This is late. I apologize – I rewrote it more times than you care to know. College is eating up all my time. "I drink to your health, king," is what Akefia says in Greek, and I can't answer more questions than that (at least not yet!)
I realized I forgot to thank everybody for reviewing last time, so here's a super special double awesome thanks to Calm Envy, Minako, albino-yaoi, Teal Phoenix, BlueFox of the Moon, MyraHellsing, haku fan1, Margherita-Lily, Mittzy, RemainSilent1, Koi no Soshan, rohanfox, Astalavisbon, and especially to Angael, Rahuratna, Ryou VeRua, Fiver, Tenshi no Toki, Dawn 3, mystralwind, and ltkk022 for leaving such fantastic, encouraging, long reviews =)
I apologize if I thanked you and I haven't had a chance to read and review your stories yet – I try to do that for everyone who takes the trouble to review mine! I really mean it when I say thank you – your reviews keep me going, and knowing you guys appreciate this story and care enough to give feedback is really inspiring and makes me incredibly happy.
One more side note before the chapter starts: I know Akefia is a fan name, but I decided to use it – number one, I just like it a lot, and number two, it sounds more Egyptian than Bakura, Doroboo, or Touzokou. This is North Africa, people. Come on now. ^^ Koi no Soshan also brought to my attention that the Egyptian Arabic pronunciation of Malik is "meh-lick" with equal emphasis on both syllables. "Ma-leek" is the Saudi pronunciation that I learned. Oops.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of its characters. If I did, I would be sipping Dom Perignon in a diamond-studded hot tub instead of typing on a ratty old couch which doubles as my bed. Thank you, and enjoy!
ʘ
The gathering showed signs of dying down; many of the thieves were growing tired, and it was getting colder and colder, desert winds blowing in the entrance of the cave. All the men had had their fill of wine, the camel had been completely devoured, and the fire had burned down to the embers. The crescent moon was high in the sky.
Akefia rose to his feet, surprisingly steady considering he had been drinking steadily since sundown. "I think it's about time you all get some sleep," he announced. "Otherwise you lot will be useless tomorrow." There was a collective murmur of assent.
"Siamun, feed the horses," he ordered. "Zaza, make sure that fire's out. And Teti-En, don't forget to do whatever it is you do." He turned to go and then paused as he thought of something. "Oh, and Majesty," he continued, "get that camel out of here, would you? Otherwise this place will be full of jackals all night."
The Thief King must have seen Malik's horrified expression, for he laughed to himself as he walked away. "Don't worry, I'll think of plenty more for you to do tomorrow," he called out, and disappeared behind the curtain of the room where Malik had first woken up.
Malik wasn't sure which idea bothered him more – having to actually touch the remains of the camel, or sleeping in a place so readily accessible to jackals.
The noble bravely turned to face the carcass, which in truth was not much more than bones at that point. Trying not to think about it too much, he squeamishly lifted it off the spit and grasped it by a charred rib, dragging it across the rocky dirt floor to the mouth of the cave. Thank Ra it's not the whole camel, he thought to himself, noticing it wasn't very heavy.
He dragged it outside, opting to leave it by a solitary rock a good distance from the cave entrance, the opposite direction from where the horses were tied up. Outside, the desert was almost pitch black, save for the feeble light of the moon and the warm glow emanating from the thieves' cave. It was impossible to see anything except the tops of the highest sand dunes, and in the distance, to the West, the silhouette of a dark mountain range against a lighter sky. The landscape around him was as staggeringly vast as the firmament above.
A story came to his mind, a legend Ishizu used to tell him all the time when he had been younger, his sister's favorite. It was the tale of how Isis had learned the secret name of Ra.
I have made the heavens, Ra told Isis in the legend, recounting his mighty deeds as the King of Gods. I have stretched out the two horizons like a curtain, and I have placed the soul of the Gods within them.
The night wind swept across the desert, whipping the sand into the air, swirling it into fantastical, ghostly forms that danced across the ground like restless spirits. A dark cloud covered the moon.
I am He who, if He openeth His eyes, doth make the Light, and, if He closeth them, Darkness cometh into being.
If Ishizu were here, she would put her arms around him. He would hear her soothing voice telling him not to fear, that the Gods were watching over him. Ra has His eye on you, she was fond of telling him, for as long as he could remember. He'd never been quite sure what she meant by that.
