Hello! This is my first story. I've been reading everyone else's for a long time, and I thought it was time to try myself. Please give me feedback? I'd like to know what you think! ~OhEyal

Part I

"I need red ink."

At the sound of the brusque request, I glanced up from the mortar and pestle I was currently using to make blue ink. I was not expecting a man as young as the one in front of me to be the owner of such a voice. Perhaps it was not the voice, but the tone. He could not be much older than me, yet he wore the robes of a scholar. His dark almost black hair was a little unruly, and he was in need of a shave.

"Of course," I replied, politely as I could, and set down my tools to find a bottle of red ink. "I have two shades." I held out the two bottles, one a deep red, the color of an old wine, and the other a bright red, like fresh blood. "Do you have a preference?"

The man frowned for a moment at the two bottles before pointing to the brighter one. "That will suffice."

"Do you need anything else? Quills or other colors perhaps?"

"No," he grunted and dropped coins on the counter.

I had not even given him a price. I glanced down at the coins and shook my head. He was giving too much for a small bottle of ink. I quickly collected the extra coin and looked back up to him, but he was already gone.

.xXȮXx.

A few days later, the same curt tone startled me out of a daydream. He wanted black ink this time. I wrapped three bottles in a scrap of cloth for him.

"You gave me too many. I only want two." He tried to hand the third bottle back to me, but I shook my head.

"You paid too much last time," I said, smiling.

He frowned at me for a long moment before answering. "I am surprised you would not just keep the extra money and not speak of it."

I shrugged. "I do not think it fair to take more than what is mine."

He grimaced. "I do not want your pity."

"Nor do I want your charity," I replied, my tone harsher than it should be when speaking to a man. I bit the inside of my cheek while he arched an eyebrow.

"You have a sharp tongue," he said. I was surprised that he did not sound mad. At least, he did not sound any more mad that he had sounded before.

"I have been told," I said in a quieter tone. I should have also lowered my gaze, but I decided not to.

His dark eyes did not leave mine, but they held no challenge.

"Fine. I will take a third bottle, but do you have green? Or blue?"

I had both, but he chose the green and left without another word.

When I added the money he had given me to my pouch, I found that he had dropped in an extra coin while I was re-wrapping the bottles. He had overpaid again.

.xXȮXx.

It was over a week before I saw him again. It was early morning and many of the other merchants had not yet set up their wares. I almost did not notice him, sitting on a bench at the edge of the market, eating dried apricots from a small pouch in his lap.

It was the first time I noticed that he only had one arm. How I missed this before, I had no idea.

It was also the first time that I noticed that he was quite handsome. Perhaps I only noticed because he was not frowning this time. His features were sharp, angular, and strong. He seemed different than the pudgy merchants and soft men I was accustomed to seeing in the market.

Then he noticed me watching him, and he did frown. I smiled in response, although I knew better than to actually approach him. Instead, I turned back to my own wares and began to unpack for the day.

The man with one arm was my first customer.

"You overpaid again," I stated, before he could even tell me what he wanted.

He ignored my statement and asked for more red ink.

"Are you a scholar?" I asked as I wrapped his purchase in a scrap of fabric.

"Galila!" Hamid snapped at me. "Do not be nosy."

I bit my tongue to keep from snapping back. I had not noticed the other merchant was nearby. Though Hamid gave me a room to sleep in and a small space in the market next to him, I tried to avoid him as much as possible. Sometimes this was difficult.

The man with one arm scowled, whether at my question or at Hamid, I could not be sure.

He did not over pay this time.

.xXȮXx.

For months, the man with one arm came every few days to purchase a new bottle of ink or quills or rolls of blank parchment. I always tried to smile, hoping he might one day smile in return. We rarely spoke beyond what was needed for his purchases. Then one rainy afternoon, I had set up in the market without Hamid.

"Your husband sends you in the rain and does not come himself?"

At first, I did not know what he meant, so I answered simply, "I am a widow."

"I apologize," he muttered. "I assumed that you were married to the man who sells next to you."

I shook my head, realizing he was referring to Hamid. "Hamid is not my husband," I said, wrapping his purchases. "He just intrudes sometimes."

