Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I do not make claims to owning it. I'm just borrowing the characters, please do not sue!
Chapter XXXIV: Opening Gambits, Part III
She moved with a careful consideration, making sure her footsteps did not echo. Peering around the first corner into the laneway behind the street-front building she noted the Templar had paused in the middle of it, staring into the laneway between two inner buildings. His helmet destroyed his peripheral vision and shot his hearing, Sandy knew her advantage. At the moment he seemed to be struggling with the crossbow in his hands, the mechanism for winding back the string seemed to have become stuck. Suddenly Sandy heard the sound of metal clashing coming from the laneway the templar was staring into. She recognized the sound of swords meeting in the heat of combat, but this Templar had to be removed first. He posed more danger to Altair than both Robert and William put together, if indeed that was whom Altair was fighting. Altair was skilled enough to avoid sword-wielding foes, but a crossbow was an unfair rule-breaker.
She crept around the corner and withdrew her left knife, holding the blade as she released the locking mechanism, unfolding it manually as to prevent it from making a sound. The crossbow emitted a loud crunch as the jammed crank finally released. The knight continued to wind the string utterly oblivious to her approach.
Like a huntress advancing on her prey she steadied her nerves, knowing she would only have one chance to jam the knife into the space under the bottom of the great helmet and into the neck where the chainmail was thinnest. When the knight straightened and reached for a crossbow bolt from the quiver at his side, she did not stop to think and calculate; she took aim and swung. He must have seen her arm extended out whatever peripheral vision he had, because his head snapped to the side, but the knife's aim was true, it slipped right under the helmet's edge and into flesh, the speed of the strike lending the knife enough force to penetrate chainmail.
Sandy yanked the knife out and stepped back. Seemingly in slow motion the blood began gushing down the front of his chainmail, staining the white surcoat red. His hold on the loaded crossbow slackened, Sandy reached out and took it by the stock before it could drop and make a noise, or worse yet, accidently misfire. He stood for a seemingly infinite second, blue eyes staring at her from the eyeholes of the great helmet.
"I am sorry," she whispered, even without realizing why she did so.
As if accepting her words, the eyes rolled to the backs of their sockets and his body gave way, tipping foreword. The surcoat seemed to deaden the sound of the chainmail hitting the ground, but the dislodging helmet still cluttered as it slipped off his head. Sandy's melted back into the shadows of the alley, watching the yard beyond. She could see nothing and the sound of battle beyond did not seem to have died at all. She could hear two distinct sounds of swords hitting, one was a bit duller than the other, made by a heavier impact, probably a heavier sword. The situation brought an almost macabre smile to her face; if she hasn't been noticed yet, it left the field wide open for her to play whichever hand she'd want.
Looking at the knight at her feet and then at the crossbow in her hands she realized that held the single most feared weapon of the medieval era, primed and ready to fire. It was certainly a near perfect turnabout. But some nagging part of her mind told her that using it wasn't an option. On the one side it was ridiculously powerful, whomever its single shot would hit, would die, simple as that. On the other hand, she wasn't sure how to aim the thing properly. Then there was also the fact that it would be sinking to Robert de Sable's level, even if it was giving him a taste of his own medicine. Shooting anyone in the back with a crossbow was a despicable and cold-blooded way to kill, it bordered on cowardly. She couldn't do it; she couldn't bear the thought of pulling the trigger. Suddenly the crossbow felt like the vilest thing in existence. She flicked the bloody knife across the strings, and they twanged sharply as their severing released the pressure on the bow. She set the crossbow down and stared at it for a long moment until the sound of another loud clash of swords from the yard brought her back to her senses.
Sandy crouched to wipe down her knife on the dead Templar's surcoat. Killing still did not sit well with her, but this death was unavoidable. The man would not have stood down, and the crossbow he intended to use had been too dangerous. As loathsome as it was, she had no choice but killing him to neutralize the threat. Sandy folded away the knife and tucked it back into her brace. Getting to her feet she looked into the yard, her eyes met the gaze of a soldier wearing the red livery of King Richard's army. For a long moment the man stared at her as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, his jaw loosened a little. Sandy began to advance on him, shedding her cloak.
