~18~Taking the Lead

Thanks for being so patient loves. The day I was supposed to post, my mother and I got into a bit of a car accident. Don't worry, we're both fine, but it did set my uploading schedule back a few days! With all that said, enjoy this very Sophie-oriented chapter!

Unedited.

~

Sophie's breastplate was woefully bitted through, so she had to compromise. It was all organic wraps and heavy clothes as she slung the remaining weapons she had on her body. She was lucky enough to have a hood, which gave her some sense of familiarity.

Okoye's isalnd was in a blaze. The Spartans were nowhere to be seen, but a few pirates were taking cover and healing the wounded on the other side of the island.

One of the pirates snuck up next to her, "You're Inalian, right?"

Sophie didn't take her eyes off the burning island, "How is that relevant right now?"

The boyish sailor held out a small tin disk, "The Spartans use this stuff. They say the ancient Inalians wore it too. I snatched this from one of their tents, I use it for my paintings. But I think you might need it."

Sophie raised an eyebrow at the pirate, unscrewing the lid. A thick red war paint lined the walls of the tin. It was clearly used before; there was only a little bit left.

Sophie had never used war paint before. Only Spartans and Monarchs supposedly wore it. She only wore such things during festivals or traditions, and it was never war paint.

The deep red patronized her. But she didn't want to reveal her identity as a Cyevan Assassin to their enemies. This would help her blend in with the Spartans. Especially since she had no shining golden armor to don.

"Thanks." She muttered, the sailor nodding quietly before returning to their station. Sophie didn't know exactly what to paint on herself or if she should at all, the predicament distracting her as they slowly pulled into the docks. Her mind drifted to the stories of Spartans she was told during her youth. There was a woman at her dance academy, an old music teacher who taught the boys voice lessons. She would tell the most extravagant stories to the kids that had to wait for their parents to pick them up after lessons. And since her father was a vigilante assassin, that happened every once and a while. Sophie's poofy tulip skirt made her look like she was sitting in a pink cloud during the stories, her hair always in a tight bun at the nape of her neck as she shuffled closer and closer to the storyteller.

Her father knocked on the frame of the door, giving her a gentle but exhausted smile. She ran to him, jumping into his arms giggling. The front desk lady awkwardly flirted with him as he signed her out, but Allesandro was engaged with his daughter, listening as she recounted the story the music teacher told her. She told it their entire way home.

The old woman held three fingers as she drew imaginary war paint down her chin that day, enthralling them all with the story of Calix, the Spartan spy.

Three long lines down the chin, ending at her collar bone. One line along the bridge of her nose. And the very last of the color staining the largest portion of her face around her eyes. It was at least how she imagined Calix's warpaint from the music teacher's stories.

Sophie tried to imagine the color as blue or green, anything but red.

"Keep your heads low men! As much as I don't want them to see us, I don't want any of you to have your skull separated from your necks." Sophie whispered loud enough to be heard by all of her men. Maha clutched Sophie's hand, her eyes wide.

"I won't ask you to join us in the field. Help evacuations and wounded." Sophie only asked Maha to join them on the field once, which was during the Battle of Foxfire. Besides Mansi, she was the best archer in the Inner Circle. But she wasn't the best in the thick of close-quartered combat.

"Thank you."

"I'll find you after the battle."

Their men carefully led their ship to the empty side of the island, preparing themselves as well. A few men asked if they can stay with Maha, not wanting to go into the thick of it either. And Sophie allowed it. If they weren't ready for battle, she wouldn't force them.

Sophie and about 20 of their men jumped off the ship and quickly made their way to the opposite side of the island. It was a bit of a hike, but they were soon observing the battle from the hill to the east.

Maybe five massive ships full of well-armored mercenaries were meeting head-on with Okoye and the Lioness's forces. Sophie snarled as she noted the crest on the attacking ship flags. That explains why the nobleman wasn't at his house.

"James." The man shuffled up next to Sophie, glaring at the sails.

"Yeah, that's the prick that robbed us out of our dealings and originally harassed us with the Nilfa."

