[fic] Masquerade, 1b/1

[dayari]

Part 1a


It took a moment to quiet down the faraway niggling of his instincts telling him that he had just missed something important, and another to figure out the logistics. They clumsily shuffled the pastry between themselves-at first Eduardo made to tear it in half, and Filippo only just managed to stop him, not wanting the apple filling to spill out. Then Filippo tried to break a piece off the top, but the dough was so buttery that it crumbled between his fingers and left his hands even greasier.

He chuckled awkwardly as the crumbs trickled down onto the pavement. He could feel his face getting hotter, and not just because of the sun that peeked lazily through the gently swaying treetops. As if it hadn't been enough that his brain was somehow incapacitated by the courtesan and the heat, of course his fine motor functions were escaping him as well. But Eduardo only gave him a wry grin at their joined failed efforts, and didn't seem to mind Filippo's bumbling efforts.

The tree-filtered summer glow gilded Eduardo's skin into soft bronze, and his eyes looked brighter where the sun caught them, lit up by a sudden calculating gleam. The scar on his mouth stretched with his wide, mischievous smile, and two quick steps took him right into Filippo's personal space, close enough for a clink of metal where silver belt buckles brushed his armor.

Filippo blinked, startled at the sudden proximity, but Eduardo didn't give him the time to take a polite step back. All of a sudden, rough fingers encircled his wrist, closing around the gap in his armor that allowed for a larger range of movement, and Eduardo curled the other hand around Filippo's fingers to steady the tilt of the pastry. He stretched up and held on, and took a bite of the side of the pastry, golden brown dough cracking open around the softness of steamed apples.

There was the faint scrape of Eduardo's bearded chin against his fingertips before he drew back and chewed, still grinning and unapologetic, still steadying Filippo's hand between both of his. He seemed shorter suddenly, and Filippo realized that he had stretched up on his toes to reach the pastry, using his grip on Filippo's hand to pull himself up.

An unexpected, slow flush of heat swept through him at the thought, and he ducked his head a little to hide the blotchy redness that he could feel creeping upwards from his neck. Eduardo wasn't short, but Filippo was tall even for a papal guard, and with the heavy, padded boots and his bulky armor, he was used to towering over people. But there was something in Eduardo's posture that spoke of unbending strength, of a warrior's determination, and it sent an inexplicable heady rush through Filippo to glance down to meet his eyes, to know that he'd had to stand on his tiptoes to get at the pastry.

Shaking off the thought was harder than it should have been, and Filippo quickly brought up the pastry to hide behind, taking a warm, buttery bite off the other side. Crumbs rained down on the chest plate of his armor, but he paid them no heed. It was just as delicious as its tantalizing scent had promised all along, sweet crumbling dough and the fresh, sour fragrance of the apples mingling on his tongue. He chewed slowly, savoring the bite, and when he swallowed it down, he felt like he'd mostly regained control of the sudden race and stumble of his heartbeat.

Eduardo was grinning at him, unrepentant, head cocked to regard him out of eyes gone narrow with amusement. The playful mirth in his gaze made Filippo feel bumbling and slow as Eduardo just looked at him, eyes unblinking in an entirely different appraisal from the warrior's assessment from before. Filippo opened his mouth, felt warmth rush to his face, and closed it again. There was nothing to say to being looked at like that, and it had been so long since anyone's eyes had gone hooded and dark at the sight of him, and in the frozen, mute shock that gripped him, it took Filippo a moment to realize that Eduardo was stepping closer again.

"Wait, here," Filippo said helplessly, and tried to thrust the pastry at him, his stupid heart thumping startled and painful in his throat. But Eduardo just closed Filippo's fingers around the dough and leaned in, his prickly beard and the warmth of his skin once again a shock to the worn calluses at Filippo's fingertips.

He smelled of linen and clean male sweat, a trace of oil and steel adding a sharper tang. Filippo stared at him dumbly when Eduardo rocked back on his heels and let go of his hand, still grinning as he raised a hand to wipe warm, melted butter from his lips, chewing. It was Eduardo's confidence that threw him off-kilter, that cocky, boyish certainty that he wouldn't be pushed away. Oh, Filippo had no doubt that the man would have backed off if he'd insisted. But it felt strange and a little humbling, being faced with a man who would unapologetically invade a papal guard's personal space, with nothing but quick, warm hands on his wrist and a disarming grin.

