Distance, Ch. 1

-What's Done is Done

The winds howled and the waves crested hungrily around the ship. Julius, its captain and leader of the small Roma tribe that inhabited it, steered his sails. The storm would not swallow the galleon, humorously named Bakht, meaning luck in Persian-dialect Romani. He picked up the word while in the Persian Gulf, following Marco Polo's directions to the Orient.

Alba watched him from the captain's room where her maid Raffaela had prepared her for bed. The moment she exited her mother's womb he fell in love with her. What parent wouldn't?

"Her mother that's who," Julius muttered to no one in particular as a wave charged at the port side of Bakht. When it struck the galleon it teetered on the sea's surface, water rising to slap the Romani still on the main deck. He hated that woman; that damned Venetian noblewoman Allegra. Her public image was more important than her daughter. Soon after Allegra recovered from childbirth she hired Raffaela to take her place and paid Julius and the midwives to keep it quiet. "Good riddance."

"Papa!" A sweet little voice shouted over the turbulent sea. Long tresses whipped around Alba's face as she tried to see him through the active crew, her head poking out the door of Captain's Quarters, waiting for acknowledgement. The boatswain stumbled over a soaked rope, bumping into other crewmen who were watching the seas, carrying stuff onto the lower decks to stay dry. Every now and then she caught a glimpse of him. Should she run out to tell him good night?

Alba spun on her heel as she closed the door behind her to dash to the trunk that had some of her clothes in there. The iron snaps creaked as her thumbs flipped them up and lifted the lid. She began rummaging through the trunk for her cloak so she wouldn't get wet outside. Though Alba knew it wouldn't help much, her nursemaid would have a fit if her long curls got wet. Raffaela, with her blonde hair unbraided and nightgown on, hovered over the girl. "What are you doing?" she sighed. The woman had watched over Alba for years. Doubtless Raffaela knew what Alba was doing; she doesn't even know why she asks anymore. "It's too cold and wet out there. It will not kill you if you don't say goodnight to him."

Alba's sudden frown surprised Raffaela—the girl was fifteen but sometimes she had childish tendencies. Perhaps it was a sea superstition that the nurse had not yet heard of? She shook her head; they had been together for over ten years, the girl just wanted to say goodnight. After all, Julius and Alba loved each other very much. Still, "You'll get in the way of the crewmen. You know it's the stormy season, and they're always irritable then."

The girl found her heavy black cloak and pulled it over her shoulders, tying it at her collar bone. As she flipped the hood up, Alba turned to Raffaela on her tiptoes and pecked her on the cheek, and then rushed out the Captain's Quarters. "Alba!" She leaned against the door frame with a sigh of defeat. "No matter how many times I say it, she never listens."

Out on the deck, Alba twisted through the men with ease. She was a novice assassin after all.

When she was eight they were staying with the Siamese Assassin Sect, Julius asked if they thought she was cut out for being one of them. After a month of very basic training the Siamese said yes. Alba had done well with memorizing herbs that could heal and kill, but when her father asked about martial arts they recommended Daito-ryu Jujutsu for her instead of Muay Thai. Julius took her to the Japanese Assassins. Julius trusted Alba to their care for five years. When he returned, his little girl had become a promising apprentice—her stride had a deadly grace to it, in her eyes was a will to learn the ways of the Brotherhood. A year ago he sent her on various investigations. He had planned to make her an initiate when she's 17 and more mature from marriage. In a few more weeks she'll be wedded anyway, to a strong, charming, young man named Alessandro.

"Papa!" she called. When his eyes met hers, a matching tawny pair, she put her fingers to her lips and blew small kiss. He put a hand to his cheek, pretending that it had landed there. Alba giggled and ran inside.

In the room beside the captain's were two hammocks: one for her and one for Raffaela. Her nursemaid had already blown out the lamp and fallen asleep. But Alba didn't feel sleepy. Instead, she wanted to visit Alessandro—but the storm kept her fiancé on the deck, executing every order from the captain with considerable ease. Hours have passed since they last saw each other, time that Alba would willingly endure. With feline movement, Alba left the room for Alessandro's so she wouldn't be caught attempting to later.

