Author's Note: Hey guys :) Here's an update for you. I wanna thank those who put the story on their alerts, fav's and reviewed. It means a lot and I'm happy people are enjoying the story.
Taming a Huntress
Chapter XXXV
Burning Wounds
Savra let out a heavy breath as she carefully slid off of the black horse. She rested her head against his side, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to wait out the pain that seared up her spine. It felt like knives, just stabbing and stabbing at her skin. She could barely turn at the waist, let alone bend. Every movement she made was careful, took thought and time. And she was just so very uncomfortable.
The wound on her back was torturing her. It had worsened further. Her tunic was stuck to it from the dried blood. It chafed and chafed every time she shifted, and after she tried to pull the material of her tunic from the wound, she could feel her skin tear further and she cried out, gasping and shaking in her pain. She tried to steady her labored breathing, inhaling very slowly.
Savra swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy, and lifted her head from the horse's side to glance around.
Forest. It was all she saw. It was all that there'd been for the days she had traveled since leaving Zaim. Her traveling had been slow going. Baroshe was no better and he was hindering her traveling. But she refused to leave him. It wasn't an option. He was all she had left of home…
She'd been riding the black horse. The one that had been Zaim's, while she pulled the lead of the brown horse, who pulled the lead of the limping Baroshe. Savra walked in front of the animals, grabbing the leads of both the brown horse and black horse, and began tugging them to walk with her, Baroshe trailing behind them. She was tired of riding, tired of moving.
"Come on..." she said, drained, leading them over to a couple of low branches.
Her body ached all over. She had never spent so much time outside in all her years. She had ran out of food the previous day, the meager pieces of dried meat. Water was gone too. Savra was miserable.
She tied them up to the trees, keeping Baroshe a distance away from the other two, and walked over to a shaded tree trunk to carefully lay her bed mat down so she could rest some. She eased herself down slowly, biting her lip when the pain flared, and laid flat on her stomach, cradling her head in her arms.
As she laid there, her thoughts drifted to what she'd experienced in the past couple weeks. The death. Death...people died by her hand. Her mother died by her hand…
She killed her own mother.
While, during the moment in which it happened, she felt numb about it, guiltless. It was still a thought that did not sit well with her no matter how much she hated the woman. If her father knew…
Of course he knew if he still watched over her like she liked to believe. She could just imagine the disappointment in his eyes. Her father loved her mother, and she knew he would have forgiven Sasha for most anything, even her betrayal. He wouldn't had wanted this.
"What have you done, Savra…" he'd probably say in his anguish.
"I did it for you, Papa…" Savra whispered to the quiet forest.
"What have you done, child…"
And Haydar… she felt sick. Haydar had cared for Sasha. They had not the relationship Savra did with her mother. But then, Haydar was never a disappointment in Sasha's eyes to begin with. What if he looked at her different? As disgusting... A murderer… Unworthy…
If she were to ever see him again, she'd never tell him. He won't know. And maybe he won't hate her.
"What have I done?" her voice small and muffled by her arms.
Altair stared out of the library's large window gazing down at the ones practicing in the sparring circle. He could see Abbas down there near the gates, huddled with a few of his fellows. Altair had no doubt that he was spreading more lies about him, spreading more unrest…
His golden eyes swept toward the side of the sparring ring where a lone figure sat on a bale of hay. Haydar. He had his attention on an object in his hands. The glint that shone from as it caught the sun told Altair it was metal, a blade, a dagger. The girl's dagger. Jal and Nafi had brought it with them. They'd given it to Malik a few days after they arrived, trying to appease the Dai, make right where they failed when they claimed they had the dead body of the girl, only for it to be her mother.
Malik had come to Altair while he was in the library. He had placed the blade on the table Altair was sitting at.
And Altair had stared at the curved, familiar weapon as it sat innocently on the table's surface, not saying a thing for many long moments. When Malik had turned to leave, Altair had spoke quietly, telling him to take it.
"Give it to Haydar…" he had said. "I've no use for it."
Malik had looked at him, pinning him with his scrutinizing gaze. But Altair simply looked off to the side, keeping his expressing stoic as always.
"If you wish…" Malik had said, then took the girl's dagger and left the assassin to his thoughts. And he gave the blade to Haydar, who now sat off to the side, fidgeting with the weapon while he too seemed lost in his thoughts.
They had buried Zaim the next day after Jal and Nafi had arrived, in the grave chamber below the castle where most of the assassins were laid to rest. For Sasha, they'd buried her in the communal grave site in the village.
And ever since that day, the day they thought the girl was dead, Haydar had not approached Altair again and Altair made no move to speak to the novice either. It bothered him a little. As of now, after everything that happened, he had so few people that he could truly trust. Haydar had always had his trust, for the boy was just like Nasir in heart. But Haydar was dictated by his emotions, a great flaw in Altair's eyes, and he did not always think before he acted when he was upset.
Altair didn't fault him really for how he reacted the day they brought the bodies, but he also wasn't pleased with him either. Because Haydar clearly questioned Altair's motives, clearly held resentment for him, held bitter thoughts of him, even if he acted as his friend, his comrade. Upset the boy and his true feelings show. And Altair wasn't sure what those feeling were anymore. He worried that Haydar would be swayed by Abbas. He showed signs of it already. Altair didn't need that at all.
"Malik, please! We swear to you we will not stray from your instruction!"
"No."
"Give us a chance to redeem ourselves!"