"Milord! There's another assassin!" the man called in alarm.
Sandy cursed wordlessly and lunged, the bastard had given away her natural element of surprise. She would have to manufacture an advantage. She closed the distance between them as rapidly as she could, emerging into the yard on the run. The cloak flapped in the wind, catching the air like a sail. She slung it foreword over the soldier's head, the man shouted in surprise and instantly reached up to try and pull it off, but his panicked fingers fumbled with the material. Sandy pulled his head down and simultaneously brought up her knee, slamming it as hard as she could into his groin. The man bucked and she moved out of the way, yanking the cloak off his head, turning with the momentum to slam her elbow into the side of his head, narrowly missing the temple. The impact sent him stumbling sideways and Sandy stopped, though she knew fully well that if she wanted to chain more blows on him, he was utterly at her mercy. One or two more hits and she would kill the man without a weapon.
Seemingly in slow motion the cloak settled around her as the man collapsed, groaning gutturally, clutching at his privates. Despite the chainmail he wore the concussive impact of her knee went through; he would not be getting up any time soon. It was then that she became keenly aware of the silence around her and looked up. It would have been comical had it not been utterly creepy. It almost looked like her arrival had caught everyone in a state of suspended animation. Even time seemed to stand still for a long moment.
The yard was very much the scene of a battle, there were dead bodies strewn about, some more of Richard's men, and one Templar. William was closest to her, but perhaps the most stunned of the three men. His sword was lowered and he looked very much like he had no clue what was going on. Sandy figured that was a good thing, it would make him less dangerous, and maybe some sense of chivalry would keep him from attacking a woman for a little while.
She dared to look at Robert and wished she hadn't. She could practically see the gears spinning in his head. His eyes had the same hawkish look, and were he not a cold blooded bastard the intensity in those blue depth would have been something other than scary as hell. It seemed like her arrival had disoriented his plan, he couldn't decide what he was going to do. She had to keep him in that state, if he did come up with something, it would turn ugly.
Her eyes then drifted to Altair, his sword was semi-lowered in surprise as well, the tip and the first third of the blade stained with still-moist blood. As her eyes drifted up to his face she became keenly aware of the menacing look in his eyes. The dark depths seemed to echo the worst of storms, heavily clouded over and blazing with anger.
"What are you doing here?" He demanded.
Sandy straightened her back, rising to her full, albeit diminutive height, but at that moment she still felt like a little person compared to the men. She swung her cloak over her shoulder and as the material resettled she tucked it under the collar of her tee shirt and the strap of her bra. "Coming to warn you of an ambush, but it seems you already knew." Somehow joking with him didn't seem like a good idea at the moment, but it was the only thing she could say without choking. She realized a little too late that she had stepped straight into the one thing he had forbidden her to do. She had followed him to an assassination, and what more got involved. She could have killed the Templar and vanished, let the soldier who called the alarm end up looking like a moron, but no, she had attacked him. It had been an instinct, a spontaneous reaction, something that she hadn't thought through, and wished she had.
In that silence she became aware that Robert was looking to the side. She followed his gaze and noticed the steward standing against the wall, holding the Grand Master's helmet. The two seemed to share a silent communiqué, and it instantly bothered Sandy. Her danger instinct was reacting spontaneously, and when the templar woman turned her gaze on her the danger sense began to clamor like a church Carillon.
"Who is she?" William asked.
"The Fallen," Robert replied coolly.
She glanced at the two men, wondering what it was that Robert meant. William seemed satisfied by the answer, so it had to have some sort of coded meaning. Before she could begin to figure it out, she heard chainmail moving. Sandy reacted instantly and out the corner of her eye she saw Altair move as well. The steward had set the helmet down on the ground and drew her sword. It wasn't as ornate as the one held by William or Robert, it was also a little bit shorter and probably lighter, but its edge gleamed all the same.
"I don't know why you came here," the steward spoke, "but you are in the way." Her voice was artificially deepened, a practiced way of speaking, but it did not fully hide that she was not a man, her vocal cords would not produce the right deep tone. She sounded more like an adolescent boy whose voice was still maturing.
