Paris, May 1799 - Soulshreds

------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, May 1799 -------

Dorian finally ended up exploring her feminine curves and sparked away from her. His breath was as deep and heavy as hers, as he rose, and silently gave her a hand. His move to help her to her feet ended only when their lips met again. Adeláire felt a hunger blaze up, mirrored by her counterpart.

Stumbling and laughing quietly like little children, they traversed the roof garden and strode towards the two open, glassy wing-doors of Dorian's private room. Inside, Arno closed the doors behind himself without letting her out of his sight. Smiling, Adeláire took a few steps back until she felt his desk behind her. He crossed the room with two or three reaching steps, and again, with a greedy kiss, nestled between her thighs. Adeláire suspected that Dorian knew quite well what a woman liked. Not only did French men have a natural inclination to such arts in their blood, she also had the slightest idea that for the last few years he'd been anything but a eunuch.

As soon as they'd rid each other of her sweaty blouse and his shirt, a knock at the door disturbed them. Arno stopped for a moment and put a finger over his lips.

"Monsieur Dorian? Are you there? We couldn‘t find you in the training room. The cuisinier needs your agreement on the next week's purchases."

Arno had let his employee talk as he explored Adeláire's gooseneck with gentle lips. When her speech through the door seemed to be finished, he lowered his hands on the desk beside Adeláire and his forehead on her shoulder.

"Just a moment... Célestine..." the words came easily humming from him, before he approached his much more desirable goal. He spared himself the need to throw a shirt on, and turned to the door. Adeláire behaved as a frozen rabbit, and could only hope that Célestine wouldn‘t enter the room. Her blouse lay out of reach somewhere on the ground. So she breathed, flat and quiet, as the door swung open and Dorian tried to provide enough cover for her.

Adeláire mutely thanked the room's architect for the desk being covered by a well-filled bookcase on three sides. It was impossible, from the doorway, to make her out sitting on the desk. Curiously, however, the Assassin couldn‘t help herself, spreading her senses to "observe" the conversation. Her gently wobbly vision showed her how the maid, who was still very young, radiated an awkward heat when Dorian, with his bare upper body, stepped toward her.

"Thank you Célestine, I‘ll take care of it promptly. Is there anything else?" The maid lowered her gaze and her hands tugged deeply insecure in her skirts.

"Ehm... Uh... No... Mon.. Monsieur. Good day, Monsieur..." which almost led to a non-stop getaway, if she hadn't been halted by Dorian.

"One more thing, Célestine. Would you please put water on for a bath? I'd like to get rid of the training sweat."

The girl still didn‘t dare look up. Did she have a secret interest in her boss? Amused, Adeláire supported her feet on Dorian's desk chair, then her arms on her knees. The maid's curtsy was agitated and her skirts rustled as she fled, barely muttering an "Ainsi Monsieur." Dorian closed the door and turned smiling to his last goal.

"So... Where were we...?" he spoke and crossed the room again in a few steps.

"You should know well enough," the answer came from Adeláire softly. With a worried frown, her fingertips wandered from his side to his thigh. “You should have your wounds supplied by a doctor.”

That only made him turn his fingertips from her shoulder, to her arm, and down to her belly. Adeláire broke her stance and leaned against the bookshelf at her back. Her gaze wandered over this man, who still seemed to her a mystery despite the intimacy that had just begun.

"I don‘t need a doctor," his gaze slid into hers and fixed it. "And I don‘t want any... Now..." He supported himself on hands beside her, and leaned toward her. "Do you?" Her kiss spared any further answer.

There it was again, this hunger. For Adeláire still unclear whether this really was linked to Dorian in particular, or if it was simply too long ago that her desires had been satisfied. It didn‘t matter to her at all. She enjoyed his caresses and worked at the buckles of her boots until Dorian pulled them from her feet. He did the same with her trousers, and finally, bare as she was now, reached around her hips and moved towards the rear corner of the room.

The pillows of his sleeping-room felt soft and comfortable. Not big, but adequate. The fire crackled pleasantly in the opposite corner. He got rid of his boots before, smiling, he followed her retreat to the back of his bed. Sighing softly, Adeláire felt her body lolling as soft, warm lips explored her skin. She felt that he was still wearing his dressing-gown as he nestled between her thighs again. This kiss, when he had finally found his way up her neck to her lips, was clearly fulfilled by both no longer wanting to wait. All the more surprising, as he fulfilled her wish without any further "warning”.

Sighing and tasting, they enjoyed each other, and Adeláire repressed every thought of shame, of being ladylike, or of the council. Her fingertips explored the muscles of the man over her, and she dropped into the divided kisses. An insane little thought shot her through the head; that she had never shared this with an Assassin Brother. So far, she had always looked for gallants who didn’t make the mistake of following her when she felt the need to end the "relationship." How would it be this time?

As they pushed each other higher and farther into passion, such thoughts and feelings were no longer necessary. When it finally broke down over them, they stifled their mutual noise in another, deep and this time, passionate kiss. The sweat of the training was now mixed with that of shared passion, and left them both breathing heavily, in wrinkled blankets and pillows. Now Adeláire knew why Dorian had ordered water for a bath. And still caught in the heat, she already silently thanked him for it.

