Knives Don't Have Your Back: Chapter XIII
Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood
Rated: R (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 4,318 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
NOTICE: More fanart now exists for this story! Please click here to see the charming picture of Malfatto by silvestris from Chapter III. And if you haven't done so yet, please click here to see SilvesterVitale's beautiful depiction of the masquerade scene from Chapter VI!
† XIII †
The chair underneath Teodor was uncomfortable but well-made, the thick wooden legs easily compensating for his lack of balance. His hands had been lashed to the back of the chair with rope and heavy weights, causing his back to arch unnaturally. His arms had long gone numb from the strain, but a dull ache radiated across his chest and through his neck every time he shifted to try and relieve the pressure on his wrists.
There was a door in front of him made with heavy, dark-stained oak that appeared to lock from the outside. It was the only way into the small room in which he was now imprisoned. The room was empty save for his chair as far as he could tell. He was backlit by the two torches burning behind him, able only to see the dull stone walls on either side.
He hadn’t seen the room when they had brought him here. After he’d beaten Donato to unconsciousness the Borgia guard had swarmed him. He had glimpsed Cesare in the throng, a pinched expression on his face that was mirrored by his murderous shadow, Micheletto. Then there was the sensation of too many hands on him and he had been taken to the ground. Face down in the bloody grass, he’d watched as Donato’s body was carried away while men fought to bind his hands and take his weapons. Oddly, he was left unharmed despite the frenzy, soon pushed to his feet and marched in the direction of Castel Sant’Angelo. Somewhere outside the gate a bag had been thrown over his head and he was herded to his destination blind. The bag was removed only after he had been shoved into the chair and his hands had been rebound and weighted.
Teodor wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting. He guessed it had been two hours, but it was likely less than that. He had tried to disentangle himself from his restraints but had only managed to add to the pain in his wrists. When that had failed he’d attempted to knock himself free from the chair but the legs seemed to be bolted tightly to the ground.
The situation didn’t bode well. Teodor turned his circumstances over in his mind, trying to figure out what Cesare had planned for him. The obvious option was torture. Surely not for information since Teodor had none, but instead for the simple pleasure of causing pain. However, the delay gave Teodor hope that his plan was working. By choosing to beat Donato down himself he had given Cesare pause to consider his alliance. Nothing spoke of loyalty more than betraying a close friend.
Teodor blinked his eyes rapidly, licked his lips. The fire from the torches warmed the room, drying the blood that was splattered on his face and neck. He could feel his skin tightening as the mess congealed, an itch settling underneath the surface. It was the mildest of discomforts when he considered what lay before him. He wondered how he would fare under torture. He had suffered and endured a variety of wounds in his time, but he wasn’t so stupid as to think the pain of a grisly injury could compare to that inflicted by practiced hands.
Outside the room, Teodor heard the sound of keys and watched as the doorknob began to turn. Teodor sat as straight as he could manage, letting bitter anger wash over him to strengthen his resolve. He had to survive this day or Donato had suffered for nothing. If he kept his wits about him he could find a way back into Cesare’s good graces and then start fighting back in earnest.
He expected he would suffer at the hands of Micheletto or Cesare himself. Perhaps Baltasar, who would love to cause him pain more than anyone else in Roma. Teodor had enough hatred for all three men to sustain him through the impending horror.
Instead, it was Malfatto who slipped into the room as quietly as a cat. For a stupid, awful moment Teodor’s heart soared as he considered the possibility of rescue. He forgot his desire to not give up, to lash out with cunning and retribution on the Borgia reign and all it had done to corrupt and harm the people he cared about. He could run, run and take Malfatto with him. Malfatto, who flayed people alive for the fun of it, and Teodor would still take him.
At the last bit, Teodor realized what it was exactly that Malfatto did for a living. The elixirs, the scalpels, the books-all of them tools of a physician; all of them tools of a torturer.
Malfatto’s fingers were curled around a large syringe.
Teodor barely felt the needle puncture the base of his throat, but when Malfatto depressed the plunger Teodor’s entire chest and neck erupted in pain. The poison he injected flooded through his veins like molten sand. Teodor gritted his teeth, feeling his heart speed up and his eyes bulge, mildly panicked at how he was already afraid. Despite their reputations, Cesare, Micheletto and Baltasar could never fill him with the dread Malfatto’s tall, dark shape inspired. Teodor congratulated whoever had ordered Malfatto here on a choice well-made.
“It only lasts for a minute,” Malfatto whispered. He crouched, his mask level with Teodor’s face. Teodor stared into the dark glasses as his breathing hitched, his lungs spasming as the toxin crawled through his veins.
“Of course they would send you,” Teodor managed. Malfatto ran a thumb over Teodor’s cheek, freeing the hair that had stuck there in the matted blood. He tucked it behind his ear before feeling for Teodor’s pulse.
“No one sent me,” Malfatto told him.
As the poison passed through him, the fire it spread was followed by a warm, numb sensation. He felt disconnected from his body, the feeling of Malfatto’s hand at his throat dissolving as the pain finally passed and left him without sensation. His breathing evened out without him feeling it, his heartbeat a distant memory. This didn’t feel like torture, this didn’t feel like anything at all.
“Am I dying?” he whispered. His lips tingled.
“Of course not.” Malfatto pressed his thumb to Teodor’s left eyelid and peeled it back, then his right, bending close to examine each pupil.
Teodor stared into the black void of Malfatto’s glasses, wishing for the slightest hint as to what lay ahead of him. Malfatto had clearly meant to incapacitate him physically. When Teodor tried to stretch his fingers it was like grasping at fog.
