A/N: Hihi! Soooo, guess what? Yup, fought with this chapter aaaaalllllll last week (spring break), and yes, I mean fought with it. The characters were giving me attitude, mainly Altair and Malik (go-figure, right?), and kept taking it down tangents and my thesaurus of a brain failed me horribly more than once. So when does the flow come back? Yup! You guessed it! Right when I get back and have to study for tests! *SIGH* I swear, when summer gets here I'm gonna take a week and just sleep.
Thank you guys so much for sticking with me. I know my uploads are sporadic at best and it's been a bit of a drought but I am still here! Promise!
Shoutouts to: Magouille, Flutteryshy 2059123, BooBoo33, Athenais Mona and LadyRaider92! Thank you sooo much for your reviews! They really made my day and I hated so much that I couldn't update. Who knows? Maybe I need the stress of having a pressing to-do list. Hope not (ugh).
I present to yooouuu...the much anticipated(?) Chapter 29!
BTW, just in case anyone would like to know, but this story is now 200+ pages (0.0)
Enjoy ;)
"Well, he did survive," Malik remarked bitterly.
Altair nodded. "I learned too late that the guard that went to save him on the stage was, in fact, his physician."
"What became of this…Samuel?" Ibrahim asked.
"He survived," Altair replied. "He is still in Acre working with Jabal."
"I hope that does not become a grave mistake," Malik said grimly.
"If it does, Saadiq will ensure that it does not last long," Altair told him. "Last I heard, Jabal was having a difficult time keeping Saadiq from killing him out of hand."
"Saamir's betrayal was especially bitter to them," Malik replied. "But Saadiq is not unreasonable."
"Perhaps Samuel will live long to benefit from that," Altair remarked.
"What are you thinking Farran?" Malik asked, seeing the troubled look on the man's face.
"Jabal is not a friendly man," Farran began slowly. "He has never been. But to think he would have refused to help the boy, even when it was obvious he would have died…that troubles me greatly."
"Jabal has only ever been loyal to the Brotherhood," Malik said. "But you must consider when Saamir betrayed us, it was not Assassins who attacked the Bureau, it was Templars and their soldiers. It is quite possible that he recognized the boy."
Altair looked at Malik in alarm. "Are you saying that Samuel may have been part of the attack?"
Malik shook his head. "From what you have told me, no. His attack on Pierre was brash, rushed, not the act of a man who had taken life before. But it is likely that Jabal had seen Samuel in the Templar's company on a previous occasion. To be asked to save one of them would have been a bitter cup, especially since Waseem was almost a casualty, himself."
"Why would he show Waseem special concern?" Farran asked.
Malik looked at the younger man in surprise. "Waseem is Jabal's son," he said. "Jabal took him in when he was only five years of age, Saadiq was ten."
"I did not know Waseem was Jabal's son," Dabir said in a wondering tone.
"I was unaware that Saadiq was Jabal's son," Altair remarked, only to meet Malik's eyes and see the silent rebuke.
Why did you not know? The differences in our years is not that great.
Malik rose, filled another bowl and left the men to their conversation. Aliyah lay watching the door and he saw a certain happiness come into her expression when he walked into the room.
"How long have you been awake?" he asked with some concern.
"Only just now," she told him.
He nodded and set the bowl on the table and turned up the lamp, fighting to keep his hand from trembling. No other woman had ever looked at him like that.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"A little," she answered.
He could see the exhaustion in her drawn face, the shadows under her eyes, but her gaze was steady and he took great comfort from that. He sat by the bed and began feeding her small spoonfuls of the stew.
"It isn't Hashima's recipe," he said apologetically.
"It's very good," she assured him.
"No, it isn't, but thank you," he chuckled. "How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment.
"Tired," she said with faint smile.
"That is to be expected," he said. He set the spoon down and pressed his hand to her forehead, testing for a fever. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch with a certain guilt, aware of how things were between them.
Will he pretend it never happened? Will we continue our lives as they have always been? Will he make me leave under some pretense or another?
"You are healing," he said, "and for that, I am immensely grateful. "You'll be running the rooftops soon."
"I don't know that I am healing that quickly," she said with an amused smile.
He grinned and fed her the rest of the stew. "Get some sleep," he said gently once she had finished and tugged the blanket over her shoulder.