"Heaven, am I still wearing my breeches?" was the first thing which Dorian, after a while without words to breathe, expressed. Adeláire couldn’t help but laugh as suddenly as possible, which led him to prop himself up on an elbow beside and to look down at her. His mimicry testified that he was playing offended and at the same time trying to suppress a laugh.

"Please, what's so funny about it?" In his tone, his own distinct note of sharp sarcasm. Adeláire didn’t bother, on the contrary, as she suddenly noticed. Still laughing, she raised a hand to his temple and caressed a dark strand from his forehead.

"So if I had to interpret it, I would say, that this circumstance is due to an intensity of a certain need. But if you see it differently, you may correct me."

In response, Arno grinned briefly, and this attractive, charming boy glanced up at her, sending a shiver down Adeláire's spine. She guessed that her kiss would convey that, as he leaned down to her slowly, and playfully caught her lips.

More sluggish than really demanding, fingertips once again explored reheated skin, letting lips follow their path. Not enough to make the intense hunger flare up again, but enjoyable enough to make them unwilling to stop. When Arno started again to intrude more intently, he abruptly interrupted his intention and distanced himself.

"So no, I'm sorry. That doesn’t work out at all." Adeláire blinked at him confused and saw mischief flashing in his eyes. With renewed energy, he lifted his hands and knees beside and rose above her. His gaze held hers, as she squirmed, smiling and deliberately seductive under him.

"Salope[1]," he whispered quietly, which caused her a mock horror before sinking into a catlike flashing smile and slipped with her thigh along his own. He gave her a breathtaking kiss, before he swung himself completely off the bed. Almost with quiet sorrow, Adeláire turned to the side to watch him. With a completely new feeling, she absorbed his movements and the play of his muscles.

Mute, he finally rid himself of his breeches, which apparently seemed to be his plan the whole time. He wrapped one of the towels around his hips, grabbed two apples from the fruit bowl and finally returned to her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and leaned against the post of the wooden bed, while he offered her one of the fruits.

Adeláire snuggled around him and supported her head in the palm of her hand. She could feel their glimpses gazing each other in a new way, while at the Moment neither of them seemed willing to entertain themselves. It was as if they shared different thoughts, which were nevertheless connected with the fact, that they were turning around these strange developments. After all, he was the one who again took word first.

"I have to admit, that didn't feel like being with a man is something new to you. Correct me if my impression deceives me."

Adeláire smiled gently. She bit into her apple and took her time with her answer. She thought about what to say, to answer him best.

"Right, your impression does not deceive you." She looked straight into his eyes and held her gaze open. "Disappointed?" It didn’t change his facial expressions, but had him just rotate his apple in his hand.

"Well, no. A little surprised. So far, I've only known the two extremes of a woman. Very experienced or… not at all." Suddenly, that mischievous smile flashed again.

"And somehow I feel like it's going to be fun to explore that." That in turn brought Adeláire a straight, mischievous grin.

"Who says you'll get more opportunities?" His mock horror amused her and gave her another bright laugh, strengthened as he pinched her in the rear. With an also mock “oww!” she hit his hand. That just caused him to catch her wrist and pin it to the bed.

Adeláire could feel the flashing in her eyes, while she laid the still unfinished apple on the small table beside the bed to try to keep her other hand free. Before she could do anything, though, Arno had thrown his own apple carelessly on the bed and swiftly captured her second wrist.

Smoothly, he pushed her into the pillows, while only their eyes met each other. Adeláire felt this burn again ascend and suspected to see it reflected in the depths of his dark eyes. His hands clenched her wrists over her head and, despite her whole training, he had enough of a strong grip to keep her defenseless. It stifled Adeláire, as if she'd been hit with a whip and it ripped a low gasp from her.

Dorian seemed to have a very precise idea of what his mood would stand for this time. No costly lips that wandered over her skin, no bodies nestled against each other. Only playing fingertips, which wandered over her heavily breathing chest down between her thighs. He bared her gaze with his, such that she couldn’t even close her eyes as she felt the hunger blaze like a lingering plume of fire. She could only guess what he was able to read in her eyes at that moment.

His answer to her pressing fold came so abruptly that it tore a tempestuous wheeze from her, and she reeled briefly under him for a moment. His gaze still held her own, so that she felt more naked in front of him than ever before a man. He had his own impulses in this game so under control, that Adeláire was not even able to recognize whether he enjoyed it or not. He seemed to be researching her and wanted to keep himself out of it.

Powerful and purposeful, he pushed Adeláire forward, and finally he let her see and feel the fire in his eyes. His free hand thrust between their bodies and found her lap. A cry escaped Adeláire, which this time was not dampened for the ears of the house. As if by herself, she rebelled again under Dorian and drowned in the darkness of his unyieldingly captivating, searching look. It was only when the sensations had grown too intensely over her that she found the ability to break away from the view, close her eyes, and fall completely into emotion. This was definitely new for her. Was this the answer to the never-asked question, whether it would be different with an Assassin brother than with a "normal" gallant? For the moment, she didn’t care at all.

