"Announce your what?"Achilles demanded.

Connor and I had entered his study somewhat sheepishly, and as Connor told him, I found myself staring at the taxidermy eagle next to the window, at the shadow its wings cast on the floor. America was declared a free country last year - so surely we were free now.

Neither Connor nor I spoke, and in the absence of our voices, the old man sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. "This is exactly what I wanted to avoid," he grumbled. "I saw it coming long ago, and yet I still hoped that it might be avoided. How foolish of me."

As though following my eyes, Achilles looked at the wide-winged eagle on its stand behind him, and shook his head slowly, disapprovingly. "It isn't like this is the first time this has happened to my students," he muttered. "But I had enough of that with Hope Jensen and Shay Cormac. I do not need this now, with the pair of you."

I was reminded, then, of something Nadia had told me when I first confided in her. There is never a wrong time or wrong place for love. It just happens. Was that true for Jensen and Cormac? Perhaps their spark had not yet been ignited to a flame, but that did not mean that it was not there.

Our silence seemed to irk Achilles, who continued his complaint. "You have no idea how this jeopardises all that we stand for. There is danger enough in your working as a team, but romantic attachment? You become the other's weak point - something I specifically taught you not to have. No weak nerve, no fear. Only your bones may break. By commencing with this courtship, you make a liability of yourselves."

Connor's eyes never left the old man. "That is a risk we are willing to take."

"Really?" the old man snapped. "You would throw away your life's work - and mine - for this? You would let the Templars win for this? Because I assure you, boy, there is no pity for lovers. Blood runs red no matter whose it is."

We were all-too aware of the risks - it had taken us a long time to discuss it in secret so Achilles would not catch on to us. But if love was a war, as my grandmother had said, then surely it was a war worth fighting.

"We know," I said.

Achilles held his steady gaze for a drawn-out breath, and then rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh. "I know I can't change your minds," he said. "You're both too stubborn. It's ridiculous. But I know it isn't my place to come between this. So I have only two requests for you - no, not requests. Orders.

"You must put the needs of the Brotherhood before your own," he continued, "as you swore to do. You made an oath long ago, and it is your duty now, as Assassins, to uphold it at all costs. You have pledged your lives first and foremost to the Brotherhood, and so you will remain until you are incapable of doing so. And–" he counted his requests on his fingers– "no children. I do not want my house filled with screaming toddlers, thank you."

That seemed reasonable - until the old man turned and pointed to the wooden cabinet in the hall and said lightly, jokingly, "A letter for you, Mrs. Kenway."

Connor bristled - he hated any association with his father's name, which he did not share nor wish to share, and the fact that Achilles had applied it to me, however mocking it may have been, stirred the anger within him.

I ignored the comment and slipped the letter into my pocket. Connor, however, was not so adept at brushing off his annoyance. "Do not call her that."

"What?" huffed Achilles, incredulously. "I'm only teasing."

I listened to them with half an ear while I went to the kitchen: it was my turn to make dinner. After setting a pot of water over the hearth to boil, I set to work peeling potatoes.

The men behind me were not finished. "Teasing?" snapped Connor. "Are you sure you are not just taunting?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

Achilles' voice took a lower note. "Can you blame me for wanting to see how far your newfound sympathy for the Templars extends?"

"What sympathy?"

"Don't play the fool with me, boy," hissed the old man. "I have heard you express your regret following their deaths."

"Because their words make sense."

"Because the Templars are masters at manipulation, boy - have I taught you nothing?"

Arguments such as this had been increasingly common in the manor as of late - Connor and Achilles continually clashed over a difference of beliefs: Achilles believed the Templars should die at all costs, while Connor pondered the merit of their words and felt pity. My own stance, I supposed, was somewhere between the two: I lamented the loss of life called for by the Brotherhood, but I also understood that if the Templars were not stopped, they would paint the streets red with blood.

Already we had received word from the French Brotherhood that a powerful Assassin, Charles Dorian, had been killed at the hands of Shay Cormac, who had seized the Precursor box that our Orders fought for. In spite of this, however, the Assassins were on the offensive, and the Templars on the defensive, thanks to our endeavours in America.

After a while, the pair stormed away from one another, as all their fights concluded as of late. Connor drifted into the kitchen on silent feet and peeked into the pot of boiling water, in which the potato chunks and chopped vegetables now floated.