But then again, Filippo mused with a twinge of uneasiness, that was his job. Projecting confidence and acting entitled was probably high among the courtesan's list of things that would get awkward, bumbling clients such as Filippo to loosen up. The thought didn't sit well with him, stuck in the winding whorls of his mind like an ill-swallowed mouthful of food. He breathed out a sigh to dislodge it, and lifted the pastry to take another bite.

They shared the rest of it like that, the pastry cooling and shrinking rapidly between them. Eduardo took mercy on him and used his fingers rather than his mouth when the baked bun was small enough to fit into Filippo's palm. They handed it back and forth, the greasy wrapping spilling crumbs onto Eduardo's clothes and down the dark, shining plates of Filippo's armor. His heart slowed and steadied, though a faint prickle of nervousness remained, unfamiliar but not quite unwelcome. This kind of anxiety had not sat at the back of his neck in a long time.

The sunlight had softened a little, though it was dimmer here than it had been in the market square, sheltered as the street was by tall, leafy trees. Perhaps the heat would be a little more bearable with the passing of time later, Filippo thought idly, in no particular hurry to remember his duties and return to his patrol. He pictured the other guards, the archers on the blazing hot tiled roofs and the foot soldiers boiling in their overheated armor. Maybe some of them had given up on the assassino by now too, despite the stern warnings and orders of their superiors. It truly was not the kind of day for a manhunt, no matter if one was chasing or being chased.

In a show of courtesy, Eduardo tore the last of the pastry in half, savoring his last bite of buttery dough with an audible crunch of teeth. Light glinted on the vambrace around his forearm and caught the large silver belt buckle in a flash of brightness.

"Interesting design," Filippo said around his last mouthful of apple filling, nodding at the bracer.

Eduardo stilled, his body freezing into a sudden and vaguely startling absence of all movement. His expression had been relaxed and open, with just a hint of the teasing smile tucked into the corner of his scarred mouth, and it was strange to watch his features turn stony, to see a frantic burst of thoughts visibly race past in his dark gaze.

Before Filippo could swallow his mouthful take back his careless words, Eduardo's face smoothed out again, like the surface of a lake after the careless throw of a stone. He even smiled a little, though a hint of uneasiness remained. "Custom-made," he replied, absently flexing his wrist and dropping his arm so the bracer was half-hidden behind the folds of his coat-tails. "By a friend."

"It seems your friend knew what he was doing," Filippo said cautiously, and was relieved to see the smile stretch wider and become more genuine. Encouraged, he hesitated only a moment before gesturing at the glint of throwing knives attached to the courtesan's belt. "Did he make those too?"

The wary stillness of Eduardo's posture broke when he laughed. "No, no," he answered. For a moment, Filippo thought he saw a protective, watchful glint in his eyes, like he was wondering why Filippo had inquired after the maker of the bracer, but then Eduardo waved the subject away, dismissing it as unimportant. "My friend is more of an engineer, really. He is not one for fighting and murder."

"Are you?" Filippo inquired, more playful than truly curious. Even if Eduardo was indeed a former soldier, it was unlikely that he would carry the fighting and the ugliness of the job over into his new profession. "Or are those merely to attract the attention of customers while you are still new to this line of work?"

Eduardo looked baffled and then wickedly amused, his eyes glittering with mirth at some private joke that Filippo could only guess at. "Who knows?" he said, with a carefree expansive gesture, and glanced up at Filippo from beneath his eyelashes. "Since they drew your attention, they have already proved their worth."

Filippo swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. The hood had slipped back a little once more, and the soft glow of the sunlight lit Eduardo's eyes almost to amber. With only a slight delay, and pushing the clumsy words out with an effort, he said, "I should think that soon you will not need their help at all."

"Ah, a compliment," Eduardo replied, teasing, but with an undercurrent of honest surprise. He regarded him in silence for a moment, his gaze briefly flickering down to where Filippo was wiping the pastry's residual grease off his fingers. "Mere flattery, or a connoisseur's honest assessment?"

"Hardly a connoisseur," Filippo said dryly. He stuffed the soiled wrapping into one of the small pouches on his belt; there was no need to clutter up the freshly-swept street. "Or do you usually see many other men in your line of work?"

Eduardo inclined his head in agreement, his lips quirking. Perhaps he was thinking of all the customers he would land as soon as word got around of a male courtesan offering his services to the citizens of Roma. It was another thought that felt strange and unwieldy in Filippo's mind, and he frowned at his own disquiet. Eduardo was broad-shouldered and tall, the easy balance of his gait and stance telling of his well-trained physique. But for a moment, Filippo still fought the absurd urge to ask him if he knew how to wield those throwing knives on his belt, in case a customer ever got more handsy with him than he'd paid for.