"Well, that explains why we couldn't find him at his house. Where did he get the mercenaries?"

"Probably swords for hire all around the place. Cariana isn't the center of trade for nothing. We get all sorts of mercs running through these parts."

"Damn. Alright, what combat do you all work best with?"

The men that followed her all seemed to work best with pistols and long-range weapons, but a few were skilled with swords and axes.

"You all stay here, cover us as far as your range will let you. Then, just pick off the high-ranking warriors as they pass by. I will return as soon as I can. If you need to retreat, fall back to the ship. James, can I trust you to lead these men?"

"Of course. Stay alive, Morretti. We just got used to you being around." James said with surprisingly no snark.

Sophie sighed, "Those following me, stay close. If I give an order, you are to follow it with no hesitation, am I understood?"

"We hear you lass."

"Understood."

With a final nod to James, Sophie departed into the fray. There was no sneaking around here, unfortunately. A mercenary smiled as they hacked down two pirates, swinging his battle-ax as he sized her up. Sophie needed to find Okoye and the Lioness to help lead the defense.

"Oh, look at you! Whatcha doing here lassie-" His taunt turned into a pure scream of pain as Sophie kneed the handle of his battle-ax, breaking it in two. She twisted his arm while kicking his legs out, slamming his arm down with a satisfying snap.

The cry of their fallen comrade got the attention of the other mercenaries, but her blood was already flowing. Every single minute of training she ever had came into effect at those moments. With her guild so weak now, she needed to remind them who the Mentore of the Cyevan Assassins truly was. And what she was capable of.

A demon was the only way you could describe her. Though her quiet stealth-based style of combat could throw you off, she was faster than a whip. She was beneath and behind your defenses before prayers to the gods could even be whispered, her cuts efficient and wasting no time.

Soon, Okoye came into view. Her pistols blasted with nonstop ferocity, her face in an endless grit.

"Okoye!" Sophie got the attention of the captain.

"The sons of bitches snuck up while the Spartans are on a campaign on the other islands. Only about a third of the warriors remained on the island." Okoye launched a bullet right past Sophie, nailing another mercenary right behind them.

"The Lioness is on the other islands. Her soldiers are trying their best, but they need leadership." The way Okoye finished her sentence made her request clear.

"Okoye, I don't think that's a good idea. If I'm going to be in heavy combat, I work best alone."

"You have experience giving orders. Do this for me Amalia and I will eternally be in your debt."

That caught Sophie's attention. Even though the contract didn't go as planned, maybe she can call in that debt for more soldiers.

"Where would be the easiest place to assume control of the Spartans?" She sighed. Okoye pointed to the front lines, where a thin line of Spartans held off the hordes of mercenaries. Sophie swallowed. She commanded assassins, which were used to hushed and loose orders. But soldiers?

"Go!" Okoye barked at Sophie.

Sophie put her hands up in surrender, sprinting towards the Spartans. They were holding a shoddy front line, the mercenaries pushing with ferocity.

"Plant your feet! Don't let them push you back!" Sophie roared. The Spartans all stared at her, wondering who the hell she was. But that didn't matter right now. No wonder they were having trouble holding the line. The loose sand was hard to plant their feet into. She needed to get them a break to reform their front line and push back the bulk of the mercenaries. Behind the shielded soldiers were the archers and gunmen of the Spartans. There only had to be 50 of them. Sophie marched up to one of them holding in the blood of a captain officer.

"How precise are the shots of your sharpshooters?" Sophie asked. The captain blinked wearily at her, but the soldier curled a lip, "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone who is here to help. Answer my question."

"This is the captain of 14th cohort, you can't-"

"My men are some of the sharpest shooters you have ever seen." The captain heaved out.

Sophie thought to her own men, resisting the urge to snort. Her Assassins could land a bullet into their target from a football field away, "They better be. Do they know Inalian military commands?"

"Both modern and ancient Inalian commands."

"Good. I'm assuming control."

She tapped the soldier of the Spartan at the end of the long-range soldiers. She gave them the orders, and though they were confused, they nodded. They then spread the order down the line. Sophie leaned to the few pirates following her, putting them down on the beach with the Spartans on the front line. They were going to fix the holes broken in the Spartan's defense and pick off any stragglers that might make it through.