He wandered the kitchen aimlessly for a few moments, looked over my shoulder at the cabbage I was shredding. "What did the letter say?" he asked in a sullen monotone.

I realised I had not yet read it. "Here," I said, "wash your hands and take over from me while I read it."

He stepped easily into my place, and used his hands to tear the cabbage while I sat on the bench and sliced the seal open. The letter was from my mother. I read it in silence - horror, horror of horrors, weighed upon my heart with every word written in my mother's elegant hand. There was a slant to her writing, a jaggedness that was not normally there, and it betrayed her panic.

Connor politely gave me a few minutes to read it before asking me, "What does it say?"

I placed the letter flat on the table with numb fingers, and when I spoke, my voice did not sound like my own. "Meredith has run away."

*

I could not settle for all of that day, so Connor and I set out for Boston early the following afternoon, taking two of our best horses. The day was overcast, quite unlike the blistering sun of the previous day, and my mood sank low.

I set a hard pace, and after an hour, I could feel my horse flagging - still I pushed on, gritting my teeth against the anxiety that gnawed me. Never, in all of my strangest dreams, did I imagine Meredith doing this. I didn't know why she would do this, and because I didn't know, I couldn't fix it, and because I couldn't fix it, I worried.

Connor urged his horse closer to my side, close enough to reach out and touch my elbow. "Sassy."

"Why would she do this?" I said, and I could feel my voice rising. "How could she do this?"

He did not know - how could he? So I let my words hang in the air between us, and the silence that followed was thick. The yawning dread hung over me like a mouth waiting to clamp down, dripping from its teeth onto my head.

I felt the horror burrowing into me, and knew, with a sudden jolt of realisation, that this was my mother's curse. Every person I loved in my life only ended up leaving. I held them too tightly, I loved them too much, and when the inevitable came, I was the one with the bleeding hands. From my birth, I had been snake-bitten: everywhere I turned, people left.

Soon my parents' house came into view as we crossed the winding roads; it was eerily quiet as we hitched the horses to the fence. No birds sang on this grey morning - all life was sucked from their bones.

What would have been a day of joy - the announcement of our courtship to my parents - was one of sorrow. I knocked on the door, and my hand was feeble.

It was Nadia who answered. Nadia, who had moved out after her happy marriage to Finch, whose shining kindness was held tenderly in my heart. Her gentle eyes were sad as she beheld us on the doorstep.

Lydia and Gabriel were in the drawing room, side by side on the sofa, and Lydia was holding a piece of paper in her shaking hands. They both looked up when Connor and I stepped inside, and Lydia rushed over to hug me tightly. I could feel her trembling.

"Merry's gone." Her voice was high with desperation. "She's gone!"

"Why?" was all I could ask.

My mother gestured to Gabriel, who was frowning at the piece of paper in his hand. "She left a note."

Mother, Father, Cassandra, Ryan,
By the time you read this, I will be halfway to the Carolinas. My absence will probably go unnoticed by you, so I do not expect that you will reach me.
I am finished with living the life that you want me to live. I am beginning to live the life that I want to live.
Do not try to follow me. You will be unable.

My sister's anger bled through every word. I folded the paper carefully and returned it to the silent Gabriel. It was useless to ask what had caused this - we had. I had.

"When did she do this?" I asked, quietly.

It was Gabriel who responded. "Three days ago."

"She's gone!" wailed Lydia.

Three days. Connor had tracked older prey than that - surely he could do it again. But when I met his eyes, his face did not change, and the shake of his head was so minute I almost didn't see it. That was odd. Why wouldn't he try to find my sister?

"Why would she do this?" my mother wept. "She's only twelve."

Suddenly I knew. I patted her back to comfort her. "Merry told me before that she wanted to act. My guess is that she found a travelling theatre troupe and joined them."

"Acting?" Lydia wrinkled her nose. "Why would she choose such an undignified dream to chase?"

"Because," I said, "undignified as it may be, it was a dream nevertheless."

Lydia's face fell, and she gave Gabriel a long, sad look. "So she left because she didn't think we would support her?" I heard the words she didn't say. Did we fail her?