Without her by his side, though, doubt came creeping into Malik's mind, cold fingers of logic wrapping around his thoughts. What do you know, Ishizu? Isn't everything that's happened so far been proof that the Gods are looking away? Or perhaps they enjoy watching people suffer, like me. Perhaps Ra did have His eye on Malik, but maybe His eye was the eye of a hawk, glassy-sharp and full of cold scrutiny, watching and waiting for him to fall… What made you think I shouldn't be afraid, sister?
The air was freezing cold; Malik's breath came out as mist, and he rubbed his arms to get the warmth back into them. He looked back at the carcass by the rock, eerily illuminated by the moonlight. If there were jackals around here, he knew the entire thing would probably be gone by morning. He realized the bodies of the Pharaoh's henchmen were probably out here somewhere too.
Something moved at the periphery of his vision, and suddenly, with a start, he noticed a multitude of shiny black things scuttling across the sand.
He ran the whole way back to the cave.
Siamun was just bringing out oats for the horses when he saw Malik, dashing madly for the entrance. Siamun looked around, and once he was reassured that there was nothing out of the ordinary nearby, wondered briefly if the high-strung noble was seeing things.
Malik came to a halt as soon as he was back inside and put a hand on the wall to steady himself, panting for breath. Nefermaat and Kawab looked up at him quizzically from the side of the fire pit. Zaza was just emerging from the back of the cave, holding a lamp and a bucket of water.
"Are you all right?" he asked, somewhat taken aback. Malik was pale, his eyes as wide as if he'd just been visited by an apparition.
"Scorpions," Malik gasped, waving a hand vaguely toward the mouth of the cave. "Lots of them. Everywhere."
Nefermaat snickered to himself nastily. Zazamoukh poured out the water onto the burning embers of the fire, which hissed and sputtered as they went out. "Well," he told Malik cheerfully, "now you know what we feel like when we get anywhere near the Palace."
Nefermaat clutched his heart dramatically and widened his eyes. "Guards," he mimicked, his voice a breathy falsetto. "Lots of them! Everywhere!"
"Oh come on," Zaza said, unable to keep from laughing. "That's not nice."
"That's not what I sound like," Malik muttered sulkily, not quite brave enough to start a real argument.
He noticed a rustling sound to his left and looked around. Teti-En was crouched by the side of the entryway, in deep concentration, tying elaborate knots in what looked like a thin silver string hanging from the top of the arc and muttering under his breath.
"What's he doing?" Malik asked Zaza in a whisper, not wanting to distract Teti-En from whatever he was doing.
"Just a spell," Zaza replied in a normal tone.
"What does it do?" Malik couldn't refrain from asking.
"It's an illusion," Zaza said, putting the bucket in a corner. "From the outside, it'll look like there's no opening in the rock. Keeps people away ninety-nine percent of the time. Unless they've got their own magicians, of course." Zaza lowered his voice, although it was clear Teti-En was paying them no mind. "Magicians always smell out an enchantment."
"The spell lifts at sunrise," Aminadav told him, emerging from behind a blue curtain that no doubt led to another room. "So you probably don't want to go outside until then. It's easy to get lost. Right, Kawab?"
The strapping thief grumbled. "I don't want to talk about it."
Malik's interest was piqued. Of course, there were magicians in the Pharaoh's city, and the priests – his sister included – performed magic on a regular basis. But for the most part, the important spells were all kept top-secret, performed in private, like the rituals. The magic, supposedly, wouldn't work if cast in the presence of the uninitiated – thus, Malik had never really seen it up close before. He was fascinated.
The words of the spell flowed into each other, rising and falling like a lullaby. Teti-En's deft fingers worked quickly. The instant a complex knot was completed, it seemed to melt, and the silver thread would become smooth and straight once more.
Just then, they heard a roar and a string of infuriated curses from the direction of Akefia's chamber, and an instant later, the curtain was flung to the side and the Thief King appeared at the entryway, eyes blazing molten silver. He raised a sheaf of papyri in one hand. The other was clenched into a fist. Malik felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.
"Who is responsible for this?" he thundered.