She held her hand up, everyone waiting for her order.

Gritting her teeth, she watched the Spartans get pushed back even more. Their shields began to shake, and Sophie threw her hand down.

"Fotiá!" Fire!

Just as she commanded, the archers shot their sleek arrows between the shields of the Spartans, dropping the mercenaries on the front line. Then the gunman shot the next line of the mercenaries could push forward.

"Enischýo!" Reinforce! Sophie roared to the line of surprised Spartans. They didn't flinch taking her order. They were just glad to have someone taking control. Their shields were tightly packed together once again, their feet properly buried into the sand. The next line of mercenaries came running at them.

It was a blur of commands. Forward! Hold! Fire!

Sophie wasn't used to projecting over the waves of battle. Her voice began to grow scratchy. But her commands were efficient enough, even when she wasn't familiar with the ins and outs of their training and strategies.

But they were still massively outnumbered. Sophie needed to eliminate disadvantages. Such as the one giving the orders. She pulled aside a legionnaire, "Continue the defense. Don't launch any sort of offensive till I return."

Sophie snatched up a helmet before he could argue, marching the hill. A cool breeze ruffled the hair on her neck, but there was no wind tonight. Looking up, a shadow flew over the moon, his wings casting tinted rays of moonlight on the battlefield. Sophie hoped her companion knew this wasn't his fight, that he wouldn't attack unless she gave the signal, just like they trained. If he was spotted, he would not fly away again. Dragons in Cariana are dead the minute they land.

She snatched a spyglass off a pirates belt, pickpocketing the same way Ruy taught her, focusing it on the ship in the distance. The second closest ship held the most men, and most importantly, the most decorated men. A single nobleman stood near the wheel, his chest puffed out proudly.

And just like that, Sophie had a new target.

She tied the helmet to her belt, knowing it would be too heavy to swim with. Rolling out her shoulders, she loosed a breath. And then she ran and dove into the crashing wake of a wave. No one noticed the sole swimmer with all the chaos around her and the reformed Spartan line holding everyone off. One of the Assassin trainers, an aquatic Lith named Conway, taught her how to properly breathe in between her large strokes. The repetitive waves crashing on her barely bothered her, her strong core and large biceps able to keep her strokes wide and even.

A man screamed as he fell off one of the ships, a Spartan arrow in his chest. He bobbed above water, spurting it out and rubbing his eyes as he fought the water. Sophie dove beneath him, watching bubbles escape her nose to the surface. She swam up next to the ship, using the barnacles beneath the ship to vault herself towards the back of the ship. Soon she was able to use the rudder and finally come up for air. The rudder creaked underneath her grip, even more so when she put her feet onto it and pulled herself up the ship. Using the steel bolts and fastenings to pull herself higher. She finally reached the banisters of the back of the ship, where two mercenaries were sharpening their blades. The water dripping from her clothes and hair somehow didn't tip them off about her arrival until she was right behind them.

Sophie slammed their heads together, quickly pushing them overboard. Crouching, she snuck up behind the mast, running her tongue against her teeth instead of cursing. There was too many of them. Not to mention the nobleman was at the head of the ship while she was at the back.

There was no turning back now.

She unhooked her helmet from her belt, pulling down her hood to secure the headpiece over her braid, the cold and wet metal pressing against her nose, cheeks, forehead, and everything else. It only left the iconic corinthian eye slits of Spartan helmets and the top of it missing off to show her blond curls and long braid hidden by her hood. She then began her first steps. Everything was calculated, each creaky plank and hiding spot noted. She pulled the pirate cutlass from her back and the Spartan spearhead, a makeshift dagger she made on the ship. One slice of her sword to the back of the knee brought them down, then her dagger over the neck finished the job. Their body tumbled over the side of the ship.

Then it was two of them. Sophie swung from behind, locking their arms and twisting, the pain making them both knock out instantly. They slumped against the wood too loud for her liking, "Who's there?" A mercenary coughed, shuffling towards her.