"Aren't we high and mighty?" Sandy asked. "Then, given who you work for, I guess that's to be expected."
She saw the woman's grip on her sword tighten. She glanced at the men and noted that Altair shifted again, preparing himself to lunge at the steward. Robert seemed to take the sideways insult in a stride. It seemed to confirm that the steward was more than just loyal to the master; she was also attached to him on the personal level. Whether that feeling went both ways remained to be seen.
The steward advanced, but Sandy could tell that she was suddenly hesitant. The tip of the blade was not pointed on target, it was lowered, and she held it loosely. It was something that the arms master at Masyaf drilled into his young students; never give away uncertainty by holding the blade loosely. Sandy drew away form the men, circling about, steering toward Altair. The steward seemed to read what was on her mind, and Sandy had only a split of a second to react to the sudden attack. Altair jerked and Sandy threw up her hand, waving him off. The steward's sword flashed in an almost lame, slowed slash, one aimed to hit with the flat of the blade, not the edge. Sandy moved out of the way, letting the blade whistle by her.
Her right hand shot out, grabbing the steward's right wrist. The woman seemed surprised and Sandy decided to counter her. Circling around behind her, Sandy punched into the woman's elbow, aiming for the funny bone. The hit was just strong enough to cause the steward's fingers to twitch and the weight of the sword did the rest, the blade slipped from her grip. Sandy carried on through the combo, grabbing her right shoulder and moving her left leg around, hooking it around the steward's right, yanking backwards, sweeping the woman's main support right from under her. As she fell, Sandy maintained her grip on her right arm, bringing it around as she put her left foot on the woman's lower back, pinning her center of gravity to the ground, rendering her unable to get up.
"Altair, wouldn't you say it was time to end this?"
For the first time since she had known him, Sandy saw Altair hesitate, even as his left fist clenched.
"I got this, okay? Tall and haughty-" she jerked her head in the general direction of Robert, "won't act."
Altair still refused to move, his glare turning even more menacing. She didn't need to read him mind to know that he probably thought her sideward insults at the Templar leader were a bad idea. She realized that he was right; too bad she was too on edge to come up with anything more intelligent than that.
"What makes you positive that I will not?" Robert asked, sounding more amused than Sandy would have liked him to be. She figured he would not see her as any sort of danger to himself, but it was time to change that. She squared her shoulders and looked up, focusing her best version of Altair's 'you're dead meat' glare at the Grand Master.
"I shall be succinct, Milord- if you as much as move I will kill your steward. After dealing with your crossbowman, I'm afraid I am not in good humor." She tried to sound as calm and saccharine as possible while drawing her knife and flicking it open. The sound of it was like a gunshot in the quiet of the yard. The steward tried to rise, but Sandy pressed her down again as she continued to glare at her employer.
William turned to Robert, waiting for his reaction. Sandy grinned triumphantly as she watched the amusement leave the Grand Master's expression. She glanced at Altair; he seemed to have been caught off guard. She twirled the knife and made sure the blade caught and reflected the sunlight. William stepped away from Robert, raising his sword, but the Grand Master seemed to have turned into a pillar. He seemed to have his eyes locked on the steward pinned under her foot, it gave Sandy satisfaction.
At that moment Altair seemed to come back to his senses and charged, Sandy smiled when she heard his hidden blade extend, never taking her eyes off the Grand Master. Letting him think that she would come through on her promise and run the woman through. Admittedly she probably couldn't, not from that position. Her knife would never penetrate both padded surcoat and chainmail that the steward wore. Sandy wasn't even sure that she wanted to harm the woman, it all seemed like sinking to Robert's level, and she was not willing to go that far. However she'd give him an Oscar-worthy performance and hope for the best.
William had not expected Altair's speed; she heard his exclamation and then the ringing of chainmail and metal grinding. The woman began to struggle in earnest; Sandy glanced down, noting that she had been watching the death of William behind her employer.
"Traitor," William gasped on his final breath.
Sandy glanced at the man whom she had kneed in the nuts. He was staring at the Grand Master like he had just seen the devil himself. She could practically see the disillusionment happening.