He had to make a conscious effort to swallow the words down, but managed to let the moment pass unused. His conversational skills might have been impeded, but even Filippo could tell that that would have been inappropriate. Eduardo let his gaze wander around the street one last time before pushing himself off the stone rim of the fountain that he'd been leaning on. He stepped to the side with a gesture and a raised eyebrow, a clear invitation to continue their leisure stroll, and Filippo gladly took it.

They started walking again, not the purposeful stride from before to get away from the crowds, but a slow, aimless amble that took them past small clusters of chattering neighbors. While a number of them gave Filippo's armor curious looks, none of their glances lingered long or darted away in guilty fear. It was almost as if he was just an ordinary guard again, so integrated into the city's picture that the citizens' eyes slid right past him. He smiled to himself at the thought. It was nice not to receive so many intimidated stares.

The trees became more sparse the further they went, the street broadening and circling back in the general direction of the market. Filippo could already hear the clamor of voices, footsteps, and laughter through the cooing pigeons on the rooftops.

"So you will spend the rest of your day chasing the assassin?" Eduardo asked conversationally. He seemed a little more tense than a moment ago-not poised to fight, but watchful all the same.

Filippo, for his part, was well aware that they were returning to the many eyes and ears of the market, and automatically stepped to the side a little to keep an extra foot of space between them. It took a moment for the question to register with him. "It seems I will," he replied. "Though I cannot say I will enjoy the work, nor do I think the assassin is eager for a fight today."

Another inexplicably wide grin stretched the silvery scar on Eduardo's mouth, but this time he tried to hide his amusement. He disguised his bark of laughter with a cough before saying, in a remarkably steady voice, "The man must be a right cretino to be out and about in this heat."

Filippo shrugged. The motion rubbed his armor against his shoulders again, but his sweaty clothes had dried at least a little, and it didn't chafe so much anymore. "According to the reports, he does not wear full-body armor as we do. He could just be sitting on a rooftop somewhere right now, watching us all get slowly cooked."

"But what kind of honorable battle would that be?" Eduardo inquired, giving him a sly look from the corner of his eye. "If I were the assassin, I would want to take my enemies down fighting-not let the sun do my work for me."

Filippo waved a hand dismissively, though he found himself smirking to himself. He hadn't encountered the legendary assassin in a fight yet, but from what he had heard, Eduardo's assessment of the man was correct. "Well, if you see him, don't tell him that. The heat is hard enough on all of us even without a merry chase through the market square."

"Not a word," Eduardo promised, but although his voice was solemn, his eyes still glinted with mischief.

Their alley merged with another street, lined with a number of market stalls. The vendors looked more wilted by now, sweaty and tired even in the protective shade of their awnings-nevertheless, they still advertized the quality of their goods, though not as loudly as before. Clusters of citizens were gathered around the laid-out wares and milling through the street. Behind a group of sunburned young men, Filippo spotted a patrol by the dark red of the city guard's hats, and quickly glanced to the side to affirm that he was still keeping a courteous distance from Eduardo.

The courtesan skimmed the market stalls with little more than a passing glance, though he lingered longer at a table with short-bladed, artfully carved daggers and dyed leather sheaths. Filippo smiled to himself, stopping as well to let Eduardo peruse the weapons for a moment longer. His theory that Eduardo had once been a soldier himself was veering further and further into certainty. Perhaps he had been discharged only recently, if the sight of knives still held such an allure to him.

Eduardo picked up one of the weapons after a questioning glance at the vendor. The short, stocky man gave him an eager nod, hopeful in the face of a potential customer. The handle of the dagger looked oddly suited to Eduardo's hand, his tanned fingers curling around the hilt with the ease of long practice. He twirled it experimentally, made several short, harmless slashing motions in the air, and nodded to himself, satisfied with the balance of the weapon.

Filippo watched silently. The sight had him fighting down the urge to buy the knife for Eduardo, and it took more effort than it should have to bury the unbecoming thought. Even if he'd had the courage to make the offer, he somehow doubted that Eduardo would have accepted his generosity, though he had done nothing to lead Filippo to think of him as a prideful man.