Again, she sank breathing heavily into the pillows, and had moreover by the way registered, that Dorian had shared her passion. For the moment, they were both lying on their backs in the battered sheets, and stared at the wooden canopy.

"Where the hell do you learn something like that," it came, still slightly hoarse, from Adeláire. That gave the man beside her a faint laugh.

"Where do you think, from the light-hearted ladies, of course."

"Okay, I'll never judge those light-hearted ladies again. If they are able to teach men things like that, then please, just do it so." Adeláire giggled silently while Arno leaned on an arm beside and looked down at her. Caressing, he stroked her from the temple to the upper body, where his warm hand came to rest on her still wildly-beating heart.

"I always wanted to know how decent ladies react to this little... Trick." There it was again, this boyish grin.

"Didn’t we already clarify this 'Lady' thing several times?" the laughter came quietly as a counter-argument. His eyes looked at her face, as if he were examining it for the first time.

"Well, I'm not sure which definition you fit into. Maybe there is none for you. Or, I just don't know it. Not yet, anyway." A gentle smile played around his mouth. "Who knows, maybe we'll get enough time to answer all these questions." Whereupon he bent over to her and gave her a long, tender kiss, which ended abruptly when a knock at the door interrupted again.

“Monsieur Dorian? The… the hot water should be ready." Once more, it was Célestine's voice which penetrated through the wooden door.

Dorian broke away from Adeláire. A biting grin, a short wink, and he swung over her, out of the battered bedroom. It crossed Adeláire's mind, cold as ice, that he would have to let his servants in and that they would immediately be aware of what had transpired. While he gave a, "one moment Célestine," Adeláire pulled the sheets around her and searched for an escape route. She could feel the heat already rising up her neck. Dorian wrapped a towel around his hips again and turned, smirking at her search for escape.

"I think hiding from the servants is superfluous. Even if they haven’t noticed anything, my private life is, for them, absolutely nothing at all." He considered his words briefly. "However, I can’t decide about your... Virtue. If you want to preserve inviolability, there that goes, up to the attic." With a grin, he accompanied his words by pointing to a ladder which led up between the bedroom and the fireplace.

Adeláire actually considered for a brief moment. At last, however, she let her shoulders sink with a sigh, wrapped herself more tightly in the sheets, and at least left the compromising bedstead. She made herself comfortable in the armchair, at what should probably be a dining table.

She knew the café was a trans-shipment point for the Assassin network. If her Tête-à-Tête with Dorian were of any interest, then it would relatively promptly land in the network, and thus, at the Council. She could only hope that nobody paid much attention. Obviously, Dorian had given her enough room for her reflections when he turned to the door and let his staff in.

Célestine bent slightly with a steaming bucket of water filled to the brim in her hand. She tried very hard not to give the half-naked woman in the sheets a too intense look, and turned straight right around the paravent to the bathtub.

Dorian ignored the following servants and turned to his desk. Gratefully, he took papers from one of the helping hands, which probably affected the everyday concerns of the café. Every now and then a frown glistened over his face. Interested, Adeláire watched him with his attention on this new page. He had run the café for several years now, and had so far succeeded in guiding it through the turmoil of the revolution. With relatively little harm, even. That once again spoke for his being nobody's fool.

"Monsieur, we've finished so far. Do you want anything else today?" Célestine kneaded nervously at her skirts and held her eyes embarrassingly lowered. Obviously, Dorian had never before appeared to her while only wrapped in a bath towel. He didn’t, however, look at her, just continued to study the papers.

"Thank you Célestine. Something to eat would be nice." He turned to Adeláire. "I'm almost starving, at least. What about you?" Célestine again gave the "lady," who had been wrapped up in sheets, a very short, polite glance.

"I agree with him. Something edible would be excellent."

"Great," came from Dorian. "Nothing with too much effort. Simply something more nutritious than air, love, and apples." The young servant immediately turned red as a beet.

"Oh, and would you be so kind as to look after Mademoiselle's and my clothes? The training has cost us a lot of... Blood and sweat." If it were even possible, Célestine's red turned even more intense and with rushed haste she collected the scattered clothes. Subsequently, the young servant left the room almost in a flash. Arno's wide grin met with Adeláire's smirk.

"Are you always so mean to the poor thing?" His grin turned into a thoughtful smile, then finally returned to a grin.

"Yes, I think so. You can just tease her so easily."

Adeláire grabbed one of the apples from the bowl next to her and threw it specifically to strike Dorian. Quickly reacting, he just caught in flight.

"Didn’t I say something more nutritious than apples?"

Adeláire smirked and had to admit that she liked this relaxed Arno very much. A small, evil voice in the back of her head wondered how long this mood would last.

But for the moment, he put the documents aside, came up to her and handed her a gallant hand to help her up. Adeláire wondered how they would ever get together in the tub, but at the same time she was certain, that he already had a plan. And she was right. Even though it could truly be described with the word "cuddly", they found enough room to both enjoy the warm water. Sighing softly, she finally brushed the freshly washed, wet hair from her neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Pondering, his fingertips wandered her arm.

"So, tell me something about you." His voice sounded warm in her ear. Nevertheless, Adeláire gave him a little confusion as to this sudden change of direction. She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Hmm... What do you want to know?"