They had all become very still, not daring to move. Siamun had halted at the mouth of the cave. Kawab's eyes were widened in alarm. Teti-En was motionless, the words of the spell frozen on his tongue. The silver thread slipped from his fingers. Even Nefermaat looked scared stiff.
Akefia glared threateningly at each of the thieves in turn. "Well?" he snarled. "Somebody is going to confess, or as Ra is my witness, every last one of you - "
"It was me." Malik's small, tremulous voice broke the quiet, and some of the thieves turned to stare at him, astounded.
With deadly purpose, Akefia advanced on Malik until he was backed into the side of the cave. He brought his fist hard against the wall above Malik, and he flinched, shrinking back.
"I trusted you alone in my chamber," Akefia said coldly, "and you went through my personal belongings?" He laughed quietly, without mirth. "You must really feel entitled, Majesty."
The last word felt like a knife, and Malik flinched. He hadn't realized it before, but it was true – the Thief King had taken him in with almost no questions asked. He had to have trusted Malik, at least a little, and he had managed to go and destroy that trust before he even knew it existed.
For the second time that night, the Thief King was inches away. Before, he had been Malik's protector, the Pharaoh's henchmen the enemy. But now he was angry, and Malik was no longer sure who the enemy was.
"I…I'm sorry," Malik stuttered. His heart was hammering against his chest. "I thought you might want them organized…" His voice wobbled. "I wasn't…I didn't know…" He tried to look away from the Thief King, but found he couldn't.
Akefia's glare softened almost imperceptibly as he looked down at Malik. The boy was staring up at him, violet eyes huge in terror. Not only terror, though, no – there was defiance in those eyes, hiding somewhere behind the fear, as if it were hesitant to let itself be shown. Malik took a shallow breath and his chest hitched. The thief noticed how the boy stiffened and held his breath then, as if he thought he could hide that he was afraid. Akefia let his gaze drop to his slightly parted lips. A long moment passed.
"Well," he muttered roughly, "don't let it happen again." He held Malik's gaze for another brief moment, but his expression was unreadable. Finally he sighed heavily, and shook his head briefly as if to clear it. "You're lucky everything's still there."
With that he turned from Malik abruptly and stalked back to his chamber, disappearing behind the curtain. Each of the thieves let out a deep sigh of relief.
"Wow," said Zaza shakily. "He must really like you."
Malik stared at him incredulously. He was in no mood for the man's jokes at the moment.
Zaza met his eyes. "Oh, I'm serious," he said. "If it had been one of us…" Zazamoukh trailed off and gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I don't think you really want to know what would have happened."
ʘ
It was midnight, and Atemu stood alone, leaning his arms on the edge of the palace balcony and looking out over his city. It was quiet at this hour, a few lights still on in the scattered windows of low-slung buildings. Most of the activity in the central marketplace had died down, and tired merchants were packing up their wares and heading home.
When the moon was directly overhead, a single trumpet blew. The wind carried the lonely sound high above the mud-brick rooftops. Soon it was joined by many others, rising from various locations on the city walls, the mournful noise resounding throughout the metropolis. This was the signal for curfew. After the trumpets had sounded, any citizens caught roaming the streets would be placed promptly under arrest.
The sound went through Atemu like a pang of grief. Sorrow was always curled up in some corner of his soul - like a sleeping animal, quiet and still. But late at night, when the wind blew cold and the trumpets echoed over the city with a forlorn harmony, sadness seemed to take on an unbidden weight, tangible and undeniable. Memories came softly like a thief in the night, fruitless regrets and whispered promises that had been broken echoing throughout the chambers of his lonely mind. Lately, the Pharaoh would lie awake most nights until Ra ascended, the rays of His morning sunlight breaking over the window sill.
Footsteps came up behind him and stopped softly a respectful distance away.
"The curfew is early, my Pharaoh." High Priest Seth's voice was quiet and solemn. He had become careful around Atemu in recent days.
"I saw fit," was all the Pharaoh said in reply.
Seth walked up beside him to the balcony and looked out. Lights were going off in the houses, and the streets were now completely dark. He studied the Pharaoh. He suspected Atemu was once again unable to sleep; the Pharaoh was not wearing any of his customary kohl or jewelry. Without it, he looked incredibly young and incredibly weary.