In the earlier hours, the thudding of several seafarer boots echoed softly on the living deck. Alba shot up from her fetal position on his bed unaware that she had fallen asleep. The rolling of the galleon on the waves was not as rough as before—probably the cause of her catnap, she figured. For the few seconds before Alessandro came in Alba wondered if she should surprise him or greet him nonchalantly. The latter didn't sound as fun, so Alba licked her fingers and pinched the wick of the lit candle. With the flame out Alessandro slowly crossed the room. Then, as he relit the candle, she popped out and frightened Alessandro.

Alba stood behind the door as he entered humming a sailor song. She heard him pause to sigh and say, "Damn. It died again. I wonder how…" His tone hinted sarcasm and she knew she had been found out.

"So you're not as dull as I thought, blonde sir," Alba stepped out, smiling though she had been caught.

He relit the candle in the lantern. Alba saw the corners of his lips upturn. Jokingly, he held his heart and staggered as if wounded, moaning, "You wound me with your unkind words, my ves' tacha!" (Beloved) Alba drew closer to slip her arms around his middle, pleased when he reciprocated her embrace. "What brings you to me?"

He let go and sat down on his bed. As Alba remained standing, she noticed how his eyes looked like blue flames as they were fixed on her. "Love, among other things," she answered, "I couldn't sleep."

Alessandro frowned slightly, "Some of the crew are still awake. You don't want them seeing you in my room, do you?"

"I wouldn't mind—but Papa would."

"Then it's best you go now."

A small mocking grimace grew on Alba's face. "But you just got off your shift!"

Alessandro gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. "To bed, now. I don't want to dock in Livorno missing my head because you wanted to see me."

"Oh, fine. Have it your way!" Alba stuck her nose up in the air for a second, then showing Alessandro she wasn't actually upset, winked at him before tiptoeing back to her hammock before anyone saw her.

Julius watched as Livorno came into view, the stormy clouds far behind him. He scratched his chin in thought. The first order of business as soon as they docked was to visit the harbor's pigeon coop. Lorenzo de' Medici might have sent him something important from Giovanni pertaining to the death of the Duke of Milan, Galeazzo Maria Sforza. They presumed the man who had assassinated him was not one of the Brotherhood's, but had been paid by the Templars. Because Julius had been away from Italy for three months, his role in the investigation was nonexistent. That didn't mean, however, he couldn't help. Alba had asked to assist in when Julius told her about the death of Sforza.

His eye swept over the deck again. The crewmen Julius allowed a few hours of rest were already switching shifts with the dog-tired group.

Alessandro, taking a moment to yawn before approaching Julius, greeted him. "Morning, Captain. We're getting close to shore. Any orders before we dock?"

Julius' hands returned to the comfort of the ship wheel as he gave Alessandro a small smile. He was a good young man, a hard and intelligent shipmate. "Nothing but the normal."

"Yes sir." But Alessandro didn't leave yet. Instead he glanced up to examine the sails for any unnoticed damage like small tears or holes. Nothing. Then he looked towards the approaching land, "How long will we be in Livorno, Captain?"

"Maybe for a week," Julius rubbed his tired eyes. "Grab my astrolabe over there, will you, Alessandro?"

"Yes sir," Alessandro handed him the astrolabe, a brass disk with plates settled in its hollow center. Another disk was fitted over the plates and because of their international travel it also had a rule. While Julius held it up and began calculating the local time, "It's about six and a quarter. Have you seen Alba?"

"No…" Alessandro hoped that his future father-in-law didn't sense that he was lying. "Perhaps they are getting ready for docking. They'll probably want to visit the markets. I wanted to ask you...would you mind if I had the day to myself?"

Julius chuckled, "You work hard, boy, even filled in for the others when they were ill or unable. They will understand."

"Good." Alessandro simpered. Good.

Unlike the nursemaid, Alba found it hard to be sprightly for docking. Raffaela asked her if she was sick, but Alba shook her head and answered, "I spent last night being excited."

"But I know you, Alba. You have the energy of an Arabian stallion. It'll just take a moment to kick in again."

"I hope you're right," she drawled.

The nursemaid began tying Alba's bodice tight enough that it was snug but comfortable. Afterward Raffaela stooped to pull the excess chemise trapped at her waist from under her verdant dress. For a simple hairstyle to match the girl's clothes, Raffaela braided a clump of hair from the each temple and clasped them together at the back of Alba's head. Then she raked her fingers through the rest of the hair and slid an intricate silver circlet onto her crown. "There. What a beautiful look—"

The sudden succession of knocks at their door made them jump; it was Alessandro. "Alba? May I come in?"