Altair's head turned slightly at the whining voices of Jal and Nafi who trailed after the approaching Malik as he passed the many bookcases to where Altair was standing by the window. Malik's expression was annoyed, a scowl fixed on his lips. Jal was openly pleading, for reasons Altair wasn't sure of.
"You will only cause more trouble. You can't be trusted for anything!"
"It was just a small mistake!" Jal argued.
Malik spun, making Jal halt quickly in order to avoid collision. "A small mistake? She could have been buried that way if no one had the thought to check. Your small mistake would had left Haydar grieving, thinking that his sister is dead forever, you fools! No, I won't change my mind. Now leave me alone!"
"We thought we were doing the right thing, Malik."
"And yet all you did was prove how very incompetent you are," Malik snapped at them.
Nafi glared at the Dai while Altair turned back to gaze out of the window, disinterested in their conversation. Ever since the return of those two Malik was back to being his bitter, insufferable self that he was in Jerusalem.
"Why are we even asking him, Nafi?" Jal said, his voice becoming irritated. "Altair is who we answer to now–"
"I am still your superior–!"
"What is it they want, Malik?" Altair asked quietly, watching Rauf down below as he schooled the novices in hand to hand. He heard the Dai let out a long, frustrated sigh before he spoke.
"They wish to join the ones you plan to send out to be rid of the Bureaus in the cities. But that is a task much too far above their abilities–"
"We can do it! Just give us the chance to prove to you–"
"No–"
"Let them," Altair said, cutting off their argument. He rubbed his hand over his tired face and turned around to face them. Malik opened his mouth to argue immediately while Jal and Nafi shot the Dai smug looks. Altair held up his hand, silencing anything further and continued, "But fail this, and you two will be demoted, and you will be tasked to polish every weapon in this castle and every weapon used by your comrades in the sparring ring. Understand?"
They nodded in unison and Altair gave them a tight nod back. "The others will leave at dawn, be ready."
"Yes, Mentor," they both said before turning to leave, but not without Jal tossing Malik another smug smirk.
Malik scowled at their retreating forms. "You make a mistake sending them. They are useless."
Altair turned away from him and back to the window, eyes finding the lone figure of Haydar. "We shall see."
Savra laid flat on her bed mat, drifting in and out of consciousness. The night had come and gone, so had the morning. She guessed it was noon, mostly by the heat of the sun that filtered through the high tree branches. She had no will to move though. Moving meant more pain and she was so very tired of all the pain she was feeling. Savra understood then why Zaim had given up like he did. Just to lay down and rest, end his suffering.
If she were given the choice to slip away into death right at that moment, she might take it. For what was left for her to live for? She had nothing left. Her life was stripped bare. No home to call her own. No one to turn to for help. She was lost, starving, and weak.
She could see how giving up and accepting death seemed like a reprieve from it all. But unlike Zaim, should she stay where she was and give up, letting death take her, it would not be swift. She was not as far gone as he was, not yet. She'd have days and days of suffering before it finally took her, she was sure.
Savra knew all this, but it still didn't help her motivation to get up and move. The horses were restless, she could hear them snorting, hooves pacing in place. But instead of getting up to untie them, she let her eyes slide back closed, letting out a hopeless sigh through her nose.
oOo
When she woke again it was still light out but it had cooled considerably. Her silver eyes stared at the forest ground in front of her, blinking tiredly. She swallowed, and her parched throat yearned for water. Savra moved then, arms slowly pushing her up to her knees. Her body felt like stone, stiff and heavy. She wanted to lay back down again, and stay there. To never move her aching limbs. She eyed her dingy bed mat longfully and debated whether she should just lay back down. It was much more appealing than getting up.
She started leaning forward, hands getting reading to carefully lay herself back down, when a sound caught her ear. Savra paused, and straightened with caution to not flare up her back. She stared blankly through the trees, ears straining to hear.
Again the sound came, some distance away, but it was there. A constant noise, grating and grinding against something. Her heart leapt as she listened further and one of the horses nickered.
"Wa-agon…" Savra rasped out, trying to push herself to stand. "Wagon…" She hissed when her movements irritated her back, and she clung forward to hold the tree trunk for support to stand on her shaking limbs, pulling the bed mat up with her and began rolling it hastily. Savra stumbled over to the black horse, tied the bed mat onto the saddle and untied his lead from the tree and went around and did the same for the brown horse and Baroshe. After setting the horses up, as quickly as she could, with difficulty, she mounted the black horse and pushed him to walk toward the sound with the two other steeds following in tow.
As she grew closer towards the direction she heard the sound, Savra started noticing the trees thinning some distance away. And then she saw movement through the trees. A wagon, like she assumed, being pulled by a grey horse being driven by an elderly man. Savra pushed the horse to walk faster, tugging the lead she had in her other hand that was from the brown horse to quicken them as well. When she neared, she saw that the wagon was traveling on a small, not well-traversed road. It looked almost hidden by the brush and overgrowth. More like a trail instead. But it didn't matter, and Savra didn't care. It would lead to civilization and that's what had her hope lifting.
Savra didn't move onto the road, but followed along it, hidden by the trees. She kept a distance behind the wagon, so not to draw the man's attention, but used him to unknowingly lead her to wherever he was going.
It was hours later before Savra saw any sign of the small road leading anywhere. Dusk had darkened the sky, and through the trees ahead she spotted orange lights from what she assumed were torches.