Across the room the handle of the door clicked. Malfatto rose to his feet at the sound, twisting to face the sight of a fully armored Cesare Borgia. He tipped his head slightly as the man entered and Cesare’s eyebrows rose in slight surprise.
“Making friends?” Cesare asked as he shut the door. “Or are you just eager?”
Malfatto’s reaction was lost behind his mask. His hand passed down the side of Teodor’s neck one last time before he moved out of the way, walking behind the chair and out of Teodor’s line of sight. Through the numb haze Teodor felt the slightest pressure against his fingertips where Malfatto’s coat brushed against them.
Cesare’s eyes turned to Teodor’s like a hawk sighting a field mouse. If a shiver passed through Teodor, he couldn’t feel it. Cesare pursed his lips, as if considering what to say as he leaned back against the door. He toyed with the vambraces on his arms, fingers clacking against the buckles.
“Well, Officer Viscardi,” he began, his voice a slow, slippery drawl. “That was quite a show today.”
While his face was tipped toward his vambraces, Cesare kept his eyes trained on Teodor’s face. Teodor felt a tightness in his jaw but did his best to look as unperturbed as he could manage, bound and bloodied, his own gaze steady.
“Despite your...talent for killing your fellow soldiers,” Cesare continued, “it seems you have been able to maintain some influential allies. De Valois is very keen to see you keep your head.” Cesare paused, his gaze moving over Teodor’s head to where Malfatto stood. “And even more impressive, Malfatto has asked that you be pardoned.”
Teodor blinked, stunned. Cesare studied Malfatto with curious eyes. “One day, my good doctor, you’ll have to tell me what it takes to earn a pardon from you.”
Teodor tried to keep the building shock from showing on his face. Baltasar had led him to believe Cesare knew of his and Malfatto’s affiliation. If he ever got out of this room, he was going to slit Baltasar in two with that damned razor.
“I owe a debt,” Malfatto said simply.
“And you are suddenly concerned with meaningless things like honor,” Cesare said archly. “Careful, Malfatto. That is not why I keep you around.”
Malfatto didn’t seem to respond to Cesare more than he did anyone else, silence spreading through the room between the occasional hisses of the burning torches. Cesare seemed to expect this and the look he cast in Malfatto’s direction could only be described as fond.
“Then that just leaves the opinion of the Captain General,” Teodor said. His voice was pitched low, but he couldn’t feel the rumble in his throat when he spoke. He felt like he was using someone else’s words.
Cesare’s attention snapped back to him immediately. The smile he had for Teodor was thin and bloodless.
“You’re bold and ruthless, Viscardi, I like that,” Cesare said. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “But you’re dangerous. You betray those around you at your convenience. You are a smart man, but I don’t believe you are a loyal one.”
“I am and have always been your servant, Captain General,” Teodor said lightly.
“Oh, stop it,” Cesare said with a wave of his hand. Teodor chewed on the inside of his lip to keep the glare off his face. “Baltasar de Silva wants you dead. He doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“If Baltasar was more forthcoming with pertinent information my job would be much easier,” Teodor growled.
Cesare laughed. “Yes, and you seem to play so well with others.”
“I play well when I have the information I need,” Teodor reiterated.
Cesare’s eyes flashed. “Then I suggest you get a little better at the game, Viscardi. Baltasar de Silva has been ruling his little underground longer than you or I have been alive. To him, popes and generals simply come and go.”
Teodor felt the barest of touches to the back of his neck, Malfatto’s finger ghosting down his spine. He caged the anger inside his chest and took a deep breath.
“That is the problem,” Teodor said, picking through his words like they were mined. “He thinks himself a king, one whose orders can subvert your own.”
“That may be so,” Cesare said, surprising him. “But Baltasar is not your concern. He has enough problems of his own.” Cesare slid a letter from inside his breastplate and held it out. Teodor stared at it stupidly until Malfatto stepped around his chair and took it.
“Fiora Cavazza is getting out of hand,” Cesare said. Malfatto cracked the wax seal and quickly scanned the letter. “I’ll send her to you when I get the chance.”
Malfatto handed the letter back to Cesare. “I’ll take care of it.”
Cesare smiled. He stepped closer to Malfatto, close enough that despite the drug flowing through his veins Teodor felt his heart pinch. He watched them talk in profile, mirrored before him in shadow.
“Let me know when you have her,” Cesare said, his voice taking on a huskier tone. It was softer than Teodor had ever heard it. “I want to watch.”
Malfatto didn’t move, tall and taught as wire. Cesare’s smile twisted into a leer as he reached to pluck a small dagger from the belt around Malfatto’s waist.
“Viscardi, have you ever seen Malfatto work?” Cesare murmured, his eyes on the small, thin blade in his hand. He stepped away from Malfatto, coming to stand in front of Teodor.
“No,” Teodor answered. Only the aftermath, and that probably wouldn’t compare to the horror Fiora was about to face.
Cesare shook his head. He brought up the knife, the tip of it tracing along the pulse just under Teodor’s ear. Body still strangely distant, Teodor felt only a whisper as it tracked the line of his jaw.
“Would you like me to let him show you?” Cesare said, voice so low it was practically a hum. “He could make a mask from you, a suit even. He’s very talented.”
“I’ll miss the show if I’m to be the participant,” Teodor said through his teeth.
Cesare shook his head, the flat of the knife skittering up over Teodor’s cheek and pressing into the bone there. “Not if he took out your eyes first. With enough time and skill we could pop them right out. I’ll hold them for you so you can watch him work.”