"Eh, sure—hold on!" She pushed her toes into bronze divit-toed flats. "Come in!"

Alessandro opened the door, giving her a wolfish grin that made her heart pace quicken. "You look lovely."

"You look…handsome too," She sheepishly smiled, averting her gaze to hide her blush. He donned a black doublet with small intricate swirling designs running down the sternum then traveling around the lower hem. Though his sword was absent, a rapier belt hugged his waist. He wore Venetian-style breeches and knee-high boots that made him look like the swordsman who served the Vatican City.

"We've docked—would you like for me to take you to look around in the markets?"

"Have you Papa's permission?"

"Yes. But he said that Raffaela needn't come with us to the market," Alessandro lied.

Raffaela, possessed by a mixture of even more excitement and apprehension for the engaged couple, went through her personal agenda. There were a few things that she needed and even more errands to run. She will simply arrive at the marketplace a quarter of an hour after they have and watch them. "Behave," she admonished with an accusing finger pointed at Alessandro. Despite Alba's liveliness, Alessandro was a boy; most often, that was all it took for a girl to lose her virtue.

Livorno being the third-largest harbor in Italy, it was full of variety when it came to food, clothing, perfume and oils. This harbor was among Alba's favorites for that reason only. Alessandro guided her to a perfume vendor, an old wrinkled woman with squinty eyes and thin pursed lips. Her yellow skin hinted she was Oriental, yet her Italian was almost pure. "Welcome. I hope you find something that you like." Alba's eyes scanned the booth table for anything that stood out. Most of the items were from the Far East and therefore did not pique her interest like it would a European who had never traveled.

"Ooh, incense sticks. These smell really nice," Alba picked up a small bundle and held them under her nose. Notes of mingling jasmine and sandalwood pleased her. "How much for this pack?"

"Four florins." Four golden coins were dropped onto the table as Alba thanked the old woman and left with her incense sticks. As she turned, the energy Raffaela spoke of surged through her blood—there was an herbalist's booth a few rows behind them. Perhaps he would have castor beans and Jouzmathal, a leafy weed with pretty lavender flowers. It was a fatal hallucinogen and also Alba's favorite herb to use as a poison. Her free hand found her fiancé's as Alba dragged him through the unsuspecting crowds out for daily groceries.

"Alba, slow down!" She looked back at him with a glint of mischief in her tawny orbs but continued on her reckless path through the people, "Wait, there's something I have to do!"

Alba immediately froze in place to hear what he had to say. The impish grin did not fade, however, which meant as soon as he was finished talking, she would resume her antics. "What?"

"You see that man over there?" Alessandro put his arm around her, he pointed to a stark, suspicious guard scanning the marketplace for someone. The Livorno coat of arms, a crowned castle with a wreath of olive branches spanned under it, had been painted on his chest plate. The axe he wielded glinted menacingly, admonishing passersby to maintain distance from him. "I have to speak with him." Alessandro lifted his arm from her body, grabbed both of her hands and squeezed them firmly. "I will be right back."

"Okay…I'll be at the herbal booth." Alba's impish grin faded. She was curious now. What business did he have with a brutish guard?

Alessandro joined the brute in low-toned conversation. Alba walked over to the herbalist and asked for the herbs she wanted; meanwhile her eyes remained fixed on the men. She could not read their lips well enough, and lost almost every word each man said. She searched their facial expressions, but there were no strong indications of anything. Alba could tell they finished speaking when her fiancé bowed his head and clasped his hands together as a prayer gesture.

"Piccina?" The herbalist was waving in her face to catch her attention.

"I'm sorry, sir, my mind was elsewhere."

"I have no more castor beans, but I do have your Jouzmathal. Use very tiny amounts or you'll kill yourself. A hundred and seventy-five florins." Alba dumped the money into his palm to which he smiled and bid her a good day.

When he turned in her direction, she pretended to be consumed by her herbs and incense sticks, oblivious that he was coming back. "Did you miss me, ves' tacha?" Alba reacted jumpily when his hands came in contact with her shoulders, his warm breath licking at the nape of her neck. The blood rushed to her face like it always did and her sight got fuzzy, her heart sang. Alba nearly swooned. "Why don't we get out of this busy marketplace? Maybe we should get something to eat."

He had not yet noticed that she was watching the guard instead of paying attention. The brute was stomping his way through the market towards the docks with smaller associates trailing after him. Something in her belly told her not everything was right. Her muscles tensed, her breath hastened, but her body remained perfectly still.

