What We Can't Have
Order.
Everything is in order, from the grandness of the Universe to the complexity of the cells. Nothing could break their built structure, it just goes according to an already written plan.
So what if I told you what everything strived for could be breakable? For example, Fate. Could one perhaps make a mistake that could alter its direction, the conclusion of what was to happen? Could one even dare to try?
How could one possibly perform such an act? And if one, dare I say, does alter the direction of which Fate has chosen for us, does it still mean it is going according to the plan?
The things that are meant to take place will take place, it is simply inevitable. And yet... could it still be broken?
Chapter Ten
1190, Damascus, Syria
Fingers expertly dragged along her naked flesh, lightly pressing her sides and gifting her belly with quivers.
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
Then, causing her to stiffen, they gently rubbed her waist, provoking the flutters in her belly to melt and spread heat down to her lower body.
She groaned, flipping over to her back.
It felt so good. So, so, sooo good. They were merciless as firm thumbs pressed while at the same time dragged along the curve of her waist. She deeply sighed in evident approval. Yes, like that. Just...like...that. With wicked fashion, those familiar hands roamed to the back of her spine, and dug the heels of their palms against her skin and gently—oh, so gently—rubbed in circular motions.
Her spine bowed inwards in satisfaction.
Then, just as passionately as they started, the hands stopped. Just stopped. She frowned. "Why did you stop?"
No answer.
"Hey, come back. Massage me once more."
They didn't. Suddenly angry, she flipped around and released an angry, "Hey!"
Her eyes snapped open as she abruptly jerked in her sleep. Blinking once, twice, Farah eyed her room in confusion. Beautifully curved wooden and golden ceiling, white bed sheets and pillows, thick silky comforter warming her until her waist...
Frowning, she rose to a sitting position and rubbed at her sleepy eyes. What an odd dream...
Last night's events suddenly rushed back to her, causing her to swiftly straighten her back. Last night... Altair was here. Wait, wasn't...he?
A little confused due to sleepiness, she lifted the edges of her night gown and peered down to her side. A wrapper securely hugged her middle. Then, gazing at her nightstand, she spotted the two empty bowls, and when she looked at her bed sheet, dark smudges of mud covered it. A smile gradually lifted the corners of her lips. So. He was here and she didn't imagine him massage the purring soul out of her.
Then it came to her, and she released a deep groan of sheer embarrassment. That's why she dreamt of hands massaging her, because his were literally God-sent techniques. And the worst part of it all was that she actually liked it. Loved it. Wanted more of it. Even last night, when he massaged and stopped because he thought he was hurting her, she wanted to smack him across the cheek once more.
He was actually eliciting...dark foreign sensations from within her when he expertly run those hands around her waist. So much so that she had to cling onto her blanket for dear life so as to not allow inappropriate sounds escape her lips. And even then, as she barely could control herself, she never desired him to stop. She simply wanted more and more and—
She pressed her cheeks inwardly with her hands, shaking her head No-No. Those were dangerous thoughts. And wishes, so she ignored her inner kitten purring for more. Dream or not, last night was...beautiful. He had taken care of her, be it for the mission or not—and that did not hurt her feelings, she reminded herself—hence it left her waking up to a, for once, good morning.
Streams of sunlight shot into her chamber through her window, warming the base of her bed and the floor, and lightened up her mood even further. Stretching out her arms, and releasing a small sound in the process, she yawned loudly. Her side suddenly felt like it was stabbed, hence she abruptly lowered her arms.
"Ouch." She winced, smoothing her hand over her bruise. Where was the assassin, anyways? Was he still asleep someplace else? Maybe having breakfast with some pals?
Then a thought hit her, and she slightly frowned. Now that she actually fathomed it, he never spoke of his past. Just his creed and mission, but never of his family or friends or... Farah's lips slightly dropped into a small pout, did he have a wife? A lover? Even if he did, that shouldn't matter to her. Ever.
And why would he speak of his beloved to her, anyways? But, all her time spent with him—it was only a day, really—she never spotted the golden gleam of a wedding ring. Just his sharp wrist blade. Perhaps he took it off when killing people as a symbol of staying pure in the face of his marriage. What did his guardians think of him, his line of career? Did they approve of him shedding blood?