"What do you think?" Eduardo said to him, only a little teasing. He held up the dagger for closer inspection, the edge of the blade glinting and smooth in the sunlight, not yet marred by the nicks and scratches of battle. The hilt seemed to fit perfectly into Eduardo's grip, and through his fingers, Filippo could see coiling, stitched designs on the dark leather.

"A fine weapon, though perhaps a bit too ornate," Filippo remarked tactfully. It might shame Eduardo if he was encouraged to buy something he couldn't afford, just as his pride would bristle if Filippo offered to pay for him.

A small smile tucked itself into the corner of Eduardo's mouth, as if he knew exactly what was going through Filippo's mind. He looked back down at the dagger, weighing it in his hand and testing the fit of his fingers. Their interest had drawn the attention of the sunburned men. Filippo stepped around to Eduardo's other side to leave them room to look at the wares, ducking into the market stall's slim shadow.

"Ornate," the vendor said with a derisive sniff, drawing himself up to his full, though unimpressive, height. "I'll have you know that is leather work of the finest-"

"Assassino!"

The shout echoed in the street like the crack of a whip, cutting through the murmur of voices and the muffled din from the larger market square. There was a commotion near the mouth of the alley, and then the small patrol of guards pushed through a group of women, weapons drawn and glinting in the sunlight.

It only took Filippo a split-second to straighten up from his languid lean over the vendor's wares. Adrenaline flooded his senses, sharpened his gaze as he whirled around with one hand on his sword, quickly darting around Eduardo to trap the smaller man between his bulk and the market stall. He looked around wildly for a sliver of white, for flying red coat-tails, but he couldn't see the assassin, and the guards-

The guards were charging right at them, Filippo realized, the crowd parting quickly before their swords and grim, battle-hungry faces. The back of his neck prickled with the hair-raising awareness that the assassin was probably above them, perched on the roof and just waiting for his chance to plunge his blade into Filippo's unprotected neck.

"You there! Hold him! Don't let him get away!" the captain shouted, shoving an elderly woman out of his way, with such force that she stumbled and fell to her knees on the hot pavement. Confused, frightened shouts echoed off the walls, and Filippo saw hands gripping the woman's arms and pulling her back to her feet just before the panicking crowd swept her up.

He whirled around to face Eduardo, who flinched back from his touch when Filippo gripped his shoulder and pushed him towards the street they'd come from. "Run," he urged under his breath, even as his gaze flickered frantically over the people behind the courtesan's shoulder, searching for a trace of white, a glint of steel. "This is no place for you-hide in an alley until the commotion dies down, there is no need to be scared, you are no soldier, the assassin will pay you no heed. Quickly now, go!"

Eduardo stared at him with utter, baffled confusion in his eyes. Filippo shoved him again, none too gently this time, and he stumbled back into the group of young men that had come to admire the weapons with him. There was a moment of silent, tightly-strung panic when he just didn't move, and Filippo widened his stance, grew tense as a bowstring in preparation for jumping after him and crowding him back against the wall, where he'd be safe between the stone and Filippo's armor. His heart was pounding, sweat sliding down his back in hot, itching drops, each second agonizingly long as he waited for a blade to find the gaps between the metal and bury itself in his back.

But then Eduardo visibly shook himself, and the last thing Filippo saw of him was the lush, shocked bow of his lower lip firming into a determined line. The hood hid his eyes from view, but Filippo thought he saw him nod, just once, before he whirled around and dove through a gap in a horde of panicked young ladies.

The street was clearing quickly, the citizens almost tripping over each other as they ducked into the relative safety of small, shaded alleys, out of the way of the guards. Filippo lost sight of Eduardo right away, but something in his chest loosened for it, something he hadn't even noticed was tense. A flash of his white clothes through the throng and he was gone, effortlessly blending in with the running, shouting people, letting the crowd engulf him.

Then the captain of the patrol skidded to a stop at Filippo's side, his sword still drawn, eyes wide in his red, sweaty face as he looked around wildly. "Where did the bastardo go?!" he panted, sideswiping Filippo with an accusing glare as he circled around him. "He was right here!"

Confused, Filippo looked around and finally up at the small awning that the vendor had erected to protect the weapons and himself from the sunlight. The thick cloth looked somewhat saggy in the middle, as though someone had jumped down into it from the height of a rooftop.

He swallowed hard, only dimly aware of the guards fanning out aimlessly through the street, shouting to each other in confused, angry voices. The assassin was long gone, and the guards were obviously just moving for the sake of it, poking a haystack on the far side of the street and leaning back to scrutinize the rooftops. They looked frustrated and grim, furious that their quarry had escaped them yet again, and with such relative ease, without even so much as a skirmish to slake their thirst for battle.

