Davenport Homestead, 1781
Naomi
"I'm told you're not eating," I chide, settling onto the chair beside Achilles' bed, a bowl of soup in my hands.
"Ah, what can food do for my wasting body?" he waves a hand in the air. But the old man drinks when I feed him the soup, coughing slightly.
"You seem troubled," he manages after his coughs subside. His frown seems to add more wrinkles to his lined face, if that were even possible. The sight tugs at my heart fiercely. Even lying on his sickbed, Achilles never fails to care for me.
"How can I not be?" I force my best smirk, but I can tell Achilles is unconvinced. "Ever since you fell ill, you don't lecture me anymore."
He grins at that, but his smile is quickly replaced by a rack of coughs. "You and I both know that my illness is not the only thing on your mind."
I sigh in admission. Achilles can read me like a children's book, so there's no point in lying. He's stopped coughing now, and fixes me with an intent gaze, urging me to speak.
"Charles Lee still lives," I say quietly.
"And Connor will do whatever it takes to pursue him."
"Yes."
"But not you." His eyes are full of meaning. It isn't a question.
"I..." A flash of guilt claws at my insides, forcing my mouth to fumble for the words. "I will go with him. You know that."
"I do," he replies, his tone neutral. "But I also know that you're only going because of him."
The implication stings, and Achilles knows it. I look away as I draw out a long breath, unable to hold the old man's gaze. Afraid to see the disappointment there. "I suppose you think I'm selfish."
"Yes," Achilles says, matter-of-factly. I feel my teeth grinding against each other. "Yes, it is selfish that you no longer serve the Assassins' cause. That your fight is no longer against the Templars." His words are harsh, razor-edged, though I cannot deny the truth there.
"But I will not condemn you for that."
The last line comes out as a whisper, like a hushed secret. It draws my eyes to his, and the wistfulness I see there surprises me. I swallow once, hard, but still my voice tightens with emotion. "Would you have done the same?"
I watch him carefully as he ponders my question, regret and uncertainty chasing across his features. They remind me that he is no stranger to pain, and has endured enough heartache to last a few lifetimes. Shay's betrayal, the death of his family, the loss of his Brotherhood—I wonder if the memories are flashing before his eyes right now. Would he have given everything in exchange for his loved ones? Or am I alone in my selfishness?
It seems I am not.
"I would now," he breathes.
I take his hand in mine and squeeze it, conveying a thousand words that I cannot form. We sit there in silence, content to be in each others' presence.
Diana, the kind woman who cares for Achilles when we're away, enters the room. "Oh, you managed to get him to eat," she notes in surprise. "The old man's been especially stubborn before you returned."
"I am right here, Diana, you don't have to speak across me," he retorts, not unkindly. "Actually, your arrival is most opportune. Could you get Connor for me?"
Diana looks irritated at being sent off, but obeys. I flash her a sympathetic smile before she leaves. "I'll leave you two to it, then," I pat Achilles' hand, and rise to leave.
"Naomi."
The old man's call halts my steps just as I reach the doorway. "You know, he would choose you, too."
As much as I wish he is right, I know he isn't. "No. No, he wouldn't."
I leave the room before Achilles can say anything else.
Cool air washes over me when I step out onto the porch, clearing my head and the thoughts within. Not all of them, of course. They never really leave me. But before they return, a lean, wigged figure on horseback draws my attention. General Marquis de Lafayette dismounts his horse nimbly, and rushes forward. "Ah, Naomi! Is Connor around?"
I wasn't aware that Connor was expecting anyone. If the general notes my surprise, he doesn't mention it. "Yes, he's inside," I reply, and lead him up the stairs to Achilles' room. "May I ask why you seek him, General?"
"I don't know that myself. He just called for me."
"Well, you'll have to wait a moment. He's having a word with—"
As if on cue, Connor emerges from Achilles' room, his expression strained. But his frown disappears as soon as he spots the two of us.
"Connor!" Lafayette exclaims. "I came as soon as I could."
The Assassin straightens, stillness settling over his features. "Tell me you bring good news."
"The Comte de Grasse said yes. You need only join his fleet in Chesapeake Bay, and they will serve as required." The Admiral? Chesapeake Bay? Serve? What is Connor up to? My head whips to him then, and though I know he feels my stare, he doesn't return it.
Lafayette speaks for the both of us. "But...what exactly is it you intend?"
"It's better that I show you."
Connor leads us to the training room, and stops in front of a table where he has Fort George mapped out. Ever since we got word that Charles Lee has taken refuge inside the fort, Connor has been poring over its layout, desperately seeking a way in. But he never told me he'd found one.
"Charles Lee may have been dismissed," Connor begins, "but it does not mean we are safe."
"But the Commander—"
"The Commander underestimates the threat and no more time can be wasted trying to convince him otherwise," Connor snarls, silencing the general. "I must do this on my own."
"Do what, exactly?" Confused, Lafayette glances at me to see if I am equally lost. I don't return the gesture.
Connor speaks neatly, his voice levelled. "Kill Charles Lee."
Lafayette seems taken aback, but he doesn't interrupt. "He hides within Fort George, which is itself, surrounded by a militarized district," Connor continues, gesturing at the layout. "I cannot hope to infiltrate it directly—" Then with one swift motion, he flips the tabletop, revealing another map model of the city's underground tunnels. "—so I will go under instead."
"Incroyable," Lafayette gasps.
"But the tunnels are filled in," I interject. "You said so yourself."
"Which is why I need you to clear them for me," he tells Lafayette, still avoiding my eyes. "Meanwhile, I will secure the Admiral's ships."
The young general raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "And you want the ships for...?"
"When signaled, they will bombard the fort—"
"—breaching its walls and creating a distraction." Lafayette's eyes light up. "I see!"
What? I most certainly do not see.
Connor continues with his suicide plan, studiously ignoring my glare. "In the chaos, I will slip inside, find Charles Lee, and silence him forever."
I don't bother hiding my disbelief. It creeps into my voice, raising it a few octaves higher. "You want to find a single man in an entire fort, all while cannonballs are raining down on you?" I cannot believe I am the only one who finds this a bad idea. This time, Connor finally looks at me. He lifts his chin, defiant.
"I am open to better ideas," he retorts. "Seeing as you have none—"
"I think it will work," Lafayette interrupts, noting our tension. "Besides, I heard you two have had far more dangerous undertakings!" he adds with a forced laugh.
We cease our argument for the general's sake, jaws still locked and shoulders stiff. I'm the first to break our glare, because I know he's right—I don't have a safer plan to reach Charles Lee. I don't know how to stop Connor from throwing himself into the claws of death. I suppose I know why he's been hiding his plans from me.
He knows our priorities are different now.
Connor leaves to send Lafayette off, leaving me alone in the training room. I stare at the map model, fingers trailing over the little wooden blocks resembling the ships. Ships that will bring either opportunity, or death.
And you don't have to save me.
But I need to, Connor.
I need you.