"Don’t you know that it's rude to answer a question with a counter-question?" There it was again, the sarcastic mocking tone.

"Well, you could start anywhere on such a general question."

His fingertips wandered over her forehead into the wet hair.

"Well, I'm assuming that the research on me was probably quite intense before you were attached to my track." Adeláire pursed her lips briefly, which seemed to him to be enough confirmation.

"Therefore, I find it just as righteous if you would give me a similar dossier. Or what do you mean?"

So, after that he was driving.

"All right, I'll try. I am the child of a French father and an Italian mother. Unlike you, my mother was the one who joined the Brotherhood here in Paris. My father tolerated her, as he always called it, "madness," and I often heard him pray for a safe homecoming. I myself didn’t understand for a long time what my mother was doing. I just knew she was different from other mothers." Adeláire briefly remembered her beloved parents. A chill ran over her skin and she lowered her arms into the warm water. Arno simply put an arm around her shoulders, as if he knew what would come next.

"They died. Both. Templars. Even my father, completely unknowing and innocent, was not spared. If Assassins hadn’t intervened at the right moment, they would probably have even killed me. So I was the only one who got away with my life. And from that moment on I grew up in the Brotherhood. Master Trenet accepted me as her ward and trained me until I was old enough to enter the Order. And well, since then, I know hardly anything else." She thought for a moment and decided to finish her speech with what was still circulating in her head. "...and never wanted anything else."

Dorian was silent for a long time. As if he was listening to the question of whether she wanted to tell him more or not. Would he notice, that she had only told him half the truth? That she concealed from him the part that hurt too much?

"Had we ever crossed paths... Back then?" the words finally came, soft and thoughtful. Adeláire smiled gently.

"Yes, indeed, we have. But I hardly believe that you had eyes for a 16-year-old hussy, who was rumbling somewhere in the halls of the Sanctuary, watching the training of the Assassins. To be honest, I've spied you and Bellec most often when he once again threw one of his many shouts of “Pisspot" at your head or lamented about Mirabeau."

She could feel Arno moving uncomfortably at her back before he deliberately relaxed again. Embarrassed, she moved from him a little, to be able to muster his features. He had turned his gaze and seemed to direct it to the past.

"Forgive... I... have thoughtlessly prattled," Adeláire stammered, embarrassed.

"It’s all right. It’s very long ago. And... I would always do it again."

His voice sounded rough, as if there were much more in the memory than merely the fact that Arno had killed his instructor, his mentor. The reasons were even clear to the Council. It hadn't done much to prevent Arno from spending a long time not being what he was: an Assassin.

The heat returned to her veins as his gaze turned to her again with a sad smile and he kissed her forehead, soothingly. With his arm he pressed her back to him and she felt both of them begin to relax again.

"Why did the council count especially on you?" His voice sounded reserved but not suspicious. Adeláire thought about his question and what she should say to it.

"Hmm, to be honest, I'm not quite clear about it myself. There are surely more experienced assassins than me." She muttered cheerfully on her lower lip. "Perhaps because I’ve never joined any judgment on you. I didn’t know the reasons why you were exiled. Even Master Trenet didn’t even once talk to me about it. But somehow I was always sure that there were cogent reasons on both sides." She hesitated briefly. "Had to be..."

Her conclusion was as if she wanted to believe it with all her force. As if it were otherwise so, that the foundation of her faith in the Council, the Creed and ultimately Master Trenet, shattered if that was not so. Almost by the way, she noticed that Arno behaved strangely quiet behind her.

"I had to decide back then. Between my duty to the Brotherhood and the Creed, and..." He swallowed hard. "...Love."

Adeláire suddenly felt cold, despite the still-warm water. She hardly dared to breathe, so intensely did she feel the heaviness of the feelings of the man whose arm was still around her shoulders. She would have liked to find the right words for him now. But something told her that much more had happened than just what he'd said. So much more. The silence lasted until Arno was apparently willing to return to the here and now.

"Why didn’t you join a side, pick an opinion, a camp?" came the quiet question. Which inspired Adeláire to think again. This man really had the ability to focus on the essentials and to continue researching them on a point-by-point basis.

"Hm, the statement didn’t reach me, that you had simply broken the rules of the Brotherhood. What I had heard of you back then didn’t match the Arno whose image they wanted to draw for me a few years later. I wondered what could lead someone to break the Creed, who initially joined the Order for redemption." Again she bit her lower lip. "You know, it was all like a church window, which was not put together correctly. And somehow it was impossible for me to decide who was right and who was not." She raised her hands thoughtfully from the water and turned to look at them. "And maybe there isn’t something like right and wrong at all. Perhaps we are, the Assassins, those who live in gray more than we are aware of."

Her words were followed by a long silence, accompanied by soft lips that caressed her temple.

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear so softly, that she almost thought she had not heard.

"Uhm... What for?" slipped from her, confused.

"For your mind to be so open. And so sharpened, that you don’t simply follow just any statements and guidelines." He hesitated thoughtfully. "And maybe you're right. Perhaps that really was Master Trenet's ulterior motive to choose you, of all the others."

