Malmaison, August 1799 - Trapped

----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 -------

Her head was throbbing and hurting; she immediately sensed that she was in a rather unusual, and above all rather uncomfortable, stance. Groaning softly, she tried to move and immediately heard the clink of chains. Great, they were prisoners. Even before the shameful realization could penetrate deeper, the unconsciousness dragged Adeláire back under.

Her next awakening was not much better than the first one. Her head still ached and throbbed, but the hazy feeling left behind by the stun bombs had vanished. Behind all the pain, her mind slowly came back to life and Adeláire cautiously persuaded her eyes to open a gap, only to realize that it was pitch dark around her.

She spread her senses and tried to grasp the room; she sighed with relief when she felt two more presences in close proximity to herself. The relief, however, quickly faded as she realized what this meant for all of them. They could only hope for Francesco and LaHache now.

Adeláires neck tingled, as always, when Arno caught her with his senses. Relieved, she breathed. It seemed to go well enough for him so that he, similar her itself, were able to use his senses. She cleared her throat carefully and licked dry lips. A side effect of the stun bombs?

"Arno? Verne?" She whispered softly and hoarsely.

"We are here. Everything’s fine." Clanking chains indicated that they needed to be in a similar position and stance as she was.

"I think ‘everything’s fine’ is much exaggerated,” Verne said quietly. A new, distinct clank of chains reached her ears. Apparently, one of the two seemed to want to test them.

"Merde, all my pickpockets are in the belt, to which… I can’t get to…" Arno's following curse apparently turned out to be much crasser than "Merde", as always when he fell into his German language.

"I believe that even if you could reach them, you would not have much chance of success. Or it will take more time than we certainly have available.” Verne’s analysis sounded logical, especially when a key in a door creaked. All three assassins narrowed their eyes and turned their heads away from the flickering light of a torch.

"Aahhh, our guests have awakened. Very beautiful. Then we can go ahead with the pander of our thirst for knowledge.” Adeláire clenched her hands into furious fists when she recognized Joséphine's voice. What the devil was going on here?

Adeláire used the opportunity to look around. Arno stood in the middle of the small room, in which various terrible instruments were distributed over tables, apparently used for questioning. His arms were stretched tight over his head by handcuffs and chains. Obviously, he had already undergone several tests. Blood on his wrists was already coloring his shirt red.

Verne stood in the left side of her on one of the walls of the room. His wrists, as well as her own, were also handcuffed and held in place by a chain over his head. Softly sighing, Adeláire had to admit that the general situation did not look very good for them. Concerned, she watched Joséphine hover around Arno.

"Ask. But do not expect any answers,” he spat on Bonaparte's wife in an aggressive manner. Joséphine smiled dangerously, grabbed his chin with one hand, and finally nodded to Genévieve, who had been waiting in the doorway with Constanze. Something hissed and slapped and a whip slashed across Arno's back to immediately leave a dark, bloody weal behind.

Adeláire only bit back with great difficulty a horrified outcry. Unquestionably and highly undesirable, pictures of her childhood crowded before her eyes. Images of her father in a similarly delivered form superimposed those of Arno today. It made her chest narrow and only with great difficulty did she catch her breath. Desperately, she stemmed herself in the chains, in vain.

Arno wrecked under the blow and in the chains, the links clinking. But he gave Joséphine no cry of pain. He merely bared his clenched teeth and let out a hissing breath. Joséphine still clutched his chin as she leaned close to him and whispered into his ear with a smug smile on the corners of his mouth, "Believe me, handsome, my girls have exercise in handling the whip. You will not be able to hold on any longer than them. And it would be a pity about that lovely back. Wouldn’t it?”

Angrily, Arno wrenched away his chin as his dark eyes sparkled in the torchlight. "What do you want? And what's this all about? "

Joséphine laughed brightly and began her circling around again. A riding crop tapped gently against the skirt, which was merely a camouflage effect for the trousers underneath. Overall, Joséphine’s outfit seemed more than strange. The blouse was high-necked and tight fitting, the hair was stricter in a simple hairstyle. Not much remained of the lady who gave balls and soirées.

"You three are the ones who have invaded my house. And this for the second time now. The infiltration of my spouse's office laid out initially. You have paid no heed to any warnings or hints and have not let yourself stray from your path." She stopped in front of Arno and caught his eye with that viper like smile.  "Not even when we gave you a clear warning shot." With sharp fingers, she drilled right into the spot where Arno had hit the bullet. With another hissing sound he tried to turn the wound away from her, unsuccessfully. Joséphine lashed out with the whip and pulled it unerringly across the scar, as if he was standing shirtless in front of her.