Malfatto’s hand was like a spider, sliding up to wrap itself around Cesare’s wrist. Teodor could see the black fingertips creeping up along the edges of his vision, his eyes bright and wide, too terrified to blink.
“I need to undo his restraints if you’re going to keep him alive,” Malfatto said. “He’s going to lose his hands if he stays like this much longer.”
Teodor watched Cesare’s pupils contract. There was a flash of bared teeth before Cesare came back to himself, a frozen image of the monster that lay underneath, then he stood straight up and handed the knife back to Malfatto as if it were nothing more than a borrowed quill.
“Of course,” he said. Teodor let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. Cesare looked over to him at the sound, his face perfectly sculpted into a look of boredom.
“Curb your more annoying habits, Viscardi,” Cesare said. “I want Ezio Auditore dead more than I want to kill you, and to do that I need all the men I can get.”
“Yes, Captain General,” Teodor replied.
Cesare turned to Malfatto, a smirk on his face. “See, I’m not so bad,” he said, and slapped Malfatto on the shoulder, his hand sliding to cup the back of his neck to give him a friendly shake. Malfatto went stiff as a board.
“One big, happy family?” Cesare asked him, a menacing growl threading through his words.
Malfatto’s mask dipped slightly, like he was looking away. “Yes,” was all he said.
“Good!” Cesare said, his voice returning to its normal volume. With a last glance to Teodor he turned on his heels and left the room. The door fell shut with a heavy boom and the torches shuddered.
The room was cavernous without Cesare in it. Relief spilled over Teodor’s shoulders, down across his chest. He was alive, whole, and ready to fight.
Malfatto hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked up, a black statue in the dimming torchlight. His elbows were slightly bent, fingers spread and hovering over his belt.
The drug was beginning to wear off. Slight tremors shook down Teodor’s chest and into his legs, the muscles beginning to quietly ache. His arms and hands remained numb, removed from his awareness, and Teodor remembered Malfatto’s warning.
“Malfatto,” he whispered.
Malfatto twitched at the sound of his name. The white mask swiveled round to look his direction as if Teodor was something only half-remembered. After a moment’s hesitation Malfatto flickered back to life, crossing over to where Teodor sat. Crouched behind him, Teodor heard the snap of the rope being cut. Malfatto nimbly slipped the length of it off of Teodor’s wrists. The weights came with it, tinkling like bells as they clattered to the floor. Heat, and a soreness so intense he lacked the words to express it, rushed from his fingertips and into his shoulders. His arms swung loose, uncontrollable. Teodor paid the handicap no mind and moved to stand on wobbly knees.
“You shouldn’t-”
“I am not spending another second sitting in that thing,” Teodor barked. Determined, he stepped away from the chair. His feet didn’t feel like his own. He had to think to walk, his body a marionette and his mind the puppeteer. Gracelessly, he walked to the door. He didn’t grasp the handle in front of him so much as cling to it.
Two black hands thudded against the oak, pushing past his ears and landing on either side of his head. He felt Malfatto against his backside, corralling him between his body and the door. Teodor saw the tip of a white beak out of the corner of his eye and felt the brim of a wide hat brush against his hair.
“Please, stop,” Malfatto said.
As if he had a choice. Teodor breathed sharply through his nose and let go of the handle. He twisted inside the circle of Malfatto’s arms, leaning against the door to help steady himself on unsure feet.
“Why would Cesare spare me at your request?” he asked when they were face to mask, his tone icy. “Surely he has other torturers at his disposal. Why try and keep you happy?”
Malfatto’s mask dipped slightly. “I don’t know. I never asked anything of him before.”
Teodor thought about that for a moment. Malfatto slid his hands to Teodor’s shoulders and then down past his elbows. He examined the chafing on each of Teodor’s wrists, pushing back laced cuffs and stripping him of his gloves. Teodor saw his hands were red, but not dangerously dark. Malfatto’s long fingers massaged his own, working from palm to tip. The blood burned as it flowed over each knuckle and bone.
“What did you do to me?” Teodor asked, eyes trained on the hands holding his. “I feel...strange.”
“I didn’t know what Cesare would do. I didn’t know if you were to be interrogated or saved or both. It was a precaution.” He turned Teodor’s hand over, inspecting it.
Teodor’s eyes narrowed. “You would have done it, then. Tortured me like you have all the rest.”
“If I had refused someone else would have taken my place,” Malfatto answered. He dropped Teodor’s hands, then gripped him by the elbows and pressed into him, a long black line snug against Teodor’s bloody shirtfront. Malfatto’s cool mask glanced against Teodor’s cheekbone and he could feel Malfatto’s covered lips against his ear when he spoke.
“It would have been me,” Malfatto whispered. “I’m the best, Teodor. Do you understand what I mean when I say that? It had to be me.”
Teodor understood. He tried to imagine Malfatto, tasked with the responsibility of carving up someone he’d taken to his bed. Leaving it to another ensured Teodor’s death and would lead to scrutiny. At his own hands, Malfatto could have kept him alive long enough for an opportunity to arise. If an opportunity would arise.
“What would you have done?” Teodor whispered. He put clumsy hands to Malfatto’s head, untying the mask, removing the hat. Malfatto’s face was something from another lifetime. His hair was more golden, lips fuller, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks almost vibrant. Teodor realized he hadn’t expected to ever see his face again.
“If you couldn’t turn back, once you began,” Teodor said, sliding his thumbs along Malfatto’s pale eyebrows, down into the hollows underneath his cheekbones. “What would you have done? If Cesare was-”
“Cesare used to break my feet when we were younger,” Malfatto murmured. His blue eyes were trained on Teodor, but he was seeing something else. “I would spend weeks bedridden, my feet in vices so I wouldn’t develop a limp.”