"Or maybe she just dares me the most.” Adeláire continued. His smile was perceptible for her. He lowered his other arm into the water and enclosed her with it as well. She could feel his breath on her skin as he lowered his chin on her shoulder. In Adeláire gnawed a question, which she scarcely dared to ask. Lost in thoughts, her fingertips slipped over his forearm, where his blade was usually found.

"Ask. What do you want to know?"

Almost shocked and with a feeling of being caught, she shrank briefly in his arms. She had not the faintest idea as to whether the ice was still too thin, where she was about to walk.

"Who... who was she...?" finally emerged with hesitation, and somehow from her dry throat. She felt his arms around her upper body grow heavier and heavier. It took a long time for Arno to decide if he would like to respond.

"She was a Templar. And she let herself be devoured by her revenge." Again a straining silence before he spoke. "And she was the love of my life since I could think."

There it was again, the overwhelming need to now be in possession of the right words. But Adeláire didn’t want to think of anything that wouldn’t have sounded ludicrous, pathetic or just stupid. It took no detailed explanation to know after what he'd said, that this woman was no longer alive. It wouldn’t have been necessary to remember the Council’s words, that Arno would’ve remained alone since the events surrounding the Silversmith. Numbly, Adeláire took his arms and pressed her cheek to the nearest one. She didn’t know how long they persisted, until the servants knocked on Arno's door again.

"Monsieur, we bring the desired food." It finally tore Dorian out of his rigidity.

"Thank you Célestine. Bring it in and put it down on the table please." His arms snuggled around Adeláire's upper body, so she wasn’t compromised, even if someone were to creep around the corner of the screen. A gentle smile flitted around Adeláires's mouth. So sarcastically sharp, threateningly dangerous and boyishly teasing Arno was, so very gallant he could be. If she didn’t take care like hell, this man had immense potential to have her completely fall in love with him.

This thought swept through her with such horror that it made her almost jump as if bitten by a tarantula when Célestine had finally left the room. Hastily she stepped out of the tub and searched for the sheets to wrap herself into them again.

"You don’t happen to have something to wear that you can lend me until my clothes are dry?"

The questioning frown on his forehead, she ignored deliberately, and with deliberate distractability inspected the treats that Célestine had brought up. Dumbly, Dorian looked for a shirt for her, along with knee-length pants, and did the same for himself. Finally, he set her chair at the table and with a kind of almost embarrassed redness, she also adopted this gallant gesture. Shortly thereafter, he stopped behind her and looked at her, as if she were suddenly completely unknown to him.

Finally, he turned away and tied the wet hair together at his neck. He snaged his desk chair and settled down opposite her. Still his eyes searched and sought to fathom her.

"Are you going to tell me what thought you just got so frightened of? Or will you let me die as a stupid man?" She tried to whitewash her momentary uncertainty with a waggish grin.

"So, letting you die as a stupid man is really a challenge." It made him sigh softly and led him to deal, first of all, with the food.

"Good, then do not. I’m not blessed with patience, but who knows..."

Adeláire simply let that hang in the air and preferred to devote herself to the excellent meal. Where did the cook get only such goods in times like these? Almost a little guilty, Adeláire had to think of all the hungry outside, on the streets. But as always, Bellec used to say so fairly: you can’t save everyone.

They were silent, again. While the night was getting deeper, they sat soundlessly opposite each other and devoted themselves to eating. And that, when they had so many things to talk about. Adeláire finally caught Dorian's inquiring gaze, who looked at her over his wine glass.

"So, Bonaparte. What exactly has the Brotherhood imagined I would be able to do, which could not be done by any other Assassin?"

Adeláire breathed inwardly, almost a little relieved that he dropped the subject of her escape from the bath. Focusing on the mission seemed to her so much easier at the moment. She also picked up her wine glass and sipped at the exquisite Red.

"We must get to him. Close and familiar enough that we can find out whether he is actually in possession of a Piece of Eden or not. And if so," she hesitated briefly, "…and if so, we need to bring it into our possession." She raised her eyes and looked at Dorian, who observed her, focused.

"The reports of the events in Saint-Denis were talking about men who had gone mad, which were puzzling. Again and again the description of a man appeared, who could bring forth a radiant light which drove them all into madness." She fixed Dorian, who held her gaze, expressionless.

"Arno... You used the power of a Piece of Eden, right? And afterwards you wanted to send it to safety. So you know what these artifacts are capable of. And if Bonaparte has one, he can’t keep it." As Dorian continued his silence, Adeláire followed her inner urge to find further words of conviction.

"In the years of the revolution, France was almost torn into a thousand pieces. Imagine what would happen if someone like Bonaparte came up to the top with such power in his hand. His campaign to Egypt has already stirred up the Brotherhood there. I know that they contacted the Council and asked them to do something. Master Trenet does not talk to me about it, but you know well enough how thin the rock walls of the Sanctuary are about such news."

Dorian was still silent and scrutinized her during her whole little speech. When her words dried up, she simply replied to his gaze mutely and helplessly. This lasted until he finally sipped his wine and put the glass on the table.