"Malik," she called his name as he started to leave with the dishes. He turned back, looking at her curiously. "Would it be possible…tomorrow…for me to be outside?" she asked. "I would love to see the sun."
He smiled and nodded. "I am certain that can be arranged."
"Thank you," she said as she drifted off to sleep.
"Anything for you, my star," he said softly and half-closed the door behind him.
When he stepped back into the room, his Assassins were looking at him expectantly.
"She is resting, Ibrahim," Malik said as the younger man came to his feet.
Ibrahim sat back down, his mouth set in a tight, frustrated line.
"We all want to see her, Ibrahim," Farran said. "We have all been worried about her."
Ibrahim nodded curtly and picked up his bowl again.
Not like I have.
As Malik washed her bowl, he became aware of the silence in the room. When he turned back, he saw the men staring gloomily into their bowls and Ibrahim and Altair were the only ones still eating and he could see that even Ibrahim was severely distracted.
"Is this what you have been reduced to?" he demanded incredulously and they looked up with startled expressions. "We still have work to do and she would demand that you carry out your duties regardless of her state of health, would she not?"
"Of course, Dai," they murmured, suitably chastened by the rebuke.
"Then do not disrespect her by behaving like a litter of abandoned pups," he said sharply.
Altair's mouth twitched as he suppressed a grin and he nodded approvingly as the men finished their meal, cleaned their dishes and went to care for their gear.
"You set a good example for them," he said when he and Malik were alone.
Malik hesitated, testing Altair's words for mockery and finding none. "I doubt that," he said quietly and began wiping down the table they hardly used, busy-work that occupied his attention so that he didn't spend every moment worrying about Aliyah. However, Altair's remarks were making it difficult.
"Of course, it might have been a better example if they had actually seen how you agonized over her condition," Altair added. "And yet, you still managed to perform your duties."
Malik sighed and straightened. "Go on," he said resignedly, "speak whatever rebuke is in your mind."
Altair regarded him with surprise. "What rebuke? She has always been special to you, though I must admit, I was unaware of the extent. A man must care about something or else he is in danger of caring about nothing."
Malik studied him for a moment, struck by a vague sense of familiarity. "Where did you come by such wisdom, Novice?"
"I heard those words years ago from a man I once accused of caring too much," Altair replied quietly, shamed by the memory.
Malik started in surprise, suddenly remembering that day, as well. They had barely been men. During the months he, Altair and the others were practicing their teamwork, Kadar and the younger novices were learning how to fall properly. Kadar hadn't been the only one to suffer broken bones, but Malik had been the only one to purposefully miss the lessons to care for his brother. Altair had been furious, even more so when Malik was not punished for his absences.
"You see the good that came from all of my caring," Malik remarked bitterly.
"I see the good that comes from it," Altair said and glanced meaningfully at his bedroom door. "She lives because of your caring."
Malik sighed and propped against the table, watching the door. "Yes, she does. But my brother does not."
Altair said nothing. Malik's words lacked their usual bite but his memory accused him just the same.
Why did Kadar die, Altair?
He'd had no answer to give Aliyah that day. At the time, he hadn't felt the question worthy of one, but for the last several months, memories of the young Assassin had begun following him like a second shadow.
"I have a request," Malik said quietly, swallowing the shame and bitterness that welled within him.
When she fell through the roof, I could only hold her as she bled. He was the one who carried her inside so that I could tend her wounds and now, I have to rely on him again. For her…for her, I shall ask.
"And that is?" Altair asked when Malik hesitated.
"She has asked to be outside tomorrow," he continued, straightening his robe with a quick jerk, a movement that compensated for his inability to cross his arms, "and I am not certain of how strong she is."
Altair recognized the defensive gesture and saw the resentment in the sudden hardness in Malik's expression and suddenly remembered that he had been the one to carry Aliyah inside the Bureau.
I carried her because you could not.
Malik stood side-on to him, blocking his view of the empty left sleeve.
Why did Kadar die, Altair?
The question plagued him and though he finally had an answer, it brought him no comfort.
I don't know.
Malik had lost his left arm to the physician's blade after he returned to Masyaf with the treasure…alone. If Kadar had been with him, they might have been able to save his arm.
Perhaps…if I had been with him…
He saw Malik's hard expression and realized just how deeply he resented being forced to ask for help.
Especially my help.