Did he even have parents?
Farah suddenly raised her head as her eyes widened and lips parted in surprise. Wait...did he actually have a mother...a father? What if he didn't? The exact moment she thought of those words, her chest constricted almost too painfully, and she felt the feeling drop dead on her stomach.
"No," she shook her head, reasoning with herself, "Of course he has guardians."
Shaking the aching feeling off her chest, she threw the covers aside and stood up. Squaring her shoulders back to ease off the tension, she trod to her bathroom while all the while consoling the idea of this not mattering to her.
It didn't matter. His past was his as hers was, well, hers. Even if she spilled some beans, she still had other memories.
So it didn't matter.
-x-
After washing up, she emerged from her washroom, all clean and ready to start her day. But, the second she saw a figure sitting on her backless leather sofa positioned before her bedpost, she let out a small scream, almost instantly jumping back.
Altair sat with his elbows digging into his knees and head bowed down, gazing at the floor like it contained all the answers to his questions. At her little scream, he lifted his head and bored his shadowed golden eyes at her person.
"I swear my soul left my body for a millisecond," she heaved in a long breath, trying to calm her pounding heart.
Altair was suddenly struck silent as he gazed at her from where he sat. His eyes roamed over her appearance; her skin was a healthy pink, most of it shielded by the silvery night gown she wore that flowed down her body like a waterfall, and her braided hair was now open and cascading down her back in bouncy waves. The sunlight streamed past her window and bathed her in its golden glory. Never in his life had he beheld such an...exquisite sight.
She suddenly appeared like an exotic nymph too beautiful to touch, and he had the oddest urge to—when he never in his life picked up a brush before—paint her right here and now, in her dashing morning state. Even if he was going to be bad at it, he desired to make her beauty everlasting.
"Are you still asleep?" she asked, tossing him a mocking frown. "Hello? Back to Farah's World, maybe?"
He blinked, and when he refocused on her, she appeared as normal as ever. No glossy glow to her skin even when she shone brighter than the golden rays coming from her window. His recent thoughts were getting irritating.
The assassin looked like he could care less at the moment. At his dazed off expression, Farah released a sigh. "What are you even doing here?" she asked instead, going over to her wardrobe.
"I told you I'd be visiting," he growled out. "And I do not approve of your actions last night."
"Which ones?" She arched her delicate brow playfully as she opened her closet. "Where I smacked you right across the face or when I told you to get going? Oh-oh, I know, is it where I saved you from an unwanted introduction with Sarah?"
He growled, wanting to slam her closet door shut and shake her by the shoulders to instil a bit of common sense in her. "Where you pushed me off your window," was his clipped retort.
She giggled. "I know, it was the best thing I've done to you so far. Yay me."
He grit his teeth at her, slightly sneering.
"Anyways," she said, taking out two dresses. "Help me pick. This," she pressed a navy blue dress against her front, "Or this?" It was a green one.
Altair felt something akin to a knife stabbing him straight in his pride. He was a proud assassin, a killer, Al Mualim's favourite student, son of the legendary Umar Ibn La-Ahad, and this female dared to trample on his lethality by asking him which petty dress was better? The audacity!
"None." His tone was rigid and laced with warning.
She merely shrugged. "Well, it is a good thing I have others. Hmm." She tapped her chin as she ransacked her closet for more outfits. Withdrawing two more, she asked, "How about these?" and performed the same moves by pressing them against herself.
Did she not understand him or did she simply not care?
"None," was his clipped comment, his hands balling into fists.
She shrugged again, and did the same moves. Three times. How many dresses did this female even possess? When he replied with his famous, "None," she at last released an exasperated sigh.
"My God," she let out, "You're so bad at this."
He worked his jaw in patience. "Why can you not wear one of your own choosing?"
"I want to know which one complimented me the most from your point of view." She lifted her delicate shoulders in a simple shrug, glancing down at her last dress.
Altair suddenly straightened, his eyes on her. She desired his opinion that much, where she'd put hers beneath his? "Why do you want my compliments?" he questioned.