Sophie threw him into the water with a snapped neck. One after the other, they dropped, not a scream sounded. Not an alarm rung.

She rolled her shoulders as she strode up the small stairs to the hull side of the deck. This man eluded her and Maha's grasp during their contract, fake names only leading them to his base of operations but not to him. Two attendants were next to him, humming and hawing over papers.

"Our ships are running low on ammunition, but the defenses are lowering- who are you-" The attendant screamed as Sophie tore him away from his boss, twisting him over the edge and into the water. The other fell to his knees in submission, the nobleman scowling at his cowardice. The nobleman finally straightened, and Sophie got a good look at the man's face.

Part of her wished she never did.

"So the rumors are true then," Lord Firenze hissed, "The Assassins really are back." Though the Spartan warpaint hid her identity from the mercenaries, an Inalian would recognize the hoods anywhere.

Cynna's sobs filled her ears, anger boiling her blood as she took her final breaths. That woman's death was on her father's hands, and he stood right before Sophie. Maybe fate really did favor her.

The cruel man threw away his daughters like they were nothing, threw away any sort of Inalian pride he had with working with the Neverseen.

"We were never gone. Not truly." Sophie started. Lord Firenze stumbled, landing on his ass as Sophie took one graceful step after another. His dark green cloak dragged along the deck that was stained with the blood of his crooked mercenaries. He just now seemed to realize the predicament he was in.

"Wait, wait, please. I am just following orders. Please, I-"

"Gods above, I truly do enjoy when they beg. If I'm going to kill you, it's already been decided that no amount of begging is going to save you."

"P-Please. Your Mentore would not want me dead, she needs me!"

Sophie blinked before her lips curled upward, "And why would Amalia Morretti, Queen of the Assassins, need a fly like you?"

"My d-daughter, Cynna! My eldest! She isn't dead, I tell you. I believe she is a murderer! Take her life, she has sinned more than me! I can help you kill her."

The smile on Sophie's lips was gone. She slid her dagger along the length of her sword, savoring the cutting sound of metal against the metal. And the way it made Lord Firenze's lip quiver. Cynna was always burning and protecting, a flame that never dies. And it was Cynna's flame that ignited Sophie's lightning. Kynareth's chill kissed the back of her neck once again, the night and storm crackling in her eyes. Lord Firenze didn't scream, just blubbered.

"That, my Lord, was the wrong thing to say."

Sophie smiled as the Spartan captain gave her a final shake of her hand, "Thank you again, Assassin. Without you, there's no telling what could've happened." The battel was finished. As Sophie raised the mainsail of Lord Firenzes ship, the mercenaries saw the Morretti crest she painted onto the sails with black paint she found on the deck. They got the hint, to say the least. The very thought that the man that was filling their purses for this endeavor was dead was enough to make them turn tail. Spartans and Pirates were still cheering as she dove off the ship and swam back. "I'm just glad we minimized our losses. You all have a very good campaign going here. At least, the Spartans do. Okoye and her men do what they want."

The captain laughed, "Indeed they do! Tell me, is it true you are hoping to recruit some of our men?"

Sophie sighed, crossing her arms as she looked over the recovering men and women, "Along with a few pirates to make something of a fleet."

The captain's eyes widened, "Truly? Whatever for?!"

Sophie cocked an eyebrow, both exhaustion and pre-battle adrenaline making her a bit more loose-tongued than normal. It seemed to be a trend of hers recently, "Would you believe me if I told you I was insisted to build an army by an ancient queen in order to avoid terrorists overrunning our world? All of which was being watched by the gods who periodically bother the lives of mortal men and women?"

The captain blinked, then looked at her hooded head, "We should've given you a better helmet, now that I'm listening to you."

Sophie laughed, "Whatever. My reasons are my own."

The captain shrugged, his cape rippling with the movement, "Well, after your display on the battlefield, I know our men would be proud to serve you. You should hear the rumors they are spreading. You're a lot like our general- you even look like her, at least, what I can see of you. The Lioness asked to see you. She's waiting up near the hill.