"I understand the reasons why someone would like to delay or even stop Bonaparte's journey, a journey which I also regard as unstoppable. But again, my initial question, from the beginning: what does the Brotherhood think I can do?"

Adeláire sighed and turned her own wine glass between her fingertips. Thoughtfully, she looked at the dark red, which almost reminded her of blood.

"You shall help us get to him. Finding a meaningful story that tells him plausibly, why he absolutely needs an Assassin nearby. The Brotherhood is of the opinion that he trusts you enough to present such a strong story to him."

Dorian gave her the sound of snapping and settled into his chair. He crossed his left leg, while his right foot was balanced on the seat edge. Again he reached for his glass and leaned his head against the backrest. Musing, he looked at his counterpart before he came to an answer.

"Well, trust would be a too strong word for the... Relationship which Bonaparte and I cultivate. I would argue that we do have our philosophical… Disagreements with each other. It’s therefore a very pretty gambling game, which the Council would like to set in motion here. Bonaparte is unpredictable in many ways. And certainly not stupid. If… we want to dish him a story, then it must be a really damn good one."

Adeláire followed his speech in her mind and nodded gently, right up until she noticed exactly what he had just said. Her gaze widened briefly, and for a moment she held her breath.

"That means you're helping us?" The corner of Dorian's mouth was again smiling.

"When I found the artifact in the underground temple, and saw what power it possessed, I swore to myself that Bonaparte should never get it. If he has it now, I'll have to make sure it leaves his estate again." Dorian briefly glanced at his wine glass. "France has suffered enough to now be able to endure a witch playing Despot. And most importantly, I don’t want to be responsible for it, just because I took the artifact out of the temple and didn’t keep it safe enough."

The end of his words sounded quiet, thoughtful, and once again contained an overwhelming heaviness. Adeláire was silent. Again, she didn’t have the right words for Dorian. This was slowly becoming a rather unpleasant habit. Her voice sounded thin and somehow helpless as she approached a reply.

"No one could’ve guessed that Bonaparte would find ways and means to carry out a campaign to Egypt. It’s never your fault alone. Let alone that of someone else. It merely shows how possessed Bonaparte is regarding these artifacts. It’s all the more important that we stop him. "

Dorian nodded silently, drank a deep draft of his wine, and finally leaned back into the chair in comfort.

"Why didn’t you actually go to Dumas? As far as I know he is still a friend of the Brotherhood. Or has something changed since our little Marcourt-disaster?" His face hovered a smile in memory of his early education. And to the powerful group that had emerged, as well as three men, whom he still called his friends. Except for…

"Dumas has not yet returned from the Egyptian campaign. According to the latest reports, his ship was capsized and he was captured. The Council has commissioned a group of Assassins to find more solid information. But I don’t know more. Only that, because we’re running out of time, the Council was of the opinion that we would have to look for another way. Et voilà." She described her nightly eating scene with a gesture of her right hand and smiled gently.

Dorian was silent and looked at her again as if to investigate an answer to a question he had not yet asked. Adeláire frowned and leaned her head gently as she spoke.

"What? You look as if you wanted to ask me something. Something... unpleasant." Dorian smiled briefly before he grew serious again.

"You'll have to talk to the Council about something else." Adeláire blinked, confused.

"About what?"

Dorian lowered his right foot back to the floor and leaned so far forward, that he could put his arms on the table. His dark eyes fixed her intensely.

"Once we have begun to infiltrate Bonaparte, we can’t let our every step be blessed by the Council. I'm no longer bound to the Council and can make any decisions when they're needed." He paused briefly. "You can't. You risk with every unauthorized, arbitrary decision to share my Kismet." He stopped again briefly and studied her features.

"There are several ways to solve this problem. Either, first, you ignore it and drive the mission to its bitter end. And then live with the consequences. Second, you let me do this job alone. Third, demand a letter of freedom from the Council. Let them show their confidence in you and make them realize how we’ve to work." His posture relaxed a bit as mischief moved into his gaze.

"And finally but surely not the most attractive option, you just leave the Brotherhood by yourself."

Adeláire was almost overwhelmed by all these thoughts. She had to admit honestly, that she hadn’t even thought this far. Her last reflections on the mission had been about getting Dorian to get into the boat at all. Now, that this had apparently been achieved, she gave him right to push other important decisions into the foreground. Thoughtfully she nibbled at her lower lip and leaned back in the chair.

"I know you're right. However, I don’t have the slightest idea how to make that clear to the Council. It would mean for them to have an uncontrollable Assassin, almost rogue in the field. And after what you..." she just caught herself, realizing she could still suppress the end of the sentence. "...what has often happened with Assassins in long-term jobs in the field, I know that the Council will not approve this."

Once more, Arno's mouth twitched in a dumb smile. He had quite noticed what she had wanted to say. After what had happened at that time, when he made his own and self-willed decisions, the remaining Council-Masters were certainly more cautious.

"Who knows, maybe the Council suspected that just such an approach would be necessary and that’s the reason they chose you for this job. I’ve already mentioned that I’ve seldom met anyone with such sincere and firm faith in the Council and the Creed. Perhaps they trust this belief is so solid, that it feels as if a councilor himself is out there."