Teodor stared at Malfatto dumbly, stricken by his confession. His hands trembled where they touched the sides of Malfatto’s face. Malfatto noticed and turned his head to press a dry kiss on Teodor’s thumb.
Malfatto’s voice was thin, but steady. “What I’m saying is, I would have chosen you.”
The torches were almost burnt out, shadow and smoke swallowing what little light was left. Teodor kissed Malfatto in the coming darkness, the sound of their breath-Malfatto’s soft ohhh as Teodor sucked on his bottom lip-drowned out by the sputtering of the dying fire.
It was Malfatto who pulled away first, stepping back as Teodor’s mouth skimmed along his jaw. Teodor groaned at the lack of contact, hands trailing after Malfatto, wanting to pull him back, be pushed against the door.
“How are you now?” Malfatto asked. “Can you walk? I didn’t-” a hand shot out, swiping over Teodor’s chest and stomach, “-even check to see if you were injured.”
“It’s not mine,” Teodor said, referencing his blood-soaked clothing. A bell chimed in his head, loud as gunfire-Donato. Concern, guilt and a bevy of other emotions clamored inside his skull. Each must have shown on his face, Malfatto’s own expression one of worry.
“Donato,” he blurted out. Malfatto stared blankly. “Captain Mancini-the man that I beat today, where is he? Do you know what happened to him?”
Malfatto nodded. “He’s in the barracks, I think.”
“Right,” Teodor said. “Get your things, we’re going there.”
Malfatto’s eyebrows ran for his hairline. “What?”
“To save him,” Teodor explained impatiently.
Malfatto’s mouth hardened into a straight line. He crouched to retrieve his fallen hat and mask from the floor. He handed Teodor the hat and stood, then began fixing his mask in place.
“I don’t understand,” he said, voice muffled behind the white beak. “You nearly killed him today.”
“He’s my friend,” Teodor said, although he realized Malfatto likely didn’t understand the meaning.
Malfatto took his hat, fingers sliding along the brim as he stared down at it through black lenses.
“Teodor,” he said, and Teodor’s heart dropped at the tone in his voice. Malfatto reserved it for the dying. “I don’t think your friend is going to wake up.”
“That’s impossible,” Teodor said flatly. He remembered the feel of Donato’s face against the heel of his boot. He remembered each blow he delivered. For the same reasons Malfatto would have chosen to torture him, Teodor had to be the one to strike down Donato. Other men would have killed him, and Teodor had been careful.
“I’m a doctor,” Malfatto said in that same smooth, awful tone.
“Even more reason for us to go and get him then,” Teodor snapped. He grabbed Malfatto by the shoulders, his eyes locked with the dark lenses of Malfatto’s glasses. “You told me you were the best. That you can keep people alive.”
“But why do it?” Malfatto shot back, not sounding angry but simply bewildered. “Cesare forgave you. He won’t do it again. If you try and save the captain everything we did today will be for nothing.”
“I am no longer interested in working for Cesare Borgia,” Teodor rumbled.
Malfatto took a step back and Teodor tightened his grip. Clearly he hadn’t equated saving Teodor with betraying Cesare, something Teodor fully intended to do. Malfatto had spent his life under Cesare’s malevolent hand but had never thought to leave him, perhaps didn’t even think such a thing possible.
“It’s not safe anymore. Today, maybe, but not tomorrow,” Teodor said, his voice urgent. He had to make Malfatto understand. “Cesare won’t stop until every soldier, every ally he has, is dead. And even then it won’t be because he mourns our loss, but because he will have no one left to throw in fire.”
Underneath his hands Malfatto was rigid and disconcertingly still. He wished he hadn’t let Malfatto put that damned mask back on, but there wasn’t anything for it now.
“If it’s not him that kills us, it will be the assassins,” Teodor said, trying to take the edge off. “Roma is changing. It doesn’t want men like you and me anymore.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Malfatto said. Teodor didn’t have it in him to call Malfatto a monster to his face, and let it go.
“No matter what you or I try to do, Cesare Borgia and his father are going to fall against the assassins. It’s what the people want, it’s what I want, it’s what you-”
“That’s not what I want,” Malfatto whispered, bringing Teodor’s coercion to a standstill. He thought of Malfatto on the training ground that day, Cesare’s arm around him, a smile on his face and laughter in his voice. He imagined Malfatto as a child, unable to do anything but endure Cesare’s cruel games. The fond look on Cesare’s face when he’d looked to Malfatto in the room, the delight he gained from the knowledge that Malfatto had become a weapon finely-crafted.
When Teodor was fifteen, Nanette stabbed him in the chest with a knitting needle and punctured his lung. When he was eighteen, Teodor drowned her in the black water of the Po River. Nanette had loved him, and he her, but they were never meant to survive one another.
Teodor cupped the back of Malfatto’s neck. “We need to leave the city. Maybe not right now, but eventually. I’m not asking you to defy Cesare, but...just stand down.”
After almost a full minute of silence, Malfatto spoke. “Convince Cesare to keep your friend alive, and I will see what can be done.”
“And everything else?” Teodor asked quietly. Malfatto broke away from him, moving to the side and groping for the door handle.
“I said I would choose you,” Malfatto said simply, pulling the door open. Gray light pooled at their feet and pushed back the shadows. “Now go.”
Teodor stepped past Malfatto into the hallway. No one was around and he dared to grab Malfatto’s wrist, giving it a quick squeeze.
“See you at home,” he said.
