeláire struggled to forget the oppressive feeling of her encounter with Dorian, as the experience of it made itself painfully present again. She had just stepped on solid ground as she left the roofs, and was again punished for her lack of caution. She had slipped down a building and had not paid much attention to the open door behind her. A mistake that was corrected when a muscular arm wrapped vigorously around her throat and pulled her into the darkness of the house. She heard the characteristic, metallic snatch of a hidden blade and felt the cold steel on her left carotid artery.

Adeláire's reactions were trained through difficult training sessions, and so there was no great amount of thought. She threw herself to the side and rammed the body behind her right elbow in the pit of its stomach. It lacked the desired effect. All she heard was a dull “Hgngh” and a snap back of the blade. Good, at least a little improvement of her situation. Obviously her opponent didn’t want to kill her at once. That gave her the time to use her other elbow while at once trying to loosen the steely grip on her throat. Both of these, however, brought her even less than before.

Only when she crashed her head backwards and hopefully against her opponent's nose did she win her freedom. In painful memory that she was neither in possession of her blades nor her rapier, Adeláire preferred to seek her salvation in escape. Leaving the dense swathes of smoke from a dropped bomb, she began to disappear through the still open door, stumbling across the doorsill due to the jostling shoulder in her back.

No fancy roll saved her from her stumble and she knew that she had missed her chance to escape. She felt the relentless grip on her neck, and her muscles protested vehemently. She was pulled back tightly, dragged into the house and pressed against the nearest wall. This time the arm across her throat left little room to breathe. Gasping, she wriggled in the grip and felt that her opponent used his greater reach. He kept his distance and merely pushed her air off. His free hand was used to pin her right wrist beside her head on the wall. Even when she tried to kick the ankle of her opponent, he only parried and stepped deliberately back.

"A wild cat is easier to control than you, hussy," Dorian finally growled, panting. "Will you ever give up so I can ask you a few questions?" Did she actually hear a glimpse of amusement?

"That ... I've never…learned.." she croaked breathlessly to his question.

"Well, obviously not." Yes, this time it was clear. The situation amused him. He dismissed his hold on her and she collapsed a little, gasping and struggling for breath.

"So .." was all that came from him, as he took a step back and watched her. He fumbled a handkerchief out of his coat and looked after his busted lip, which had obviously been affected by her head striking him. Adeláire cautiously scrambled to stand and raised her glance to him. Dark, non-identifiable as gray or brown, his eyes. He eyed her with a variety of looks that ranged from suspicious to curious. Hardly a few things were still remembered, but the look of these eyes, which she hid in her memories. He had changed a lot.

"So ..?" She finally asked back, awaiting. That prompted him to put the handkerchief away, sigh softly and fold his arms across his chest to look at her more intensely.

"I don't think we have to play each other about being other than what we are. So, why were you in the café and why does the Brotherhood watch me? Even after such a long time?"

They had warned Adeláire that Dorian was smarter than he often appeared. She herself had never been able to enjoy a taste of that, so this now gave her the obvious proof. Well, after her change of outfit, there was really no longer any doubt about her affiliation. But that he immediately concluded it was the Brotherhood, that had surprised her, informing her next attempt.

"Who told you that I belong to the Brotherhood and that they sent me? I could be a free-operating assassin who was waiting for you for whatever reason in your café." She bit her lips again. The twinkle in his eyes told her that she had just stupidly betrayed herself, by admitting to have been waiting for him.

She straightened herself, feverishly thinking about how she could escape this situation. She knew her skills. And she now had an idea of his. The scale was not really balanced. With a worried frown, she noticed his soft smile.

"To be honest, I just don't know if you're serious about it, or if you just want to play games like a cat with her prey. I personally am very far away from the latter.” The last part of his answer was clearly something menacing. Adeláire suspected that she would not be able to drive this game too far.

 

"Be assured only of one thing, I will not harm you. And neither will the Brotherhood. If you just let me go my way now, you will never even see a hair of me again. Does that sound acceptable to you, Monsieur?”

It was an attempt. A worse one, she knew that. But who should condemn her? As if to emphasize her words, she raised her hands, not without shifting her weight a little, and then, in the next moment, a desperate jump through the still open door. Miraculously, this act of desperation was actually not withheld by her opponent, and she could use her momentum to look for the best route onto the rooftops.

She could feel that his eyes followed her. Why his body did not, she did not have the slightest idea. Adeláire was only glad that she had come across more information. However, the Council would probably be displeased that now another assassin would have to take over her task. Dorian had seen her face and he would make observing him again a difficult, if not impossible task.

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