The waves lapped the shore of Iona, breaking softly. Sitting in the sand, Ailéas and Fillan watched them in silence, their swords lying beside them. They looked terrifying, covered in mud and blood, hair stuck together on their faces.
In the distance, two large sails sporting a raven, the symbol of the Clan MacDougall, had just appeared along the shores of the Isle of Mull and begun their approach.
“And now?” asked Ailéas. “What do we do?”
“I would have answered you with certainty a year ago, but today…”
“Aren’t you going to stay in the Brotherhood?”
He watched the sea foam without saying anything.
“Is it because of what Cornavii told you?”
“I don’t know. Moira can say what she wants; I like the idea of having my destiny in my own hands.”
They turned their heads to look at the druid, who was watching over Sören.
“That’s reassuring,” replied Ailéas, remembering their discussion on the Hebrides Sea. “Do you really feel like that’s what’s happening with the Assassins?”
“Not completely, no. It’s more about fear. Maybe because of what Sören told me, or what happened with Bradley Dacre. But I know there’s a lot to accomplish. Especially now.”
He thought of Deorsa, of James’ betrayal, of what the Assassins had lost despite their victory over the Templars.
“After seeing Cornavii abuse the Stone’s powers,” he continued, “I think I have a better understanding of what’s at stake.”
“That Lann Fala ass tried to throw you off balance. The way of the Assassins has changed you a lot, for the better. If you feel that that’s where you belong, you don’t have to hesitate. And if the time comes when your doubts are confirmed, there will always be time to close the door on them.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Since when have you been so wise?”
“I always have been! You were the one who didn’t want to listen!”
“I know how hard I’ve been on you lately.”
For the past few years, he thought.
“I’m truly sorry, you didn’t deserve it.”
“You’ve finally made peace with yourself,” observed his twin. “It’s about time.”
“I think so, and then… Wait a second, how do you…?”
“Long before the Berwick massacre, I suspected something was eating at you. Something that didn’t concern only you. What was it?”
He stared at her, embarrassed.
“Do you remember the day our parents were killed?” he asked.
Ailéas smiled sadly.
It was the phrase she repeated to him every day after her nightmares, hoping to share the burden of her pain.
“Too well, unfortunately.”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of not saving you that day.”
She felt tears well up in her eyes as she imagined the guilt he must have felt and pressed her forehead against her brother’s.
“There was nothing you could do,” she whispered. “I am glad you finally figured that out.”
“You have a gift for reading people. You always had it.”
“I know, Moira already told me.”
“And what about you? Which path will you choose? That of the Assassins or that of the druids?”
She pulled her head back, surprised.
“What?” he laughed. “I may not have the gift of reading people, but I know you.”
“Both interest me. A druid Assassin. I believe that would be useful, especially given what we just lived through.”
“I think so, too.”
The ship approached, gliding on waters that reflected the ever-clearing sky. Kyle was stood at the bow, her loose hair flying in the wind.
Fillan watched her, unable to help but smile.
“I wonder if Kyle would make a good Assassin?” he teased his sister.
He gently pushed her with his shoulder, and they laughed without noticing the elegant raven which, after performing many circles in the air above them, headed towards the north with a cry.