Sophie hiked up the hill, cracking out her knuckles, her weary bones feeling the exhaustion of the battle. She pulled back her hair that slipped out of her braid, wiping away the sweat from the inside of her helmet and face. She glanced through the few strands that refused to slick back to the top of the path. Finally, she reached the top and stopped to stare at the general's silhouette facing the setting sun.

But then she saw the mark on her leg. A small sparrow flying upwards, the eyes of the bird as dark as night. She only heard it in passing conversation, but she did know who that tattoo belonged to. Every thought eddied out of her head, breath stuck in her throat as she stared at the woman.

What should she say? She tried to plan out her conversations before she has them, but they never turn to fruition. Sophie didn't know what she was feeling, a sickening sense blooming in her gut. Anger? Disgust?

Sophie clenched her jaw at the sight of the woman.

"You are the Morretti, aren't you? Only the children of that bloodline can kill like that." The general called over her shoulder. Sophie didn't deign a response. Of course, the general knew who she was—the legends of the Morrettis.

Sophie's voice was guttural, almost unrecognizable, "Is that all I am to you? The Morretti?"

The general took a deep breath, staring out to the expanse of her war camp. She finally turned around, sliding off her helmet. Sophie glared at the face is revealed, the thin straight nose, high cheekbones with the sharpest eyes....

The features they both shared.

"Salve, Mater." Sophie hissed, the metal helmet cutting into her hands as she clenched it.

Eumelia swallowed, wiping off the blood staining her hands. She looked over Sophie, her gradient eyes taking in her daughter.

"The blood of your enemies suits you well, Amalia." Eumelia started. Sophie scoffed, trying to soothe the raging blood in her veins.

Eumelia sighed, trying to take a step towards Sophie, but her daughter instead strided past her to the edge of the cliff. She looked over the war camp, the sea of soldiers who followed her mother into battle.

"This is where you have been for 19 fucking years?" Sophie asked. Eumelia didn't answer, her arms crossed as she took in her soldiers.

"Amalia, I needed to leave." Eumelia started. Sophie's eyes had no glow to them, no remorse as she turned to her mother.

"I was never meant to be a mother, to be a spy. I was meant for the battlefield, to be a warrior."

"You should have thought about that before tricking my father into thinking you were in love with him." Sophie hissed.

"I wasn't tricking him, Amalia. I loved your father so much, and I love you-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. You don't get the right to claim you loved either of us!"

"Amalia, please! I would've been an awful mother, an awful spouse, my job was meant to bring me here. My duty-"

"Your duty? Your duty?!" Sophie started towards her mother, herding her towards the cliff's edge, "Your duty, Eumelia, was to fucking stay. To tell father how much you loved him, to nurture me. We didn't need money, we didn't need glory. I needed a mom! And you weren't fucking there, Eumelia, you failed your duty! What worth is the name of a general if she fails as a mother? What does that say about her capability?" Sophie roared at Eumelia. Eumelia's eyes watered, darting them to the ground.

A true snarling lion confronting a miserable excuse for a house cat.

"I loved your father, Amalia." Eumelia started, even as her daughter scoffed, "I knew he deserved better. He deserved a partner who would love to hide in the shadows with him, who would give everything for the sacrifice of a better world. He deserved someone who was made for him, someone who knew who they were."

Sophie glared at her, not believing the words exiting her mouth.

"Is that what you say to make yourself feel better? That we were too good for you? That dad deserved some little housewife, you think that is what he wanted from you?" Sophie laughed, the disbelief in her voice apparent.

Eumelia was keenly aware of how the air went cold, the wind picking up, but she didn't flinch. She looked at her daughter, and Sophie saw in her eyes how scared she truly was. How scared of the face of white-hot rage, the silent fury the Morrettis were known for.

Sophie started, stepping closer to her mother, "He deserved not to work through nights to provide for me, he deserved to have the woman he loved there for him as he struggled. He didn't want to settle down and give up fighting, Eumelia, he wanted a partner to fight at his side. The partner you swore to him you would be, the mother you promised to be to me. He deserved the intelligent hardworking woman who stood at his side, the skilled spy he grew to rely on. He tore down his walls for you, and you spat in his gods damned face!" Sophie threw her helmet aside, her hands clenched around the buckles of Eumelia's cape.