"I'll stay behind in the morning," he answered. "Some time in the sun would do her some good."
Malik nodded, relieved by the gracious answer. "I thought so, as well," he said. "Thank you."
"Malik, I am no fool," Altair said grimly. "I know you do not trust me, that I am the last person you wanted to see in Jerusalem. But, in light of that knowledge, I must ask why…why, when there are so many others here who have done anything to help care for her, would you ask me?"
"I don't know," Malik said after a moment. "I would have preferred to have needed no help."
Altair scoffed a laugh. "And they call me prideful."
Malik cast a dangerous glance in his direction. "Consider your next words very carefully, Altair," he said in a low voice.
"Is that not a common trait among us?" Altair continued as though he had not heard. "Do we all not prefer to work alone?"
"Do not presume to speak for me," Malik's voice was a dangerous hiss.
"You said it yourself, just now," Altair reminded him coolly.
"And once, there was a time when I would not have needed help!" Malik snapped. "At first, you were the only one there. I was shocked when you offered to stay and even more so when you insisted but even then, I did not put my trust in you," he continued dimly, "I put my trust in the memory of how things used to be."
Malik's bitterness was palpable and Altair instantly regretted goading him. He pushed his hood back and ran a hand through his dark hair with a sigh.
"What have you done now?" Malik demanded.
Altair glanced up, surprised to hear that old, scolding tone after so many years. "What are you talking about?" he asked, utterly baffled.
Malik scowled, strode over to him and roughly parted his hair, revealing a fresh scar. "You misjudged a jump," he stated flatly, recognizing the injury.
Altair scowled, as well, refusing to reveal the mistakes he'd made in Acre. "It's nothing," he growled and batted Malik's hand away.
Malik scoffed and shook his head. "I let you help me care for her and you can barely care for yourself," he muttered as he walked away.
"If you disapprove of my methods so much, keep one of the others in the Bureau," Altair responded in the same disparaging tone.
"I would," Malik replied as he clattered dishes, "except that I find you far better suited to this work."
"Except that you have yet to make any complaints as to my work in the city," Altair countered. "For once."
Malik started to argue, then stopped when he realized Altair was right.
"Then again, it may simply a lack of opportunity," Altair went on.
Malik cast a sardonic look over his shoulder.
"Of course, when has there not been an opportunity for you to criticize me?" Altair conceded reluctantly. "But you must admit that my work in Jerusalem has been satisfactory."
Malik shrugged. "Satisfactory," he said and almost managed to make the word an insult.
"And yet, for Aliyah's care, you prefer my assistance," Altair pointed out smugly as though he had won a victory.
"I congratulate you," Malik told him. "You have managed to become both valuable and dispensable."
Altair stared at him, speechless, but the humor in Malik's eyes belied the sarcastic bite of his words. Altair sat back with a frustrated growl, then looked up in surprise when he heard Malik's laughter.
"What?" he demanded.
"I just remembered something Kadar said years ago," Malik said coming into the room with two cups in his hand, his voice soft with nostalgia.
"What's that?" Altair asked as Malik offered him one cup. The rich aroma wafted up from the dark liquid and he inhaled it appreciatively. "Qahveh," he sighed gratefully. "It has been some time since I've enjoyed this."
Malik sat across from him and took a cautious sip of the hot drink. "That was the last of it," he said. "When we were leaving Damascus that day," he began answering Altair's question, "before we found Aliyah, Kadar commented that you and I bickered like brothers."
"Mmm," Altair grunted, sipping his drink. "I remember."
"I denied it, then," Malik added.
"As well you should have," Altair remarked derisively.
"Yet, here we are," Malik pointed out.
Still bickering as though…nothing has changed.
Aliyah lay awake in the darkened room, unsure of what had pulled her from her dreams. Her body ached and she felt as though her heart would burst as she listened to the conversation between Malik and Altair.
He is healing, Hashima. I wish you could see him.
Happy tears pooled in her eyes and she snuggled farther under the blankets and began to drift off again.
Knowing you are healing is more than enough. Even if I have to leave…You will be alright. You will marry a good woman and have many children…sons who will become men like you…
Ibrahim came into the room with a bedroll.
"I thought this might help, Malik," he said, setting it down. "It isn't a bed, but it's better than the bare floor."
Malik nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Ibrahim."
