Freya stood with Malik in the dark, watching the rest of their companions disappear into the grass. He sighed and looked at her.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't know how to navigate by the stars. We should make camp for the night, set out in the morning."
"Jentsi use landmarks and memories, not stars," Freya said. "Camp would be a good idea. We could use the clearing Cerridwen made." Malik swallowed. "I'll wipe away the markings. It should be safe."
He nodded. "I'll try and find some thick grass to use as firewood."
A little while later, they were settled into their bedrolls next to a small fire fed by the thickest stalks of the grass that surrounded them. They had camped at the furthest edge of the circle, the terror of what Cerridwen did earlier still fresh in their minds. Malik hadn't spoken to her the entire time they were setting up camp.
"I should check your bandage," Malik said.
He pushed his blankets aside and crawled over to her. He took her slender wrist in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. She looked away to avoid seeing her own blood. She winced as he unwound the makeshift gauze, the fabric sticking to the wound.
"Sorry," he said, grimacing. "It looks much better. And it's not swollen, thankfully."
He reached back for his canteen and dumped some water on a clean square of fabric, gently wiping away the dried blood. His eyes widened.
"What is it?" Freya asked. Was it infected? Were her bones broken, as he had suspected?
Malik shook is head. "It's . . . it's nearly healed. Look."
The mangled mass of skin was nearly smoothed over, only the deepest puncture wounds still oozing a little dark blood. The gashes were scabbed over, and her wrist lay straight.
"Wow," she breathed, turning her wrist over. The skin was still tender, but she could touch her wrist without writhing in pain.
"Do you always heal this fast?" Malik asked, looking at her with wide eyes.
"I don't know. I've never really been injured like this before," Freya said.
"Oh, come now. You never had a scraped knee, or fell out of a tree or something?"
"I've had scrapes and bruises before, but . . . I don't know. I guess I never paid attention."
Malik frowned, studying her forearm. Finally, he shrugged and began to wrap clean bandages around the wounds. He kept his eyes down, saying nothing.
She stared intently at his face, willing him to look at her. He had been acting so strange ever since the party decided to go to Thrael. She had waited all day for him to tell her what Cerridwen had whispered to her, or to explain why he insisted on going with her, even though he wasn't supposed to.
She knew he was born in Thrael, and that he left. But from what she knew of Thrael, it was a relatively benign place; isolated, but benign. She had heard they had some sort of council rather than just one king and queen, which intrigued her. She thought that sounded more fair, and that was how the Jentsi usually decided things -- well, the rare times they did decide things as a group.
She frowned. She had shared her home with him, told him everything. She thought he would have run after seeing the Jentsi and knowing that she had been raised by them, that she was one of them. Yet here he was, next to her.
What was he not telling her?
"You really didn't have to come with me. You know I can take care of myself," Freya said, breaking the thick silence. She watched his expression carefully. She knew his face so well, but lately it was unreadable to her.
"Please. You think you could've wrapped this yourself? Besides, I don't like the idea of you wandering around dangerous places alone," Malik said as he finished the bandage, tying it off with a small knot. He put his supplies away and crawled back to his bedroll. He still wouldn't look at her.
She decided to be more direct. "What did Cerridwen say to you?"
"What do you mean?" he said, struggling to maintain an even tone. He began picking at a stray thread on his blanket.
"Before we left. She leaned in and said something to you."
"I don't remember."
She sucked in a breath. They had been friends for almost six years, since they were children. She had told him everything, trusted him with everything. He was the only person she had let in, the only person worth being scared for. But apparently she didn't mean as much to him as he did to her.
"Don't you trust me?" Malik was silent. Her gut twisted. "You said we were like family. Was that all just a lie? Do I actually mean anything to you?"
He sat up and looked at her, finally. "What? Freya, you're everything to me," he cried. She looked at him, her gut twisting in a very different way. Perhaps it was just the shadows playing tricks on her, but he seemed to flush. He looked away quickly. "I -- I just mean, I meant what I said. I trust you, as much as I can trust anyone. But you have to understand, I -- I grew up surrounded by women who hurt me, told me I was good for nothing but manual labor and -- and fertilizer."
She paused. Did they really treat men that way? Perhaps Thrael wasn't as benign as she thought.
"But I've never done any of that. I'm not them. You know I'm not like them," she said quietly. How could he think she would ever treat him that way?
"I know, I know, but it doesn't matter what I know. It's hard to stop thinking like this. To stop fearing that deep down, you're like them too -- that you're all the same. I know it's not fair, or logical . . ."