† † †
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author's notes | warnings
Rated: R (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 4,318 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
NOTICE: More fanart now exists for this story! Please click here to see the charming picture of Malfatto by silvestris from Chapter III. And if you haven't done so yet, please click here to see SilvesterVitale's beautiful depiction of the masquerade scene from Chapter VI!
† XIII †
The chair underneath Teodor was uncomfortable but well-made, the thick wooden legs easily compensating for his lack of balance. His hands had been lashed to the back of the chair with rope and heavy weights, causing his back to arch unnaturally. His arms had long gone numb from the strain, but a dull ache radiated across his chest and through his neck every time he shifted to try and relieve the pressure on his wrists.
There was a door in front of him made with heavy, dark-stained oak that appeared to lock from the outside. It was the only way into the small room in which he was now imprisoned. The room was empty save for his chair as far as he could tell. He was backlit by the two torches burning behind him, able only to see the dull stone walls on either side.
He hadn’t seen the room when they had brought him here. After he’d beaten Donato to unconsciousness the Borgia guard had swarmed him. He had glimpsed Cesare in the throng, a pinched expression on his face that was mirrored by his murderous shadow, Micheletto. Then there was the sensation of too many hands on him and he had been taken to the ground. Face down in the bloody grass, he’d watched as Donato’s body was carried away while men fought to bind his hands and take his weapons. Oddly, he was left unharmed despite the frenzy, soon pushed to his feet and marched in the direction of Castel Sant’Angelo. Somewhere outside the gate a bag had been thrown over his head and he was herded to his destination blind. The bag was removed only after he had been shoved into the chair and his hands had been rebound and weighted.
Teodor wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting. He guessed it had been two hours, but it was likely less than that. He had tried to disentangle himself from his restraints but had only managed to add to the pain in his wrists. When that had failed he’d attempted to knock himself free from the chair but the legs seemed to be bolted tightly to the ground.
The situation didn’t bode well. Teodor turned his circumstances over in his mind, trying to figure out what Cesare had planned for him. The obvious option was torture. Surely not for information since Teodor had none, but instead for the simple pleasure of causing pain. However, the delay gave Teodor hope that his plan was working. By choosing to beat Donato down himself he had given Cesare pause to consider his alliance. Nothing spoke of loyalty more than betraying a close friend.
Teodor blinked his eyes rapidly, licked his lips. The fire from the torches warmed the room, drying the blood that was splattered on his face and neck. He could feel his skin tightening as the mess congealed, an itch settling underneath the surface. It was the mildest of discomforts when he considered what lay before him. He wondered how he would fare under torture. He had suffered and endured a variety of wounds in his time, but he wasn’t so stupid as to think the pain of a grisly injury could compare to that inflicted by practiced hands.
Outside the room, Teodor heard the sound of keys and watched as the doorknob began to turn. Teodor sat as straight as he could manage, letting bitter anger wash over him to strengthen his resolve. He had to survive this day or Donato had suffered for nothing. If he kept his wits about him he could find a way back into Cesare’s good graces and then start fighting back in earnest.
He expected he would suffer at the hands of Micheletto or Cesare himself. Perhaps Baltasar, who would love to cause him pain more than anyone else in Roma. Teodor had enough hatred for all three men to sustain him through the impending horror.
Instead, it was Malfatto who slipped into the room as quietly as a cat. For a stupid, awful moment Teodor’s heart soared as he considered the possibility of rescue. He forgot his desire to not give up, to lash out with cunning and retribution on the Borgia reign and all it had done to corrupt and harm the people he cared about. He could run, run and take Malfatto with him. Malfatto, who flayed people alive for the fun of it, and Teodor would still take him.
At the last bit, Teodor realized what it was exactly that Malfatto did for a living. The elixirs, the scalpels, the books-all of them tools of a physician; all of them tools of a torturer.
Malfatto’s fingers were curled around a large syringe.
Teodor barely felt the needle puncture the base of his throat, but when Malfatto depressed the plunger Teodor’s entire chest and neck erupted in pain. The poison he injected flooded through his veins like molten sand. Teodor gritted his teeth, feeling his heart speed up and his eyes bulge, mildly panicked at how he was already afraid. Despite their reputations, Cesare, Micheletto and Baltasar could never fill him with the dread Malfatto’s tall, dark shape inspired. Teodor congratulated whoever had ordered Malfatto here on a choice well-made.
“It only lasts for a minute,” Malfatto whispered. He crouched, his mask level with Teodor’s face. Teodor stared into the dark glasses as his breathing hitched, his lungs spasming as the toxin crawled through his veins.
“Of course they would send you,” Teodor managed. Malfatto ran a thumb over Teodor’s cheek, freeing the hair that had stuck there in the matted blood. He tucked it behind his ear before feeling for Teodor’s pulse.
“No one sent me,” Malfatto told him.
As the poison passed through him, the fire it spread was followed by a warm, numb sensation. He felt disconnected from his body, the feeling of Malfatto’s hand at his throat dissolving as the pain finally passed and left him without sensation. His breathing evened out without him feeling it, his heartbeat a distant memory. This didn’t feel like torture, this didn’t feel like anything at all.
“Am I dying?” he whispered. His lips tingled.
“Of course not.” Malfatto pressed his thumb to Teodor’s left eyelid and peeled it back, then his right, bending close to examine each pupil.
Teodor stared into the black void of Malfatto’s glasses, wishing for the slightest hint as to what lay ahead of him. Malfatto had clearly meant to incapacitate him physically. When Teodor tried to stretch his fingers it was like grasping at fog.