Ibrahim nodded, cast doubtful glance at Altair, and went to turn in for the night.
Malik set his cup down and went to arrange the bedroll close to his bedroom door.
"Would you like help?" Altair asked.
"I'm crippled, not incapable," Malik replied blandly without looking at him.
Altair smirked in amusement, finished his drink and turned in for the night.
Malik doused the lamps in the room and rolled himself into the blankets, only then realizing that Ibrahim had given him Aliyah's bedroll. His pulse quickened as he breathed in the faint, lingering scent on her blankets and he felt her lips again.
How do I speak of this to you? I did not realize then, that you were telling me goodbye…but you survived…is it now something you regret?
Sleep taunted him, hovering just beyond his reach all night and when the sun began to rise, he got up to prepare breakfast, feeling exhausted and restless. His thoughts tormented him as he cooked.
How do I speak of this? When do I speak of this?
"Did you sleep at all, last night?" Altair asked from behind him, see the exhausted tension in Malik's posture.
Malik started violently at the unexpected voice and nearly dropped a plate.
"Are you alright?" Altair asked in concern.
Malik sighed. "No," he confessed. "I have not been for some time now."
"You needn't worry so much, now," Altair told him reasonably. "She is alive and recovering. The worst is over."
Malik nodded tiredly. "I know."
"Perhaps, it is best that I am out in the city," Altair said, taking an apple from a bowl. "Instead of you, that is. As distracted as you are, Jerusalem would need a new Dai before the sun set."
"What—!" Malik turned to berate him and dropped a loaf of bread into the fire. He dropped to his knees and snatched it from the coals, cursing as he burned his hand, and dropped the loaf on a plate.
Altair smirked and bit into his apple. "Whose meal is that?" he asked, nodding toward the plate of meat, fruit and burned bread.
"It was Aliyah's," Malik told him acidly. "Now, it's yours." He pushed the plate into Altair's chest, forcing him to take it and began cooking another loaf, studiously ignoring Altair. As the other men came in and took their plates, he left to check on Aliyah. When he walked into his room, he found her stirring the dust glittering in the sunlight with her finger.
"Oh," he said worriedly.
She looked at him, surprised by the concerned look on his face. "What is it?"
"It is definitely a good idea to get you out of this room for a while," he said. "Otherwise, you just might go mad."
She smiled. "I'm too tired to go mad."
"Good," he commented with a light laugh.
"Do I get to be outside?" she asked.
Something about the innocent simplicity of her question constricted his throat. "Of course," he said.
"Good," she said, relieved.
"You said you were too tired to go mad," he remarked.
"But not too tired to not want out of bed," she told him.
He conceded with a nod. "Fair enough."
However, as the men left, a longing look came over her face as she listened to the creak of the lattice.
"Are you certain?" Malik pressed.
She smiled faintly and nodded, then looked past him as Altair stepped into the doorway. "Safety and peace, Altair," she greeted him.
"Upon you, as well, Aliyah," he replied. "It's good to see you awake."
"I am glad to be awake," she answered.
"Malik said you wished to be outside today," Altair remarked and she saw the barest tensing in Malik's posture.
"I would love to be outside," she said.
Altair stepped to the bedside. "Give me your arm," he instructed.
She hesitated. "I think I can manage on my own," she said.
He straightened and looked down at her with a dubious frown. "Hold out your hand," he told her and held his right hand out flat.
She did as he said and there was a visible tremor in her hand.
"I think not," he said and bent to lift her up.
She pushed against his chest and he stepped back, realizing with a pang that she had actually struck him.
Not so long ago, she might have cracked bones.
"I am not some helpless woman," she said, her eyes flashing with angry tears.
"No," he agreed. "You are a woman who danced with Death for two nights."
Her mouth tightened into a defiant line and he realized that it was not the help she resented, it was his help.
"Aliyah," he began slowly, "you saved my life. I would like to…repay that, in some small way, at least."
Malik started in surprise. "When did this happen?"
"When I came for Talal," Altair told him, "and you had her shadow me. In one of my confrontations with the soldiers, there was one guard I did not account for."
"You neglected to tell me that," Malik commented to her.
She shrugged one shoulder. "It seemed a trivial thing."
I can hardly believe he admitted all of that!
"Only you would think so," Altair replied dryly and when he bent to pick her up this time, she allowed him. He carried her to the cushions outside and gently placed her on them while Malik stacked others against the wall for her to lean back against. Then, he draped a blanket over her.