"It is probably a good idea," said Seth. "What with the recent attacks."
In truth, he was afraid Atemu was growing paranoid. The early curfew would hardly do anything to deter the notorious Thief King, who, Seth knew, was as good as invisible when he chose to be. And as for the brother of the priestess…well, he had avoided capture thus far. He had clearly found a good hiding place. They had been patrolling the city at night, and combing the streets during the daytime, but the fact of the matter remained that there were simply not enough guards they could spare to do an all-out search of the city. As such, they were simply playing a waiting game, until eventually Malik surfaced. Things were in a sad state.
For example, the recent incident with the priestess, Ishizu. The guards had just stood there and let the bandit make his escape, when what they should have done was attack him. Seth could only imagine the contempt the Thief King must now hold for their defense faction. Even though in all likelihood the guards would have met their demise, that was not the point. Throughout the history of the Kingdom of Egypt, soldiers had always had to go willingly to their deaths for the sake of their country. An empire demanded blood – a sacrifice that the citizens of Egypt, it seemed, no longer wanted to make.
Seth knew they needed numbers. Instead of earlier bedtimes, they should be drafting soldiers from all the villages they could find, enlisting aid from foreign powers if need be - but he refrained from voicing his opinions to Atemu. Talking to a statue would do more good. The Pharaoh was strange now, withdrawn to some point within himself where it was impossible for Seth to reach.
"Any news?" Atemu's voice was quiet in the stillness. Seth knew he was asking about Malik Ishtar, the murderer.
"Not since you last asked," he replied. "But rest assured we will find him."
"I hope so," Atemu told him pointedly. "The sooner the execution proceeds, the better."
Seth nodded to show he understood. "I worry for Ishizu's sake," he admitted, partially to himself. "Beheading is an ignoble death."
Atemu gave a short, humorless laugh. "Beheading would be too kind."
Seth was not sure what to make of this. "My Pharaoh," he reminded his cousin uneasily, "beheading is the customary punishment."
"And I have an uncustomary one in mind." Atemu turned to look at Seth for the first time. Despite his words, his voice was hollow. "Mahado was not only my priest, Seth. He was my friend. We were children together."
Atemu seemed like a stranger even as he spoke, his expression as blank as the mask of a sarcophagus. "He was a prince among men," he said, "and now he is gone, snuffed out like a candle. He has crossed to death's other kingdom before his time."
Seth took a moment to choose his words. "I realize that. It is a loss to all of us."
Atemu turned awat again.
"I trusted him, Seth," Atemu said, voice oddly flat. "More than I trust anyone. More than I trust you."
Seth didn't reply. Atemu's confession felt like a betrayal. Of course, Mahado had been a paragon of virtue. Yet Seth was family. Their fates were bound together, blood on blood, as the Gods had decreed. Did that mean nothing to the Pharaoh?
"More than that," Atemu went on, "the murderer has made profane what was sacred. He took Mahado's life in Aknamkanon's tomb itself. My father's immortal resting place has been defiled by death."
Seth made no response. He knew it was true.
"Executing him will not lift that stain," the Pharaoh said, "nor will it bring Mahado back. But, by Ra, I will make him know the meaning of pain before he dies."
Seth opened his mouth to say something, then realized there was nothing to be said. The Pharaoh's words hung in the air, heavy with invisible weight. Atemu turned his back on his cousin and walked away quietly, disappearing into the shadows of the inner chamber like a ghost.
Seth's soul was troubled, and he remained where he was for a long while, watching over the silent city from above. In Nut's half-light, it looked like a necropolis. He wondered if the sleeping citizens were plagued by uneasy dreams, as he was, or whether their rest was the untroubled sleep of the innocent.
The arid landscape of the desert stretched beyond the city walls in all directions, and the dark sand stirred with rolling dunes. It was like a dry ocean, infinite and restless, and in the middle of it all, Seth suddenly felt very small. He tried to form a prayer to whatever God was still awake. But his voice came out an uncertain whisper, and when he closed his eyes, the only images his mind could summon were faces with eyes that were hypnotized and lost - strange faces made of broken stone.
ʘ
On some profound level, Malik knew he must seem like a complete gutless coward. He certainly felt like one at any rate.