He actually intruded all of the time and I hated it, but I did not want to speak ill of him to a stranger. If it got back to Hamid, he would be angry.

"Farqad, in the lower market, his inks are cheaper than yours," the man said

"You are welcome to purchase from him," I shrugged and tied a string around his package.

"You are nicer than Farqad."

At that, I glanced up. After a heartbeat of shock at the kind words from the normally taciturn man, I snorted and answered, "That would be a compliment if Farqad did not have the personality of a rotten melon."

"You do have a sharp tongue," he chuckled. I found myself blushing at the smile he gave me.

.xXȮXx.

I began to notice a pattern in the man's purchases. He came on certain days for certain things. I never did figure out what he did with the inks and quills though. Scholar or artist or something else entirely. I would occasionally offer him other colors, orange or brown or purple. Mostly though, he stuck with red and black and the occasional green.

He did not smile again. Usually, he was frowning. Sometimes, his face was just blank. He did not seem much older than me, and I wondered what could make a young man so unhappy. I never saw him with anyone else. Maybe he was just lonely. Maybe he was as alone as I was. With this in mind, I tried to always smile when I saw him, and I made an effort to be friendly.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

Before the man could respond, Hamid appeared behind him with a fierce scowl.

"Galila!" He spat. "You never learn your place." To the man buying my inks, he apologized and explained that my husband had let me run wild for too long and that I had not been taught to respect men as I should. He ended with, "I would not have taken her in if I did not owe her husband a favor. She would have been better off in a brothel where they expect such forward behavior."

I dropped my head and held my tongue and let Hamid have his rant. Trying to defend myself would only make him angrier. When he was done, the man simply nodded and took his purchase. If he looked my way, I did not see it. Hamid, however, turned to me.

"What are you thinking? Asking such familiar questions of a customer?"

"I was thinking I would like to be able to greet him should I see him outside of the market one day," I said stubbornly.

Hamid narrowed his eyes at me. "You are too old and too ugly to remarry, Galila." Then he let out a laugh, "Ah, but perhaps a cripple like him would take in an ill-mannered woman like you."

"How dare you!" I gasped, horrified at the insult. "Speak of me what you will, but do not insult that man for his circumstance."

"How dare I?" Hamid stepped closer to me. "How dare you. You have no right to speak to me that way."

"I have every right," I hissed. Before I could defend the stranger any further, the back of Hamid's hand slammed into my cheek.

I had forgotten that he had left early to meet with some of the other merchants, and I noticed the wine on his breath too late.

Hamid said nothing else, just glared at me for a long moment before stalking away. I held my hand to my cheek, pressing down to try to get rid of the sting. When I pulled my hand away, I noticed a spot of blood. He had split my lip this time.

I decided it was a good day to close early.

.xXȮXx.

The next morning, I wore a full head covering, leaving only my eyes visible. I had become accustomed to covering my hair to blend in with the other women, but I did not like covering the rest of my face. However, more than disliking having my face covered, I despised having visible evidence of Hamid's treatment of me.

It happened more than I would have liked to admit. I learned quickly that Hamid had a temper when drinking. Most of the time, I was able to refrain from making him that angry. If it were easier to find another market or another room to sleep in, I would leave Hamid's side in an instant. We were not married, we had no formal connection whatsoever. However, Farqad sold the same wares as mine in the other market, and since he cut his inks with inferior materials, he had lower prices. I could never survive there, and few homes would take in a widow with so little income.

I was stuck.

I had not even made it to the marketplace yet when that thought struck me. The thought made my chest ache. I sat on a stone bench with my small crate of supplies next to me and debated even opening for the day. Though I knew the bruise would still be there tomorrow.

Most people did not care that a man had hit a woman. It was not often spoken of, but most accepted it as the way things were. Even though Hamid was not my husband, I received little sympathy, least of all from Hamid's wife. It made me miss my husband, who never laid a hand on me in anger. Of course, he never laid a hand on me lovingly either, but such was the nature of our arrangement. We were friends, by the time he died, and it was times like these that I missed that friendship.

"Why do you cover your face today?"