This time an iron-heavy fist seemed to close around Adeláire’s heart as she watched helplessly as the pain caused Arno to stumble briefly in the knees. He tensed arm and shoulder muscles to straighten up and leaned forward in the chains until his breath had brushed against Joséphine's skin, "Oh look, so I owe you this little souvenir? Since when do you know about us?" 

Another nod and a second hit of Genevieve's whip bit across Arno's back. Adeláire felt hot tears well up in her eyes as she glanced over trembling muscles.

"I'm… asking the questions here… Monsieur Dorian." A triumphant smile as Arno did not regain control quickly enough and his eyes widened in surprise.  "Oh yes, I know exactly who you are; Arno Victor Dorian. The Assassin, who encountered my husband for the first time, as he visited the former apartments of Louis XVI, who has managed to get rid of Rouille and thus paved the way for his career. He was even courteous enough to protect my first rendezvous with Napoleon." She had begun to circle him again at her words and finally stopped in front of him again.

"And just that Assassin who literally snatched the artifact away in front of the nose of my husband in Saint-Denis." Joséphine's features became ugly. "I could pardon everything, forgive and forget everything. But you did not think this chess move well enough then, Monsieur Dorian. And he has given me some discomfort and detours." 

Arno lifted his chin and studied Joséphine intensely.  "So you are that ominous Lady Eve." 

A bright laugh before Joséphine turned away from him and headed for Adeláire.  "I am not going to enlighten you here and now about Lady Eve. This is neither for you nor is it a knowledge intended for Assassin ears." Almost tenderly, Joséphine let the tail of the riding crops descend from Adeláire's temple down to her neck, her gaze flickering to Arno. She could clearly see the tension in his muscles and stature. Even Verne straightened up and braced himself against the shackles. Joséphine smiled pensive.

"Oh, and before you suspect into the wrong direction, neither for Templar ears." She turned her back on Adeláire abruptly. "This knowledge is intended only for those who are associated with Lady Eve. As for Germain, who was exactly responsible for his death, Monsieur Dorian?”

Adeláire did not have to see the malicious smile to know it was there. However, what she clearly saw was Arno's hands, which whitened as they clenched into fists. His eyes burned angrily.  "If you know all this, and apparently much more, why are we still alive and honored to name ourselves your prisoners?"

Joséphine leaned against the wall next to Adeláire, studying her features from the side. Fingertips picked up one of her curls and played with it. A smug smile played around the corner of her mouth while a cold chill ran down Adeláire’s back. Instinctively, though unsuccessfully, she tried to distance herself from Joséphine.

"Because, Monsieur Dorian, I still have plans for you." She turned her eyes on Arno without changing her position next to Adeláire. "I know you. And I know, once you've locked your yaw on something, you do not give up so easily. Just like back then with Germain. Though the pursuit of revenge was rather driven by your childhood sweetheart, than that of yourself.”

Adeláire knew this painful twitching muscle in Arno's features only too well as soon as memories of Élise arose. She was almost grateful to Joséphine for the gentle cooling of the feelings in her stomach. She kept Arno's gaze between rage and helplessness as well as she could.

"Of course it would be easy to put an end to this ‘locking your yaw on something' by just eliminating all of you." A venomous smile as Joséphine pulled Adeláire's hair painfully. "But ... that does not match my suggestions. And I suppose it would immediately send all members of your order of murderers rushing for my neck."

Abruptly Joséphine resumed her walk in the room. Breathing in unobtrusively, Adeláire took the opportunity to explore it. Verne did not have much chance to change or improve his situation. Constanze and Genevieve guarded the exit, so to speak, and there were certainly enough guards in front of the locked door. Even if all of them had not been chained, there would be little chance of escape.

"You know Monsieur Dorian, I have nothing against you. Nothing in particular. You've crossed my plans once or twice. But not sustainable enough for you to do any harm. Nevertheless, you are getting annoying. Especially now that we are so close to achieving our goals." She stopped shortly in front of Arno. "And yes, you guessed right. We will help my man to rank and power. And with the Piece of Eden, which you absolutely had to make abroad for a few years instead of giving it directly into our hands, he will take France to new heights never seen before. "

Arno did not answer her, merely clenching his lips as she began to playfully unbuttoning his shirt.

"Still the question remains why I let you all live. Well, you may suspect it. You, Monsieur Dorian, and our adorable Mademoiselle Fontaine are in possession of what Lady Eve really aspires."

Neither Adeláire nor Arno possessed the presence of mind at that moment to hold themselves under absolute control. Both features twisted in surprise as they swiftly exchanged a glance before Arno frowned back at Joséphine. She still smiled smugly.