This did not prevent him from staying out by the fire pit until most of the thieves had gone to bed. It was now silent in the cave. The moon was directly overhead in the night sky outside. The horses slept where they stood. He had waited for someone to tell him what to do, and when it finally became clear that no-one would (unless the horses outside suddenly started giving orders) Malik decided that one of two options lay before him.
Either he could go into Akefia's chamber and make some sort of formal apology. Knowing him, he would get scared, go into a cold sweat, and start stuttering, sounding like a total fool and probably making no sense whatsoever. The Thief King would then either a) say something terrifying, b) make fun of him, c) kick him out or d) maim him. Or any combination thereof – none of which seemed too appealing. Malik suspected Akefia wouldn't kill him (since, after all, he had had the chance) but nothing was certain.
His other option was to lay low until – Ra willing – the Thief King forgot about the whole thing. This, of course, would entail staying where he was all night. Malik had decided to refer to this location as "the main cave" for lack of any better name. The smaller caves Malik already thought of as "rooms" or "chambers" because frankly, it felt somewhat barbaric to say, "Oh, Nefermaat's gone off to his cave to sleep," or "Tell Siamun to come out of his cave."
In any case, Malik thought, his somewhat frazzled mind returning to the problem at hand, it's a no-brainer. He would stay put by the fire pit, and hopefully, when he woke up, the Thief King wouldn't be too mad and things would go back to the way they were. There was one lamp burning next to the wall a short distance off – it was possible to see the interior of the cave, but only dimly. With a sigh, Malik settled back against one of the benches, hoping he would be able to sleep. Sure, it was uncomfortable, he thought drily, but what was a sore back in the morning compared to the very real threat of severe bodily harm?
Hardly had he congratulated himself on having made the decision, however, when there was the rustle of a curtain being pulled aside, and soft footsteps stole up behind him. The footsteps paused for a moment, and then, of all things, whoever it was started to laugh.
All of the thieves, Malik had noticed, walked noiselessly (no matter how loud they were being in other respects) but only one of them had that distinctive laugh Malik heard right now. That laugh could be cold and sharp as a knife blade, dripping with disdain, yet it would also sometimes burst free, unrestrained and warm, full of mirth and a teasing hint of mischief. The Thief King's laugh changed like the faces of the moon.
"Am I interrupting a private moment?" Akefia asked. Malik could hear the smile in his voice.
"No," Malik replied, doing his best not to sound anxious. He was still staring ahead at the wet coals in the fire pit. "Not at all."
"In that case, I'm obliged to ask what it is you're doing out here all by yourself." Akefia crouched next to Malik, bringing their faces to the same level – the way you would crouch next to a small child when you want to seem like you're taking them seriously.
Malik chanced a look. In the dimness, Akefia's skin looked darker than it normally did, especially contrasted with his pale hair that looked almost luminous, and the white gleam of his smile. He didn't look angry anymore, Malik noticed with surprise. His grey eyes glimmered with amusement, and it was with frustration that Malik found himself wondering (not for the first time) what exactly it was that Akefia found so funny about him.
"Um," Malik replied. "Settling down for the night?"
"Might need a knife then," Akefia said thoughtfully. "Scorpions tend to like to settle in here too when the sun goes down."
Malik's eyes widened in horror. He hadn't considered the possibility that Teti-En's enchantment might not work on animals. He had a sudden, obscenely clear vision of a clean-picked skeleton in the fire pit the next morning…
"Of course, on the off chance you decide you want to live to see dawn," Akefia went on, smirking at the dismayed look on the noble's face, "you are always welcome to stay with me."
Malik looked at him again, stunned. "Really?" he asked.
The thief raised an eyebrow. "Unless there's something else about you I need to be informed of…"
Malik couldn't deny he was a little thrown off. The last time he'd seen Akefia, the man had looked about ready to murder him, and now…he was actually inviting Malik to share his room? Did he remember the previous incident at all?
"It's just," Malik began, somewhat hesitantly, "I, uh." See? I knew it. Stuttering again, you fool.
"Yes?" said Akefia patiently.
"I'm very sorry for rearranging your papyri and I wanted to apologize and it won't happen again and I realize that -"
"Stop," the Thief King interrupted. Malik stopped.
"Take a breath," the Thief King said. Malik took a breath.