"I'll fetch your breakfast," he said.
Altair listened carefully to his retreating footsteps, then he knelt beside Aliyah. "What made you go to Solomon's Temple?" he asked quietly, his expression troubled.
The surprise on her face was quickly replaced by a deep grief and a quiet, dangerous anger. "They took everything from him," she said. "But they will never count it as a victory."
You cost him everything…
He recalled her words and the vehement anger behind them perfectly, but the chill in her eyes as she spoke unnerved him. Though she had not advocated for his death, he realized that honor and orders may have been the only reasons she had not hunted him just as ruthlessly.
He stood to leave.
"What made you go back?" she asked.
He hesitated. "I don't know," he said at last and climbed out of the Bureau.
Malik came outside with a plate in his hand and another balanced in the crook of his arm.
"Where is Altair?" he asked.
"He just left," she answered.
"Ah," he nodded and knelt down to let her take the plate off his arm. He put his own plate down and went to retrieve a pitcher of water and cups. As he walked back outside, apprehension filled him and he suddenly felt nauseous.
I need to know! How do I ask you?
He paused inside for a moment, watching her tear her bread into small pieces and he drank in the sight of her. With a deep breath, he steeled himself and walked outside.
"I was afraid that when I asked to be outside, you would say no," she said, concentrating on her plate.
He paused with his mouth open and all of his questions stalled. "Why?" he asked.
As though I could deny you anything.
"I was worried that you would think it was too soon," she explained.
"It will be good for you," he said, hardly realizing how easily they had fallen into a conversation.
After breakfast, he busied himself inside the Bureau and Aliyah dozed in the sun. When the men returned that evening, Altair carried her back inside and Malik settled her into bed. For the next several days, Altair would carry her outside in the morning and back inside in the evening. Then, one morning as she lay awake watching the sky lighten ever so slowly, her frustration built until she felt as though she would burst. Tucking her robe tightly around her body, she pushed the blankets back and slid her legs over the edge of the bed until her feet touched the cool floor. Mustering her courage, she forced herself to sit up, then, gripping the table in a white grip, she held her breath and stood. When she felt no pain, she could have sang for joy. However, when she took a small step forward, she collapsed to her knees with a groan of frustration.
Suddenly, the door opened and Malik's shadow fell across her.
"What are you doing?" he exclaimed hoarsely, rushing to her side.
"I stood," she said, exultant. "I can stand. I just wanted to see if—"
"If?" he prompted, putting a hand on her shoulder, unsure if he was steadying her or himself.
"I wanted to see if I could walk," she told him.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well," she laughed, "I am on floor now, so…"
He laughed nervously. "Yes, well…"
"I suppose you'll put me back to bed," she said in a disappointed tone.
"That might be best. Unless…you think you might be able to walk with assistance," he said, both hopeful and worried.
Her face brightened instantly. "Yes, I—I think so."
He held out his hand and she gripped his hand and let him help her to her feet. Then, he carefully escorted her into the main room. Even that short distance tired her and by the time he got her to a cushion, she was clutching his arm in a shaky grip.
"Are you alright?" he asked as she sat down.
She nodded. "I'm fine."
"I should have breakfast ready in a moment," he said, standing.
"I wish I could help you," she said.
He smiled and went to finish preparing the meal.
So do I.
The far door opened and Ibrahim entered the room from their sleeping quarters.
"Aliyah!" he exclaimed in delighted surprise and in his relief, nearly every measure of restraint abandoned him as he hurried to her.
The others rushed in after him and Altair strode slowly through the room and made his way to Malik. He chuckled at the sight of the men gathered around Aliyah. Only Ibrahim had seen her during her illness and then, only briefly. Even during her days outside, she had spent a great deal of time sleeping and they had taken great pains to avoid waking her.
"You were right," he said quietly to Malik. "A litter of pups."
"After everything that has happened," Malik replied, "Sabir's capture and Rashad's death, it is understandable."
"It is," Altair agreed.
"How do you feel?" Ibrahim asked her.
"I am alright," she assured them all. "I am," she insisted upon seeing Ibrahim's doubtful look. "Perhaps, not completely, but enough. I can stand on my own and I can almost walk on my own." She held out her hand, satisfied when there was only the barest tremor.