And then she saw it, a small village that was at the base of a high rock wall. The wagon went on forth into the village, while Savra slowed the horse down to remain hidden in the trees. She surveyed the place, counting only a few tiny clay hovels with thatched roofs. There was a general paddock that held three horses within. A well was in the center, and Savra could see a couple women there, sitting on stools, scrubbing clothing in buckets of water. Chickens roamed the village freely and small dog wandered around the center too. Smoke rose from the hovels, and she smelled food cooking.
Her stomach rumbled angrily. She dismounted, slow, and walked over to where her rucksack was packed on the brown horse, taking out her cloak. She quickly donned it to hide her blood and sweat stained clothing, then tied the brown horse and Baroshe to the tree, reaching for the black horse's lead and began walking with him into the village. She'd hopefully sell him, or trade him at least, for some food and water. Perhaps they had a healer as well, and a place for her to rest for a few days while she healed. Savra wondered if this was the village that Zaim was talking about, the one he told her to find. She hoped it was.
They passed the treeline, and she slowed her pace, swallowing nervously. One of the women near the well noticed her approaching the village center and paused in her scrubbing. Savra grew more nervous. Perhaps they didn't get outsiders often? Would she be drawing too much attention by simply being there? But when the woman went back to her scrubbing, and took her eyes off her, Savra let out the breath she was holding.
The man who had been driving the wagon was near the paddock, walking the horse that had been pulling it to through the gate to let him graze. Savra tugged the horse toward that direction. Just as the man was closing the gate, he looked up once hearing her approach. He straightened and eyed her warily.
"Hello," Savra said, trying to keep the rasp out of her voice.
The man didn't respond, but scrutinized her disheveled appearance, then crossed his arms. "What business do you have here?" he asked gruffly.
Savra shifted on her feet, glancing around the village, before back to the man. "To trade…" she replied carefully.
He raised a brow, looking over her and then to the horse who carried nothing but a saddle. "Trade? What is it do you have worth trading?"
Savra stepped to the side of the black horse to present him to the man. The horse wasn't in the best shape. His black coat was dusty and he was thinning. "I was… separated from my...guide on our way to another city. I've no food or water. I have two more horses back there, one injured. I am injured as well. I will trade this horse in return for provisions and… if perhaps a healer could look at my wound?"
The man eyed her again, this time with less suspicion and a bit of concern. He walked forward, and held out his hand for the lead. Savra gave it to him and watched as he walked around the horse to inspect it. "You lost your guide, you say?" he asked while he pulled up the black horse's lips to check the teeth.
"Yes," Savra said quietly.
"Hmm…" He ran his hand down the horse's leg, forcing him to lift his hoof. "He's seems like he'd be worth something. If I can train him to pull, I'll keep him myself," he said as he straightened back up and looked to her. "There is someone here who can see to your wounds. They also have space for weary travelers who happen to pass through here from time to time. You are not the first to come today. I will show you to her." He tied the black horse to the fence and began walking toward the center of the village. "You will show me where you have this injured horse so I can take a look at him," he said over his shoulder as Savra followed.
When they neared the well, he held his hand for her to wait. Savra stopped and watched as he walked over to an elderly woman who sat washing some clothes on a washboard. They spoke in low tones, the woman glancing over at Savra every now and then, nodding. A door opened from a larger hovel to her left, and she glanced over.
Two men come out carrying wrapped packages of what she imagined to be food for travel. But she held her breath when she saw their attire. And then her heart stopped when one of them looked over and she was presented with a familiar face.
It was Emran. He was a comrade of Haydar's. He'd sometimes sit with her and her brother during meals. They spoke little to each other, but that didn't stop the recognition to flash across his eyes while he stared at her as she stood there in shock.
Savra's breath came quick and her eyes darted around. The wagon man was walking back over toward her, but then, so was Emran. His expression was uncertain. Savra started taking stumbling steps back, eyes never leaving Emran's. He would take her to Masyaf. She wasn't going back to Masyaf. Not after everything. No.
"Come, girl," the man said, "she will tend to you after you show me this injured horse."
"I c-changed my mind," Savra said quickly. She took another step back, almost tripping in her hurry to get away. The man was confused, glancing over to where Savra was staring at the two other travelers. One of them handed their food packages to the other and began to advance in her direction.
Savra spun on her heel, and started heading towards the trees.
"Girl…? Girl!" the man called after her. "What about your horse?" but Savra ignored him and went as quickly as she could out of the village and back into the trees to where the brown horse was.
Her shaking hands fumbled as she untied them both and struggled to get her dirt-caked boot in the stirrup of the brown horse. Just as she was pushing herself up to mount, a harsh tug on her cloak had her lurching backward. Savra whimpered at the pain the sudden move caused her and squeezed her eyes shut, hands fisting at her sides. She had no hope to run, no hope to fight. She was too weak, her body was failing her. She doubted she would had been able work up the strength to mount again anyway, but it was instinct now, fleeing from anyone who threatened her with Masyaf.
"Savra?" a male's voice said from behind. Emran's. He gripped her shoulder and turned her. She swallowed, keeping her lips shut, but slid her eyes open. He took a cautious step forward and asked again with hesitance, "Savra? It is you?"
"Leave me alone," she whispered, backing closer to the horse. "I won't go back." Her hand reached at her hip for her dagger, out of habit, but it closed on nothing since she no longer had any weapons besides her bow. But it was useless without arrows.
