Assassins creed - Understanding

Chapter 13 - Masquerade Madness Part 1

Previously: 

He was trying to protect me.

‘So you knew, since then, that I was working with the assassins?’

I felt his hands around my waist.

‘Oh, no. I knew long before that.’

He pulls out my dagger and begins twisting it in his hand in a Sandro-ish manner.

‘When?’

I try to step back to look at his face, but he holds me firm.

‘When you brought home that letter. The one you claimed you found it under Poalo’s floorboards, or something like that. That wasn't the original letter was it? The original letter that was intercepted by the assassins?

‘How…How do you know it was not the original?’

‘Because, Valentina.’ He aliens the point of the blade on my lower back . ‘I was the one who wrote it’

The point of the dagger pierces through my skin and dives deeply, and the next second I fall to the ground.

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The fibers of the rope where the reason I regained my consciousness, for the fibers had made my wrists sore. I don’t open my eyes just yet, using my other senses to determine my situation.  I feel my head bop on its own accord and sometimes my whole body would jolt to the side. 

I felt a sting in my back. Ripples of emotions flooded through me as I remembered how I got the wound. Duccio’s face flashed before my closed eyes. Sandro was right, he was always right/ I was just to blind to see it. Because of my foolish actions, I was stuck here…where? I could hear the quiet trot of hooves and the murmur of voices. Opening my eyes, I found myself sitting on the floor or a carriage compartment. But not the ones that you would expect a Templar to be placed in, with velvet seats and gold curtains. There were no seats in this compartment, and no windows to hang any sort of curtains. The walls were grey, and so was the floor, made of some sort of stone. It couldn’t be as heavy as it looked. It wasn’t a carriage for royals; it was a carriage for prisoners. For me.

I couldn’t see the door to the compartment, but there was an outline of a square on the wall in front of me. I guessed this had to opened, somehow, from the outside, for me to get out. And above that was a smaller, rectangular slit, which I guessed again was how the driver would keep an eye on its prisoner. There was barely any light in the compartment, I couldn’t tell what time of day it was.

While I was distracted by my surroundings, I had forgotten briefly why I was here in the first place. I sniffed sadly. No one would find me here. I had told Sandro to leave me alone. No doubt he had gone back to Catarina, the blonde hair blue eyed girl at the bureau.

But that didn’t matter anyway.

The river of emotions washed over me and I was left with nothing. I could feel nothing but a numbing where my heart was. And it hurt to a point I could barley breath. How could Duccio do this? I couldn’t understand. He had wrote the letter, but why? There were so many questions and so much time for me to think of them, but no time at all to answer them. For all I know, I could be riding to my death.

I stretched my neck up, trying to stop the tears in my eyes from flowing. There was no mask on my face and everything felt all the worse. They had taken my mask off; I had worn it when I went to Duccio.