The captain called his people to order, but Filippo just stared up at the awning and felt his hands grow cold. If the man had really been up there, Filippo had escaped a swift death only through some strange inclination of mercy. The assassin could have swept down on him like a bird of prey, unbalanced Filippo with his weight and cut him a second bloody, gaping mouth from ear to ear, pushed off his falling body to launch himself towards the guards.

Maybe- maybe he had taken Filippo's discarded helmet as a sign that he was off duty, and hadn't wanted to just slaughter a man who was not expecting a fight. Filippo frowned, shaking his head, and finally tore his eyes away.

Or perhaps the assassin had seen Eduardo and identified him as an innocent despite the throwing knives. And perhaps he had not wanted him to be sprayed with Filippo's blood as he cut him down.

Filippo wiped the back of his hand over his brow, not surprised when it came away coated in sweat. He knew he should be relieved that his life had been spared, and he was, but the shaky, dislocated feeling that rattled around in his chest was born of more than that. Eduardo would not jerk awake from nightmares of Filippo's throat being sliced open right in front of him, and for that, he was grateful.

"Get back in formation, you fools!" the captain shouted, striding back towards the larger square at a brisk pace. Filippo caught a glimpse of his furious expression, and winced on behalf of the man's troops. They would be lucky if they only got an earful about their incompetence, instead of drills until sundown.

He made to follow them, thinking vaguely that he should go back to his assigned patrol and hope that none of the other guards had missed his absence, but the thought felt oddly insubstantial. His pulse had not yet slowed completely, his senses still alert and battle-sharp. Eduardo's startled expression was seared into his memory like a brand, flickering in front of him whenever he blinked.

There was no reason for the assassin to go after a mere courtesan, and Eduardo had disappeared so quickly-he clearly had practice at blending in with crowds, and there was a good chance that any pursuers had lost track of him by now. Still, as Filippo finally tore his gaze from the winding alley and turned away, he wished there was a way for him to know for sure if he was safe.

***

It was not until a couple of days later that Filippo found himself standing in the entrance hall of the Rosa in Fiore, feeling so out of place that it was all he could do to dig his heels in and resist the nearly overwhelming urge to turn tail and run.

He had only the highest respect for women, especially those who worked in a profession as dangerous as that of the courtesans. He enjoyed their conversation if not their carnal attractions, although he often grew too tongue-tied in the presence of a lady to engage in more than brief small-talk. But being surrounded by scantily-dressed girls who gave him coy looks and let their delicate hands rest briefly on his shoulders and arms... it was just too much. He'd been told to stay in the large entrance hall until the owner of the brothel had time to see him, but he was beginning to wish he'd insisted on waiting outside.

A young woman attached herself to his arm, widening her eyes in admiration when she trailed her fingers down his biceps. He smiled shakily down at her and tried to step away, but found himself hemmed in by the impressive bust of another courtesan on the other side, her flesh bulging above her lacy corset where her curves suddenly engulfed his shoulder. She gave him an unashamed grin when he jerked away and stammered an apology. The other girl used his momentum to pull him closer, pressing a pert little breast to his elbow and a round hip to his thigh.

"That's quite enough, ladies," an imperious voice came from the marble staircase, and Filippo nearly gasped in relief when he saw a dark-haired woman approach, parting the swarm of courtesans with her presence alone. "Give the man some space."

The courtesans gave melodious sighs of regret, but dispersed obediently to let their mistress through. Filippo swayed a little in relief when the girl at his side withdrew, though she tossed a flirty, lingering look over her shoulder as she followed the others to the alcoves and the stairs. The dark-haired woman looked him up and down, one delicate eyebrow inching up towards her hairline.

He bowed to her, well aware that his face was flaming, but reassured enough by her reasonable clothes to remember his manners. "Buongiorno, signora," he said, straightening up again. "I apologize for intruding-"

She shook her head, her expression growing a little less guarded as she took in his obvious discomfort. "The accounting can wait a while," she replied, and strode past him with a rustle of dark red skirts, beckoning him to a more secluded corner of the hall.

He hurried to follow, and noticed that he'd been accidentally treading rose petals into the carpet. Two girls with baskets of rose petals were standing on the stairs, giving him identical beguiling smiles when their gazes met, and tossing a fresh flurry of fragrant, drifting petals into the air. They made the Rosa in Fiore smell pleasantly of flowers, unlike some of the less immaculate establishments that his fellow guards sometimes dragged him to.