"Forget about it," the Thief King told him levelly. "You didn't know any better. It wasn't your fault."
Malik let the breath out. He was surprised to find he suddenly had the urge to embrace Akefia. Needless to say, he didn't.
Akefia continued, his tone serious. "The important thing is, you didn't take anything. That's one of two rules around here – you can rob anyone else blind for all I care, but don't try stealing anything from me. Trying is as far as you'll get."
"Okay." That made Malik feel a little better. Stealing wasn't really in his nature, so as far as rules went, it was very easy to abide by. "What's the other rule?"
"Do whatever I tell you to do." Akefia grinned at him.
"Oh," said Malik, a little uneasy. "Well, that clears things up."
"Doesn't it, though? " Akefia rose to his feet.
"Wait," said Malik suddenly. He felt the urge to say something to the Thief King, something that had been weighing on his mind that entire evening. Now, he supposed, was as good a time as any to bring it up.
"Yes? What is it?"
Malik went on uncertainly. "I wanted to thank you for what you did earlier…"
Akefia turned to look at him with a frown. "You mean scaring the living daylights out of you?"
"No, not that…" He continued, sounding doubtful even to his own ears. "I meant, you know, saving me when the Pharaoh's men came. Thanks." He forced himself to look up and meet Akefia's eyes, lest the thief think he was insincere.
His words seemed to hang in the air. There was a moment's pause and then Akefia looked away.
"I vowed to your sister that I would let you come to no harm," he replied simply. "I swore it on Isis' name. It is not a promise I intend to take lightly."
"Oh."
Malik felt let down, disappointed for some reason. Why? What had he been hoping for exactly? Akefia was no Ishizu. Of course, Malik was a mere inconvenience to him, not even important enough to provoke any sincere annoyance. Of course, he was only honoring his oath. It would never to do to forget that without that promise, the thief would probably have slit Malik's throat by now. That, or left him to die in the desert.
For some twisted reason, Malik had to suppress a laugh. Everything he had ever known and loved was gone in a snatch, evaporating like the dew at sunrise. In all likelihood, he would never again see his sister, never again walk the streets he had known as a child. The self he had known was different too. He had become strange to himself, withdrawn and subdued, full of doubts and fears, and yet, somehow, it was all the same – he had just changed hands, being foisted off to the next person like so much useless contraband. Just something else I'll have to acclimate to. Funny how hard it is to get used to something that doesn't change…
"Get some sleep," said Akefia abruptly.
With that, he turned and walked away, soon fading into the dimness. For all the swagger in his step, he was almost silent on his feet. There was a rustle of a curtain, and the sound of two lowered voices in conversation a moment later. The other voice Malik recognized as belonging to Aminadav.
With a sigh, Malik rose to his feet as well, stifling a yawn, and made his way to the red curtain. What else could he do? He was at a standstill. He hadn't decided to come here, and to leave suddenly, to run away, would be nothing less than pure folly. He was stuck, for better or worse.
He pushed aside the red curtain, and the room was as he remembered it. There was the divan, the harp, the statue of Anubis; the papyri were messily stacked in a corner of the room, a few leafs scattered here and there - Akefia had apparently been reading. Malik suddenly felt guilty; the thief was clearly more learned than he'd given him credit for. Several oil lamps were lit, casting a warm glow on the rock walls. The air had a sense of apprehension, as if the room were waiting for its occupant to return.
After a moment of deliberation, Malik decided to take the floor instead of the divan. Although the night was cold, he chose not to hazard taking a blanket. The tunic he was wearing was practically a blanket anyway. He curled up by the wall, cushioned his head on his arm comfortably, and let his eyes fall closed.
The lamps were still aflame, and a warm golden light filled his vision behind his shuttered eyelids. It was soothing, though, and a delicious slumberous torpor filled his limbs. The worries of the day began to depart from his mind, leaving in their wake a calm as soft as a pillow filled with down.
Malik had almost fallen asleep when Akefia came back.
The room looked empty at first, but almost immediately the thief noticed Malik on the floor, curled up facing the wall with his eyes closed peacefully, covered by nothing save his tunic. He looked downright pitiful. Akefia heaved a sigh.
"You're not sleeping there, Majesty."