"Because they look good on me." She smiled, tossing the last dress on an elegantly curved wooden chair. His chest slightly swelled with something akin to...gladness. She took his words and consolations into deep consideration, it seemed. It didn't just go in from one ear and escape from the other. She kept them locked within her mind. Is that how much he affected her?
"Then it was the third one," Altair pointed with a wave of his hand towards the mountain of dresses.
Her eyes shone a brilliant brown. "I knew you had some fashion sense in you, assassin."
Aaand there goes his pride out the window. He sighed, shaking his head. With a grunt—his muscles slightly stiff due to sleeping on the roof—he stood and made his way towards her.
She stood before her long mirror, gently running her fingers through her strands. He leaned against her closet and crossed his arms against his chest, watching her as she tamed her wavy lengths with soft caresses.
"Yesterday you asked me why I had long hair," she gently murmured out, eyeing him sideways. "Would you still want to know?"
The interest in Altair piqued in such an alarming pace, he felt almost embarrassed at his eagerness. He formed a light shrug. "I would."
"My grandmama, Malia, had long hair. But hers was longer, let me tell you. It reached the back of her knees. Can you believe it? I loved it so much," she lightly shook her head, "I recall playing with hers while mine was only until my shoulders. I would braid and toy with it, sometimes tangling it more than it already was."
His eyes followed every soft caress she gave her wavy strands. "She would hate it so much but she'd never send me off. She was..." Her eyes cast downwards, her lips slightly pouting. "She was the sweetest and most selfless person I've ever met. She often used to guard me against my father's rage, take me out to parks, and make me breakfast and eat it with me afterwards. She my was best friend. Tell me, do you have a best friend?"
Altair shook his head, not even feeling sad about it. "No, I do not. We...do not have time for such matters. We might train, sleep, and eat together, but I wouldn't call any of them my close comrade. Brethren, yes. But a singular person closer than that, I'm afraid we aren't capable of such a bond."
"How unfortunate," she uttered, going back to looking at her reflection in the mirror.
He frowned. "Why would you say that?"
"Everybody—even the strongest of people—deserves somebody to share their joy, sadness, hardships, and experiences with. It is better to go through life with someone by your side rather than alone. Sometimes carrying a heavy burden doesn't become so heavy anymore. A bond between two close beings cannot ever be broken; their devotion to one another surpasses every turmoil with steadfastness. They almost become invincible. And I think everybody deserves such a person in their life, even," she fluttered her lashes up at him, a rare softness to her eyes, "a killer like you."
Altair's lips parted in the silence between them. Dear God, he was going to kill her after their mission and she still gifted him with kind words. He shook his head, clearing his heart from weak sensations and replacing it with coldness and brutality. This world already had more than enough fools; he refused to be one.
"That is the thing about killers, woman, we are not bestowed such privileges. We shed blood not create an oath of loyalty from the crimson droplets."
She smiled. "Maybe you haven't met him or her yet. Having a best friend also means someone to save you from yourself, the darkest of all enemies. Especially for someone who slaughters."
He arched a brow. "Are you stating I'm incapable of controlling myself to the allures of evil?"
"Nobody is too good or bad, but we seem to stumble upon their borders, and sometimes you need a friend to guide you back to your senses."
"I believe your words to be true, but this is why knowledge is to be gained. Once you acknowledge and learn what is wrong and right, you will not be tempted. I've been taught to operate with my sharp mind not tender heart; everything is planned out and strategic. We think, we contemplate, and do what is right for all and not one."
Farah fell silent, then, slowly, formed a nod. "As you have stated. My life for hundreds."
This time he fell silent. Then, "Yes," he uttered, refusing to hold back. In the end, honesty was just that. Honesty. Everybody deserved it no matter their denial.
"Sometimes one soul is equivalent to a thousand," she muttered, "But not in my case, it seems. If you are doing what is best for all and your Creed is just and sharp-minded as you state it to be, then perhaps...you. You are equivalent to a thousand souls."
"Woman—" Altair started but was cut off with her saying, "Now that I have answered yesterday's question, why don't you share the similar generosity?"
He softly sighed. "What do you wish to know?"