The matron of the brothel stopped at a large wooden desk, piled high with books and well-used writing utensils. The books were bound in dark brown and red leather, nearly the same shade as the gold-stitched wallpaper. Every color in the parlor seemed to have been selected specifically, to create an aesthetically pleasing background with the courtesans' brightly colored dresses as a contrast. The white marble of the staircase stood out among the dark red, leading the visitors' eyes up to the balcony with their shaded alcoves and doors.

"This is quite unusual," the woman said. The look she gave him was considering and still a bit distrustful, like she expected him to pull a knife out of his boot and threaten her. "I don't think I have ever seen a soldier of the papal guard here."

Filippo groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Is it that obvious?" he asked, frustrated that his plan to keep a low profile had backfired already.

Before he had left this morning, he had thought for a long time about whether or not to wear his armor. It would have made him more easily recognizable-which would've been good, in case he really did find Eduardo, but he hadn't wanted to spook the other courtesans. In the end he'd left it at the barracks and dressed in unremarkable everyday clothes. But it seemed that perceptive eyes could still see him for what he was.

"Your posture, your build, the way you immediately looked for exits when you came in," she replied, ticking the points off on her fingers. Strangely enough, she relaxed at his obvious dismay, a bit of the subtle tension leaving her slim frame. "But if you are not here on business, which I don't suppose you are," Filippo shook his head quickly, "then it is of no matter to me what you do to make a living."

She swept her appraising gaze over him again, and Filippo thought that the expression looked familiar on her, but he couldn't quite place from where he recognized it, since he felt sure that he hadn't met her before. She didn't look like the kind of employer who went out onto the streets to sell her own assets along with those of her girls. Her embroidered dress was mercifully high-necked, her dark curls held back by a simple hairnet, and she hadn't tried to flirt with him, keeping a decorous distance instead.

It appeared that she deemed him unthreatening, because some of the wariness left her gaze. "Now," she said, crisp and professional. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a courtesan," Filippo said dumbly, still reeling a little from the strange sense of familiarity left over from her assessing look.

Her lips twitched, a spark of mirth lighting up her eyes, though she immediately reassembled her expression of polite interest. "I dare say you're in the right place."

Filippo grimaced a little at his blunder, and took a moment to arrange his words before he spoke. He had been thinking about how to say this in a way that wouldn't make her alert the guards, just in case he was mistaken and Eduardo had lied about his affiliation with the Rosa in Fiore. "No, you don't understand," he said slowly, trying not to let the nervous prickle at the back of his neck into his voice. "You see, he- he's a man."

He paused, giving her a second to wrinkle her nose or call for some of the taller courtesans to throw him out. But although surprise flickered across her features, she did nothing, and after a moment Filippo ventured, "He said he was working for you."

Her delicate eyebrows climbed up her forehead again. "Working for me?"

"Well, at least he told me he did," Filippo said uncertainly. He had expected her to know who he was talking about right away, but maybe the Rosa in Fiore had recently added more men to their ranks. "His name was Eduardo."

"Eduardo," she repeated, her voice blank. Inwardly, Filippo nodded to himself. So it really had been a fake name, but he didn't blame Eduardo for wanting to protect his identity. The courtesan had probably had a whole array of names memorized to give to his clients.

Well, Filippo would just have to assure the woman that he wasn't here to find out who Eduardo really was. Though he would have liked to, but this was not about the lingering, soft sense of wonder whenever he remembered the way Eduardo had smirked at him and teased him, eaten the apple pastry straight out of his hand and watched him with dark, amused eyes that sometimes did not quite seem to know what to make of him.

Filippo had to struggle for a moment to shake off the memory. Then he took a deep breath, and found himself ducking his head a little, curving his shoulders inwards to make himself smaller and not loom over her quite so much. "I know that you only intend to protect him, and I assure you, I do not wish him harm," he said. He could still see Eduardo's expression, shocked and confused as Filippo had tried to get him to run. "I simply want to know if he is safe. There was a skirmish with guards, they were chasing the assassin, and he disappeared."

The woman was frowning now, looking confused and a little suspicious. She propped one hand on her hip and studied him through narrowed eyes, and Filippo tried his best to look unassuming and harmless. "Perhaps you could describe him?" she suggested, sounding doubtful.