Across the room the handle of the door clicked. Malfatto rose to his feet at the sound, twisting to face the sight of a fully armored Cesare Borgia. He tipped his head slightly as the man entered and Cesare’s eyebrows rose in slight surprise.
“Making friends?” Cesare asked as he shut the door. “Or are you just eager?”
Malfatto’s reaction was lost behind his mask. His hand passed down the side of Teodor’s neck one last time before he moved out of the way, walking behind the chair and out of Teodor’s line of sight. Through the numb haze Teodor felt the slightest pressure against his fingertips where Malfatto’s coat brushed against them.
Cesare’s eyes turned to Teodor’s like a hawk sighting a field mouse. If a shiver passed through Teodor, he couldn’t feel it. Cesare pursed his lips, as if considering what to say as he leaned back against the door. He toyed with the vambraces on his arms, fingers clacking against the buckles.
“Well, Officer Viscardi,” he began, his voice a slow, slippery drawl. “That was quite a show today.”
While his face was tipped toward his vambraces, Cesare kept his eyes trained on Teodor’s face. Teodor felt a tightness in his jaw but did his best to look as unperturbed as he could manage, bound and bloodied, his own gaze steady.
“Despite your...talent for killing your fellow soldiers,” Cesare continued, “it seems you have been able to maintain some influential allies. De Valois is very keen to see you keep your head.” Cesare paused, his gaze moving over Teodor’s head to where Malfatto stood. “And even more impressive, Malfatto has asked that you be pardoned.”
Teodor blinked, stunned. Cesare studied Malfatto with curious eyes. “One day, my good doctor, you’ll have to tell me what it takes to earn a pardon from you.”
Teodor tried to keep the building shock from showing on his face. Baltasar had led him to believe Cesare knew of his and Malfatto’s affiliation. If he ever got out of this room, he was going to slit Baltasar in two with that damned razor.
“I owe a debt,” Malfatto said simply.
“And you are suddenly concerned with meaningless things like honor,” Cesare said archly. “Careful, Malfatto. That is not why I keep you around.”
Malfatto didn’t seem to respond to Cesare more than he did anyone else, silence spreading through the room between the occasional hisses of the burning torches. Cesare seemed to expect this and the look he cast in Malfatto’s direction could only be described as fond.
“Then that just leaves the opinion of the Captain General,” Teodor said. His voice was pitched low, but he couldn’t feel the rumble in his throat when he spoke. He felt like he was using someone else’s words.
Cesare’s attention snapped back to him immediately. The smile he had for Teodor was thin and bloodless.
“You’re bold and ruthless, Viscardi, I like that,” Cesare said. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “But you’re dangerous. You betray those around you at your convenience. You are a smart man, but I don’t believe you are a loyal one.”
“I am and have always been your servant, Captain General,” Teodor said lightly.
“Oh, stop it,” Cesare said with a wave of his hand. Teodor chewed on the inside of his lip to keep the glare off his face. “Baltasar de Silva wants you dead. He doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“If Baltasar was more forthcoming with pertinent information my job would be much easier,” Teodor growled.
Cesare laughed. “Yes, and you seem to play so well with others.”
“I play well when I have the information I need,” Teodor reiterated.
Cesare’s eyes flashed. “Then I suggest you get a little better at the game, Viscardi. Baltasar de Silva has been ruling his little underground longer than you or I have been alive. To him, popes and generals simply come and go.”
Teodor felt the barest of touches to the back of his neck, Malfatto’s finger ghosting down his spine. He caged the anger inside his chest and took a deep breath.
“That is the problem,” Teodor said, picking through his words like they were mined. “He thinks himself a king, one whose orders can subvert your own.”
“That may be so,” Cesare said, surprising him. “But Baltasar is not your concern. He has enough problems of his own.” Cesare slid a letter from inside his breastplate and held it out. Teodor stared at it stupidly until Malfatto stepped around his chair and took it.
“Fiora Cavazza is getting out of hand,” Cesare said. Malfatto cracked the wax seal and quickly scanned the letter. “I’ll send her to you when I get the chance.”
Malfatto handed the letter back to Cesare. “I’ll take care of it.”
Cesare smiled. He stepped closer to Malfatto, close enough that despite the drug flowing through his veins Teodor felt his heart pinch. He watched them talk in profile, mirrored before him in shadow.
“Let me know when you have her,” Cesare said, his voice taking on a huskier tone. It was softer than Teodor had ever heard it. “I want to watch.”
Malfatto didn’t move, tall and taught as wire. Cesare’s smile twisted into a leer as he reached to pluck a small dagger from the belt around Malfatto’s waist.
“Viscardi, have you ever seen Malfatto work?” Cesare murmured, his eyes on the small, thin blade in his hand. He stepped away from Malfatto, coming to stand in front of Teodor.
“No,” Teodor answered. Only the aftermath, and that probably wouldn’t compare to the horror Fiora was about to face.
Cesare shook his head. He brought up the knife, the tip of it tracing along the pulse just under Teodor’s ear. Body still strangely distant, Teodor felt only a whisper as it tracked the line of his jaw.
“Would you like me to let him show you?” Cesare said, voice so low it was practically a hum. “He could make a mask from you, a suit even. He’s very talented.”
“I’ll miss the show if I’m to be the participant,” Teodor said through his teeth.
Cesare shook his head, the flat of the knife skittering up over Teodor’s cheek and pressing into the bone there. “Not if he took out your eyes first. With enough time and skill we could pop them right out. I’ll hold them for you so you can watch him work.”