"You both have a gift. And this gift is based on an ancient gene that was planted in your blood centuries ago. Or have you never wondered that there are so few with this gift and that those who own them are getting jealously guarded." She smiled mischievously. "Well, in your case, Monsieur Dorian, not quite so jealous. The Assassin Council did not do a good job of excluding you. But well, let's just assume that they never let you stumble unhindered through the history of the world."

"What's all this babble of genes and gifts Lady? If you want to kill us, fine, kill us. But spare us the bleeding of our ears."

Adeláire gasped in shock and hold her breath for a moment. What the hell did Verne want to achieve with this provocation. 

Joséphine did not even look at him for an answer.  "You, Monsieur Lemoine, should be careful what you wish for. Right now, you're the one which is the most likely dispensable." 

Arno acknowledged this statement with a renewed, angry, though completely helpless, gaze.  "Do not dare touch him,” he finally hissed, lowly. 

Joséphine patted his cheek playfully before resuming her walk.  "So gentlemen, the whole thing will work out this way. The Ladies and I will let you, Monsieur Dorian, and you, Monsieur Lemoine, go. And as a reassurance that you leave me, my estate and my plans for the coming, say, eight weeks in peace, the lovely Mademoiselle Fontaine will continue to keep us company." 

Verne and Arno stemmed themselves almost at the same time in the shackles:

"Not ever!"

"Not on any account!"

Joséphine turned her gaze to Arno and something burnt disgustingly in its depths. Another nod. Arno tensed. But this time no whip hissed, but the shocked breath of Verne. Adeláires and Arnos glanced flashed almost at the same time towards their brother, from whom Constanze had just stepped back, drawing a bloody knife out of his side.

"Verne!! No!!” the scream belted from Adeláire’s throat before she could hold back, just as the now the tears finally flowed. The chains clinked angrily as she and Arno protested against their hold.

"So, Monsieur Dorian. You have the choice now. To stay here, to let your friend die and to helplessly attend the other measures intended for your beloved." Adeláire hated Joséphine's pause for effect. "Or at least saving your life and that of your friend." Joséphine turned away from the angry helpless in the chains restraining Arno.

"Of course, you have my assurance that your pretty beloved will stay alive." She turned to him again. "But only as long as you do not interfere in my affairs. Should I get to see even a hair tip of you in the coming days, weeks..." The grip of the riding crop tipped on Arno's heart. "...she dies." Again one of these dramatic pause for effect. "Should you come up with the idea to rush us new, supposedly unknown Assassinbrothers and -sisters on the neck..." Another tapping of the riding crop on Arnos heart. "...she dies. Should you try to contact my husband or intervene again on the Marquis... she dies." Deep silence spread. "Are we clear... Monsieur Dorian?"

Angry and obstinate, Arno merely returned Joséphine's gaze and refused her an answer. Which only resulted in another nod and bite of the whip. This time, the violence seemed appropriate enough to wrest him a pained sound. Which only aroused his anger even more.

"I asked if we understood each other, Monsieur Dorian?"

"Oui, vous cunt,” he growled insultingly, which was acknowledged by Joséphine only with a thin smile. She did not even have to nod for the ensuing hiss of the whip. Arno stumbled again and groaned, burning muscles pulling him back to his feet. Adeláire barely kept back further tears. She felt the impulse to avert her gaze and still could not.

"As soon as our plans for my husband have been implemented, I give Mademoiselle Fontaine her freedom and the likes to hurry back into your arms."

Arno's burning eyes pinned on Joséphine, and Adeláire could clearly see a kind of murderous rage. Verne did his best to suppress a groan.

"Arno..." Adeláire started softly. "Arno!" Only her clearly louder request showed effect. His eyes, helpless, held hers.

"Go… take care of Verne. I… can do it..." She could clearly hear how little she herself believed her own words. Still, the mission was more important. And even more important was the saving of a currently acutely endangered life. She tried to eliminate everything trembling and tightened her stature. Her voice actually managed a more insistent sound.

"Go!"

„“ ----------------- „“

Arno felt torn between the more than thin options and choices. He distinctly heard the shallow breathing of his friend, felt through his senses how the power left him. And yet again it threw him into the conflict between sanity and love. He dared not to look away from those green eyes that had come so close to him in the last weeks, days. Would he ever be granted to just give his heart away safely?

He felt it almost threatening to tear him apart as his jaw line tightened and he made a decision. Without turning his gaze from Adeláire he answered Joséphine.  "As you wish. We will go and not continue to cross your plans. But we expect a weekly life sign from Adeláire. In letter form. In her own handwriting." He tore his eyes away from the green ones and fixed them on Bonaparte's wife. "And believe me, if such a letter arrives just a day late, you'll know what it means to cross the Assassins."

Again, this viper approached him and slid a playing finger over his chest. How he would like now to drive his blade into her throat like he did with Germain.