Adeláire tried to read in his eyes and find the mischief that wasn’t there. He seemed to take these words seriously and even to be convinced of them. Uncertainly she still nibbled at her lower lip and felt the thoughts in her head circling like gloomy mist. Should the Council really put such a deep trust in her? If so, she could already feel this burden pressing down on her shoulders.

She scarcely noticed Dorian getting up, emptied his wine glass in a last swallow, and set it on the table. Only when he reached out with a hand did she look up at him and reply with a soft smile.

"Let's go to sleep. In a few hours is a new day and then there is still time enough to deal with the Council."

Adeláire grasped the offered hand and let herself pull softly and smoothly into typically strong, male arms. The kiss they shared didn’t speak of desire or hunger. It ended a day, an evening, a night in which two people had got to know each other better. In Adeláire there shone a trace of something, which also felt like a kind of beginning. She prayed earnestly that it didn’t develop into love. Love made people weak. And Assassins even moreso. This was the faith in which she had grown up. And maybe Love was the reason why Dorian was at the point in his life that he was.

And yet she couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling as they lay down and Arno's arm pinched her closer to him. She felt his warmth through his shirt and the powerful beating of his heart under her palm. She breathed deeply and snuggled her arm around his waist while his own held her shoulders. For the remainder of today, she banished all dark thoughts. In a few hours the new day would arrive. Enough time for the rest of the world to break over them together.

Adeláire awoke from a deep sleep as she felt Arno rolling restlessly in his sleep. Not yet quite awake, she groaned softly and moved a bit away from him. He seemed to be trapped in a dream that entangled him in a kind of hopeless struggle. Carefully she touched his shoulder and whispered his name.

Surprisingly, it had the same effect as if she had poured a bucket of water over him. He drove out of the troubled dream and before Adeláire could react, his hand clasped her throat and pressed her into the pillows. The room was still dark, the dusk was not yet about to begin. She could see nothing of him as dark shadows moved over her, which pushed the air from her. No sooner had she been able to squeeze out a slight “Arno.”

Breathing heavily, he crouched profoundly pent-up over her, before finally reality seemed to find its way into his confused dream. The grip around her throat loosened and with a shocked panting he dodged back from her and leaned heavily against the bed pillar.

"It... I'm sorry... I..." Adeláire coughed and struggled up into the pillows.

“You dreamed. And apparently it wasn’t a pleasant dream." Her voice sounded brittle and she had to cough repeatedly.

Arno rose hastily from the edge of the bed and looked for something drinkable. All he found, however, was the rest of the evening wine. With her glass from supper, he returned and held it to her mutely. She took it in silence and studied the few features that she could see in the last glow of the fireplace. Until he turned her back and went to the other end of the room, to an ear-chair with a small table and a telescope in the corner.

"You should try to get some sleep. You should not be bleary-eyed when you discuss with the Council." His voice sounded absent, and his thoughts were circling around different things. Adeláire sipped the wine a few times before putting the glass on the small table next to the bed.

"I would be more comfortable if you were to try that too. I didn’t mean to talk to the Council alone." She sensed more than she saw that he nodded approvingly before he settled down in the comfortable armchair.

"Later. Give me a few minutes."

She was still watching, as he lit the candle on the small table and his hand rested briefly on a casket next to the candelabrum. Finally, he drew his right foot onto the seat and supported his chin in the palm of his left hand, resting his gaze on the casket. Adeláire sighed softly and finally sank back into the pillows. She guessed that it would be more than a few minutes, and so she didn't wonder at all that she was still lying alone in the sheets when sleep miraculously returned to her.

Her renewed awakening was much more pleasant than the last. The scent of fresh coffee was blowing around her nose and the sun tickled through the roof window. Yawning, she curled herself into the pillow before she leaned on her elbow and looked around, searching.

Arno had apparently ordered a small breakfast and exchanged the remains of her midnight snack for croissants, jam, eggs and coffee. Adeláire gently sucked the scent into her, and immediately heard her stomach growling audibly. The windows to the roof garden were open and Arno was nowhere to be seen. A soft conversation blew in, who it was could not be identified.

Adeláire rose and devoted herself to breakfast. It just looked all too seductive to skate over without any attention. Armed with a cup of coffee and a halved croissant with jam, she turned to the roof garden.

"Ah, our sleeping beauty has returned to the living."

If she were still 13, she would probably stick her tongue out at the speaker. So the adult Adeláire only remained able to wrinkled her nose in response to such a statement as she approached the two men in the roof garden.

Arno likewise hadn’t yet taken the effort to get dressed already. He had just slipped into his boots, where she herself was still barefoot en route. His counterpart was completely dressed in his Assassin's robe. The forest green seemed washed out, but still well-maintained. The hood overshadowed his light-gray eyes, in which the scoundrel always sparkled.

"I thought you were on a mission abroad, Verne? What drove you back so early?"

Adeláire noticed from the the corner of her eye Arno's surprised, raised eyebrows, while the Assassin called 'Verne' approached her and, coffee and croissant still in-hand, briefly and cordially enclosed her in his arms.

"It is also nice to see you little sister. Don’t tell me you were worried?" She replied to his grin with the same intensity and again there was the desire to poke out her tongue.