"We're done here," Altair stated.
"Good," Sandy let go of the steward's arm, letting it drop the ground, eliciting a painful gasp from the woman, no longer masking her voice. Her arm had probably fallen asleep during the whole time that Sandy had held it at such an unnatural angle. It would be a few minutes before she got the feeling back into it. It might stall the Templars so that a tactical retreat could be executed. She still kept the woman pinned as she hid her weapon and drew her cloak around herself, slipping her arms into its sleeves before raising the hood.
"Tell me, why would a woman like you help the assassin?" Robert asked.
Sandy smiled broadly, "Really now, Milord, I should think you of all people would know why a woman chooses to fight for a man, no?" She purposefully let her eyes trail down to the steward as she spoke.
"Let's go!" Altair commanded.
Sandy picked up the note of frustration in is voice and decided it was better that she didn't push her luck any more today. As suddenly as she could, she launched off, running past the Templar Grand Master and into the alley, followed by Altair. Somehow though, she thought that the enemy was unlikely to chase them after what happened. Robert really had no manpower to deal with them; one on one she was sure that Altair would best him. There would also be no point in another round; he had lost the day's battle.
They didn't make it back to the bureau; Altair stopped in another isolated side yard and turned to face her. One look into his eyes told Sandy all she needed to know about what was on his mind. It had been coming since she had interrupted his fight the first time.
"Why did you come?" he demanded harshly.
"You left before the last informant returned, he was at the fortress and he saw Robert there, I had to come and warn you."
He glared and Sandy froze under the force of it. "When you realized you were too late you should have gone back!" he argued.
"Robert brought along a crossbowman, Altair!" she argued back.
"And I will thank you for killing him, but you should have stayed in the alley!"
Sandy shrank back; it was the first time that she heard Altair outright raise his voice at her. He was obstinate and rude in his arguments, but he never shouted. She took a step back and he took a step foreword, before she could stop him she found herself pressed to the wall of a building, Altair towering over her, his hands caging her shoulders.
"I was worried for you," she argued, lowering her voice, hoping that the change would put a stop to the shouting match between them. It wasn't wise to be shouting in the middle of the city, especially in light of what pandemonium was about to break out the second the death of William was discovered. Ultimately she didn't like being shouted at and it was strange for Altair to be raising his voice altogether.
"What do you suppose I thought at the time?" Altair asked in a firm, though no longer shouting tone.
"I won't apologize, Altair, and you cannot make me. I know I risked my life, but it's my life to risk. Besides, I stopped Robert from scheming for a moment or two, didn't I? I gave you a clear shot at William."
"He let you!" Altair protested. "He could have attacked you, by all rights anyone else would have, but instead he chose to sacrifice William."
Sandy stopped cold; suddenly she knew that Altair had a point. He had just stuck her nose into a giant gaping flaw in her original logic. She had not even thought of the option of Robert attacking her, she had subconsciously been so sure of Altair being there to keep her safe. But in the precise moment of her taking the steward as a hostage she had been open, entirely at Robert's mercy. He had simply chosen not to act. Why? What stopped the haughty Templar from turning the tables? He chose to sacrifice William, why? He had called her the 'Fallen' when William had asked. The term had to mean something, and she latched on to it. That had to be at the root of the puzzle. Problem remained how she would go about discovering its meaning, she couldn't very well march up to them and ask, and something told her that pounding on the average grunt for that information would not work either. It presented a frustrating problem, her curiosity was piqued, and being unable to satisfy it frustrated her to hell and back.
"So you see," Altair spoke, his voice losing its harsh edge.
"Yes, well- a slight oversight on my part. Perhaps a little naïve, but it worked out, didn't it?" she replied.
"Don't ever do that again," he continued.
"I'll be more careful from now on." She would have expected him to move away then, but he remained there, hovering over her, as if unsure himself of what he should do. He glared, but Sandy thought the expression lacked a menacing edge to be a genuine glare. Then it vanished and he signed as if exasperated.
"Does the rafiq know?" he asked next.