She smiled, revealing pearl-white teeth. "I remember asking how you know English?"
Once she finished her caressing, she picked up a few golden pins from the table to the mirror's right, and began collecting her hair above her head.
Altair shook his head; out of all the questions she could've asked, she asked this. But he would not refuse this time. "I know English as I do many others. Our master taught us the best way to deceive a man, more accurately our enemy, is by speaking in his tongue. It aids us in many inconvenient situations and blends us well with the crowd."
She turned to stare at him with wide, entertained eyes. "That is brilliant. Maybe I should learn as well so I know who's talking behind my back. Imagine going, "I understand you," after they've spoken their negative thoughts. Nobody would be able to cool off such a burn."
Despite his serious answer, his lips twitched at hers.
"So tell me," she asked, failing to get a long strand in the bun at the back of her head. "How many languages do you—ugh," she let out when the strand twirled down, causing her to fist it once more. "How many languages do you speak?"
Altair examined her as she struggled with her hair, muttering curses once every few seconds. When the strand fell out again, she fumed in anger. He briefly chuckled, surprising himself by closing the distance between them.
Farah abruptly stilled in her actions when Altair's reflection appeared from behind her, his silvery arched hood shadowing his features.
He gently took hold of the soft locks and brought it up. Her eyes watched him with intense silence as he fisted the bun on her head, provoking a gasp to escape her, and rolling the naughty strand into its place before, with a soft glide, pinning it with one of her pins.
"Sarah," she croaked out, licking her suddenly dry lips. "She, uh, used to do my hair...before. I thought I could do it." She released a shaky laugh when he brought another strand up and gently pinned it.
"Mmm," he released, not really paying attention to her words—or her flushed cheeks, for that matter. She swallowed, and lifted her chin up in stubbornness. He was simply helping her with her long hair. So what? Of course, say that to her fluttering heart. Oh, God.
"Shall I answer your question?" he asked, his hot breath fanning her nape and causing the hairs to stand erect. A shiver rocked her entire form, and she felt her knees slightly shake. All because he exhaled on her neck.
"Y...Yes," she murmured, ignoring the sudden sensation it brought her stomach when the tip of his nose brushed against her skin.
"I know," he continued locking strands into the bun as she kept on handing him pins, "Seven in total, excluding Arabic, my mother tongue."
Her eyes widened. "What? Really?"
He nodded, his nose once again brushing against her neck. She pressed her lips together to smother the sound of approval.
"What...are they?" she almost breathlessly asked while watching him work behind her. Such an odd contrast. She white where he was dark. Soft where he was hard. Gentle where he was rough. Almost breakable whereas he was strong. His shoulders were broad enough to embrace her, and she really, really desired to lean against him. His male heat, just like in the rain. It caressed her body like a gentle lover.
"English, French, Italian, Latin, Old Norse, Hebrew, and even Aramaic." Each word was whispered into her neck, his hot breath feeding more fire to the one in the pit of her belly. The room's temperature suddenly rose, and she felt her body gradually burn up. What was this? Just a few moments ago she was completely fine. Now...
"That's incredible," she hoarsely said. "So good." The last part was directed at the feeling he elicited when his finger accidently skidded over her nape, causing her to slightly squirm to shake off the shivers. Oh, God. This was... She bit her lower lip. Hard.
"All done," Altair uttered, looking at her eyes from the mirror. Her expression might've taken him by surprise because he found himself stilling, his full lips gently parting.
Her cheeks were a bright red, her pupils dilated, and her neck slightly tilted to the side in a greedy whine for more.
"Farah! Are you awake, darling?" a voice suddenly shouted from behind her door, causing both Altair and Farah to immediately step away from each other. Her eyes were wild with alarm, and she placed her hand on her rushing heart.
"Oh, darling. It is already past seven. Rise, my love, I come to you with a plan for today." It was her mother. The handle to the door suddenly twisted, the hinges squealed, and burst in her mother into her room, her dress flowing behind her.
"Oh," she abruptly stilled, her eyes on Farah, "You are already up. How appropriate."
Her brows furrowed, and she parted her lips to speak, "W-What?"
