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When Federica thought back on her childhood, she remembered happy times, picking flowers for her grandmother, counting florins at her aunt’s desk, or painting with her father’s expensive colors, hearing him laugh and telling her that she certainly hadn’t inherited his talent.
In the villa, Federica had grown up sheltered. The servants loved her or were wise enough to keep silent if her status disturbed them, although she doubted the latter.
Monteriggioni was a city of heretics, liars, thieves, whores, and murderers.
The illegitimate child of one of them didn’t matter when it was the daughter of their beloved patron, securing their independence. They’d laughed when she ran over the rooftops in pants, pulled a hood deep into her face, and be her father’s child in everything except her curiosities for the sky. Her father was quite happy to land on his feet again, but Federica had wanted to remain in the heavens, strive higher.
Perhaps that was the reason father had never truly trusted her with the pieces of Eden, had even attempted to find her a good husband. Thankfully, there were no good husbands in Roma for a bastard, who preferred to spend her days chasing through catacombs and stalking Borgia mercenaries.
Federica knew that her father hadn’t intended for her to grow up like him, but he’d been too busy, too haunted by loss and vengeance, to raise her differently. In another world, where father could stand to wear dresses and loved Leonardo a little differently, she would have grown up Federica Auditore da Firenze. She’d be the daughter of a Florentine noblewoman and a renowned artist, dance at balls, and certainly already have five children at her age, perhaps even see her youngest married.
But she would always be Federica Auditore da Monteriggioni.
And she only had this one child.
Federica hadn’t seen her father in years. When he had traveled and tried to discover wisdom, Federica had ensured that their Brotherhood didn’t diminish again. Their Mentor relied on her, tutored her to carry her Father’s title someday.
There was no doubt in her heart that she’d one day lead the Initiation ceremonies, find the heretics, liars, thieves, whores, and murderers, who knew this world was meant to be free.
Federica’s childhood had been happy because she’d been naïve and it had been easy enough to pretend that Monteriggioni’s way of living was normal. She knew better know, and their Brotherhood was no place to raise a child.
Florence, however, was beautiful and quiet. She could have stayed in Rome, of course, or gone to other flourishing cities. Leonardo had offered to help out, but he hadn’t raised her, and Federica got the sense that he was also not necessarily one to raise children. And, as much as she loved him for his chaotic madness, Leonardo was getting older. Federica wasn’t blind to his worsening condition. She wouldn’t ask him to raise his granddaughter with all his struggles when her father was right there.
It was strange to see Ezio tending to a vineyard with his wife. Federica hadn’t met Sofia before, but it certainly amused Federica that she was only a few months younger than her. Aunt Claudia had teased Ezio for it enough that he had felt the need to write to Federica beforehand, tell her all about his lovely, brave, and strong Sofia.
She would be a good mother, unlike Federica, who was too tangled up in her duties.
Ezio looked up first, Eagle Vision still sharp despite his failing eyesight. “Federica!”
With a smile, she walked past the plants until she stood right in front of him. “Hello, Mentore, Sofia”
Her father sighed, and Federica supposed that if not for Sofia’s curiosity, and the very obvious elephant in the room, Ezio would drag out that conversation.
“What is their name?” Sofia asked, looking at the babe in Federica’s arms with barely concealed longing.
It told Federica everything she needed to know.
“Flavia,” she replied. “Flavia Auditore da Firenze if you take her in as yours.”
Golden girl, for she was important, significant to history in a way Ezio was and Federica would never be. It was alright, Federica didn’t intend to be remembered for ages. It would be much easier to hide in plain sight if everyone looked at her father.
“Her father?” Ezio asked, his eyes flashing dangerously. The protectiveness would have made Federica smile were she still a child playing make-belief on rooftops and not a Master Assassin.
“Does it matter?” Federica returned.
Ezio wouldn’t comment on it. They were Assassins and they knew what sacrifices and pleasures accompanied their lives. Federica had been born from grief and too much alcohol, Flavia’s origin was much less dramatic, just another mission.
“Let’s go inside,” Sofia decided. “Tell me, has she been baptized yet?”
“No, there wasn’t really the time or the priest.”
“You were baptized,” Ezio interjected.
Federica rolled her eyes. “It was Monteriggioni, of course, I was baptized despite everything. Grandmother saw to it.”
Everything being the confusing cross-dressing status of her father, his illicit affair with Leonardo, and them generally speaking not being good church-fearing Christians. “And just because we have some priests in Rome are in our pocket, doesn’t mean I could have taken her there. Besides, she has to be named as yours.”
Federica stepped through the door, following Sofia, but Ezio remained at the entrance a moment longer, lingering.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” said Ezio. “Just realized how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. You should stay, Federica. The Brotherhood can do without its Mentor for a while.”
Her father only said that because he hadn’t met their current Novices, but the suggestion was still a nice one. Federica hadn’t even taken much of a break during her pregnancy; perhaps she should heed her father’s words.
When Flavia stirred in her arms, Federica decided to shed the robe of the Brotherhood’s Mentor and returned to being her father’s daughter.
Just for a while.