"Um… no?" she replied sheepishly. "I was kind of eavesdropping on the reports. I knew he wouldn't allow me to go, so I didn't ask."
"He will have your head," Altair stated.
"Probably, but I choose that over you getting hurt any day," she patted his chest to illustrate the point. "By the way, I do plan to blame you for my corruption. I'm just an innocent girl." She smiled broadly. He tried to glare, but all the same she saw the corners of his lips twitch into an almost grin, he was trying to suppress the reaction, but it was there. Being as close as they were, there was no way to disguise it.
"I should punish you for that cheek," he stated.
Sandy knew she shouldn't be grinning about it, but somehow when he said it, it did not sound as menacing as it should. He probably knew that she was not taking the threat seriously. Her hands ghosted along the harness over his chest, her fingers tugged on it playfully. The she passed her thumb over the metal triangle that joined the straps. "If you so much as touch me, Altair. I will make sure you lose a few more fingers, you got that?"
He genuinely smiled. It was the absolute last response she would have expected from him given that she had threatened him pain. She didn't want to look like a push over, even if her threat was empty. Then he leaned foreword and suddenly she found herself forehead-to-forehead with him. Her breathing hitched at his proximity and then she felt his hands settle on her waist. Somehow this felt more intimate than the previous one, even if little had actually changed.
"Does this count?" he asked quietly, his breath fanning her cheeks.
"Now who is cheeky?" She meant to sound sarcastic, but the words came out breathless. His proximity made her stomach flutter, and though it wasn't uncomfortable in the full sense, it was still unusual. Some part of her liked this new intimacy, it was different, new, and it was exciting. She met his eyes and noticed that he was watching her. She passed her hands over his chest and watched as his smile transformed into a familiar grin.
She slipped her arms up, wrapping them around his neck, trapping him there, but before he could open his mouth to ask what she was doing she rose on her tip toes and sealed her lips to his. She wanted to kiss him, plain and simple. The contact caught him off guard, she felt one hand leave her waist and slap unto the wall near her shoulder, were it not for the wall he would have stumbled. His response was enthusiastic and passionate and she eagerly kissed him as passionately as she could. Kissing him felt good, it felt right. He kept a scant space between their bodies, but even with that she could feel the heat radiating off his body in waves, it made her shiver a little to realize that she had probably just fractured some sort of dam in him.
However, he was the first to pull away, as if sensing that she was running out of breath. It was then that it fully and finally sank in. He was safe and unhurt, he was there and the world around them did not matter. All that mattered was the certainty she suddenly felt. It was like a rock had finally lifted off her back, letting her breathe freely for the first time in what felt like eternity. She wasn't going to lie to herself and say that there was more than one reason for the deep worry and dread that had gripped her heart when she had been positive that he was in danger. When she felt his thumb ghosting her cheek she opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them. "Why the tears?" he asked in a sultry tone.
Sandy raised her hands to her face and realized that she had been crying the whole time. "I-" she wiped at them furiously, commanding the rest to stop streaming. "I realized you were safe. I- I'm happy." She looked up and smiled. It wasn't the time to admit to him that she finally understood her feelings for him. With a surprising clarity and lucidity she was positive that she loved the assassin from the bottom of her heart. The tears had been happiness.
Altair opened his mouth to say something when suddenly she heard the rattling of rushing men in armor coming from the street over. The two of them sprang apart instinctively, but the rattling simply passed the alleyway leading to the yard and quieted down.
"I think they discovered William," Sandy stated. "We better get to the bureau before they raise the general alarm." She grabbed his hand without thinking, pulling him along to the street. Some part of her was glad that the soldiers gave her a way out of the situation for the time being. She was sure that had it not been for them, she would have been tempted to kiss Altair a few more times. It was neither the time nor place to get utterly enthralled by the assassin.
She didn't bother to let go of his hand as she pulled him along down the street, some people stopped to watch, and a few of the women smiled fondly. Sandy ignored them wholly and kept going. Altair only began to resist her pull when they drew close to the bureau and they had to get up to the roof to enter it via the yard entrance.