"Now is the time for a knife throwing competition," Khadim remarked.
"That would hardly be fair!" she exclaimed indignantly though she couldn't keep from smiling.
"But the rest of us might have a chance of winning," he insisted.
"I would not count on that," Ibrahim commented as they laughed.
"Are you certain you are alright?" Farran asked as he sat down with his plate.
"Yes," she assured him. "Brothers," she quieted them as they all began to echo Farran's question, "I have spent days unconscious and sleeping. I want to know about the city. What is happening?"
They all began talking at once. Malik stood to one side watching the group, drinking in the sight of her smile, the alertness of her gaze and her cautious, yet precise movements. Only then did he allow himself to relax into the knowledge that she was, indeed, alright.
"Time is passing, Brothers," she said suddenly, "and we have duties."
They nodded and she smiled at their reluctant frowns.
"Malik is not the only who needs your reports," she told them with a laugh.
Her words coaxed grins from them as they left the Bureau.
Malik approached her and put his hand on her shoulder. "What is it?" he asked, seeing her blink away tears.
"I caught myself looking for Rashad just now," she said as their shadows vanished. "Somehow, I'd…forgotten that…"
"I understand," he said softly. "I still find myself waiting for Kadar to walk through the door and at times I…I could almost persuade myself that I hear his voice."
She nodded painfully and took a deep breath to steady herself.
"I must go to the souk," he told her after a moment of silence. "Can I trust you not to do anything foolish while I'm gone?"
She looked up at and gave him a faint smile of amusement. "Yes."
He frowned at her doubtfully, then went to his room and closed the door. When he emerged a moment later, he was wearing his white robes and she caught her breath at the sight of him.
"I won't be long," he promised and left the Bureau.
She released her held breath in a sob as tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Malik," she whispered hoarsely as pain knifed through her chest.
What am I going to do?
Longing and humiliation crashed over her and she closed her eyes as the room spun, certain she was going to be ill. For all of his concern and gentle care, he seemed to want to live as though what she had done had never happened.
If that is how he wishes it to be, I will find a way to live with it.
She steadied herself with a deep breath and clenched her hands.
If he wishes things to be as they were, then that is what I will do.
She looked around the room and her gaze fell on the table several feet away.
If things are to go back to the way they were, then I must be able to perform my duties.
She gritted her teeth and slowly forced herself to her feet, focusing on the table with fierce determination.
But first, I have to be able to walk.
Malik counted out the merchant's money, gathered up the light blue robes and scarf he had just purchased and placed them in his satchel along with his spices and other various items.
Now, she will have something else to wear, at least, until she can wear her robes again.
The sudden memory of her in that black robe quickened his pulse and forced him to catch his breath.
"Malik."
He looked toward the voice and saw Altair in the shadow of an alley.
"What brings you out?" Altair asked once Malik joined him.
"Errands," Malik said. "When you see the others, you might want to tell them that we are running low of provisions."
"I will tell them," Altair replied. The sight of Malik in his old robes was a little unsettling, especially with the left sleeve pinned to his side. "Where is Aliyah?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
"In the Bureau," Malik replied. "I have been out too long. I must return before she gets into mischief."
Altair chuckled. "Safety and peace," he said.
"Safety and peace," Malik replied and walked away. He made his way to the rooftops and quickly headed for the Bureau, suddenly anxious.
I most certainly have been gone too long.
He dropped through the lattice and hurried inside to find that she had left her cushion and was clutching the far edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. He strode to her and she gasped in surprise when he wrapped his arm around her waist and practically carried her to the bedroom. When he sat her down on the side of the bed, she looked up at him with wide eyes, like a child caught sneaking treats.
He sighed in frustration. "Do you remember, when I told you that between worrying over my brother and you that I may not live to have gray hair?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
"I do," she said slowly, bracing for his reproach.
"I could almost be persuaded that you're trying to hasten that result!" he exclaimed.
She winced and dropped her eyes. "Malik, I—" she began, her voice soft and contrite. "I only…"
He dropped his knees and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Every time you do this, you risk causing yourself more injury," his voice was pained. "Which will only prolong your recovery. Why will you not be patient?"
Let me take care of you, my star.
She nodded, grieved that she had upset him but he saw the stubborn purse of her lips.