His fellow approached from the side, and Savra's heart raced. She didn't know his name, and he only seemed vaguely familiar. And as he grew closer, her nerves lit. Too close. She was too trapped. Suffocating. Where was Zaim? Her thoughts unconsciously drifted to him, because she had been relying on him since Jerusalem without realizing it. His company was familiar, safe to her in a way. But he was dead, and she was alone.
Her silver eyes were hopeless as they shifted between the two men. Their movements were wary, expecting to catch her should she run. But she didn't have it in her to run anymore.
"Savra?" Emran said again, eyes never leaving her face.
Her chin wobbled and her eyes watered. "Please... pretend that... pretend that you didn't see me?"
He glanced at his fellow and they shared a look of confusion.
"Pretend that we didn't see you?"
She nodded quickly.
He hesitated, sharing another look with the other who was frowning. "Why would we do that?"
Savra sucked in a shaky breath and her eyes drifted up to the canopy of trees. "Because I don't want to die... not that way..." she whispered a watery whisper, tears trailing down her dirty cheeks and chin trembling. "Another way, but not like that. 'Because I don't deserve that, no matter what he thinks–"
"Who thinks?" the other male asked in uncertainty.
Savra let out a tired breath. "...Al Mualim... please... just please pretend? Look the other way. I didn't... I didn't come all this way only to be taken again. Not after what I went through. I just came here for food... and water...I just want something to drink... please, leave me alone... I don't want to go back there... not again. He'll kill me for no reason."
It was the other who spoke while Emran stared at Savra, at a loss for words.
"Al Mualim is dead, girl. He won't be killing you. And Altair is not likely to carry out Al Mualim's orders. Why would he? He was aiding you, after all."
Al Mualim was dead...
Savra's shoulders slumped at hearing that.
"He's dead?" her voice was small, filled with disbelief. "...How?"
"Altair killed him," Emran finally spoke, watching the emotions flit across her face.
"Altair..." Savra whispered. Why had he killed him? It was silly to think it was for her. He wouldn't do that... not for her... he wouldn't of... but still she wondered.
"Yes, our new Mentor. Death does not await you in Masyaf, Savra. But your brother does. Haydar's been trying to get a group of us to search for you, though Altair has not yet allowed it. I cannot pretend that I didn't see you, Savra. I cannot lie to Haydar."
Savra was having trouble taking it all in. She was overwhelmed. It was too much for her exhausted mind to process. She looked at Emran, and begged, "Do you have water?"
Altair wiped the sweat trickling down his forehead with the back of his hand, readied his stance and then gestured to his opponent with his other.
"Again," he ordered.
The novice charged at him, attempting to deliver a blow at Altair's ribs, but Altair saw and blocked him efficiently. He hit the novice's arm at the elbow, the struck him quick in the throat. Not hard, but enough to take the boy's breath and leave him coughing.
Altair heard Rauf laughing from outside of the ring, yelling out, "What did I tell you about keeping your hands up, boy?"
Altair smirked, then grabbed the novice's shoulder and shook him good-naturedly while the boy rubbed his aching throat with a scowl.
"Alright, come out here, boy. Let's have someone else who will at least attempt to listen to my instruction! Haydar! You haven't done hand to hand for days. Come, spar with Altair."
"I'd rather not," was Haydar's reply. He sat off to the side, like he usually did these days. He was watching the sparring, but it had been some time since he'd participated. Altair looked at Haydar, his face showing nothing. Haydar did the same, only he glanced away after a moment, a frown furrowing his brows.
Rauf started, "Haydar–"
"Why doesn't Malik have a go," one of the men leaning on the fence said with a raised brow. "I've yet to see him practice. Even during the attack, he barely lifted his sword! Making us do all the work." Malik, who was leaning against the fence as well, immediately glared. "Am I the only one who's noticed he's been a bit... shall we say, pudgy?"
"Yeah! Eating too many sweet rolls in Jerusalem, Malik?" another jeered, making the others laugh. Altair couldn't keep the grin off his face while Malik's cheeks reddened, whether from anger or embarrassment, or both.
"It's like he's trying to make up for the lost weight of his missing arm–"
"Only in all the wrong places!"
"Like his gut!"
"It is looking quite round, those robes aren't hiding it very well..."
"He looks with-child!"
"Yeah! Like Haydar's wife!"
The silence that followed was deafening. Everyone shook their heads at the one who made the last comment, who ducked his own head in shame. Altair snuck a glance at Haydar, who was still sitting off to the side, but now staring hard at his hands that were resting in his lap, jaw tight.
"Move aside!" Malik snapped, shoving some of the men out of the way and hopped into the ring with purpose. He shucked his outer robes, being left in a simple tunic and trousers. Altair was barely paying attention before he was shoved backward by the Dai, hard.
"Sweet rolls..." he growled, and continued muttering to himself as he got into his stance.
Altair looked at the Dai, and chuckled, moving into his stance as well.
"At least it's not chickens..." he said with a smirk, knowing how it would get to his fellow.
Malik's eyes lit with fury and he charged. Altair laughed, dodging him easily. They continued that way for some time. Malik was indeed out of practice from sitting in the Bureau all those months. He was simply no match for Altair, and it clearly was frustrating him, especially with the way his fellows were jeering at him from outside of the ring.
Altair was very much focused on frustrating the Dai further for his own amusement, but it was until the jeering became less did he notices some of the others around the ring had their attention elsewhere, looking behind them toward the gates.