Sandy was beginning to think that they had actually managed to get away scot-free. The city's bells were not clamoring in alarm yet, that probably meant that the soldiers were headless, mindless, and there was no one to slap them back to reality. Had Robert covered up his presence? She idly wondered if he would have killed the man whose life she had spared, just to eliminate the witness. Certainly in this time there was no one who would investigate their deaths. No one would look at the bodies and notice that of all of them there were two with wounds made by two different weapons inconsistent with the rest. Robert could easily kill the witness and get away with it.
As she jumped down into the yard, she noticed that the rafiq was already there, and he looked less than amused.
"So your woman found you?" he demanded.
Altair straightened and made a show of tugging on the harness over his chest, straightening it out a little. "She delivered valuable updated information. This is more than could be said for your man from the fortress."
Sandy smiled blankly as a way of concealing her utter surprise. Altair had merely pointed out the obvious, but it really sounded like he was coming to her defense. The rafiq's whole expression darkened, it looked like he took it the same way.
"I should not have expected anything more from you, Altair. As you circumvent the rules, so does your woman. She is led by your bad example."
Sandy almost jumped to his defense but then decided that she did not need to; Altair could handle being chewed out, couldn't he? She also did not want to draw more attention to herself. Even if her feminist side was clamoring to say that she had a mind of her own and she was not learning anything from Altair. She was not a small child getting a bad example from her father. The only thing she had ever learned from Altair was a few more creative ways to shiv a mook in a pinch.
The rafiq spared her a cold glare and Sandy restrained herself with everything she had not to glare right back. She was pretty sure that if he saw her rendition of Altair's killing look, he would think that she learned even that from the assassin. It would be merely proving him right in some convoluted backward way.
"I suppose since you two have completed the mission, one cannot argue with the results," the rafiq ground out, though Sandy could tell that it was practically paining him to admit it. It was an uncharacteristic concession from the otherwise nearly inflexible scribe. Sandy held back from glancing at Altair to confirm if he was on the same brainwave as she was. It would have to wait. "Rest, recuperate…" the man turned around and breezed back into the bureau with a stiffened gait. Sandy wondered what his problem with her was really, it surely couldn't be just her being a woman and doing things unorthodoxly.
"You'd think he expects me to demand a promotion and increased pay," she murmured under her breath.
"Perhaps he does."
"Heh, like I actually stand a chance of getting it." She tried to laugh it off, but there were a handful of acidic words on the tip of her tongue. She chose not to utter them because it was technically speaking ill of a superior. She didn't want to risk being overhead. She glanced at him again and smiled. "Really, I only kill when I have absolutely no other choice. Some assassin I'd be," she snickered, turning away and practically diving into the sea of pillows in the shade.
The sun had set well into the waters of the sea when they had caught up with the army on the march. Maria was sore in more places than she wanted to count and that made her mood plummet precipitously. She could not even remember the last time she had been this tired. She wasn't even sure there had even been such a time before. She couldn't even afford thinking about rest yet; she still had more duties to attend to. At the very moment she had to press the laymen workers into erecting her lord's pavilion for the night. They had not bothered to do so because of the delayed arrival. The army camp around her was a nest of activity, but all of it was done with dimmed lights. This made the process take four times longer than it should.
The only candles and lamps that burned were in the various pavilions, the cooking fires were dimmed to burning embers. All was in the effort of disguising the size and layout of their camp from the sentries of Saladin. The brightest pavilion was right in the center of the camp, belonging to Richard himself. Robert had elected to have his pitched as far from Richard's as he could without rousing the suspicion that he was avoiding the king in any way. Richard was already annoyed that the Grand Master of the Knights Templar had not ridden at his right the whole way. Maria knew that the effort at distance was valiant by moot, if Richard decided to summon the Grand Master during the night; she'd still get a very rude awakening first.
With the final peg and guy-rope anchored the pavilion was finally complete. The laymen scurried about to carry in and set up the limited pavilion equipage. Blissfully the men knew the layout by heart, having assembled and disassembled it before, she only had to stand there and look menacing. Three laymen worked on reassembling the bed frame in the corner with one setting up the stands at its head. Two more were busy with the hanging and lighting of lanterns from hooks in the wooden frame of the pavilion. Another two were putting together the heavy desk opposite of the door, and the last two carried in the chairs followed by the heavy storage trunks. Maria directed them to set the trunks in the corner as she touched the pouch at her hip, checking for the keys of said trunks.
