Chapter 170: It Was Enough

They woke slowly, tangled in the sheets, morning light filtering soft through the curtains.

"Morning."

Malik was the first to murmur, his voice rough with sleep.

Layla stretched beside him, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Morning."

Malik sat up, running a hand through his hair, and glanced around the room for his clothes.

He spotted a cupboard across the room and figured it was as good a place as any to find a fresh towel.

"Mind if I—"

"Wait—"

Too late.

He’d already pulled the door open before Layla finished the sentence, and whatever she’d meant to say died somewhere in her throat.

Bottles.

Dozens of them, crammed onto every shelf, some empty, some half-full, dark glass glinting dully in the morning light.

The stale smell hit him a second later, the particular scent of something that had been hidden away but never quite contained.

Malik didn’t say anything at first.

He just looked.

Layla scrambled up behind him, pulling a robe around her shoulders, words tumbling out before he’d even turned around:

"It’s not what it looks like, I mean, it is, but it’s not as bad as—those are old, mostly, I haven’t—"

She stopped.

Malik turned to face her, saying nothing, just waiting.

The silence stretched long enough that Layla’s excuses finally ran dry, the fight draining out of her all at once.

"I relapsed. I’m sorry."

Malik didn’t respond right away.

A memory surfaced instead, unbidden, pulling his attention somewhere far from this room.

Layla, years ago, after Rehan’s death, her father’s blood still fresh enough that she hadn’t learned how to breathe around the absence of him yet. He remembered leaving her then, back when he still thought leaving was the kind thing to do, handing over whatever money he could spare before walking away from the wreckage he hadn’t known how to fix.

That was the first time he saw her pick up a bottle, and it was the last...

Or so he wished.

Malik studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, searching her face for whatever answer he actually needed.

"Will you stop?"

A simple question.

There was no anger in it, or judgment, only a plain honesty he always defaulted to when something actually mattered.

Layla’s eyes welled up almost instantly, and she nodded desperately.

"Yes. I will. I promise, I’ll stop, I—"

Malik softened, reaching out to rest a hand against her cheek, quieting her before the promise could spiral further.

"Let’s go."

That was all he said.

He gave no lecture.

He demanded no proof.

An offer was what he gave.

It said that he believed her enough to move forward without needing to watch over her shoulder every hour of the day. He trusted her, and trusted that after today, this matter would never be brought up again.

Layla let out a shaky breath and nodded again, quieter this time.

Together they got dressed for the day ahead.

...

The Owl’s Gardens stretched wide and golden under the late morning Suns, trees heavy with leaves the color of molten metal, their branches shedding a slow drift of gold onto the grass below.

It was, without question, one of the most beautiful places in the entire Sultanate, reserved mostly for private family outings, kept quiet and secluded by design.

Malik sat beneath one of the largest trees, a blanket spread out beneath him, Layla close at his side.

Amal ran circles nearby, chasing after Sinbad as he flew low, teasing her with lazy swoops just out of reach, his crimson feathers catching the light beautifully as he dodged her grasping hands.

A handful of the younger disciples had tagged along too, laughing somewhere near the garden’s edge, their voices carrying faintly on the breeze.

It was peaceful.

Genuinely, rarely peaceful, an afternoon Malik hadn’t allowed himself in longer than he cared to count.

Naturally, he decided the only way to improve it was to spin the Wheel.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

DING!

—

{Journal Fragment — Cyrus’s Diary 3/?}

—

Another piece of the old Sultan’s diary.

Layla’s eyes caught the item the moment it materialized, recognition flickering across her face.

A complicated expression settled into her face.

Malik didn’t comment on it.

He simply opened the fragment and skimmed through, mostly amused by how consistently ridiculous the contents tended to be.

[I just had dinner with that fat slug from the Western Merchant’s Faction. Disgusting bastard. I hate pretending to like him, but he has gold... for now.

...

A few southern tribes rebelled. Again. Why can’t they just roll over and die if they think my rule is so dangerous to Fam Iblis? I’ll send Shimr to handle it. If he does, it saves me the headache. If he dies, well, even better.

...

That merchant from the Sapphire Road thinks he can swindle me? Me? Tried to offer me glass painted like gems. Fool. Had him dragged home by the ears. His daughter though... hmm.

...

That daughter was a bad call. I’ll sleep with that tall dancer from the festival, get rid of this bad taste.

...

She was even worse. Awful, half-dead, and no rhythm. Just a waste of coin. That monster I had all those years ago was better... Actually, now that I reminisce a little, the taste of that humanoid wasn’t all that bad.

Might’ve even tried a Demon back then if they weren’t so ugly.

...

Shimr’s still breathing. Pity. I keep hoping one of his gambling escapades gets him stabbed in some alley. I’d have paid someone to do it if not for his Jinn.

...

Rashid came crying about his son again. ’He’s sick! He’s dying!’ Good. One less heir to fight over scraps when I’m gone. All these children, but almost none of them are useful.

...

The Grand Vizier wants me to reconsider the taxes. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard.

...

It seems I’ve found a new concubine; she’s beautiful and dumb as stone. Perfect...

...

She was an assassin.

...

Today I sent a few Hashashins after that merchant who introduced her. The bastard refused to sell me his vineyard, too. Hopefully they make it slow. His wine wasn’t even that good.

...

My bastard brother died... it was a close call; I almost had to help him at the end.

...

His death caused a lot more instability than expected. It was annoying, so I left. Many of my blood followed me, but thankfully, Naeem stayed behind. Unlike Shimr, he’s got a good brain in him, so I trust he’ll take care of the North...

Funny how his daughter abandoned him, though.

...

I lost my snake; how unfortunate.

The boy freed them, but a few days in, and they’re already fucking up.]

Malik called the book away, sighing.

’That was a waste of time.’

Beside him, Layla watched the leaves fall, her expression distant for a moment, clearly chewing over whatever that diary had stirred up.

Malik didn’t press.

Some ghosts needed time before they were ready to be spoken about.

He leaned back against the tree instead, watching Amal finally catch Sinbad by the tail feathers, the two of them tumbling together into a pile of golden leaves, laughter ringing out clear across the garden.

For now, that was enough.