"I will not ask you to promise that you will cease this foolishness," he told her. "I only ask that you be careful. Rest for a moment. It will not do to have you collapse."
She nodded again and laid down and he stroked her hair back from her face.
"Stay here," he instructed and left the room.
When he returned some time later, he found that she had dozed off and he hesitated to wake her. Her skin was regaining its healthy flush and her breathing was quiet and steady and all he could think about was how close to death she had been. He touched her shoulder gently to wake her.
"Come with me," he said and helped her to her feet. He took her to the washroom where a tub of steaming water waited and fresh clothes were set out for her.
"Thank you, Malik," she said with some surprise.
"Only…promise me you will be careful not to drown," he said, his brow furrowed with worry.
She laughed. "That would be embarrassing."
"Yes," he commented dryly. "That is precisely what I was thinking."
When he left the room, she carefully shrugged out his robe and unwound her bandages. The sight of the dark, scarring skin unsettled her and she gripped the side of the tub as she remembered every wound as it happened.
The arrows chased me as I ran…as I climbed…
She stared at her scars, feeling each slice of every shot that missed and every impact of the ones that did not.
Pierre waited…he did not even draw his sword until I had almost reached him…I do not remember drawing Malik's dagger, only putting it through his hand…he drew his knife then…
Her hand strayed to the deep scar in her side where Pierre had driven his blade.
I blocked his first strike, but not his second…but neither could he block mine…
She remembered plunging Malik's blade into his neck and her notched hidden blade into his heart even as she felt her strength ebbing away. She held him there until he collapsed to the floor and his pale eyes dimmed, and then…
She remembered waking and hearing Malik's voice tell her she was safe and brief snatches of memories of the rooftops passing beneath her as she fled the fortress, beyond those vague images, she could recall nothing.
Perhaps, that is best…
However, her mind would not quiet and she shook her head in frustration. She tested the water and climbed into the tub and immediately submerged herself in the hot water. The pain of the water on her healing wounds registered suddenly and she groaned and surfaced, gasping for air.
Do not cry out! He has worried too much, already.
She ground her teeth and refused to make a sound and the pain slowly eased. Moving ever so carefully, she began to comb her hair with her fingers and suddenly spied two small bottles by the tub.
Malik, did you…?
She uncorked one and the lightest fragrance wafted up and she sighed blissfully as tears came to her eyes over his thoughtfulness.
Oh, Malik, I wish…how I wish you could love me. Such things make it seem a little less impossible.
She washed her hair and then relaxed in the water until it began to cool. She climbed carefully out of the tub and investigated the second bottle, finding it full of a sweet smelling oil. She massaged it into her scars and when she slowly moved toward the light blue garments, they did not seem to hurt so much. She touched the dress hesitantly, trying to remember the last time she had felt fabric so soft. She finally put it and the robes on, dried her hair and tucked it under the scarf.
Such pretty things. Why would you give me such pretty things, Malik?
She faced the door and stopped herself from gripping the edge of the tub. Clenching her teeth, she took cautious steps toward the door, testing each one before attempting the next.
Malik had changed his clothes and put his robes away with some reluctance. He stood over his table working on his map but only exerting a half-hearted effort.
She should be finished by now.
As he had the thought, he looked up and saw her walking slowly down the hallway. He caught his breath at the sight of her as the image in his mind of her in black was completely replaced by one of her in her light blue robes. Then, he finally realized what he was seeing and he opened his mouth to protest as she came into the room.
"What—"
"I am alright, Malik," she assured him. "I promise." She stopped and leaned against the wall. "It doesn't really hurt, it's…more like my legs have forgotten how to move."
"You still need to sit down," he insisted and came around the table.
"I have been lying down and sitting for days," she told him, a pleading sound in her voice.
"I am aware of that," he told her.
"If you will not let me move about, will you at least give me something to read?" she asked. "Else I shall go mad."
"Well, far be it from me to allow that," he remarked and went to pull a book from the shelf. "Here," he handed it to her.
"Only one?" she asked.
"Well…for now," he said, somewhat taken aback.
"But then I shall have to walk in here for another when I finish it," she said, her eyes alight with mischief.
He cocked his head disapprovingly. "Do not test me, Novice."
"Or…you will send me back to bed?" she asked cheekily. "That is an even greater distance for me to walk."