Frantic eyes gazing to her right, left, front and back, she found no sign of the assassin. Her insides gradually relaxed. He was gone. Okay, alright. That was good.
"Mama," she said in evident relief. "What are you doing here?"
Her mother smiled, and she noticed the bruise on her cheek was slightly gone. She must've covered it up with face powder. Her insides gently ached at that thought. Oh, mama.
"I have come to you with plans for today." Her mother warmly smiled, eyes twinkling. "We shall go to the Souk and purchase some necessities for your wedding. Despite your evident disapproval, would you still like to accompany your mama?"
Farah might find it displeasing, she even felt her mood blacken, but the result of the mission was the only thing that helped her keep her cool. She'd do it for her mother.
"Anything for you, mama." She warmly smiled. "When do we go?"
Her mother's features brightened. "Oh, this is exciting!" She walked up to Farah, clasping her cheeks. "Oh, dear, you are burning up. Perhaps it is your injury. Let me aid you with it. And oh," she caressed her hair, and smiled in affection, "Did you do your own hair? It looks messy, my darling, but quite adorable on you. Should we first dress you up or do your hair? I will call Sarah now and we will..."
Her mother's voice trailed on and on as she shuffled around Farah's room, picking up this and that, while Altair hung outside below the parapet of the woman's window, listening to her mother babble nonsense with barely even properly drawing in air.
This was going to be long day.
-x-
The blazing rays of the glaring sun wavering in the clear sky burned her head. She was half afraid if she touched it, it would scald her palm. Fathom her surprise when her strands didn't just singe away. How long has it been—one hour? Two?—since two servants, her mother and Farah, ventured out to the crowded Souk?
She wanted to return to the cool shades of her room. Just the thought of her bed nearly provoked her to break into tears of wanting. Sighing in evident loss, she instead concluded to tune into the conversation her mother was having with her.
"—We got the silks, Persian shawls, good amount of fashionable shoes, and countless expensive dresses for you to parade in. Now we need a few decorations for your future home; soft carpets, royal bed-sheets, for sure curtains of your liking, and—"
Farah tuned her off yet again, already losing interest. Really, there was no need for all of this. There might be a good chance she wouldn't live in her "new home" due to Edwardo being, well, dead. Perhaps she could rule his estate as the mourning widow, but then again, she had to first get married to him. Which would never happen. And living in his home would be disastrous; for so long has she entertained the idea of having her own cosy cottage somewhere secluded and away from people, residing within it with her volumes of poets and poems. Just her and the beautiful silence. Just her and the moment.
Just her and her mama.
Drawing her attention back at her mother, she said, "Mother, why bother spending money for things unneeded?"
Her mother shrugged with no care in the world. "I've been given the chance to spend that bastard's money, and I took it. I'll spend it to the point where he'd regret he ever allowed such an action, and feel no remorse. Besides, I want you to have the best of the best, my dearest."
Farah smiled. "Then let's shop away, mama, and hope we leave him penniless."
Her mother rested her palm on her chest, her expression softening. "Ah! What an idea! But with it comes pity for we could never accomplish such a task. His money keeps on coming and coming, I dread he'd one day drown in them."
"Fear no such thing," Farah rolled her eyes, "He is already drowning in it. I hope the weight becomes so heavy, he will possess no power to arise from it."
"Come, my daughter, let's not spoil our mood with his existence. Surely there are bigger things we could discuss than his ego." Her mother clasped her forearm around Farah's and both strolled between the colourful shops filled with hectic activity and loud noise.
After visiting a few more shops, her interest was once again lost in the midst of the flowing crowd, and she felt no inclination to want it back. Boredom was now her companion. And pain. Oh, the pain. The soles of her feet were aching, the back of her shoulders were screaming for a good massage, and, most importantly, her side was begging for its dear life. Atop it all, it was hot. So very hot that if she walked for a long ten minutes more, her world would begin spinning out of control.
Releasing a tired sigh, she craned her neck back to ease off some of the tension. The moment she did, a figure leapt across a roof above her, immediately catching her attention. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched in sudden recognition.
It was him.
Altair.
He was here. She was sure of it.