Malfatto’s hand was like a spider, sliding up to wrap itself around Cesare’s wrist. Teodor could see the black fingertips creeping up along the edges of his vision, his eyes bright and wide, too terrified to blink.
“I need to undo his restraints if you’re going to keep him alive,” Malfatto said. “He’s going to lose his hands if he stays like this much longer.”
Teodor watched Cesare’s pupils contract. There was a flash of bared teeth before Cesare came back to himself, a frozen image of the monster that lay underneath, then he stood straight up and handed the knife back to Malfatto as if it were nothing more than a borrowed quill.
“Of course,” he said. Teodor let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. Cesare looked over to him at the sound, his face perfectly sculpted into a look of boredom.
“Curb your more annoying habits, Viscardi,” Cesare said. “I want Ezio Auditore dead more than I want to kill you, and to do that I need all the men I can get.”
“Yes, Captain General,” Teodor replied.
Cesare turned to Malfatto, a smirk on his face. “See, I’m not so bad,” he said, and slapped Malfatto on the shoulder, his hand sliding to cup the back of his neck to give him a friendly shake. Malfatto went stiff as a board.
“One big, happy family?” Cesare asked him, a menacing growl threading through his words.
Malfatto’s mask dipped slightly, like he was looking away. “Yes,” was all he said.
“Good!” Cesare said, his voice returning to its normal volume. With a last glance to Teodor he turned on his heels and left the room. The door fell shut with a heavy boom and the torches shuddered.
The room was cavernous without Cesare in it. Relief spilled over Teodor’s shoulders, down across his chest. He was alive, whole, and ready to fight.
Malfatto hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked up, a black statue in the dimming torchlight. His elbows were slightly bent, fingers spread and hovering over his belt.
The drug was beginning to wear off. Slight tremors shook down Teodor’s chest and into his legs, the muscles beginning to quietly ache. His arms and hands remained numb, removed from his awareness, and Teodor remembered Malfatto’s warning.
“Malfatto,” he whispered.
Malfatto twitched at the sound of his name. The white mask swiveled round to look his direction as if Teodor was something only half-remembered. After a moment’s hesitation Malfatto flickered back to life, crossing over to where Teodor sat. Crouched behind him, Teodor heard the snap of the rope being cut. Malfatto nimbly slipped the length of it off of Teodor’s wrists. The weights came with it, tinkling like bells as they clattered to the floor. Heat, and a soreness so intense he lacked the words to express it, rushed from his fingertips and into his shoulders. His arms swung loose, uncontrollable. Teodor paid the handicap no mind and moved to stand on wobbly knees.
“You shouldn’t-”
“I am not spending another second sitting in that thing,” Teodor barked. Determined, he stepped away from the chair. His feet didn’t feel like his own. He had to think to walk, his body a marionette and his mind the puppeteer. Gracelessly, he walked to the door. He didn’t grasp the handle in front of him so much as cling to it.
Two black hands thudded against the oak, pushing past his ears and landing on either side of his head. He felt Malfatto against his backside, corralling him between his body and the door. Teodor saw the tip of a white beak out of the corner of his eye and felt the brim of a wide hat brush against his hair.
“Please, stop,” Malfatto said.
As if he had a choice. Teodor breathed sharply through his nose and let go of the handle. He twisted inside the circle of Malfatto’s arms, leaning against the door to help steady himself on unsure feet.
“Why would Cesare spare me at your request?” he asked when they were face to mask, his tone icy. “Surely he has other torturers at his disposal. Why try and keep you happy?”
Malfatto’s mask dipped slightly. “I don’t know. I never asked anything of him before.”
Teodor thought about that for a moment. Malfatto slid his hands to Teodor’s shoulders and then down past his elbows. He examined the chafing on each of Teodor’s wrists, pushing back laced cuffs and stripping him of his gloves. Teodor saw his hands were red, but not dangerously dark. Malfatto’s long fingers massaged his own, working from palm to tip. The blood burned as it flowed over each knuckle and bone.
“What did you do to me?” Teodor asked, eyes trained on the hands holding his. “I feel...strange.”
“I didn’t know what Cesare would do. I didn’t know if you were to be interrogated or saved or both. It was a precaution.” He turned Teodor’s hand over, inspecting it.
Teodor’s eyes narrowed. “You would have done it, then. Tortured me like you have all the rest.”
“If I had refused someone else would have taken my place,” Malfatto answered. He dropped Teodor’s hands, then gripped him by the elbows and pressed into him, a long black line snug against Teodor’s bloody shirtfront. Malfatto’s cool mask glanced against Teodor’s cheekbone and he could feel Malfatto’s covered lips against his ear when he spoke.
“It would have been me,” Malfatto whispered. “I’m the best, Teodor. Do you understand what I mean when I say that? It had to be me.”
Teodor understood. He tried to imagine Malfatto, tasked with the responsibility of carving up someone he’d taken to his bed. Leaving it to another ensured Teodor’s death and would lead to scrutiny. At his own hands, Malfatto could have kept him alive long enough for an opportunity to arise. If an opportunity would arise.
“What would you have done?” Teodor whispered. He put clumsy hands to Malfatto’s head, untying the mask, removing the hat. Malfatto’s face was something from another lifetime. His hair was more golden, lips fuller, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks almost vibrant. Teodor realized he hadn’t expected to ever see his face again.
“If you couldn’t turn back, once you began,” Teodor said, sliding his thumbs along Malfatto’s pale eyebrows, down into the hollows underneath his cheekbones. “What would you have done? If Cesare was-”
“Cesare used to break my feet when we were younger,” Malfatto murmured. His blue eyes were trained on Teodor, but he was seeing something else. “I would spend weeks bedridden, my feet in vices so I wouldn’t develop a limp.”
