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

say about him.
    iv
    “Arno is of Assassin descent,” said my father.
    And a little bit of my world shook.
    “But . . .” I began, and tried to reconcile two pictures in my mind: one of Arno in his shiny-buckle shoes, waistcoat and jacket, running through the hallways of the château steering his hoop with his stick. The other of the Assassin doctor in the alleyway, his hat tall in the fog. “Assassins are our enemy.”
    Mother and Father shared a glance. “Their aims are opposed to ours, it’s true,” he said.
    My mind was racing. “But . . . But does this mean Arno will want to kill me?”
    Mother moved forward to comfort me. “No, my dear, no, it doesn’t mean that at all. Arno is still your friend. Though his father, Charles Dorian, was an Assassin, Arno himself knew nothing of his destiny. No doubt he would have been told, in time, perhaps on his tenth birthday as we were planning to do with you. But as it stands, he entered this house unaware of what the future had in store for him.”
    “He is not an Assassin then. Simply the son of an Assassin.”
    Again they looked to one another. “He will have certain innate characteristics, Élise. In many ways Arno is,
was
and always will be an Assassin. It is just that he doesn’t know it.”
    “But if he doesn’t know it, then we shall never be enemies?”
    “That is quite correct,” said Father. “In fact we believe his nature might be overcome by nurture.”
    “François . . .” said Mother warningly.
    “What do you mean, Father?” I asked, my eyes darting from him to her, noting the discomfort in her expression.
    “I mean that you have a certain influence over him, do you not?” said Father.
    I felt myself coloring. Was it so obvious?
    “Perhaps, Father . . .”
    “He looks up to you, Élise, and why not? It is gratifying to see. Most encouraging.”
    “François . . .” Mother said again, but he stopped her with an upraised hand. “Please, my darling, leave this to me.”
    My eyes darted.
    “There is no reason why you, as Arno’s friend and playmate, can’t begin to educate him in our ways.”
    “Indoctrinate him, François?” A flash of anger from my mother.
    “Guide him, my dear.”
    “Guide him in a manner that goes against his nature?”
    “How do we know? Perhaps Élise is right that he is not an Assassin until he’s made one. Perhaps we can save him from the clutches of his people.”
    “The Assassins don’t know he’s here?” I asked.
    “We don’t believe so.”
    “Then there’s no reason he need be found out.”
    “That’s quite right, Élise.”
    “Then he needn’t be . . . anything.”
    A look of confusion crossed Father’s face. “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t quite follow.”
    What I wanted to say was,
Leave him out of this
. Let Arno be for me, nothing to do with the way we see the world, the way we want to shape the world. Let the bit of my life I share with Arno be free of all that.
    “Quite,” agreed Mother.
    He pursed his lips, not especially liking this wall of resistance thrown up by his womenfolk. “He is my ward. A child of this house. He will be brought up according to the doctrines of the house. To put it bluntly, Élise, we need to get to him before the Assassins do.”
    “We have no reason to fear that the Assassins will ever discover his existence.”
    “We cannot be sure. If the Assassins reach him, they will bring him into the Order. He would not be able to resist.”
    “If he would not be able to resist, then how can it be right to steer him otherwise?” I pleaded, though my reasons for doing so were more personal than based on beliefs. “How can it be right for us to go against what fate has in store for him?”
    Father fixed me with a hard look. “Do you want Arno to be your enemy?”
    “No,” I said, impassioned.
    “Then the best way to be sure of that is to bring him round to our way of thinking.”
    “Yes, François, but not now,” interrupted Mother.