Assassin's Creed Chronos_Retribution (Ezio x OC)

03 - Broken Bones

January 2, 1500

Countryside, Italy

They sat Caterina next to Catherine on the left, with Micheletto on her right, a knife still in his hand, ready to threaten her neck again. He wouldn't kill her, that Catherine was sure of. They needed her alive and well, but this man was dangerous. He would harm her just enough to keep her docile, but that could mean a lot of things. A cut would be tolerated, no doubt, and so long as he didn't harm the unborn child or make her incapable of doing as they needed, it would be allowed. It didn't leave her with many options, although the redhead was more than tempted to suddenly lash out with her boot's heel and ram it right between the legs of the man sitting across from her. The man who had led the siege of her city—her home. The man who threatened her family and had taken away Mario from her.

Cesare Borgia.

Bastard.

Hazel eyes flicked to the woman whom sat beside him, practically lounged across his chest with her breasts daring to pop out of that gaudy, pompous, whore-dress of hers. Lucrezia, she recalled was the bitch's name, and the one who had dared suggest they take her child.

She'd make sure the cunt suffered for that. She'd made them all suffer.

For all the anger brewing within her, however, she did not have the strength to do more than glare at her captors. She kept her lips sealed tight, not sure if a curse would come out or a sob. It took everything to not simply fall apart then and there, recalling the memories just moments—or was it hours—ago. The city had long since fallen away from view, but the images were still there, burned into her mind. The smoke-filled sky was clear now, the sun shining bright, and yet she could still feel it suffocating her lungs. She could still hear the screams and howls of agony. She could still feel the heat of fire, and the clash of steel. The blood-spattered stone, and the dead, unmoving eyes of Mario were there, staring steadily at her.

No matter how far the carriage moved, the fall of Monteriggioni and all she knew and loved remained there, brewing within her head and her heart. It bubbled with sorrow and rage all mixed into a venomous concoction that ate at her insides and grew worse and worse with each moment of her reality crashing down on her—the helpless of it. Her failure. Her powerlessness. Worst of all—her fear.

She didn't know what had become of her people, and now she could never know. She prayed that it wouldn't be forever, but the thought clung tightly to her. Would she ever see her loved ones again? Had Ezio survived the fight? Would he come for her? Would he know where to look? If he was alive, had he found his mother and sister and their daughter? Would Diana be alright? Was she safe? Did Annetta take her somewhere safe? If not with her family then, perhaps—Firenze? Surely Paola could help. Maybe. She hoped. Would her family go there? What of her nephews? Had Giovanni held and escaped with Federico? Were they alright? Or were they—could they be gone?

Catherine shook the notion from her mind but could not be rid of it. It lingered in the back of her mind, ready to strike at any moment her will wavered, and it was already so weak now. It didn't help her body was, too; the fire of the battle had left her, and now she felt heavy and exhausted. Her body hurt and ached all over, and she could already feel parts of her limbs swelling where she'd been struck. Her cuts stung, and her head was swimming. She could still taste the copper from whatever had cut in her mouth. Keeping her eyes opened hurt, but she didn't dare let her guard down. It was hard, though, with how hard her head pounded; as if it were a drum someone beat upon. The thunder of a marching army all around didn't help, either. The thought of it a victorious army marching home only made it worse.

"Oh, do try to not look so sad, my Lady—we will take good care of Monteriggioni for you," Cesare chuckled.

Catherine's gaze, having wandered to the countryside, shot fire at the man. Blood had pooled into her mouth some, mixing with her saliva, and so she spat it right at him, hitting his cheek. Micheletto's hand shot to her chin, grasping it tightly and wrenching her back while Lucrezia shouted some petty insult at her. To his credit, the man only flinched a little, though he did scowl when he wiped it off.