His face contorted, and for a brief moment, she thought he might cry. She watched as emotions played across his face, vulnerable and unguarded. She had never seen him this way, and it broke her heart as much as hearing that he didn't trust her. She almost regretted asking him about his past.
She was angry and hurt. But she had opened the floodgates, put him in all of this pain. She took deep breaths and tried to understand.
Freya reached out and touched his arm. "When I was a child, I desperately wanted a dog. Lots of Jentsi had them, I didn't understand why we couldn't have one too. But my mother was terrified of them, even the nicest, gentlest dogs. All because one bit her when she was a child. It's like that, yeah?"
His jaw went slack, and he stared at her for a long time. Eventually, he nodded. "Yes, a lot like that."
"It's okay," she said. "I just hope you know that you can trust me." She smiled and squeezed his arm before letting it go and rolling over, putting her back to him. She didn't want him to see her struggle with the sadness and anger she felt.
She heard Malik sigh. "She told me I couldn't run from my past forever."
She rolled back over. He was still sitting up, staring at her. He looked terrified.
"What exactly is your past?"
He shrugged. "My life in Thrael. Most people don't leave. And those who leave rarely go back."
"Why not?"
He picked at his bedroll, winding the loose strands around his fingers. "The way we are taught to think. About the world, about women, men, their place in it. It doesn't fit well in other places. And so we don't fit well in other places."
"So why leave?" Freya asked. She had left her home, but not voluntarily, and she missed it every day. She understood the fear of going back, but she suspected Malik's fear was different than hers.
He was quiet. Freya had never seen him look so lost. Ever since she'd known him, he'd always had something snarky right on the tip of his tongue. His face was always perfectly composed, even in the worst circumstances. His calmness had kept her steady through the most trying times in her life. She wasn't used to being the rock; it was unsettling.
Malik cleared his throat. "There was a rebellion. Some men didn't want to be subservient anymore. I had just turned thirteen, and my mother had betrothed me to a girl I barely knew. So I joined the rebels, not realizing what I was getting myself into." He swallowed hard. "The men barricaded the streets and readied for battle. They were crushed. There was fire, and screaming, and . . ." He sniffed, wrapping the strands tighter around his fingers until the skin around them turned purple.
"How did you escape?"
"I was a coward," he whispered. "I ran. I ran, and I left them all there to die."
Freya blinked. "But you were just a child, weren't you? How could anyone expect a child to fight in a war?"
"There were other children. I was a teenager, anyway. By Thrael standards I was almost a man." His voice was rough, like the words were clawing their way out of his throat.
"You were so young, you couldn't --"
"Don't. Don't try and justify it," he said sharply. Freya felt sick. She had no idea what to say, how to take away his pain.
"So you fled the city during the chaos, and . . . and then what?"
"I ran through the country for a while. Almost starved and froze to death. I'm not really sure how, but I got to the coast and boarded the first ship that would take me. They dumped me off in Ludovic, and well, you know the rest." He sniffed and rubbed at his face.
"Malik, I . . . I don't . . ."
"You don't have to say anything. I know what you must think of me."
She felt like an imbecile. She understood why he hadn't told her now. She was scared of how people would react to her past, but she was never ashamed to be Jentsi -- it was a part of her. Malik was ashamed of something he had chosen to do, and the guilt -- she couldn't imagine the weight of the guilt he carried.
She sighed. "I think . . . I think that you're scared. You always seemed so brave, I never realized that you could be scared. But you are, you're scared and lonely like me." She laughed to herself. "You know, for the longest time, I never thought we had much in common. I thought we were friends out of necessity."
"Necessity?" Malik asked. "You mean you've just been tolerating me this whole time?" It took Freya a moment to recognize his usual sarcasm, and when she did, she laughed, grateful for the out.
"Oh yes, don't you know I secretly can't stand you?" she shot back.
They laughed together, and then silence gently settled over them. Whatever emotions had poured from Malik were now locked tightly away once more.
"Well. We should really get some sleep," Malik said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, we should," she agreed. They settled down into their bedrolls. "Hey. Thank you for telling me."
His face was unreadable in the dwindling firelight. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."
"It's alright." She snuggled in deeper to her blankets, trying to ward off the chill that had settled once the sun had gone down. "Good night, Malik."
"Good night," he said softly.
Freya drifted off quickly, the crackling of the embers lulling her to sleep. Just before she slipped into dreams, she thought she heard Malik whisper something.
"I love you."