Malik shifted his attention too, standing straight to see over their heads. He frowned and said, "Why have they come back already?"
Altair looked towards the gates and saw figures passing under the arch. Rahil was walking toward the group. Altair's brows furrowed. Rahil was sent earlier today with Emran to take care of the Bureau in Damascus.
Quick movement to his left had Altair's eyes snapping to Haydar, who had leapt to his feet and was staring at the gates with wide, unbelieving eyes.
Haydar rushed over toward the entrance where Altair could see two more people emerging. Emran, who held the arm of a cloaked, hooded figure. They were supporting them, for the figure had an unsteady walk.
But Altair knew immediately who that figure was when Haydar drew them into a lifting embrace, and his heart paused.
It was the girl... it was Savra.
"Haydar..." Savra whispered, shaking in both pain and elation at seeing him again after all the time that passed. He squeezed her form tighter, her feet dangling inches from the ground. She held back the whimper she wanted to let out when her spine flared, and closed her eyes. "Haydar..." She felt the tears slip from her eyes easily, and the knot in her throat made it hard to swallow.
Haydar was crying into her neck, shaking her, whispering things like, 'I thought you were dead', 'I thought I'd never see you again', 'He wouldn't let me find you...', 'Don't leave again...',
Savra only squeezed her eyes tighter and bit her lip.
"Careful, Haydar, she's injured," Emran said from behind her.
Haydar released her slowly, keeping his hands on her shoulders to look at her better. His blue eyes were full of anguish, and she saw how much her absence had affected him. Haydar never cried. He hadn't even cried when their father had died, not in front of her anyway. He looked much older than his years. A tiredness etched into his features, frown-lines where there weren't any before. It made her sad and ashamed, because she knew he was that way due to her and all the trouble she caused.
And Savra knew she looked no better. She was a mess. Everything about her was a mess, her face, her hair, her shoes, her clothes, her feelings...
"Never again..." he demanded, voice a whisper, pleading.
Savra gave him no reply, but simply stared at him, too weary to talk. His hands came up to her face, cradling her head and gazed over her, taking in her scratches, the dirt, blood.
"What's happened to you?"
Savra opened her mouth, trying to form words, when her dull, silver eyes drifted to his side, to the figure slowly approaching with caution in his step, and the words died in her throat.
She looked horrible. Beaten. Like a different person, a different girl. She was not the girl he left alone in Jerusalem. It had been just about a month since. What could have happened to her to leave her in such a state? Her clothes were filthy, he could see them under the cloak. Her boots had a layer of dirt stuck on them, and they were sagging. Her breeches were equally dirty, with tears here and there. He could see blood as well, dried, on her hands, on her neck. And there was a lot of it.
Her normally bright, silver eyes were dim, rimmed with dark circles that spoke of exhaustion. Her lips, chapped and cracking. Her cheeks, dirt-stained and sunken. Her flesh was sallow. She looked ill. She looked dead...
And when he slowly came to Haydar's side, and her eyes found his, they did not light up like they usually did when he'd see her. Her lips didn't slip that crooked smile she smiled. She just gazed at him in that worn-out, defeated way, expression wary.
Wary of him. When was she ever wary of him?
Immediately his thoughts jumped to Zaim, and what he must've done to her. Made her that way. Ruined her. Beaten her. His temper bubbled up in his chest and he held himself back from outright asking. It wouldn't do, not in front of everyone.
"Altair," she acknowledged, quiet and unsure. So very unlike her. His gazed drilled into her, trying to understand what happened. What made her that way. This wasn't the girl he knew. Who was this broken girl? Why didn't she look at him the way she used to? Why did she seem shy of him? Scared almost.
"You've returned," he answered, keeping his voice low because they had an audience. This was the girl who had caused the huge stir. Who had the nerve to defy Al Mualim.
She nodded softly, and spoke, "Yes... I heard..." She swallowed thickly and glanced at him "Emran said-"
"Al Mualim is dead," Altair finished for her. He saw her eyes widen a little, and she turned her gaze to his. She was curious and he knew why. She wondered why he killed his Master. It wasn't a conversation for here in front of all the listening ears. Especially because Al Mualim's death was still a sensitive topic to some.
"Will you... send me away?"
Her question caught him off guard and Altair stared at the girl, his gaze piercing. Why would she ask him such a question? Would he send her away... but then his mind went to their last encounter, and the words that were spoken. How he'd left her, upset, stopped whatever it was that was happening between them, unintentionally made her think he didn't want her.
He could feel Haydar glaring a hole into the side of his face, but he ignored him.
"...Why do you ask that?" he questioned, voice low to keep their conversation amongst them. There was pause in the sparring ring, most eyes were watching.
Her chapped lips faltered as she struggled for words, eyes drifting from her brother, to the ground, to Altair. Her demeanor was timid. When was that girl ever timid? Altair felt like he wasn't really speaking to the same person anymore.
"Because you are in charge now..." she finally said, glancing at her brother again.
Haydar was shaking his head, gripping her shoulders tighter, telling Savra she could stay in the village, with Ru'yah, who'd apparently 'Be grateful to have another woman around to help when the baby comes'.
He resisted the urge to point out to Haydar that he'd not been down in the village for about a week to see his 'wife', so how would he know what Ru'yah would be grateful for? But he held his tongue. It was Haydar's business, even though most in the castle knew about his ongoing neglectfulness.
