21. Chapter 21
We continued walking through the camp, our heads now bowed together as we studied Malik's men, their attention on us now layered with more than one meaning.
"Do you think the mainland men have made their way here?" I asked Malik, my eyes now scanning everyone we passed, the little trust I had begun to build in Malik's men dissipating with each passing moment.
I saw the weariness on his face then as he took in his camp and the men that occupied it.
"These people have never been outside of Uscal, so naturally, they are curious about a native to Wellea," Malik said. "But what they were saying about the king . . ."
"But they know about the Mother Blessed, right? Your mother taught them?"
Malik nodded. "She did. But being here, actually seeing the place where they come from, seeing Rida, it's different for them. Before, it was all a concept, and now that they are here, it's more real."
I nodded, adjusting the coat around my shoulders, Malik's hand flexing on my lower back as we made our way to a tent near the back of the camp, this one far larger than all the others.
It was close to a thicket of trees that rustled as we neared, the nimid trees reaching towards me, their movements catching my eye.
I did not know much about this part of Wellea, was not even sure exactly where we were, only that we were closer to Rida, her power strong here. This part of the forest, near the back of the camp, called to me as Malik tugged my hand and guided me into the tent.
I had only made it a few steps inside before Malik was behind me, removing the coat his man had given me.
"It's fine," I said, grabbing to keep the coat around my shoulders.
"You do not need to be wearing other men's clothes," he said, moving my hands to take the coat off my shoulders.
"I'm sure it was innocent."
"And I'm sure it was not."
I suppressed a smile as he threw the coat into a corner of the tent and handed me his instead.
As much as we had grown in our time apart, it was apparent that not as much about Malik had changed as I thought.
Even now, standing in the middle of his camp surrounded by the men who had followed him into the unknown, I saw that he was still the same Malik—possessive and protective, ready to defend what was his until his dying breath.
Even a coat from another man was too much for him, a marker that I didn't fully belong to him.
He watched me closely as I wrapped his coat around me and took in the tent, this one vastly different from the one we were staying in.
The middle was made up of a long table surrounded by chairs, maps littering its surface.
Yet unlike a normal war table, this one had two chairs at the helm, one of standard dark wood, and the other more opulent, intricate carvings and metals lining its surface.
"The tent we are staying in is my personal tent. This," he said, gesturing to the space around him, "serves not only as our headquarters, for planning, but it's also where we receive messengers and the like."
I walked around the table, my hand skimming the backrests of the chair as walked, studying the maps and markers and plans laid about.
It was obvious this tent was well used since coming to Wellea, the half full cups, cloaks, and pens sprawled about an indicator of its recent use.
I could see Malik sitting here with his men, bent over maps with cups of ale, working late into the night, the scene so easy to picture.
I lingered near that second chair once I made my way to the head of the table, studying the metals and intricate carvings ingrained into the wood.
He gestured to it, looking at me, and said, “We kept the same traditions Sorrel had before we left, always keeping this chair open for my eventual wife.”
My heart jumped to my throat at his words, and I looked away quickly, swallowing as I willed my eyes to focus on absolutely anything else.
I could picture it. Me right next to him—commanding together—not cast to the side.
Things used to be the same in Sorrel, until Therian arrived, bringing with him the ways of the mainland, saying that the village needed one clear person in charge to show strength.
As such, he removed me from helm and placed me beside him, where I would not be seen or heard in any way that could distract from him and his authority.
I sat on the edge of the table, my eyes never leaving the chairs, taking in what life might have been if the Black Shroud hadn't happened all those years ago.
It hurt looking at the chair in Malik's tent, at the prospect that in another life, that is where I would sit.
That I would have been known as the lady of these men, their respect for Malik encompassing me not just because of my name, but because I would sit alongside them, fighting for what we all knew was right.
"What are you thinking?" Malik asked me, always watching.
I hesitated, fearful to speak the words. "I just . . . being here, seeing all of this, I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like if you never left."
Malik walked over to stand in front of where I sat on the table, his hands resting on the table on either side of me.
“I wonder too, all the time,” he said, now face-to-face with me.
I tilted my head to look up at him, my body growing warm at his nearness. I wanted nothing more than to collapse into him, to let go of everything I had been holding onto, to let someone else hold the weight for a little while.
"It's been so hard, Malik," I whispered, the words catching in my throat, fearful to let everything come to the surface.
Malik's eyes softened and he reached up, running his thumb over my cheek. I sucked in a breath at his proximity, at the feeling of his hand on my face, but did not move.
"Leaving wasn't easy, Lyra. You have to know that."
"But you still found these people who love you so much, who would do anything for you. You found your way." I was happy for Malik, I truly was, but I couldn't stop the grief that spread through my chest at the notion of a life just out of my grasp, one I could have had.
"You talk as if you haven't found yours," Malik said.
"I'm not sure I have. I've always done what others expected of me. Running from Sorrel with you was the first thing I've ever done for myself in my life and now . . ." I shrugged. "I'm seeing everything that could have been. And I've ignored it for so long that. . .it's hard to think about."
Malik didn't answer me, only continuing to caress my cheek as his eyes bounced between my own, trying so hard to read the thoughts that I could not make sense of myself. His gaze flicked down for just a second, coming back up with a new heat that I couldn't explain but found myself getting lost in.
"Lyra—" Malik started, only for the flap to the tent to open with a burst, causing us to jump apart, Malik's hand leaving my face in an instant.
"Sir!" We turned to find a young man with red hair standing at the front of the tent, his eyes wide and innocent as he looked at us.
"Duncan," Malik said, clearing his throat and standing up straight.
I hopped off the table next to him, my cheeks heating as Duncan smiled at me before turning back to Malik. "The council are wanting to speak with you now that you've recovered."
Malik huffed an agitated breath. "They can't wait?"
"No, they said it was urgent. They're outside right now."
Malik pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at me with an apology in his eyes. "Fine, let them in."
The cold of the winter outside the camp blew in as the council entered the tent, their eyes quickly finding me before jumping to Malik, their eyebrows raised in indignation.
The men all took their seats, looking at Malik and me and the chairs we stood next to, the tension now rising in the tent, thick and suffocating.
I took this as my cue to leave and started around the table, making my way towards the exit when Malik caught my hand.
"Lyra, you don't have to—"
"It's okay," I said, flashing him a weak smile.
"I'll see myself out, continue our walk on my own," I said, working my hand out of his.
I brushed past Malik's council as I left, my face still flushed and heart pounding, the weight of their eyes on me in his cloak, and breathed a sigh of relief as the flap of the tent closed silently behind me.