"Alba. Hey, Alba!" Her eyes stayed on the market entrance.

"Something's wrong, I can feel it," Alba started walking in the docks' direction until his hands pulled her back to his chest.

"Relax. I told them there was a thief at the docks. He was on the shore, remember?" His sea blue gaze fixed onto her face, probing for a sign of belief. It came slowly with a smile as Alba nodded. But it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was still concerned. Alessandro felt her body tense, as if ready to fight. "Hey let's find a place that serves food."

"Fine with me."

Raffaela asked Julius if he needed anything while she was in the marketplace. He only stared back, confused as to why she was still here when the lovebirds had already left.

"They told me, sir," she answered, "That today I could do as I please. I do not believe them of course, so I was waiting a little before tailing them."

"Allegra chose a rather smart nursemaid for a daughter she doesn't even like."

"It's the years of being in this tribe, sir." Raffaela and her master shared a small laugh. "I'm serious—"

"Shh! Do you hear that?" They both waited. Raffaela could barely hear the clanking of armor and blades. But why would an armored guard trouble them? "Stay. I will go look."

Julius left the captain's quarters. Raffaela, trying to busy herself in the event that the guard would intrude, began wiping the dust off the tables. Meanwhile she tried the best she could to listen in.

"Are you Julius de Luca?"

"Yes sir…is there a problem?"

"Perhaps…" the baritone voice became hard to hear as it got softer. Then, Julius said something back. The guard got louder and sharper in tone, so Raffaela went out to see the problem anyway.

Indeed, the guard was iron-clad, but Raffaela didn't imagine this much—even the guard's face was covered. And the man, massive in stature, wielded an axe. He could have easily torn apart Julius if he wanted to. "Master, the work is finished. Do you need anything else from me?"

Julius looked upon her with panic in his eyes. Raffaela felt that something had gone wrong. "Raffaela, can you go into the market and buy the gentleman and me something to drink? I doubt we have anything to welcome him with." Raffaela nodded. Before she could leave, however, Julius grasped her shoulder and stared into her eyes, "Aren't you forgetting something? The money is in the drawer of the table."

Raffaela gasped. Julius knew she had her money on her; she always kept it in her bodice. This only meant they were in danger. The last sentence he had spoken was a code they came up with for circumstances such as this. It meant to take her most valued belongings and a scroll that had been passed down many generations in Julius' family and run. "What is going on? Why are they here? Have you done something—is it Alba?"

"No, I'm sure there is still money left—" Julius spoke first in Italian so he wouldn't be any more suspicious than he already was. Then to answer her questions, he spoke in a low tone, "There is not much time. This man is a Templar. Go find Alba before the men find her. Take anything of importance to you—conceal it—and take the scroll. Hurry."

Raffaela bowed her head to the Templar and excused herself. Her heart began to race as she returned to the captain's quarters, ransacking Alba's and her belongings. Alba had always loved the old ring her father gave to her until the band had broken. It stayed in Alba's jewelry box. She quickly stuffed it in her bodice and found her copy of the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri—Alba had bought it for her birthday, and the rest of her belongings had little importance in comparison to a book about the journey to earn salvation. As she left the quarters, she made sure to find her small satchel and put the scroll and the book in it. Then Raffaela prayed that nothing would happen.

"I will be back soon, Master. Gentleman," She anxiously ambled past the men, down the docking board and into town.

Alessandro led Alba to a tavern where they ordered Leghorn, poultry named after the town. The young man watched her intently as they dined; he noticed that as she finished and began talking with him the stiffness in her shoulders caused by her anxiety had disappeared. Alba ordered another plate of Leghorn, but this time for the two of them to share. As it arrived, Alba and Alessandro picked off pieces, apparently less hungry than either had anticipated.

"Did you smell the incense?" She blurted out after swallowing a piece of chicken too big for her mouth in a hasty attempt to make more conversation. He shook his head. "It smells wonderful. I can't wait to burn it when we get back to the ship this evening."

"Why don't we find an inn room, instead?" Alessandro averted his gaze.

Alba nearly coughed up the wine she swallowed a second before. "What?

When Alessandro glanced up at her through his blonde lashes, he could see the blush of her cheeks; the idea was working itself through gears in her mind. "And what would we do in this inn room?" A smile spread on Alba's lips.