I was startled out of my thoughts by the man with one arm. I ignored his question, unable to give a sincere answer, and instead, I opened my crate and pulled out a bottle of red ink, the one I knew he was needing to replace today.

Holding the bottle out, I said, "I will not be opening today. You may pay me in three days when you come for your black inks."

He frowned. "How did you know I needed red?"

"You always ask for red on the third day. And two black and a half dozen quills at the end of the week."

He seemed almost amused when he asked, "What about green?"

I shook my head, "I have not seen a pattern for green yet."

I watched his hand take the ink from mine, but I did not look up at him.

"You trust me to pay you in three days?" He asked.

"I do," I answered. "And if my trust is misplaced, then that is my fault."

For a moment, he said nothing and did not move. I wondered if he was waiting for something else from me, so I raised my eyes enough to see his face.

"Why do you cover your face today when you do not usually?"

I sighed and dropped my gaze again. "I am unwell," I lied.

"I see," he replied. "Is that also why you are sitting here and not selling in the market?"

"Yes." I nodded.

There was another pause before he said, "My name is Malik, by the way." He paused again and added, almost softly, "I was not offended that you asked."

I looked up at him. His eyes seemed to smile, though his lips had not moved. "Thank you, Malik."

"May I ask your name in return?"

"Galila." I smiled. On remembering that my face was covered and he could not see my smile, I dropped my gaze once more.

"Well, Galila," he said. "I will see you in three days."

I watched him turn and walk away, waiting until he was out of hearing range before whispering to myself, "I hope so."

.xXȮXx.

Malik did come as usual. I had his two bottles of black ink and six quills already wrapped up. I tried to ignore Hamid's glare when I handed the package over silently.

"You are feeling better?" Malik asked. His voice was so low, I looked up to make sure I had heard correctly. I nodded, and he asked, "But you still hide your face?" I realized then that he was trying to speak quietly enough to avoid Hamid's watchful eye.

I did not know how else to answer, so I just nodded again.

I recoiled reflexively when Hamid snorted. "Ah, she is finally learning respect and silence."

I did not miss the look Malik gave Hamid, or the look he then gave me. His eyes were dark, his eyebrows were drawn low, and his frown lines were deeper than usual. It was a frightening look.

That afternoon, when I packed up my things, Malik was waiting for me at the bench where I had seen him before. Remembering the dark look on his face from earlier, I tried to just walk by.

"Galila," he called to me. I sighed and looked his way. He gestured with his one arm for me to sit with him. I walked towards him but did not sit.

"Hello, Malik. Did you need more quills?"

"No," he said. "I wanted to speak with you though."

"Oh?" I said, feigning a lightness I did not feel. "Not about Farqad's lower prices again, I hope."

He looked at me for a moment before shaking his head. "Will you sit with me? Or would you prefer to walk?"

I glanced around and considered my options. "I will sit with you. But I should not stay long, or Hamid will grow suspicious."

"But he is not your husband," Malik observed while I set my small crate down and sat next to him.

"He is not," I confirmed. "But I live in his home and try to obey his wishes. Which includes not staying out late."

"Did he tell you to cover your face?"

"No," I said slowly. "I chose to."

"Why?"

"Why does it matter?"

He seemed to hesitate before answering.

"I walk farther and pay more for your inks because you are nicer. You smile at me. And I cannot see your smile when you are covered."

"Oh." I looked away, surprised and embarrassed by his confession.

"Did he hit you?"

I looked up at him with wide eyes. "How did you know?" I whispered.

"Today, when he spoke, you flinched. Every time he got close to you, you moved away."

"You were watching me?"

He nodded. Then slowly reached a hand out to my scarf. "May I?"

I could only stare at him. I knew I should say no. I knew I should look around the small street to make sure no one was watching. I did neither of these things, too shocked by the conversation to speak.

Malik took my silence as compliance and gently tugged the scarf away.

I watched emotions flash in his eyes, surprise and sadness and anger. His hand hovered next to my face, like he was unsure of what to do next.

I knew my bruise was healing, but I knew it was still clearly visible on my skin.

"Why?" He asked finally, touching the corner of my mouth lightly with one finger, just next to where my lip had split.