Malik kept his eyes closed, pretending he hadn't heard Akefia.
"Nice try, Majesty. I know you're awake."
With what felt like a gargantuan effort, Malik opened his eyes and looked up. Akefia was standing by the entrance, arms crossed, looking down at him impatiently. "Move," he said shortly.
"Thank you very much, but I'm quite comfortable here," Malik mumbled politely, stifling a yawn. His brain was moving rather slowly. He really didn't want to get up.
"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Akefia said indulgently. He pointed to where Malik was. "That's where I sleep. And that is where you sleep." He pointed to the divan.
Malik remained where he was. Etiquette had always taught him to be an unassuming guest, so taking the floor felt automatic to him. It was simple courtesy, wasn't it? The divan was the only other place to sleep. Akefia had let him sleep there while he was away, but why would it be there at all if it wasn't where Akefia usually slept himself?
That, and he really didn't want to move.
"I'm fine, really," he replied.
Akefia glared down at him, one eyebrow raised. "You're just as stubborn as your sister, aren't you?"
Malik tried to avoid the glare. He already felt guilty enough for imposing on Akefia's hospitality, and no matter what the thief said, he'd be damned if he'd take up the only comfortable spot in the room. He suspected it was a trap in any case – Akefia would trick him into sleeping on the damn thing, only to make some sardonic comment about privileged nobles, and then he'd feel even more guilty for the rest of the night and probably not be able to sleep. No thanks.
Akefia indicated the divan. Malik turned toward the wall again and closed his eyes, somehow hoping that maybe Akefia would just disappear and he would be left in peace…
Akefia growled with impatience and stalked across the room so he was by Malik's side, looming menacingly over the smaller noble. "You'd better get used to taking orders, Majesty. I don't take kindly to insolence."
"But you're just going to make fun of me again," Malik protested.
Akefia had to suppress a smile. "That's what this is all about?"
Malik was about to reply that it was a perfectly legitimate suspicion, given the events of the night thus far, when Akefia shrugged off his robe and tossed it to the back of the room, where it landed irreverently on the statue of Anubis.
Then, to Malik's total and utter shock, he felt the Thief King lie down beside him.
Akefia pulled a blanket over the both of them and made himself comfortable as if nothing at all were amiss.
Malik twisted around blinked at him. "What on earth are you doing?"
Akefia crossed his arms behind his head and glanced at Malik, an amused expression on his handsome features. "Well, Majesty, if you refuse to leave what amounts to my bed," he replied, "I can only assume it's because you want to be here." The Thief King chuckled. "I must say, I admire your directness…"
Malik sat bolt upright, indignant. "You know perfectly well I didn't mean it like that."
"So what did you mean? Enlighten me."
Malik found himself at a complete loss for words. For once, he yearned to respond with something witty and biting, yet due to the fact he was thoroughly thrown off balance, a reply eluded him. Usually it was the other way around…
"You know, you turn pink an awful lot," Akefia observed smoothly.
Malik realized with horror that he was indeed blushing. "Well, whose fault is that?" he demanded, flustered.
"No need to get defensive, Majesty," Akefia murmured, smirking and pulling him back down so they were facing each other. "I don't mind if you stay."
Malik found that he didn't resist at all for some reason and inwardly cursed himself. But for a brief, confused moment in which he didn't feel entirely himself, he wondered if it would really be all that bad to just give up, to stay there…after all it was a cold night, and Akefia's body next to his was warm…
The Thief King had the aroma of something exotic, something dangerous. The heavy, perfumed scent of black opium surrounded him, wood smoke from the fire - and there was something else too, something that Malik knew, but couldn't quite place…
Malik looked up to find Akefia gazing at him, leaning on his elbow, a smile still gracing his lips. Hypnotized, like a cobra before the snake charmer, he found himself unable to look away. They were very close. Dimly, he realized that the Thief King's hand was resting on his side, heavy and strong. He could feel its heat through his tunic. The air seemed to have gotten thick.
"It's a little warm in here, isn't it?" Malik managed to say (rather unintelligently, he thought).
"On the contrary," replied the Thief King. "It's freezing." Was it just his imagination, or did Akefia pull him a little closer?