My sister left, I knew, because she felt unloved. In the beginning, she was an only child, the darling of her parents. Then I came along, the half-grown sister, eight years her senior, who immediately took the attention of her parents. Lydia spent so long trying to make things up with me that she neglected to love with the same measure her second daughter. While outwardly Meredith was subdued, dreams began to soar in her heart - and running away was the act of creating her wings and flying as Icarus.

Lydia and Gabriel looked so heartbroken, so fragile - perhaps some positive words would cheer them up. "I have good news," I said. "Connor and I wish to announce our courtship."

I received a mix of delight (from the quiet Gabriel) and disappointment from (from Lydia). My eyes found Nadia standing in the doorway, and she was smiling widely at me. She was the first person I had told about my feelings for Connor, and here she was now, witnessing it. Beside me, Connor was silent and still.

"Oh," my mother said.

My heart froze. "Excuse me?"

My mother sighed and sat heavily next to her husband and rubbed a hand across her forehead, ruffling her golden hair - hair that was just like Meredith's. "If you marry–" she sounded tense– "you will marry below your class. You will have nothing."

"I don't care." Class was of no importance to me. Money was not a concern. We would get by, as we always did - that was the beauty of the homestead community.

I shifted my gaze from Lydia to Gabriel, who was watching me with dark, steady eyes. A small smile had formed at the corners of his mouth. But it was Lydia whose head drooped, who said, "I wanted more for you."

What more could I want but love? Connor was tense beside me, listening and not responding with an impassive expression. One would think I had told her that we were pregnant, and not merely in courtship. I did not tell her, therefore, that we had been holding this secret for months.

Lydia abandoned me as a baby - she left me when I needed her most. Thus, she had no authority over my life or how I lived it.

As though she knew this, Lydia rose and pulled Connor and me into a hug. I was smaller than Lydia was, and Connor was taller, so it was an awkward angle, and Connor did not fully reciprocate the affection.

"My dear ones," she murmured. "Forgive my temperament. I'm a mother: I want what's best for my children." She tenderly kissed the top of my head. "And you're my stubborn daughter, and you burn so brightly. If this is what you want, then this is what is best for you."

When we parted, Lydia's eyes were teary anew. "Now, you must tell me everything. Stay for dinner."

*

Lydia also insisted that we stay the night, so after dinner, I showed Connor to Nadia's old room upstairs, for Nadia herself had to return home to her husband. The room was small and plain, with a simple bed and locker. My Connor deserved better, I decided, and brought him to my old room.

It still looked as it had before I moved out, though empty of the possessions that made it quintessentially mine. The room was dark, and while I lit the lamps, Connor stood in the centre of the room and looked around.

"So this is it," he said. "This was your home."

As the small flame flickered to life, I looked at Connor. "My home was where you were."

His eyes were soft as he watched me light the final lamp, watched me return to him and drop my head against his chest. He patted my back gently.

After a while, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. "Earlier, when we were talking about Merry, why didn't you say you could track her? We both know that you can."

"Because what your sister did is, in essence, what I, too, did when I left my people to come to Achilles." The orange lamplight flickered in his eyes. "Meredith only gets one life, and she must carve out her own path in it."

"When did you become so wise?" I teased.

He rolled his eyes and pushed me playfully away. I ducked behind the screen in the room so I could change out of my dress, and Connor sat on the edge of the bed.

"In spite of everything," I found myself saying, "I'm glad we told them. I feel better now."

"Good. Now we are free."

The irony of his words almost made me smile as I unlaced my corset and hung it over the top of the screen. To find freedom in this time of war was a strange idea indeed.

When I emerged at last, wearing my comfortable chemise, I sat next to him on the bed and asked, "What should we do regarding your people?"

He saw through my careful words. "I am unsure if we should tell them as we did your parents. My people emphasise control of emotion, especially during courtship. To go to them with such an announcement would plant seeds in their mind that the white man has poisoned me." Seeing my disappointment, he continued, "My people's celebration of the summer approaches. I would like you to come with me."

Other than Kanen'tó:kon, I had never met Connor's people - and the prospect both thrilled and terrified me. "I'd like that."

His smile was slight. "Good," he said again. "I am glad."

I lay back on my old bed in the room that had once been mine. I used to sit at the desk and write letters to Connor and Achilles and Thomas. The bookshelves, once piled high with books, were now bare. I had become who I was in this room, and as I glanced at Connor, who was also looking around, I thought that this was his little glimpse into Cassandra's world, a chance to see through my eyes.