Now, suddenly not so bored anymore, her frantic gaze searched for him above the roofs, in the crowd, but, with unwanted disappointment, couldn't pinpoint him anywhere. Different volumes of voices, male and female, soft and rough, loud and low, greeted her ears, and she waited in sheer anticipation for his to salute her.
It never did.
But then it didn't have to, for when she gazed sideways towards an alleyway leading to another street filled with noise, shops, and products, she spotted a silvery robe stalking towards her. Behind the shaded features, she could make out full yet scarred lips and a strong jawline.
She raised her hand and waved a hello at him. Still marching towards her, he slightly inclined his head down in response.
"—Ah! This is silk is beautiful!" her mother's voice grabbed her attention, and she found herself staring at a red and golden laced silk.
"Sure, it is handsome enough," she commented, drawing her eyes back at the alleyway—which turned out empty. Her spine straightened a little, and her gaze roamed the area around her and beyond. No sign of him. Where had he gone now?
"Should we get it?" her mother once again broke her concentrated search. Before Farah could open her mouth to respond, her mother waved a hand through the air, saying, "Why the hell not, eh? I shall get two of these. No four, so each of us will have a fair share. Ah, I'm so excited!"
Her mother rushed away inside the store to pay for the silks, her two servants followed suit. Farah sighed.
"It appears your mother is to be married rather than you, woman," a deep husky yet accented voice drifted from behind her. She instantly twirled around. And there he was, leaning against a wall, arms crossed against his chest as his head slightly tilted to the side in examination of her person.
"Oh, goodie, you're here! With your taste in fashion, I suggest you take a stroll with my mother. She'd love you." Farah winked at him.
"I'd rather not put you to shame," he retorted in his ever calm voice.
Farah grinned. "You'd only be doing me a favour, really."
"Than I shall not aid you so," he let out airily, "for there is merriment in witnessing you struggle if you shall choose between pink or blue silks."
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you even doing here? Don't you have, like, people to kill?"
He merely shrugged at her words. "I have said before that I shall accompany you, have you already forgotten? As to your latter question, will it surprise you if I state I sent three Crusader guards into the Afterlife?"
Farah's lips parted in response, closed, then parted again but before she could utter anything, her mother flowed out of the store, silks in hand. "Alright, I'm done. Come one, come on, we have a lot of things to purchase." She grabbed Farah by the forearm and lead her away before she could properly glance back at Altair. Well, at least now she knew he would be indirectly shopping with them. Her testament was proven when a shadow flew above oblivious heads towards a nearby roof. Her chest warmed at the scene, and a smile tugged at her lips.
It wasn't after a few minutes later that her mother was drawn to another shop. "Look at all those veils. So beautiful; let's gaze around, my dearest Farah."
She complied. Walking up to a stance with hanging silks, veils, and materials, she mildly run her fingers over their softness. They briefly reminded her of the Rafiq, and recalling his place, she acutely embraced the memory of colourful silks hanging above her and Altair's head in the narrow hallway. She remembered that brief moment of...sensational exaltation. Even now she could not quite put a label on the feeling. Why had she suddenly felt so blissful? Cherished, almost?
Sighing, she lifted one veil and lightly covered her lower face. The moment she turned sideways, the white robe of the assassin once again filled her line of sight. He stood a little far off, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. People bypassed between them.
Farah brought the veil down, plainly stared at him, brought it up once more but this time covered her entire face. When she drew it aside, she formed a shy yet daring expression, and briefly batted her lashes at him like a maiden in love. He narrowed his eyes at her act. Paying his reaction no heed, she, as another civilian passed by them, veiled her face once more, drew it away, and crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. He shook his head at her immaturity.
Suppressing a smile, she turned her head towards her mother when she said, "They seem royal enough but I've bought you a trunk full of them. If I dare venture more, these poor servants might as well become one with the ground. Alas, let's purchase the grand things. Shall we take a look at carpets?"
Farah didn't even have to answer for her mother was already making her way through the crowd, her dress shuffling behind her. With a sigh, she followed suit.
When they spotted carpets, they walked inside the spacious store, and smiled as the carpenter let a, "Welcome, welcome," in Arabic. Her mother laced her arm around hers, and they roamed their eyes around the colourful carpets.