It was definitely not his imagination when Akefia's hand wandered further down. A teasing thumb began to trace slowly along the bone of his hip that always seemed to jut out at an odd angle, leaving a strange sensation in its wake - a warm tingle that ran along Malik's skin.
Although his touch was soft, Malik's breath stopped in his throat for a moment and a tremor of fear seemed to pass through him like a vapor.
It was only for a brief moment, a split second really – but Akefia saw how Malik's eyes suddenly grew distant before his expression returned, vague and troubled. He let his hand slip away as Malik hurriedly got to his feet and withdrew to the other side of the room.
The noble stood for an awkward moment in deliberation before sheepishly deciding to sit on the divan. The apprehension had passed as soon as it had come.
"You win," Malik muttered under his breath, not meeting Akefia's eyes.
Akefia grinned and threw a blanket at him. "Quite an ordeal getting you to leave, I have to say."
Malik's eyes widened. He was just screwing with me the whole time…
"Maybe," said Akefia, "you'll listen to me next time."
Malik lay down in a huff. He really didn't appreciate being manipulated…but he couldn't deny on some level he felt relief. Relief that Akefia hadn't been serious, relief that he might be able to put it out of his mind.
The shadows from the oil lamps flickered on the domed ceiling of the rock cave. Malik lay and watched the dancing light diminish as one by one, Akefia blew out the lamps. The darkness encroached as shadows grew from the corners of the room. There went a lamp, there went another, extinguished by a gust of air, plunged into darkness by something as insubstantial as a breath.
Akefia picked up the last lamp and was about to blow it out when Malik stopped him.
"Wait," he said, somewhat sharply. "Would you mind leaving it on?"
Akefia shrugged. "Not at all." He put the lamp on the floor in the middle of the room. "Afraid of the dark, Majesty?"
Malik didn't reply. The light was just strong enough to faintly illuminate most of the cave. He could make out the thief, a short distance away, the sheen of the curtain, the dull gleam of the treasure in the corner.
"I'm not afraid," he said finally.
"I'd recommend being truthful with me, Majesty," Akefia said. Malik was looking away, but he could see him out of the corner of his eye. "If not, we may run into difficulties up the road."
"You can trust me," Malik told him. And it was true – he wasn't afraid. Not really. He was watchful, that was all.
"Trust you?" Akefia chuckled. "I don't trust anyone. Why you think I should trust you?"
"I'm honest," Malik said. He shrugged. "I have no reasons to lie."
"And you can tell me anything you want," Akefia replied, "but it doesn't make it true. I could say I was honest too, but would you believe me?"
"Probably, at least until you proved me otherwise."
Malik became aware of Akefia studying him. "All that means," the Thief King said at length, "is that you're lucky you've got someone smart looking out for you."
"Couldn't it also mean that you can be honest if you want?"
"If I want?" Akefia raised an eyebrow. "But, Majesty, therein lies the quandary. If being honest is something you can choose, doesn't that make everyone who chooses to be honest necessarily duplicitous by nature?"
Malik paused. He had never really considered this before. He wasn't about to back down, though. It was a matter of principle.
"Depressing, isn't it?" said the Thief King.
"No, it's honest."
He met Akefia's eyes, and was quick enough to register a look of surprise. And then the Thief King smiled in that way he had, lazy like a cat in the sun.
"That depends on how you choose to define honesty," he said, "and if we start talking about that, I suspect we'll be up most of the night." He yawned. "I propose we forgo this discussion at least until tomorrow."
Malik could have gone on arguing about compromised choices, big truths and small truths and everything in between, but his eyelids were growing heavy and it was hard to keep up with the pace of Akefia's mind.
"Get some rest," he heard Akefia say. His voice was muffled, and Malik could tell he was already half-asleep.
Sleep came more slowly to Malik, this night like most nights. The glow of the lamp was reassuring, but as the light changed, flickered and burned, so did the shadows in the corners of the room. Of course he wasn't afraid, but it was still hard to keep his eyes away from the walls. Malik wrapped the blanket around himself more tightly – it was made of wool, rough but warm. If he kept looking at the walls, he knew, sleep would never come, so instead he watched the steady rise and fall of the Thief King's back. Under the quiet sound of Akefia's breathing, he could hear the sound of the wind rising outside. Time passed, and slowly, Malik drifted off into a troubled slumber of his own.
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