As I climbed under the covers, Connor stood. "I am sure your parents would not like to find me here at this hour. I bid you good-night."

"Wait," I said before he could turn his back. "I don't care what they think. Stay here for a while."

He gave me a long look before saying, "Fine." I grinned and moved over to make room for him, knowing that if he had actually wanted to leave, he would have put up more of a fight to have his way.

As he settled next to me, I pondered. This was only the second time I had slept in the same bed as him, and I was paranoid. Would I wake him if moved? Would I take all the blankets and leave him cold?

But when I looked at him, my fears melted like candle wax. He was my best friend - so what if we woke each other up with kicking? We would probably deserve it.

He looked back at me, and his eyes were bright in the lamplight. "I have told you about my people," he said. "Our customs and our ways. You have heard about my childhood - but I have not heard yours. So, tell me your story."

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about your childhood. Tell me about why you are a Christian. Tell me about England and your journey to America."

I did.

*

We set out for Kanatahséton upon leaving the house in Boston. Connor gave me a brief explanation of the summer initiation festival: it took place over five days and was believed to be the awakening of Mother Earth following her winter sleep. On the first day, the women and children would gather foods, like fruits and nuts, to be used in the planting ritual the next day - a mark of respect for the earth and hope that the summer would bring a fruitful harvest. The third day was silent, as the soil was allowed to rest, at peace. The fourth day - today - was the celebration, and the next day was a continuation of that.

He did not explain what the celebration entailed, and as he led me through forests I had never seen before, I soon began to hear laughing children and chattering voices. I followed his lead and dismounted when he did, and we approached the wooden lattice walls on foot.

Once we were inside the walls, Connor took the horses away, leaving me to stand and marvel at the village before me. There were six longhouses next to the glistening waters of a lake, and I could see a group of teenagers hauling canoes onto the water. Various growing patches were made visible by the dark, freshly-planted earth.

Some women sat in the sun, chattering and weaving wampum together, while others gathered by the cooking fires, preparing the food for the celebration. Ballrooms and glittering chandeliers did not shine a light on the beauty of this place.

Connor returned just in time for a familiar voice to call, "Ratonhnhaké:ton!" and Kanen'tó:kon broke away from a crowd of men to greet his friend with a joyful hug. "Tekwanonwerá:tons. Ohnisonhatie?" (Welcome. How are you?)

Connor smiled widely as they embraced. "Ioianerákie, ontiatén:ro. Tiohrhén:sa satá:ti?" He gestured to me. (I am well, my friend. Can you speak in English?)

Kanen'tó:kon noticed me and smiled. "Little pale one," he greeted me, "it is good to see you again."

"You too." I could see the familial resemblance between him and Connor (though in my eyes, Connor was the most beautiful of the pair, beautiful beyond compare, beautiful beyond reason).

Sunlight dappled the ground with drops of gold as I followed Connor and Kanen'tó:kon deeper into the village, past a group of young men fastening beads to carved wooden masks. Some of them recognised Connor and waved to him in greeting.

Kanen'tó:kon brought us to one of the longhouses, out of which the scents of incense and tobacco drifted. "Then Clan Mother would speak with you, Ratonhnhaké:ton," he said, and then addressed me: "Cassandra, wait here."

Once Connor had ducked inside, I saw it: for a split second, Kanen'tó:kon's expression fractured, and a darkness took the place of joy on his face. Then it was gone, and he turned sharply and walked away, and I was left wondering if I had ever seen it at all.

As I stood alone in the sunshine, I tried to see the world through Kanen'tó:kon's eyes, to try to understand the look I had just seen. From childhood, he and Connor had been inseparable - and then his best friend was lured by a higher calling, pulled into a mission to save their people, and left Kanen'tó:kon alone. He went from doing everything with his best friend to doing everything by himself.

Kanen'tó:kon was jealous of Connor, I realised. And jealousy was always a dark omen.

By the time I came to this conclusion, Connor stepped out of the longhouse, shading his eyes against the sun. "Oiá:ner would like to speak with you," he told me.

