Assassin's Creed: Unity by Oliver Bowden Read Free Book Online Page A

that there were serious matters they wanted to discuss when Olivier was asked to withdraw, the door closed and Father bade me take a seat.
    “Your mother tells me that your training is progressing well, Élise,” he said.
    I nodded enthusiastically, looking from one to the other. “Yes, Father. Mr. Weatherall says I’m going to be a bloody good sword fighter.”
    Father looked taken aback. “I see. One of Weatherall’s British expressions, no doubt. Well, I’m pleased to hear it. Obviously you take after your mother.”
    “You’re no slouch with a blade yourself, François,” said Mother, with a hint of a smile.
    “You’ve reminded me it’s a while since we dueled.”
    “I’ll take that as a challenge, shall I?”
    He looked at her and for a moment the serious business was forgotten. I was forgotten. For a second it was just Mother and Father in the room, being playful and flirting with one another.
    And then, just as quickly as the moment had begun, it ended and the attention returned to me.
    “You are well on your way to becoming a Templar, Élise.”
    “When shall I be inducted, Papa?” I asked him.
    “Your schooling will be finished at the Maison Royale in Saint-Cyr, then you will become a fully fledged member of the Order and you will train to take my place.”
    I nodded.
    “First, though, there is something we have to tell you.” He looked at Mother, their faces serious now. “It’s about Arno . . .”
    iii
    Arno was by then my best friend, and I suppose the person I loved the most after my parents. Poor Ruth. She’d had to abandon any lasting hope she might have had that I would settle down to girlhood and begin taking an interest in those same girly things adored by others my age. With Arno on the estate not only did I have a playmate whenever I wanted one, but a
boy
playmate. Her dreams lay in ruins.
    I suppose, looking back, I had taken advantage of him rather. An orphan, he had come to us adrift in need of direction and I, of course, as much a novice Templar as a selfish little girl, had made him “mine.” We were friends, and of the same age, but even so my role was one of older sister and it was a role I had taken to with great gusto. I loved besting him in pretend sword fights. During Mr. Weatherall’s training sessions I was a craven novice prone to mistakes and, as he was often pointing out, leading with my heart and not my head, but in play fights with Arno my novice skills made me a dazzling, spinning master. At other games—skipping, hopscotch, shuttlecock—we were evenly matched. But I always won at sword fighting.
    When the weather was fine we roamed the grounds of the estate, spying on Emanuel and other grounds staff, skimming stones on the lake. When it rained we stayed indoors and played backgammon, marbles or jacks. We spun hoops through the great corridors of the ground floor and roamed the floors above, hiding from housemaids, running giggling when they shooed us away.
    And that was how I spent my days: in the morning I was tutored, groomed for my adult life of leading the French Templars; the afternoon was when I let go those responsibilities and instead of being an adult-in-waiting became a child again. Even then, though I never would have articulated it as such, I knew that Arno represented my escape.
    And of course nobody had failed to notice how close Arno and I had become.
    “Well, I’ve never seen you so happy,” said Ruth resignedly.
    “You’re certainly very fond of your new playmate, aren’t you, Élise?” from my mother.
    (Now—now as I watch Arno sparring with my father in the yard and hear that they’ve gone hunting together, I wonder, was my mother just a tiny bit jealous that I had a significant other in my life? Now I know how she might have felt.)
    Yet it had never occurred to me that my friendship with Arno might be a cause for concern. Not until that very moment when I stood before them in the chamber and they told me they had something to