"The pavilion is complete," the foreman of the team announced.
"Good, you are dismissed." Maria replied coolly.
The man bowed to her but at that moment she heard the flap of the pavilion open. The bows instantly deepened even as the laymen hastened to duck out of the tent as if the devil himself was at their heels. As soon as they were gone Maria allowed herself to heave a sight and relax. She could feel the headache coming with the weak first thrumming in her right temple.
"What a day," she murmured, no longer deepening her voice.
"Go rest," Robert ordered.
She wanted to ask if she would be allowed to, but decided not to. Who really knew what sort of capricious mood Richard was in tonight? "Should I fetch a meal before that?" she asked.
Robert stopped in the center of the pavilion and appraised her for a long moment. "Something light," he stated.
Maria nodded her head and turned around.
"Leave the keys here." He ordered before she could exit the tent.
Maria shook her head, reaching for the pouch at her side. She jingled the ring and flicked it over her head for him to catch. For all of a moment she thought that she had succeeded at keeping him from damaging his sight on work tonight.
She was back at the pavilion in record time, carrying a tray with fresh bread, a bowl of soup made with actual meat and cooked vegetables, and a handful of fresh fruits. With no guards at the entryway to raise the tent's flap for her, she had to maneuver around the flap extra carefully as to not drop the food. She found Robert already buried in an overall surprisingly small stack of paperwork that had not been there when she left the tent. He had lit three candles and set them on the table. She drew closer and set down the tray on the edge of the table.
"Sit down," he ordered, waving his hand towards the chair at the side of the tent.
She reached up and pulled off her helmet, deeming it safe. No one would barge into the tent without a good reason, so she could ease her act a little. By that point she was quickly becoming dead on her feet, the exhaustion had sneaked up on her and she heaved a sigh, using her turned back to hide it from Robert. The last thing she needed was for him to see that she was close to passing out. She dragged the chair closer to his desk and sank down on it, realizing belatedly that he had not yet touched the food she had brought.
"Is something wrong with the food?" she asked.
"I am not hungry," he replied, never lifting his eyes from the correspondence in his hands.
Maria blinked in surprise, should she take it away? It seemed unlike him to order food and then just change his mind.
"Seems like a shame wasting good food."
She stared at him for a long moment as the realization dawned. They had missed supper with the rest of the troops, so she would not have gotten anything until tomorrow midmorning. But he had the power of rank to break that restriction. No one would tell him no, so she would have to. She wouldn't have him fasting over twelve hours on her account. "I can handle a lon-"
"Eat. Or I'll make it an order." He cut in, giving her cold look.
Maria would have flinched under that cool look if she wasn't so used to it. There was no point arguing with it, so she pulled the tray closer and pulled off her gloves before picking up the spoon. She took the first mouthful of soup hesitantly; it did not sit well with her to eat his food. But then as it was like some devil possessed her and she dug into the soup with gusto. She heard him set down the parchment in his hands on the table. The chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back.
"You are in a foul mood today," he stated
Maria looked up; the spoon hovered halfway between the bowl and her mouth. She set it down slowly and straightened in her seat.
"Should I answer truthfully?" she asked.
"I have never stopped you before."
Maria bit off a chunk of bread, chewing as she collected her thoughts. "I'm just angry. I do not like being made a fool," she announced after swallowing. "That woman knew exactly where to hit and what to pull- she made a patsy of me."
"Her skill is fairly surprising," Robert mused lightly.
She looked up from the soup again, trying to disguise her annoyance. At that moment she couldn't understand what was so amusing about her humiliation. Asking was pointless, so she decided to steer the topic in another direction. "Richard will not be pleased that William is dead." It was saying the least on the matter, the king would probably be furious once he found out.
"I was not there to stop it," Robert said calmly, returning to his paperwork.
