To say that Malik hadn't handled Altair's visit to Jerusalem well would have been an understatement.
True, he hadn't killed, maimed or attacked the fool (and in hindsight, Malik realised that Altair had been expecting and perhaps even hoping for any one of those things to happen) but he hadn't managed to maintain the calm and professional exterior he had been working on.
That was a week ago, and Malik was still mulling over what he probably ought to have said or done. He had arrived to the Kingdom hideout to find only Zaki waiting for him – Jalees had sent a messenger with a report: Altair's latest assassination had inconveniently happened today, meaning the city was temporarily sealed. It would have been unwise to leave and attract suspicion.
Malik sat dejectedly on the cushions in the hideout as Zaki bumbled around him making tea (Malik had commented on Zaki's skill and appreciation of tea, and the old rafiq had grinned in response. Apparently good tea was difficult to come by in Acre, the Crusader's having the tastebuds to match their barbaric natures, so the only real opportunity he had to go all out was the meetings in the Kingdom. Malik made a mental note to bring some of Jerusalem's finest for the old man next time).
"Cheer up, brother," Zaki said as he handed Malik his glass. "From what you've said, I think you handled yourself very well. It is the job of a rafiq to provide harsh truths, to guide and teach. Whether that was your intention or not, you've certainly given him much food for thought."
Malik snorted. "I doubt that camel-head listens to what I have to say."
Zaki tilted his head. "For an intelligent and perceptive young man, you are a little blind to what is in front of your nose.
Malik bit back a retort and sipped his tea to cover part of his scowl. Zaki airily ignored the young rafiq's expression as he continued. "Have you ever noticed that Altair has never – not even now – sought the approval of his Masters?"
Malik's scowl deepened. "He was, and still is, arrogant in that respect. Even when he had the approval of the Masters he never acknowledged it."
"It's difficult to acknowledge something you do not truly want." Zaki sighed, and then chuckled, an old man's laugh at a memory. "When I was younger – still old, mind you," he added with a grin, "but younger, I was in Masayf for a few of years, restocking and organising the library. I remember walking into the courtyard one day to see a novice sparring with one of the adepts, being overseen by one of the Masters. An initiate was watching eagerly from the sidelines, and an older novice standing with him, was attempting to look disinterested. Despite the difference in rank, the novice bested the adept handily. Although victorious, the novice didn't even glance at his instructor for his praise, but turned around to get the attention of the other novice there. Do you remember?"
Malik remembered. Altair was barely seventeen when he beat that particular adept. He hadn't gloated, hadn't bragged (to begin with) but waited – Malik reluctantly remembered that he offered Altair a smile, causing the younger to grin (fool that he was).
"Are you saying that Altair is looking for my approval?" Malik said, the question not really a question since he already knew the answer. "Well he can look for the rest of eternity! If he thinks for one second I'll change my mind about him then he's more of a fool than I could ever imagine. I'm not going to pander to his ego like Kadar d-"
Malik's tirade ground to a halt and he shakily set his cup onto the table before he dropped it. Kadar. He thought about his brother constantly but always drove the thoughts back with work, with information, with maps and objectives. It was the first time he'd said his name for weeks, and it was as sobering as cold water.
"Your brother was a fine young man," Zaki said sombrely. "One of the brightest and most respectful novices I've had in my bureau for years. You did well by him, Malik."
"Not well enough," Malik replied quietly. "Not well enough at all."
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