"He wore white," Filippo said instantly, relieved that she was at least pretending to take him seriously. "And red, I suppose, and a leather belt with a large silver buckle, high boots and long coat-tails. A long-sleeved shirt under a red-lined coat, cut in the Florentine fashion. He had an impressive array of weapons on him, a bracer for instance, that he said his friend had made. And a hood," he added after a moment of thought. "Quite a large, white hood, he never took it off, I wonder how he did not get heat stroke under there."

He saw the spark of recognition in the woman's gaze, and the wariness in her expression shattered into a look of utter, flabbergasted disbelief. Filippo had to fight the urge to turn around and see what it was that had startled her so. She simply gaped at him for a few long seconds as though waiting for him to take back his words, her pink, rosy mouth open in incredulity, and then sudden understanding lit up her expressive features.

"Oh, that infuriating, reckless, half-witted-," she exclaimed, and barely managed to bring up a slender hand in time to muffle her loud, surprised sputter of laughter. "I can't believe the gall of him!"

Filippo blinked, taken aback when she pressed her fingers to her mouth to suppress an unladylike snort. Her eyes were dancing with mirth, cheeks reddening as if after a day spent in the sun, and the melodious, tinkling laughter made her look younger, less regal and reserved.

"So you do know him?" he inquired cautiously, trying not to let the sudden hope into his voice. The woman's head jerked up in alarm, the amusement gone from her expression like condensation wiped from a window.

"No!" she blurted out, startled and visibly struggling to regain her composure. "No, not personally, I just- Eduardo, of course, I should have remembered, he- worked here for a short while, he did, it just slipped my mind."

She took a deep breath and broke eye contact, her gaze following her hand as she smoothed down the folds of her skirt. The gesture looked idle enough, but Filippo got the feeling that she was thinking quickly. When she looked back up at him, she had reassembled some of her earlier confidence and the cool professional veneer. "I'm sorry, I truly am, but I cannot help you. He- he moved. Away."

"Oh," Filippo said, crestfallen. The brief spark of hope died as quickly as it had been kindled, and he struggled not to show his disappointment. "So quickly?"

"Yes, it was very unexpected," the woman agreed. She hid it so well that he wouldn't have noticed the lingering alarm if he hadn't been looking for it, but he didn't know what to do to make her realize that he really did not wish anyone harm. "Something came up. Family obligations, you see. He went to- to Venezia."

"Oh," Filippo repeated, somewhat dumbly, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

He had the vague feeling that she wasn't telling him the truth, although he couldn't think of a reason for her to lie-if a customer inquired after a courtesan, no matter of what gender, it would of course be in her best interest to cooperate. The story didn't sit well with him, but he pushed the doubts away. He had not asked Eduardo about his family, after all, and so he could not know for sure whether the woman was lying.

All of a sudden he felt foolish, and dropped his gaze as the full weight of what he was doing sunk down on his shoulders all at once. He was not young anymore-he should have been beyond this, should not be running around town like an excited youth chasing a pretty lady. It was undignified and inappropriate, and he could only guess what Eduardo's employer thought of him, disdain or amusement well-hidden behind her professional veneer.

But staring at the floor like a chastised boy would not do, and so Filippo swallowed hard and made himself meet her eyes again. He would go, slink away with what little of his dignity might still be intact. But he could not get the memory of Eduardo's expression out of his head, that wide-eyed look of utter, confused shock.

She must already have thought him pathetic enough, following a courtesan around like a mooning boy. But he needed to know, and finally forced himself to ask, halting but urgent, "But he was safe?"

The woman just looked at him, the wary scrutiny of her amber eyes so familiar that it niggled insistently at the back of Filippo's mind. "After our encounter a few days ago," he clarified, trying to ignore the renewed feeling of déjà vu. "I lost sight of him in the crowd, but- he came home safe?"

Something softened in her gaze, melted a little bit into something less guarded, a quiet, insistent regard that he did not understand. "Yes," she said quietly, and inclined her head to him. "Thanks to you, I suppose."

Filippo shook his head and waved her words away, swallowing down the rush of relief to savor it later and not wear it written all over his face for her to see. "Oh, no, I didn't do anything," he objected, a little uncomfortable with her steady gaze on him. He had done nothing to earn her gratitude-true, he had told Eduardo to run, but from what he had seen, the man would have been more than capable of taking care of himself.