He sighed, frustrated that he had nothing to say. "Be gone with your impudent self," he said gruffly and turned back to his table.
"Yes, Dai," she said and he snapped around and gave her a sharp look but she could see the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.
As she left the room, pain knifed through him.
Does she not remember? Or is she choosing to forget?
I must know.
He went into the next room after her.
"Aliyah," he called her name as his stomach knotted painfully.
She turned and looked at him curiously.
"We must talk," he told her and watched her curiosity change to dread.
"Very well," she said shakily, feeling the blood drain from her face.
"That day," he began slowly, "before you left to assassinate Pierre—"
She shut her eyes painfully. "Malik, I—I never…never should have…"
"Do you regret it?" he asked, anxiety threatening to choke off his voice.
"It was selfish of me," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "Forgive me, please…It was selfish."
"Forgive you?" he repeated in shock. "Forgive you what?"
She covered her mouth as though she was about to be ill and tears slid down her cheeks. "You are a good man, Malik. An honorable man. I never…never should have presumed to…" she stopped to catch her breath.
"Aliyah, what do you see that makes you believe you are so lacking?" he asked in a pained voice.
You loved me and I sent you to die.
"How long have…have you…?" he couldn't finish the question.
Through her tears, she gave him the sweetest smile. "Forever," she said quietly. "From the time I was a child, imagining the man I wanted to marry. It was always you." She sighed. "As to what I lack…I could more easily count the things I do not. You…you deserve so much more."
He saw it then, in her eyes, that she would willingly step aside for another woman—no—insist that he take another woman as a wife—
"No," he said aloud, vehemently denying the thought that caused him more pain than losing his arm to the physician's knives. "You…you are far more than I could ever deserve even if I were to live a thousand years."
She shook her head, denying it.
"I should have married you years ago," he told her and her eyes went wide with shock. "But for my cowardice, I would have."
"Cowardice?" she repeated, her voice nearly inaudible.
"I was afraid," he said. "Afraid that, if I asked, you would see me as every other man. For that, I will be always be ashamed. But I should have."
"And then what?" she asked despairingly. "I cannot give you children, Malik. I will never be able to give you children! At the very least, you deserve that…sons who will become men like you."
"Aliyah, I would rather have you by my side than a hundred sons to carry on my name."
She sagged back against the wall, suddenly feeling weak. "Malik, you don't know what you're saying."
"Do you truly expect me to choose establishing a bloodline over the woman I love?" he asked, coming to stand a mere arm's length from her.
She could only stare at him, certain she was about to faint.
"Aliyah, you…you are my star," he told her, tears coming to his eyes and choking his voice. "The light that guided me from the darkness of my grief. I never want to face another day without you by my side. I love you. I have from the beginning."
"What did you say?" she all but gasped the question.
He saw the fear beneath her hope and he smiled and tugged her away from the wall. "I love you," he told her.
The strength left her legs and she clutched his robe to steady herself. She was so close to him, if she raised her head she was sure their lips would touch.
"I am a man of few possessions," he told her, "and I only have one thing of real value…I would give it to you…and you only."
She raised her eyes and saw the earnest sincerity of his gaze. "What's that?"
He crooked his finger under her chin, tipping her face up to him and pressed a tender kiss on her lips. She tightened her hold on his robe as she melted against him, suddenly terrified that she was in the grip of a fever dream. Then, he released her and she desperately wished he hadn't.
"Marry me, my star," he urged, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.
She looked up at him, lost for words. "Malik, I—"
He kissed her again, more insistently, his hand on the back of her neck and felt her arms go around him.
Her heart was pounding painfully and he was holding her and she never wanted him to release her.
Impossible wants! All of it was never more than an impossible want!
Not so impossible…
He pulled away and pressed his cheek against hers. "Marry me," he whispered his ardent plea.
Her mind was still savoring the three words she had been so certain she would never hear. "Say it again," she begged.
He smiled. "I love you," he said again and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I will say it as often as you like, my star."
She closed her eyes and sighed with relief as his voice soothed her scoured soul. "Yes, Malik," she said, "I will marry you."
!TADAAAAA!
Oh, by the by, something I forgot to add. I looked up at least four different sources on the coffee and they all spelled it differently but according to the National Association of Coffee (yes, it is a thing, much to my delight) that was how it was spelled, so that's the one I picked because it sounded closest to 'coffee'