"Where would you go, should I 'send you away'?" Altair finally said, drawing her eyes back to him.
Savra looked off to the side again, her lips were tight together, a crease formed between her brows, and she replied quietly after a few seconds, "You know I have nowhere to go..."
"And there's no reason for her to go!" Haydar argued. "After all the trouble went to get her here, you're going to send her off? Make up your mind–"
"What your mouth, Haydar, you try my patience," Altair gritted out to him.
Haydar's jaw clenched and he opened his mouth, but Savra cut him off. "I can stay in the village, for now?" Savra looked to her brother, who quickly nodded.
"We can make room," Haydar said. "Ru'yah won't min–"
"You will stay in your father's old room, like before," Altair spoke, low. Savra glanced at him and he didn't like that hesitance that seemed to be ever present in her eyes since she arrived. "There are things that we need to discuss. I think you know what about."
She didn't reply, though she searched his eyes, trying to figure out the meaning of his words. But his expression told nothing. He turned to one of the men near him, and ordered them to have the maids ready her room with warm water and food. He gestured for her to head up to the castle, and she did, giving him another wary glance as she passed him. Haydar followed right behind her, and Altair could hear him bombarding her with his concerned questions.
He sighed deeply, rubbing his face with a calloused hand.
"She seems different, does she not?" Malik's voice asked from behind him.
Altair nodded, watching her struggle to walk up the raised path, having to grip Haydar's arm to continue.
"At least she is safe, yes?" he said, wondering if Altair held the same thoughts.
"Yes..." Altair replied quietly, eyes following the girl all the way up.
Savra sighed, rubbing the warm cloth over her skin, cleaning away the dirt. She'd eaten, a lot, a big bowl of hot soup and bread, and it warmed her insides. She had not had food like that for many, many weeks. One of the maids had helped her out of her clothes after she ate her fill, and helped get her clean. Only, when they made to take off her tunic, Savra had cried out. The material was truly stuck to her wound, and she could not take her tunic off without it pulling the cut and causing Savra severe pain.
The maid decided to leave it on while she went to alert the healer, Zahid. Savra remained on the stool in her room, cleansing the rest of her body. The room was exactly as she had left it when she escaped, more dusty, but the felt so strange being back in the room. She could feel the time that passed. There was something different about the castle. It had a lighter mood to it and she didn't feel as closed in as she once did. And she was sure it was entirely due to the face that Al Mualim was gone.
She looked over at the bed. The maroon covers had been turned out and dusted by the maid. And it looked like the most welcoming sight in the world. All she wanted to do was to slip under the covers and sink into its softness and just sleep forever. But she couldn't because even laying down caused her pain and she wouldn't be comfortable until her wound was taken care of properly.
She was pulling on some loose trousers she found in the dresser when the maid knocked, and returned.
"You will have to go down to his infirmary. Zahid waits for you there," she told Savra. Savra nodded and walked with her out of the room. As they made their way down the familiar halls, Savra glanced around.
Altair was in charge. That was odd too, to her. Seeing him again was odd, different, not the same. He had not welcomed her and she hadn't expected him to. But a part of her wished he wasn't so... detached at her arrival. Maybe he was hoping she never came back. Emran had said that he'd not allowed Haydar to set up a group to find her. So maybe he hadn't wanted her to return. Wanted her to stay out there, out of his life...
She swallowed thickly at the thought.
After walking down a series of stairs and hallways, the maid pointed to a room down the current hallway. Savra had been there before, when she had to get her shortened finger stitched. She approached the doorway and peeked in. Zahid, the healer, was setting some of his instruments out near a covered table. He glanced up, stared at her for a long moment, then gestured for her to come in.
She walked in hesitantly.
"Savra, it has been some time." He walked over and started inspecting her superficial wounds. She did have blade cuts and scrapes from the attack, but they were nothing compared to her back so she hadn't really noticed them. "Some of these will need stitches," he said, looking at a wound on her forearm. "But we will do those last. The maid said your tunic is stuck to your back?" he asked.
Savra nodded, biting her cheek when he came over and turned her so she faced away from him. As soon as his fingers touched her back she flinched.
He tutted and sighed. It didn't make her feel any better. "What sort of wound is this," he asked, removing his hands.
"From a blade, a dagger," she replied through clenched teeth. Her stomach roiled at the thought of the pain she was going to have to deal with when he started working on it. She'd been fairly good at keeping the pain at bay by not truly moving her spine much but she knew once he started working on it, it would get much worse.
"For how long have you had it?"
"I... a while... days I'm not sure how long..."
"Were you with Zaim when you received it?"
Savra's breath caught at the name. She didn't know what to say. They were going to ask of him, of course. And she'd have to tell them he was dead. And then they'd ask how, and why, and...
Her eyes snapped to the doorway where she heard footsteps approaching.
Altair was there, leaned up against the stone doorway. His gaze aloof. She eyed him hesitantly, wondering why he was there. Her attention drew back to the healer as he spoke.
"I ask because it will tell me that it's been more than a week."
"How would that tell you?" she asked, confused. "A week since what?"
"Since Zaim was brought here." He turned her again, tugging at the material of her tunic and watching her wince.
"Brought here...but he..."
"Jal and Nafi stumbled upon his body on their way back to Masyaf. They brought it back a week ago. So you've had the wound since before then?"
Savra nodded numbly, taking in the information.
"You did know he was dead, yes?" it was Altair's voice, and it was gruff, cold, and she didn't like it. She glanced up and his eyes pinned her, almost accusingly.