Nerves seized my throat in a chokehold as my feet led me into the cool shade of the longhouse. There were open doorways at each end, allowing light to reach the sleeping mats that clustered by the walls in family units. A fire burned quietly in the centre, releasing smoke through an opening in the roof, and sitting cross-legged beside this fire was an old woman.

I had never seen anyone like her. She was small and stooped, with a deeply lined face and papery hands gnarled from a lifetime of labour. Her grey hair was twisted into two braids that reached her waist, which was encircled by a wide belt of red and white beads. She wore a porcupine quill necklace that rattled as she turned her head towards me.

"Sit," she said in a voice like the ancient trees, and gestured to the place across from her.

I sat on the floor and crossed my legs as she did. Her dark eyes watched me with the keenness of an owl. I tried to find traces of Connor in her face - perhaps the bone structure, or the eye shape.

"What is your name?" she asked me.

"Cassandra."

"Hm." The old woman's chin raised slightly. "You are English." When I nodded, she said, "My people favour the English in this war: something that Ratonhnhaké:ton cannot understand. What of you?"

"I stand for freedom," I said.

Oiá:ner regarded me with a look I could not read, and clasped her hands in her lap. "A dreamer," she mused. "Like Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The fire popped, and little sparks were scattered into the air. I recalled Connor's stories of his mother's death in a fire - she would have been Oiá:ner's only daughter, whom she was hoping would become the next Clan Mother.

"My grandson tells me," she continued, "that you are in courtship with one another. Will you marry?" When I didn't respond, she said, "In our tradition, it is a man who moves village to join his wife's clan. What can you offer Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

My heart was in my throat. "I love him. That's all I can give."

Those owl eyes were bright and thoughtful. "But is it enough?"

She turned her face to the fire, and her copper skin turned orange, deepening the lines on her face until she was as cracked and seamed as the bark of a tree. I understood that this was my dismissal, and left on silent feet, afraid to break her focus.

Connor was waiting for me by the doorway, watching a small group of children chase each other with sticks. He knew I was there without looking. "How did it go?"

"She scares me." I shuddered, which made him laugh.

As the day wore on, Connor introduced me to the rest of his family; they bore names I could not dream to pronounce, so I remembered their faces instead. Food was served as the shadows began to lengthen, making the trees that surrounded the village seem taller, darker. We sat with Kanen'tó:kon as Oiá:ner stood and blessed the food, thanking the plants and the animals for giving their lives for us, thanking the spirits for keeping the people safe for another year.

I let the words wash over my head like water, for I did not believe in this paganism, and found myself instead looking at Connor. He listened intently, eyes sharp and focused as a wolf. I was fascinated by the way the sunlight touched his skin, and thought, for a moment, how difficult it might be to capture in paint.

The food was good. Wild turkey and rabbit and squash and corn, to celebrate the starting harvest. And once the food was cleared away and the fire towered high, the dancing began.

Young men wearing carved wooden masks began to dance around the fire, beating water drums and turtle-shell rattles and singing something I couldn't understand. I was fixated on the masks, how terrifying they were, taller than men, with gaping mouths and black, sightless eyes. The false faces, Connor told me.

The villagers began to dance in a wide circle around them as darkness fell - I was told that the circle was to represent the circle of life, and the drums mimicked the heartbeat of the earth.

Connor and I stood apart from the circle and watched, though it was without any bad feeling. I watched from a distance so that I might learn by observing, and Connor chose to stand with me.

He tilted his head and looked at me. "I heard what you told my grandmother."

I looked up at him and acted shocked. "You were eavesdropping?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I could not help but overhear." His tone became soft, and his eyes gleamed in the firelight. "You love me?"

I scuffed one shoe in the dirt. "Yes."

"Say it to me."

I had told him before, but that was when we were just friends - not like this. My heart was in my hands, and I was offering it to him, warm and still bleeding, and I knew that he would keep it safe.

So I smiled. "I love you."

I had rarely seen such tender joy on his face, and when he did choose to show it, it was a beautiful, beautiful thing. His smile at this moment could have outshone the stars. "And I love you." He took my hand and began to pull me towards the circle. "Come, let us dance."

We found an opening in the circle and squeezed ourselves in. The air was thick and warm, and sparks from the fire floated up into the night sky to join with the stars there. The heartbeat of the earth echoed in our heads as we danced through the night.