"Anything you want to do." Alessandro's eyes glimmered mischievously. This was what Raffaela had always talked about—how easy it was to fall into the grip of a boy's whims.

Despite the repercussions that would await her, Alba scooted closer and let herself be kissed by Alessandro, first on the cheek and then on the lips. It started softly, but she could feel him losing composure as his mouth pressed harder on hers. It would've gone further if screaming hadn't reached Alba's ears. Even the inebriated ones in the tavern heard it; and all went silent.

"What was that?" she tried to pull away, but Alessandro wasn't having it. She couldn't find out. If Alba knew… "Alessandro! There's something outside!"

Alessandro grabbed her chin and redirected her attention to his eyes. He tried to mesmerize her with his bottomless blue gaze. "A thief probably snatched a woman's coin purse; don't worry about it…"

Alba put her hands on his chest and shoved him away as best she could. The girl stumbled past frozen patrons, attracting attention but disregarding everything except the unusual Alessandro in front of her. "No!" She pushed the door and ran where her heart told her to go. Toward the new found smell of burning wood coming from the harbor.

"Alba!" A gentler hand than Alessandro's found the sleeve of her dress; Alba turned around to see Raffaela trembling with her hair disheveled and watery eyes. "We have to go." Raffaela tried to pull her the opposite way of the boat, but again Alba would not have it.

With her gaze darting between the nursemaid and the smoking port, Alba cried, "Where's Papa?"

"Something's happened, Alba—we have to go!" Raffaela tugged harder.

"No!" Alba broke free of the older woman's hands and sprinted towards shore.

When Alba reached the harbor, she wished she had trusted her senses earlier. Her panicking heart told her so. Her lungs seized all breath from her body, and widened eyes stared at her home.

Bakht was ablaze.

As rats scatter when their home is under attack, so did the Roma. They threw themselves over the ship railings if they could make it. Others were imprisoned in the fire consuming Bakht or ran through by the axe Alba recognized from earlier. Her Papa fought off a guard carrying a flanged mace with his beloved falchion sword. By the way the guard hit the ground she could surmise that Julius, though tired from steering all night, was the one victorious. Unfortunately another came up behind him and stabbed him in the shoulder. As much as Alba wanted to help him, the fleeing crowds made it near impossible to reach him.

"Papa!" She screamed to no avail.

Raffaela, having finally caught up with Alba pushed her away from Bakht. "Let's go, Alba!"

"Not without Papa!"

"You don't understand, do you?" The nursemaid seized the girl by the shoulders and shook her violently, hoping it would shake her from the shock she was experiencing. "We have been betrayed. And if he finds you, he will kill you."

She knew she meant Alessandro, her betrothed. "But why? Why would he?"

With no current enemies confronting the Assassins, Julius was able to run with the crowd to get over to his daughter. Alba opened her mouth to say something, but he quickly cut her off. "Go to Livorno's pigeon coop. It is on the other side of the town; you have to get a message from Lorenzo de' Medici. Then ride to Firenze."

"Papa—"

"Go!" He shoved the girl to make her run.

Alessandro was an enemy. Moreover, Papa instructed her to leave him, the galleon, and the life she had been accustomed to since she had been born. Alba broke out into a sob as she tore through Livorno with Raffaela clipping her heels.

In Livorno's outskirts was a small inn—behind it, the pigeon coop she was looking for. Her fingers came in contact with the cold metal latch; Alba pulled open the door. Her eyes looked for some sort of Firenze markings to distinguish the bird that belonged to Lorenzo de' Medici. Her focus was drawn to a red and gold anklet on a completely gray pigeon, tubular to hold messages. Alba grabbed the bird and slipped off the anklet. As she cracked it open, out fell a scrap of parchment with a small phrase scrawled elegantly on one side: 'Vi è un lupo nel tuo gregge di pecore.' Replacing the anklet on the pigeon and pushing it back into the coop, Alba picked it up. She stared at it, perplexed.

The words were Italian, of course. They were not written illegibly; no, that was not her problem. Her problem was that she could not read Italian and therefore could not understand whatever warning or information Medici sent to Julius.

Raffaela behind her whimpered, "Alba…"

"Are you having trouble reading something, ves' tacha?" Her blood ran cold, but she did not move.

Alba didn't register when Alessandro stole the message from her trembling fingers.

"'Vi è un lupo nel tuo gregge di pecore.' Can you translate that for me, Alba?"