He looked between her and the two girls that were still tossing handfuls of rose petals in the air, and the feeling of being out of place came rushing back. The courtesans that had accosted him earlier had probably listened to their conversation from the upstairs balcony, and were surely struggling to muffle their laughter even now. The thought would have made him feel hot with shame if he had been younger, but as it was, he simply cast a careful glance up at the ceiling and hoped that they would not tell on him.

Absently brushing a stray rose petal from the shoulder of his tunic, he said, a little too hastily, "I- I should probably go."

The woman blinked, taking a moment to refocus her thoughts, and he was almost relieved to see the calm, cool confidence settle around her shoulders again, like a carefully draped cloak. "Yes," she replied, straightening up and smoothing her skirts once more. "I am sorry I couldn't help you."

Even without his armor, he felt huge and unwieldy next to the slender woman, but he still bowed to her again. "It is of no matter," he assured her, because to some extent, it really wasn't; he knew now that Eduardo was safe, and that would have to be enough for now. "Thank you for your time, signora, and I hope you have a good day."

"You as well," she told him, her eyes going distant as a fine line formed between her eyebrows again. She had mentioned accounting earlier, and Filippo felt a stir of compassion as he turned and walked to the exit. He would not want to spend such a hot summer day bent over books either.

A rush of hot, dusty air engulfed him when he opened the heavy oaken door, and Filippo grimaced as sweat immediately beaded on his forehead. He hadn't noticed how pleasantly cool the Rosa in Fiore's entrance hall had been until now. He stepped out into the street, and glanced back over his shoulder at the broad patch of sunlight in the hall, his own shadow distorted oddly by the staircase.

The woman had hitched up her dark red skirts, and Filippo could see her fine-boned ankles as she hurried up the stairs. "Ezio Auditore!" she shouted, at a surprising volume for such a petite lady. "Drag your lazy ass out of my girls' beds and get down here this instant!"

There was a brief pause. Then a muffled reply came from upstairs, in a male voice husky with sleepy confusion and perhaps a hangover. Completely unsympathetic, the woman did not lower her voice at all. "Well, for starters, you could explain why a papal guard was just here-"

The door swung shut on the last of her words, and he grimaced in sympathy for the unknown man's rude awakening, though he did not know why the matron would blame him for Filippo's visit. He waited for a moment, squinting into the sunlight, but when he didn't hear more shouting from inside, he stepped away from the door.

The square was mostly deserted, as the citizens of Roma clearly had more sense than him and stayed inside in the stifling midday heat. The pavement was hot beneath his boots, sweat already beginning to stick the fabric of his clothes to his back and thighs. Filippo moved quickly despite the heat, eyes fixed on the patch of shadow where narrow, winding alleys forked away from the square.

Auditore. The name rang a bell somewhere at the back of his memory. Filippo's steps faltered and paused, and for a moment he stared blankly at the sun-bleached boards that were nailed all over the old tunnel entrance in front of the brothel. He had the distinct feeling that he'd heard that name before, that it was important somehow-and, oddly enough, that Cesare Borgia would have him hanged on the spot if he had heard that thought.

He shook his head at himself, used the back of his hand to wipe the gathering sweat off his forehead, and resumed his decisive stride. First it had been the matron's eyes that had looked familiar to him, and now he even thought he had heard a random name before. Perhaps the unrelenting Italian summer had finally gotten to him. He'd better spend the rest of the day in the relative coolness of the barracks, and perhaps ask one of the garrison's surgeons for a remedy for heat stroke.

The shade felt almost cold after the blazing sunlight in the square, and Filippo sighed in relief, shoving his sleeves up his arms and slowing his steps. He glanced back over his shoulder at the square and saw the air flicker above the pavement, distorting the clean angles and smooth masonry of the Rosa in Fiore. His thoughts circled back to Eduardo, and he wondered idly if a part of his supposed family obligations had just been fabricated to escape Roma's blistering summer.

If Eduardo's employer hadn't lied to him and he had even left in the first place, Filippo amended silently. There was nothing to be done about it-he couldn't very well go back and ask again, not without making even more of a fool of himself. But he would search for any sign of him, and make a point to scan the clusters of scantily-dressed girls for traces of white and red.

The thought put a bounce in his step even amidst the heat, and despite all the teasing he'd have to endure from his fellow guards if they saw him look at courtesans. But they wouldn't know who he was looking for, Filippo thought, and found himself grinning unexpectedly, with a surge of boyish excitement that he hadn't felt in a long time.

He would keep his eyes open, and perhaps he could travel north on his next leave. Venezia was rumored to be a beautiful city after all.