"I knew. I was...with him when he... he died," she replied slowly.
"Did you give him the wound that caused his death?" Zahid asked, turning her again while he tried to tug gently at the tunic. But Savra only flinched harder.
"N-No...no, it wasn't me."
"Did he give you that wound then?" Altair pressed, jerking his chin at her back.
Savra shook her head, trying not to focus on what the healer was doing. And he was barely doing much.
"Who then–"
"Not now, Altair. I must tend to her. I'm going to have to cut this off of her, you cannot be here when I do."
Altair made no move to leave.
"Altair–"
Altair only stayed where he was, crossing his arms.
Zahid shook his head, turning Savra toward him again. He grabbed a knife, bringing it to the bottom of her tunic, and tearing it upwards. He had her hold the ends together to keep her decency. He then walked her over to a long wooden table that had a rough sheet covering it. He helped her to lay on her stomach on the table. He started pulling the tunic, slipping her arms out carefully until all that held it to her was the wound.
Altair walked closer, and Zahid glanced up to glare at him, but he ignored the man. He could see her back was inflamed, red, and raw. Zahid started pouring warm water on the tunic near the wound to loosen it from the flesh.
Savra had her face pressed against the table, features scrunched up in pain. Her breathing was labored and short.
Zahid was shaking his head as he tried to free the tunic. Altair neared until he was next to the table. He glanced down at her face again, but her eyes were slammed shut and she was whimpering. Zahid thrusted a bowl of hot water to Altair.
"Pour this where I'm pulling," he said shortly, grabbing a small knife from behind him. He positioned the blade between the cloth of the tunic and the wound, trying to cut it free. Altair did as ordered, watching grimly as the process began to work and the dried fluids of the wound released the tunic slowly with the help of the water and blade.
Savra was openly crying and gasping, her body twisted now and then, only stopping when Zahid barked at her to hold still. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. Altair's eyes widened when Zahid managed to pull back most of the tunic and set to release the rest near her lower back.
The healer cursed under his breath.
The cut was a mess. The edges were puss lined. And it was so very red, swollen, and bleeding from the recently cut flesh Zahid had to make in order to separate the tunic. It went from her left shoulder, slicing down to her lower right side of her back near her hip.
"This would be a simple fix if you had not waited so long for healing," Zahid murmured, mostly to himself. "Now, the damage is tripled. I can heal you but your back will always cause you pain."
Savra was too lost in her pain to even think about retorting that there was no way for her to be healed out there.
"Who did this to you?" Altair asked, voice tight. He'd seen worse wounds on his brothers and victims, but seeing such damage on Savra was almost too much for him.
"Zafar..." was Savra's strained answer.
He opened his mouth to ask more, to find out what happened, but Zahid cut him off.
"It will not heal with salve"
Altair looked up. "What do you mean?"
"It's much too infected, it won't heal that way."
"Then what?"
Zahid ignored the gasps coming from Savra as she fought through the pain and went over toward the small fireplace in the room. He grabbed a few of his knives and set them in the flames before walking back over to the table, taking another knife and began sliding it along the puss edges of the wound, making it bleed profusely.
He ignored Savra when she let out a gut-wrenching scream. He was the healer to assassins, he was used their cries and wails.
"I'm going to have to sear it shut. You will hold her down."
Altair walked down the hall back toward the healer's room with a mug in his hand. His ears still rang from the girl's pain wrenched screams while Zahid pressed the hot blades against her wound to seal it shut. He could still smell her burning flesh. He had to hold her down as she thrashed and thrashed.
"Make it stop!" she had cried to him. But he couldn't make it stop.
"He's making it better," Altair had told her, trying to calm her down. And he wished she would. He couldn't stand to see her in so much pain.
Afterward, she had fallen into a fit of sobbing into her arms. Her wound cauterized.
"Now we wait," were Zahid's only words as he started cleaning up around her. He called for the maid to bring a new tunic, and when she did he cut open the back so the wound would breathe. And he sent Altair out of the room while they got the girl redressed and set up on a cushioned bedmat to rest on the ground in front of the fireplace.
Altair had gone and had one of the maids make some tea that Malik had been known to drink to drive away his phantom pains, which he now carried back to the room in a mug.
When he neared, he heard Haydar's voice speaking low, along with Savra's strained, pained voice.
"Will he be okay, do you think?"
"Halim says he's not sure. But they were tending to him when I checked," Haydar said to her softly.
Altair looked in from the doorway. Haydar was sitting on the ground next to Savra whose back was still exposed by the open tunic, but shined with the salve Zahid must of put on her. She laid on her belly, face resting on a pillow, turned to the side with the fireplace crackling behind her. A blanket was thrown over her lower half, and he could see her foot shaking, a visual of the pain that still bothered her.
"Maybe he will get better..." she whispered to him, and Altair could tell she was trying to hold back her crying again.
"Maybe..." Haydar replied. He looked like he was at a loss for words, clearly trying to appease his sister's worries but not knowing how.
Altair walked in then, and Haydar glanced up, narrowing his eyes.
"Leave us," Altair told him. Immediately Haydar started to argue, but the look Altair shot him left no room for it. Haydar turned to his sister, whispering something that had her nodding gently, before standing up and stalking off past Altair.
Altair walked over toward her bedmat, then lowered himself to the ground near her head. Her tired, silver eyes found his and she gazed at him questioningly. He placed the mug in front of her.