"I would never worry about you. If you can’t debate yourself out of something, you'll surely find a little bit of a remedy or a bit of explosives, that’ll do just fine as well." That gave her a grin again, before he let her go and turned back to his place on the balustrade.

"Caught. You know me almost as well as our dear Arno. "

Both of them turned their attention to him. A smile escaped her, and she cast a side-glance at Verne. He reflected her emotions and finally folded his arms in front of his chest. Dorian's attitude was relaxed, but there was something lurking beneath the surface. He seemed to want to see for himself alone with observation how she and Verne stood to each other.

"What do you think, should we enlighten him?" She asked, smiling.

"Oh, our dear Dorian is a clever boy. I think, if we give him some more time, he will have found it out by himself."

The clever fellow kept silent and sipped his coffee. He seemed to have made the decision to simply wait for an explanation rather than ask.

"She already let me die dumb. I trust that she can do so again,” came the usual muttering tone. Verne's eyes widened briefly in played astonishment before he laughed softly.

"Believe me, mon ami, who's mastered all women in the most perfect kinds and ways. She doesn’t even have to be Assassin for that." That brought him a nudge in the side from Adeláire. He responded with another laugh on his part.

"But back to the seriousness of life. And to an explanation. Although we surely don’t owe you any accountability." Again a short grin. "Adeláire and I have been working together for some time since you… left us. And I have to admit, even if no one can replace our old team, it was quite pleasant with the sweet Mademoiselle." That brought him yet another, this time noticeable, nudge in the side.

"Who saved you at the last mission, because you had… overlooked the opponent behind you." She emphasized 'overlooked' by pretending to put the word in literal speech. Verne countered.

"I did not overlook him. I was just not quite finished with his predecessor." He imitated her gesture at the same word and finished his remarks by nudging her this time.

All this was wordlessly observed by Dorian, while he emptied his coffee. His facial expressions were impenetrable and his smile seemed fake. Adeláire didn’t have any idea of what was going on in his head. So she decided to address simpler questions.

"So, Verne, why are you here? Courtesy call? Network?" He smiled gently.

"I'm here for you, baby girl. The Council wants to know what you are doing. Seems to be a few days ago that you have last reported." He hesitated briefly, giving Dorian a side view. "And since I'm quasi… Friends with you both, they deemed probably, that I am most likely suitable to spy on you."

Adeláire frowned and finally glanced at Dorian. His mimicry had darkened and he turned the cup of coffee in his hand. When his eyes finally returned to her, there was something like frustration in the darkness of his eyes.

"So much for trusting in me." Adeláire lowered her head and rubbed her forehead. This didn’t make the matter, which she had to discuss with the Council, necessarily simpler.

"I don’t think it's about you, little sister," came the caution from Verne. She didn’t have to lift her eyes to capture the mood around her. Her senses also were not needed.

"I need another coffee," Arno barely said, just before he turned on his heel and went back to his room. Adeláire sighed softly and rubbed her forehead again. How could she convince the Council?

"You should be careful," Verne said quietly. Confused, Adeláire raised her head and returned a look that rested on her with concern.

"What exactly do you mean?"

His gaze followed briefly the direction into which Arno had disappeared, his chin pointing behind the path.

"It is very easy to like him. It is even easier to develop compassion for what he had to experience and go through. Be careful and don’t let it be more if you do not really have serious intentions."

If Verne wouldn’t be so close to her as he did, she would’ve coolly chastised him and asked him to go. But he was almost like a brother, not just in the Assassin context. And finally, he merely reflected her own concerns. To condemn him was as if she were to put herself in the pillory. So she just nodded and followed his gaze.

"You should throw something on. The council is waiting." He gave her a gentle shoulder-restrainer to set her in motion. Sighing softly, she set about gathering her things and equipment together.

"This, by the way, applies to you as well, Dorian!" was said much louder from the direction of the two open glass doors. As a result, Arno appeared in their opening and showed a disbelieving expression of his mimicry.

"Please what?"

"I was commissioned to present Adeláire to the Council. And, if her mission has already been successful, to ask for your appearance as well. And since it seems to me personally more than obvious that the girly-one was successful here, I’ve executed and can say, mission accomplished." Arno's facial expression darkened again.

"You know man... If you weren’t who you are, then..."

"Yes, yes, I know. Then I would have you already at my throat and you would probably carry me over the parapet of this balcony." Verne grinned broadly. "But since I am who I am, swing your ass into your clothes and get ready. I don’t have the whole day to chat nicely with you here."

"Bastard."

"I like you, too, my friend."

Arno's angry snort was chased by Verne's hearty laughter. Adeláire couldn’t help but follow the whole thing simply smiling. And somehow it was good to observe these two, apparently quite old, friends in their coexistence. She kept discovering new pages of Arno. And again she felt this feeling in her chest, which pulled her heart together. With a controlled breathing, she finally pushed off the parapet and turned to the task of dressing. No way this should become even more intense.

Verne's critical and worried look behind her, she didn’t see. Neither the dark shadow, which seemed to lay itself over the roof garden for a moment, before the May sun let it melt.

---

[1]French for „Bitch“

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