"You are no longer an Assassin, Monsieur Dorian. I therefore do not consider this threat to be very substantial." How much he detested this poisonous smile. "But please, you should have your letters, if that's so dear to you."

A renewed nod did not result in a whip or a knife this time, but turning a key in Verne's handcuffs. Arno gave his friend a worried look and checked his condition with his gift. It was not yet threatening, but it was time they got him to a doctor.

He attributed it to blind anger that, as his wrists also left the shackles, his right hand shoot out to Joséphine's throat and squeezed noticeable. Only with half an ear did he hear the sound of the cocking of the pistol trigger.  "Before your girls can pull the trigger, I've already broken your neck. Just give me one good reason why I should not give in to this heartfelt desire." 

This bitch did not even tremble in his grasp, let alone that her eyes lost venom.  "Because you, Monsieur Dorian, would have killed me then. But immediately afterwards ends again before the heroic task of having to bore your love to the grave." That voice, that complacency. And yet his eyes twitched to Adeláire and an iron fist seemingly closed around his stomach. Constanze's pistol lay with a tense deduction directly over Adeláires heart.

Arno realized in a fraction of a second that he would never be able to overcome the distance, even if not large, quickly enough. Even if he had been in possession of his phantom blade, it would have taken more time to cock and fire than it cost Constanze to push through the trigger of the gun. With a painful growl, he dismissed Joséphine's throat and stepped back two steps.

"I knew you would be reasonable. And now, Monsieur Dorian, I allow you and your friend to go. We are even so generous to provide you horses."

Arno felt cold creep into his bones. He felt torn between his friend and, yes, he had to admit it, his newly growing love. A glance in her direction and another silently formed "Go" did not really help. Stiffly, he turned to Verne and propped him up, wrapping one of his arms around his shoulders. Silently, both of them exchanged one last look with their Assassin sister, before Arno started to leave the room with heavy steps.

 „“ ----------------- „“

Adeláire suppressed every sound as her eyes fixed on the backs of her brothers. She gritted her teeth as the door slammed heavily into the lock behind them. Somehow it sounded final in her ears.

Furious and fiercely, she met Joséphine's gaze as she forced her chin around. Their traits still adorned this poisonous-smug smile.  "At the moment, you may feel that this is all too hard and too harsh. But believe me, my love, you will understand soon. And it will literally open your eyes." 

Adeláire did not succeed to wrest her chin away from Joséphine. But she could give her voice enough caustic.  "I do not care what the fuck you have to say. You’ve hurt my brothers. And I'll let you pay for that. Someday. Somehow." 

Once again Joséphine elicited a laugh. "Oh, I like you Assassins. You are so... combative. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. And yet you bow your heads before a council from which you must have your goals blessed. You are no more or less than the government bureaucracy today. You only dress in a more mysterious way."

Which gave all girls, except Adeláire, a giggle. And indeed, Constanze opened the door again and beckoned one of the guards. The Assassin recognized only too confidently and with a painful stab in the heart her hooded cloak.

Joséphine leaned against the wall beside her. She wrapped an arm around her waist as she lifted her other hand to her lips and chewed on her thumbnail.  "Tell me Adeláire, honestly. Did you really think you could just walk around with such a threadbare story and get hold of our... my… secrets? Are all Assassins so naive? Or is it more... arrogance?"

Petulant Adeláire squeezed her lips tightly and shifted her weight, but immediately determined it to be a mistake. Hissing painfully, the joint she cracked by her fall earlier answered and she hurried to put her weight back on the proper leg.

"Hm, I think today she will not really want to talk to us anymore. What do you think, Madame?" Constanze threw the assassin's coat over one of the instrument tables and leaned against it with her arms folded. Slowly Adeláire seriously wondered what they were all about. Should all of this be something of a kind of Amazon cult? 

Joséphine distracted her by pulling away from the wall.  "You seem right Constanze. We should give Mademoiselle Fontaine some time to spare. Maybe her clever mind will make some wise decisions."

Adeláire gathered the last bit of saliva and spat it on Joséphine's feet. At first it seemed like she did not want to react. Then, without any warning, the riding crop hissed and dragged Adeláire across the nose from the right cheekbone to the left-sided chin. Panting painfully she hung her head and hated the trembling of her knees.

Without any further word, the ladies left the room and left Adeláire behind in complete darkness. Only now, in the dark, alone and unobserved, did she let her tears, which burned hot on the fresh stream, flow. In such a seemingly hopeless situation she had never been in her 26 years, she did not have the strength to concentrate her mind on solutions. Still she felt hot this pain of being alone, of isolation. Weakness, how much she hated her. But even the otherwise so maltreating, impelling voices inside her remain hollow silent.

Would she be deeply religious, she would pray. But so she could only believe in herself and hope for her brothers.

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