Teodor stared at Malfatto dumbly, stricken by his confession. His hands trembled where they touched the sides of Malfatto’s face. Malfatto noticed and turned his head to press a dry kiss on Teodor’s thumb.
Malfatto’s voice was thin, but steady. “What I’m saying is, I would have chosen you.”
The torches were almost burnt out, shadow and smoke swallowing what little light was left. Teodor kissed Malfatto in the coming darkness, the sound of their breath-Malfatto’s soft ohhh as Teodor sucked on his bottom lip-drowned out by the sputtering of the dying fire.
It was Malfatto who pulled away first, stepping back as Teodor’s mouth skimmed along his jaw. Teodor groaned at the lack of contact, hands trailing after Malfatto, wanting to pull him back, be pushed against the door.
“How are you now?” Malfatto asked. “Can you walk? I didn’t-” a hand shot out, swiping over Teodor’s chest and stomach, “-even check to see if you were injured.”
“It’s not mine,” Teodor said, referencing his blood-soaked clothing. A bell chimed in his head, loud as gunfire-Donato. Concern, guilt and a bevy of other emotions clamored inside his skull. Each must have shown on his face, Malfatto’s own expression one of worry.
“Donato,” he blurted out. Malfatto stared blankly. “Captain Mancini-the man that I beat today, where is he? Do you know what happened to him?”
Malfatto nodded. “He’s in the barracks, I think.”
“Right,” Teodor said. “Get your things, we’re going there.”
Malfatto’s eyebrows ran for his hairline. “What?”
“To save him,” Teodor explained impatiently.
Malfatto’s mouth hardened into a straight line. He crouched to retrieve his fallen hat and mask from the floor. He handed Teodor the hat and stood, then began fixing his mask in place.
“I don’t understand,” he said, voice muffled behind the white beak. “You nearly killed him today.”
“He’s my friend,” Teodor said, although he realized Malfatto likely didn’t understand the meaning.
Malfatto took his hat, fingers sliding along the brim as he stared down at it through black lenses.
“Teodor,” he said, and Teodor’s heart dropped at the tone in his voice. Malfatto reserved it for the dying. “I don’t think your friend is going to wake up.”
“That’s impossible,” Teodor said flatly. He remembered the feel of Donato’s face against the heel of his boot. He remembered each blow he delivered. For the same reasons Malfatto would have chosen to torture him, Teodor had to be the one to strike down Donato. Other men would have killed him, and Teodor had been careful.
“I’m a doctor,” Malfatto said in that same smooth, awful tone.
“Even more reason for us to go and get him then,” Teodor snapped. He grabbed Malfatto by the shoulders, his eyes locked with the dark lenses of Malfatto’s glasses. “You told me you were the best. That you can keep people alive.”
“But why do it?” Malfatto shot back, not sounding angry but simply bewildered. “Cesare forgave you. He won’t do it again. If you try and save the captain everything we did today will be for nothing.”
“I am no longer interested in working for Cesare Borgia,” Teodor rumbled.
Malfatto took a step back and Teodor tightened his grip. Clearly he hadn’t equated saving Teodor with betraying Cesare, something Teodor fully intended to do. Malfatto had spent his life under Cesare’s malevolent hand but had never thought to leave him, perhaps didn’t even think such a thing possible.
“It’s not safe anymore. Today, maybe, but not tomorrow,” Teodor said, his voice urgent. He had to make Malfatto understand. “Cesare won’t stop until every soldier, every ally he has, is dead. And even then it won’t be because he mourns our loss, but because he will have no one left to throw in fire.”
Underneath his hands Malfatto was rigid and disconcertingly still. He wished he hadn’t let Malfatto put that damned mask back on, but there wasn’t anything for it now.
“If it’s not him that kills us, it will be the assassins,” Teodor said, trying to take the edge off. “Roma is changing. It doesn’t want men like you and me anymore.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Malfatto said. Teodor didn’t have it in him to call Malfatto a monster to his face, and let it go.
“No matter what you or I try to do, Cesare Borgia and his father are going to fall against the assassins. It’s what the people want, it’s what I want, it’s what you-”
“That’s not what I want,” Malfatto whispered, bringing Teodor’s coercion to a standstill. He thought of Malfatto on the training ground that day, Cesare’s arm around him, a smile on his face and laughter in his voice. He imagined Malfatto as a child, unable to do anything but endure Cesare’s cruel games. The fond look on Cesare’s face when he’d looked to Malfatto in the room, the delight he gained from the knowledge that Malfatto had become a weapon finely-crafted.
When Teodor was fifteen, Nanette stabbed him in the chest with a knitting needle and punctured his lung. When he was eighteen, Teodor drowned her in the black water of the Po River. Nanette had loved him, and he her, but they were never meant to survive one another.
Teodor cupped the back of Malfatto’s neck. “We need to leave the city. Maybe not right now, but eventually. I’m not asking you to defy Cesare, but...just stand down.”
After almost a full minute of silence, Malfatto spoke. “Convince Cesare to keep your friend alive, and I will see what can be done.”
“And everything else?” Teodor asked quietly. Malfatto broke away from him, moving to the side and groping for the door handle.
“I said I would choose you,” Malfatto said simply, pulling the door open. Gray light pooled at their feet and pushed back the shadows. “Now go.”
Teodor stepped past Malfatto into the hallway. No one was around and he dared to grab Malfatto’s wrist, giving it a quick squeeze.
“See you at home,” he said.
† † †
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