There was that hint of Altair’s old arrogance, and Malik felt the echo of his hatred coil in the pit of his stomach. He let go of Altair’s hand, unsure if he had been deliberate or involuntarily repulsed.
“We are all doing our parts,” he said evenly— because if Altair responded in any supercilious way, he would be forced to raise his voice, crowd be damned. “Harith performs his duty admirably, given the circumstances.”
For one awful moment, Altair’s expression turned dark, a stubborn line pressed between his lips. He was a fighter through and through, Malik thought with a mingled sense of resentment and admiration, and years of haughtiness could not be undone so easily. Yet after that quick flash of ugliness in Altair’s eyes, his chin lowered, fractionally, and his gaze drifted to the space between their hands.
With some satisfaction, Malik saw that the Grand Master’s cheeks had turned ruddy, as if he realized what he had said and was ashamed by it.
“I may have spoken on haste,” Altair admitted, sounding a little mortified but entirely sincere. The scrolls crackled under his arm, almost crushed, but Malik supposed that he would have to forgive Altair this time.
“You are not to tell me who I can or cannot give assistance to,” he said, a gentle reminder rather than a reprimand, and took Altair’s hand to continue walking.
“I’ll remember that,” Altair said with a flicker of relief in his features that Malik chose to ignore.
They reached the Bureau in silence. Altair took to the roof’s entrance, possibly impatient to talk with the rafiq, leaving Malik to take the longer route with the hidden passageway. When he finally slipped inside, he saw Altair exchanging a few quiet words with Harith in the main chamber, the stained feather twirling between his fingers. The scent of citrus was oddly strong over the usual cloying incense.
With a frown, Malik checked his bag and found that one of his oranges was gone. He glanced at Altair, irritated, but unwilling to interrupt his conversation with the rafiq. Altair caught his glare and gestured over to the front table where he had set down Malik’s maps and the missing orange.
“Well then,” Malik muttered to himself, and picked up the freshly peeled orange, though one section was conspicuously absent.
He supposed that he couldn’t tell Altair who to help out either.
Maintaining This Distance [2/2]
“We are all doing our parts,” he said evenly— because if Altair responded in any supercilious way, he would be forced to raise his voice, crowd be damned. “Harith performs his duty admirably, given the circumstances.”
For one awful moment, Altair’s expression turned dark, a stubborn line pressed between his lips. He was a fighter through and through, Malik thought with a mingled sense of resentment and admiration, and years of haughtiness could not be undone so easily. Yet after that quick flash of ugliness in Altair’s eyes, his chin lowered, fractionally, and his gaze drifted to the space between their hands.
With some satisfaction, Malik saw that the Grand Master’s cheeks had turned ruddy, as if he realized what he had said and was ashamed by it.
“I may have spoken on haste,” Altair admitted, sounding a little mortified but entirely sincere. The scrolls crackled under his arm, almost crushed, but Malik supposed that he would have to forgive Altair this time.
“You are not to tell me who I can or cannot give assistance to,” he said, a gentle reminder rather than a reprimand, and took Altair’s hand to continue walking.
“I’ll remember that,” Altair said with a flicker of relief in his features that Malik chose to ignore.
They reached the Bureau in silence. Altair took to the roof’s entrance, possibly impatient to talk with the rafiq, leaving Malik to take the longer route with the hidden passageway. When he finally slipped inside, he saw Altair exchanging a few quiet words with Harith in the main chamber, the stained feather twirling between his fingers. The scent of citrus was oddly strong over the usual cloying incense.
With a frown, Malik checked his bag and found that one of his oranges was gone. He glanced at Altair, irritated, but unwilling to interrupt his conversation with the rafiq. Altair caught his glare and gestured over to the front table where he had set down Malik’s maps and the missing orange.
“Well then,” Malik muttered to himself, and picked up the freshly peeled orange, though one section was conspicuously absent.
He supposed that he couldn’t tell Altair who to help out either.