Her eyes met his. They were steely, almost hungry. She heaved a sigh, trying to calm her nerves as the words slowly left her lips. "There is a wolf in your flock of sheep."

"That's right," Alessandro sneered, circling around her. "You understand what it's talking about, yes?"

Alba nodded, her eyes brimmed with tears. For the first time, she had been caught…was he truly a Templar?

"Well…this wolf brought his pack and killed off all but one. What do you think he'll do to the last one?"

"I don't know…" the words were barely audible.

She jumped when he barked suddenly, "Speak up, shebari! (Girl) I can't hear you!"

It came out as a shrill whine when Alba meant to sound brave, "I don't know!"

He grabbed her by the arm and smacked her across the face. "Don't raise your voice at me! After all the kindness and love I've showed you, do you think I deserve it?"

The word wouldn't come out, so she merely shook her head with clenched teeth. "Who sent this note? Was it Lorenzo de' Medici?" She nodded. "Tell me what you know." She shook her head again. "What do you mean? No?"

"…I-I don't know anything. I don't work for the Medici, only Papa does."

He scoffed with a wolfish grin, "Lies—but I'm a patient man, so I'll try this again. What do you know?"

Alba answered his question with one of her own. "Are you a Templar?"

"Heh," Alessandro grinned. "God owns my soul; therefore I am his to command. And it is my duty to God to eliminate your kind, Alba."

"So it is. We are enemies, Alessandro, but that doesn't mean we should kill one another." Alba mentally winced at the thought of killing another human being—despite what she was, she had never done something like that.

"But it's what you Assassins do—kill as soon as God's followers speak the truth. You try to silence us because we will go to heaven when you are damned to rot in hell."

Alba's eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. "But you're after the Pieces of Eden. What will God think when he sees his followers are trying to copy him? You'll dine with the Devil before I do."

"Watch your tongue!" He spat. Though her heart raced, she still met his eyes. "There's no need to be so rude, ves' tacha. If you continue to be belligerent," from the back part of his weapon belt he grasped a rapier; a new look came to his eyes and it chilled her blood, "then I'll just have to teach you what manners are."

The same man Alba was to marry in a few weeks stood over her, rapier readied. He wanted to kill her. Would it have been the same way if they reversed roles?

"Why would you even think of hurting me, Alessandro? I would never have tried to hurt you if it were the other way around."

"Because you're soft, Alba," Alessandro put his free hand on his hip. "If I told you to kill me right now, you would start crying. No, I am a man of God, and He is more important to me than a silly woman. Raffaela."

Raffaela, silent, jumped at her name.

"I will give you five seconds to make a choice: abandon Alba here or be slain as well."

She hastily snapped, "You're deranged if you think I will leave Alba here."

"Don't be stupid, Raffaela!" Alba cried, sure that her end had arrived. There was no sword for her to grab, she had no dagger, and Alessandro could outrun her. Sobbing again, Alba pounded her fists on the grainy ground. Small dust clouds rose from under her hands as Alba commanded her to leave.

"I would listen to her if I were you, Raffaela," said Alessandro. He snatched Alba by the forearm. She expected a cold blade to press against her neck, but there wasn't one. Instead, it had been pointed at Raffaela. "But that's probably because I wouldn't want to be killed protecting some little heathen."

"Raffaela, do it now!" Alba purposefully struggled against Alessandro. He held on tighter. She stomped on his foot and wrestled away, throwing sand into his eyes. Behind the roaring man Alba watched as Raffaela took off into the forest.

Alessandro dropped his rapier to rub at his eyes. "You little bitch!" Alba snatched the sword. She ran as fast as she could after her nursemaid.

His strings of curse words died down as Alba sprinted deeper into the forest. Raffaela was not far ahead of her. "Wait, Raffaela!" The words came out hoarse. "Wait!"

Raffaela slowed down, but didn't stop entirely. "How did you get away?"

"I'll tell you when we're safe!" Alba stumbled to a halt. "Get off the road. The trackers can't find us if they don't see us first."

"Well, can I catch my breath, first?" Raffaela put a hand on her chest. "I'm not like you, girl, I can't run forever."

"Do it in the forest!" Alba tugged Raffaela behind some brush and stood guard.

When Raffaela was ready, they proceeded. Both would have preferred to travel in silence, for the loss of so many people was still fresh in their minds. It replayed in their heads continuously. And even when they were gone from Livorno, the wind still carried cries of mercy and the stench of sweet blood through Italy.