"Of course not, you let it hap-" Maria clapped a hand over her mouth. She had not meant to say such a blatantly impetuous thing. It had to be the exhaustion talking. She looked up slowly, "I am sorry, that just slipped out."
"No, you are right. I let it happen," he smiled.
Maria was baffled by the sudden amusement in his tone. Did she want to ask why? Having been in his service for almost two years, she knew Robert de Sable well enough to recognize that he always had a reason for whatever he did. Even when the situation turned seemingly against him, he always had some sort of plan to turn it right around. The man was as cunning as he was charismatic. Unfortunately sometimes she did not agree with his reasoning, and that usually resulted in an argument she invariably lost. Right then she knew it was neither the time nor place to start one, the pavilion did not offer much in the way of privacy. She decided that she did not need to know why and returned to the soup which was quickly turning lukewarm.
"Don't you want to know why?" He asked, almost teasing.
"Will I want to argue with you about it?" she replied.
"Perhaps, but correct me if I'm wrong; you like a good argument."
Maria glared from under her eyelashes as she took another mouthful of soup. She certainly could not say she did not; she thrived on the intellectual stimulation of trying to argue her point. Certainly it was not something she had often, seeing as he was the only person with whom she could have a lengthy conversation without risking exposing herself. However to say that she outright enjoyed having arguments with him would be a stretch.
"William was a pawn."
"A pawn?" she repeated.
He raised his hand to silence her, "One does not sacrifice a queen to protect a pawn, Maria."
Maria turned and stared into the soup bowl in front of her. She had known that she would not approve of Robert's reasons for letting William die. However, this proved too much. What she should say that would not trigger a shouting match? Knowing that Robert had let someone like William of Montferrat die because of her was a bitter medicine to swallow. "I imagine that there are those who would disagree with your assessment," she murmured.
"Those who aren't familiar with chess, perhaps."
She eyed him. "Sir—"
"I want your opinion on the Fallen," he cut her off smoothly; indicating clearly that the subject was to be dropped. "You know her slightly better than I do."
"I don't know her at all." Maria turned back to the soup. "Who I met in that bathhouse and who I met today seem like two different people. There was nothing timid left in her. Such a change so quickly is unnatural."
"Then it was not a change. She merely bared her claws," Robert remarked.
Maria bit off another chunk of bread, chewing on it slowly as she thought about what he had said. Certainly the woman could have faked the innocence and coyness the first time. All women had it in them to act timid and submissive. Most did nothing but act in such a manner. It annoyed Maria that she had been fooled by such an act, that she had not seen the devil behind those eyes.
"Did she harm you?" he asked.
Maria was startled out of her brooding thoughts by the question and the warm manner in which he had asked it.
"No. I do not think she meant to cause me actual pain," she turned back to the soup. It bothered Maria that the fallen's manner of fighting did not inflict pain, but could still bring down her opponent. It was too strange a way of thinking, to bring someone down without causing them pain or wounds. Maria was used to fighting opponents that were much stronger than her, angry individuals who would like nothing better than to spill her blood. It had taken time, but she had learned to match and defeat them. Yet the Fallen had an almost gentle, but highly effective manner of fighting that looked easy to master. Maria was sure that she could mimic the particular series of strikes the fallen used on her.
Maria looked up from the soup when she heard the chair creak again. Robert put his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingers interwoven before him. His gaze was locked at some distant point past her shoulder, and he was grinning faintly. That vaguely amused yet predatory expression always made Maria nervous, it never boded well.
The Tidbits Corner:
Robert's Chess Analogy – Chess has been around in Europe since the 1000s, I feel him making the allusion is not at all improper.
Director's Notes:
I wanted some stress to get me writing, I got just the opposite. Too much of it. The first half of this chapter (the action scene) wrote itself, because I had mostly story-boarded it at the time of the previous chapter's completion. Everything else of course ended up plaguing me with this and that. The final scene was a pure HELL writing. I really need to start making more thorough storyboards.
My university term this year is hell, I get A LOT of reading to be doing during the week, and that pretty much exhausts my brain to the point of being unable to stand looking at word, never mind typing something up. I know my delays are inexcusable, and I'm not happy about them.