Farah smiled when she spotted a scarlet one, and pointed. "Hmm, I like that one. After my marriage to Edwardo, it is evident wine will be my companion, hence if I do spill it, it wouldn't require any cleaning." At her words, her mother lightly slapped her in the arm, a small smile gracing her lips. Picking up her leisure pace, Farah surged on.
In the end, they ended up purchasing two carpets, and kindly ordered the carpenter to ship them tomorrow to the given address. He nodded his head and when they were exiting his shop, they did so with his blessing. "May God bless your kind souls; come again!"
Back to the sunny streets, her mother softly hummed in what appeared to be contentment. Witnessing her mother in such a state, Farah's own chest warmed and she smiled. Suddenly the glaring sun didn't appear to be a nuisance but just a happy addition to their hectic day.
"What a beautiful day," her mother released from her side, causing Farah to turn her head at her. She sighed her approval.
"I will always remember this day when you at last depart from my reach," she continued, her voice shaking slightly.
Farah frowned. "Whatever do you mean, mama?"
"Oh!" her mother nearly cried out. "When you finally marry Edwardo, it is evident he would never allow you to leave his domain. I will never see you again, my child, and I'm not issuing this with ease. It is the truth. You will— " her voice broke, and Farah suddenly came to a halt, her lips parting as she watched her mother lower her face. "You will...I will... Oh, Farah, it saddens me to acknowledge our unlucky Fates; you will leave me. Alone. With that animal. And I will leave you, too, with the other animal."
Farah's spine leisurely straightened, and her mouth parted wider.
Your life for hundreds, his voice suddenly echoed in her ears. I refuse to leave loose-ends. You shall cease to exist.
Oh, if only her mother knew there was a high chance she wouldn't be seeing her at all.
How had they come to this? What had they done to earn such a dark and horrible future?
Her spirit within whined, reminding her of her mission. Not the one involving Edwardo but the one where she'd fight tooth-and-nail for her freedom.
Freedom. Never had the word tasted so bittersweet, and never had it motivated her with such fervour until now. Yes, she recalled the delicious taste of it all those weeks back in the Souk, and she'd wanted only more. Would get more. Her mother's words only stoked the fires of her determination. She might have entertained the idea of gaining freedom with foolish naivety, but right now she knew there was no second guesses.
Now, she wouldn't just be warring for her freedom but her mother's as well, and, God help her, would she war for it.
The words of the assassin held no intimation over her any longer, no. Her mother's soul-tearing confession provoked her blood to heat to an almost scorching temperature, causing her heart to tighten and her chest to burn.
Leave her mother?
Abandon the woman who sacrificed a lot for her daughter?
Depart from this world with not even a proper goodbye, or not even getting to live in it in the most purest and true blessed state? Did her mother deserve such a disastrous fate? Did she? Did anybody?
She had to at least try, and get them both out of this mess.
She wouldn't leave her mother alone in this world that hasn't ever been kind to her. She wouldn't leave it with ease while her mother still suffered. She wouldn't abandon her when all she did was protect her throughout her years of motherhood. Her mother deserved someone to fight for her, deserved a hero, and even if Farah would most likely fail, she had to make her realize that she wasn't alone in this.
Mother to daughter. Heart to heart; soul to soul. They were all they had.
Gently cupping her mother's face, Farah, with a bright smile, uttered, "I will never leave you, mama. Nothing can take me from your warm embrace. Obicham te." I love you. "Imat vyara. Vsichko shte bŭde nared." Trust me, everything will be fine.
Her mother's eyes twinkled with unshed tears and she, leaning forward, placed her lips on Farah's forehead and kissed her. "Ya az te obicham, dŭshterya mi." I love you too, my daughter.
That's all she ever needed. Her mother's undying love.
That night, Altair did not visit her, and she retreated to her bed with a heavy heart and a clouded mind buzzing with thoughts. Don't get her wrong, her determination was as fiery as before, the only bothersome thing about it was... Farah suddenly scorned the idea of parting with the assassin, and felt her heart dive deep into her belly.
But it must be done.
He couldn't take her soul. Not without a fight, at least.
-x-