"Drink this," he said.
She eyed the mug, then looked back up to him questioningly. Now that she was cleaned up and had eaten, she seemed a bit more lively, more alert, more herself.
"It will help you with the pain," he added when she made no move to drink it. "It will also calm your nerves. Malik drinks it, for his arm."
She sniffed the tea, turning away at the smell.
"Drink it."
"You drink it first." She pushed the mug over to him, and Altair raised a brow, eyeing the tea with distaste.
He saw a smug glint in her eye so he shook his head at her antics. "Don't be foolish. I am not the one in need of it."
Altair held her gaze, unmoving until she backed down and sighed, taking a tentative sip from the mug. Her brows pinched and she squeezed her eyes shut at the taste.
"Yesterday, I was so thirsty I would have thought this drink could be gold in a cup. But I can't take another sip," she coughed, pushing the drink away from her.
"And where were you yesterday?" He asked seriously. Savra peered at him from the corner of her eye, hesitant. "And the week before that. Where have you been?"
His eyes traveled to her bare back, to the inflamed scar marring it.
Savra could see the questions in his gaze.
"I didn't kill him," her voice brought his attention back. Her eyes were serious. "I know you are wondering."
"Who?"
"Zaim..." she replied, her brows pinching. "Haydar says some of the others...are already starting to form ideas that I did."
Altair had a good idea who it was that was starting those rumors.
"It doesn't matter," he told her.
"It does. I don't want people thinking I did."
"Why not? After the way he treated you, most wouldn't really question why you would."
She didn't respond, but her eyes lowered to stare at the floor. He wanted to ask her about her mother. He really wanted to ask her about Zaim, but thought to save it for when she was a bit more better.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asked suddenly. Altair blinked, gazing down at her, brows furrowing.
"I told you that you are to stay–"
"I mean after. You want me here so you can find out what happened, and because I'm wounded. But what of when I'm healed, and I tell you everything you want to know? Do you... want me to leave then?"
Altair didn't reply right away, but surveyed the girl as she waited for his answer. "Do you want to leave?" he countered lowly. He did his best to keep his face devoid of any emotion.
She shook her head gently after a few seconds of thinking. "Not now, anyway... I'm... tired of moving around, Altair. I'm just tired..."
He nodded. He knew she was, and he could see how the whole ordeal had taken its toll on her. "You are free to stay here, Savra," he said quietly.
"...But do you want me to stay here?" she pressed, and he could see the pleading look in her eyes. The same look that begged him the day he last saw her in Jerusalem.
"I want you safe, and here is safe, so I suppose so," was his answer. It wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. He knew it the second he said it, because her expression dropped some. He knew she wanted him to tell her to stay, because he wanted her to stay. He wasn't ready to get into that conversation with her yet. She had only just returned and she still had to settled back in.
"You suppose..." she repeated, a frown on her face, displeased with his answer.
He grabbed her hand that was resting near her face, and brought it up to his face, brushing his lips against the backs of her fingers, golden eyes pinned on her watching silver.
His heart warmed at feeling her like this again. He had been so angry with her, so frustrated. But when he saw her arrive earlier, and the state she was in, he couldn't stay that way, even though he wanted to.
Haydar had been hovering over her since she got there, but Altair found that he was doing the same, in his own way. He couldn't concentrate on anything. His thoughts kept straying to the girl, and how she was. Just seeing her alive, speaking to him made him realize how much he had missed her presence. It was one less nagging worry if she was there in the castle, and not out who knows where, dying.
Her fingers opened and she turned her had so her palm rested on his stubble cheek. The softness in her eyes was something he missed. And something he didn't realized he craved. It was a look she only gave him, only for him. And he missed it. She undid him. He didn't know how, but she did.
He turned his face and pressed a kiss into her palm before bringing her hand down into his lap.
"There is much we need to discuss. But when you are better, not like this. Alright?"
"Okay..." Savra replied softly.
"And you will tell me everything, Savra."
She hesitated, and then gave a small nod against the pillow. He let go of her hand, and reached for her head, brushing the strands of auburn hair from her face. Her hand caught his wrist, and her fingers threaded over his left bracer.
"What's this?" Savra said, tired voice taking on mock surprise. "Fur?" Her silver eyes peeked up at him, a small twinkle of mirth in them.
"I haven't had the chance to take it off." Altair shrugged a shoulder, expression betraying nothing.
"Of course..." Her lips twitched barely, and he let her see a slight smirk of his own.
Her eyes looked heavy and they kept closing and opening while she tried to keep her attention on him. He pulled his wrist free of her weak grasp, and leaned down. His lips brushed her temple.
"Rest," he murmured to her.
Her eyes slid shut, her face burying deeper into the cushioned pillow. Altair watched her, watched as her eyelids fluttered a bit as she fought with consciousness, before the pain on her face relaxed slightly and her breathing evened out.
He grabbed the mug with the tea and pulled it closer to her. She needed to drink it even if she didn't want to. His eyes traveled to her marred back and his mind shifted to the memories of the dead body of her mother that he thought was Savra. So similar. They haunted him, and the feelings he felt more so.
But seeing her back, seeing her safe and alive, it made him feel lighter than he had in months. So much weight was lifted off his shoulders this day. And he would rest easy because of it.
Author's Note: It would be super awesome if you guys let me know your thoughts of this chapter in a REVIEW! :D
Thanks for Reading!
Sombrette.