Eumelia gasped as Sophie dragged her to the edge of the cliff, holding her out so that the tips of her feet grazed against the grassy edge of the hill.

"He deserved to not be murdered on his knees in front of our people, the light fading from his eyes as the life left his body. To be killed like a lamb for slaughter!" Sophie was roaring, her rage searing through her muscles, aching in her head and beginning to well at her eyes.

She felt like that little girl from nine years ago, the emotions pounding at her rib cage as she cried and begged at the man of solid muscle and black armor. The scream Inalia heard when she watched that blade run through her father's chest.

Don't let her emotions get in the way of a mission, her father used to tell her. Don't let them blind you to what truly matters.

Well, this wasn't a damn mission.

Sophie gritted through her teeth, her voice as quiet as the breeze around them, "I should let you go. Watch the light fade from your eyes just as it faded his."

Eumelia wobbled in Sophie's grip, not fighting against it. She didn't beg for her life, didn't call for her soldiers. She placed a hand around Sophie's bicep, not being able to fully grasp the muscle, her eyes sad as she whispered, "I am sorry, Amalia. For my selfishness and all beyond that."

"Sorry? SORRY?! You absolute, you-y-"

Sophie sobbed, gritting her teeth and looking away, her grip on Eumelia's cloak tightening. Sorry didn't make up for those years of the torment of waiting for her mother to come home, the children calling her those names. Or the nights of watching her father hold back tears late at night, a cup of hard liquor in his hand.

Sophie was who she was today because of her father, of the man who gave up everything for her, including his own life. She wouldn't have this woman claim any part of it because she believed she was doing what was right. Sophie looked at her mother again, with no tears in her eyes as she straightened.

Eumelia didn't fight, just closed her eyes as her life hung in her revengeful daughter's hands.

Sophie released a guttural cry as she threw her mother over her shoulder, back onto the safety of land. Eumelia scrambled back from the edge of the hill, gasping in disbelief. Sophie ran her hand over her face, the other shakily going to her hip as she blinked away her tears. Eumelia got up, hand on her head in pain, but relief plastered over her face. Sophie looked at her mother. Her hatred was still there but suppressed by a coolness of restraint.

She wasn't a bloodthirsty beast, hell-bent on revenge.

"I found Hathlani, and she stays with me. I don't want you anywhere near her." Was all Sophie said, her command sinking between them. Eumelia stared at her daughter, her choppy blond hair smudged with dirt. Eumelia was a general. She knew just as well as Sophie that she could call out for her soldiers and have Sophie killed. But she didn't.

Sophie straightened, his fists unraveling as her face turned cold as stone, "How many soldiers are you willing to pledge to my cause?"

Eumelia just stuttered, her eyes glassy as her daughter stared, "Is Hathlani okay? Is she happy-"

"How many soldiers, Eumelia?" Sophie's voice was unforgiving and curt, cutting the Lioness off. Eumelia swallowed, shaking her head. Sophie just huffed, snatching her helmet from the dirt as she began to stride down the hill, "I'm an Assassin, Eumelia, and I expect payment for my job well done. I will leave you to discuss with Okoye on what you are willing to part with. My friend and I will be leaving in one day. Make your choice before then."

Sophie slid her helmet back over her head, the bronze glinting the hazy setting sun. Her mother had a similar helmet, one more decadent than the common foot soldier. Eumelia's helmet was more golden than bronze, a lion carved along the front of the face, and the cruelest of all was the large plume running along the top. The thick plume that ran straight down to the nape of her neck that glinted red and gold, the occasional stripe of black bringing it all together.

The Morretti family colors.

"Vai all'inferno," Go to hell, Sophie growled, even if she were too far away for Eumelia to hear.

I like to call this chapter "Sophie and her mommy issues help Sibylline put her through even more trauma."

Don't forget to vote, coment, share, and follow!

_Sibylline_