I turned away quickly and replaced the scarf, my heart beating erratically.

"Why?" He repeated. I could hear the anger in his voice, more than his usual severity.

I looked at my lap. I did not understand his concern or his anger, so I did not know how to answer.

He placed his hand gently on my arm. "Please tell me why, Galila. Was it because of me?"

I shook my head. "No. I spoke in anger. And he was drunk. I know better than to shout at him when he is drunk."

Malik was silent. He removed his hand from my arm, the sudden lack of contact making me shiver.

"Drinking is no excuse. He should not hit an innocent woman."

I sighed. "I owe Hamid much. I am usually better at avoiding his temper." In an effort to shift the conversation to something lighter, I added, "And you have already observed that I have a sharp tongue."

"What did you say to him?" Malik asked. He did not sound amused at my joke.

I shook my head. I did not want to admit what we had been discussing.

"It does not matter," I said, feeling drained by the conversation. "I should go."

I started to stand but he stopped me with a hand to my arm again.

"Please."

It was all he said, but the look in his eyes as he said reminded me of something, some memory. I could not explain why or what it was, but I suddenly wanted to be honest with him and to tell him what happened. I wanted to have a friend who might understand.

I sat back on the bench and looked down at my hands, twisting my fingers together.

"I defended someone," I said carefully. "It was not what I said that angered him, but that I raised my voice to him."

"Who did you defend?"

I did not look up, but I did not need to see his face. I could tell. He knew it was him. He knew.

"You," I whispered. "He called you names after you left."

"He called me cripple," Malik said, his voice flat. When I nodded, he asked, "So he did hit you because of me?"

"No," I said sharply, looking up at him. "He hit me because I shouted. It is not the same."

"But you shouted in my defense, did you not? Or were you shouting for another reason?"

The anger was back in his voice. I shook my head. I did not want him to blame himself for this.

"I shouted because what he said was unfair, that your circumstance somehow makes you less of a man. It does not. I told him he could insult me all he wanted, but that you did not deserve his cruelty."

Malik raised his eyebrows, but he said nothing.

"I should go," I sighed. "I am sorry."

This time, I did not give him a chance to stop me.

.xXȮXx.

My bruising healed, and I stopped wearing the head covering. However, I did not see Malik for a week. I wondered if Hamid's insult had made him stop coming, or if he felt guilty over my injury that he stayed away.

It was the day he would have come for his black ink that another man came with his order.

"Two bottles of black ink and six quills."

I looked up at the familiar order but new voice. The man in front of me was wearing robes similar to Malik's robes, but his were not black. This man was taller than Malik. His complexion was a little lighter, and his eyes were more golden than brown. His frown, however, matched Malik's.

Then again, perhaps the order was a coincidence.

I shook off thoughts of Malik and began counting out quills.

"Will that be all?" I asked, smiling up at the new customer. I heard Hamid snort next to me.

"I am sure he is not interested in you, Galila."

I ignored the comment and handed the man his purchase, forcing another smile. Something in the man's face reminded me again of Malik. I watched his eyes follow Hamid instead of looking at me or at the package now in his hands. Then, they quickly darted back to me, and he nodded sharply before turning away.

As the day ended, my thoughts drifted to Malik once again. I was saddened that he had not come and wondered if perhaps something had happened. It was silly to be so concerned over a stranger, but I could not help it. I was startled out of my thoughts when a voice appeared beside me.

"Malik sends his regards."

I spun around, a hand to my chest, to find the man from earlier standing casually next to me.

"Wh-what?" I stammered and glanced around, looking for Hamid.

"Your unfriendly acquaintance is not here," the man said calmly.

When I saw for myself that he was telling the truth, I took a deep breath. Then I looked carefully at the man before me, noticing the swords he had strapped at his waist.

"Who are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "And what have you done with Malik?"

"And what would you do if I said I had kidnapped him?" He asked, arching one eyebrow.

I frowned. Somehow I knew he was not being serious, but it still made me angry.

"I would ask what you wanted with him, and why you came to tell me about it."

He smirked. "And then what?"

"Then," I said, ignoring his intimidating stature and taking a step towards him, "I would tell you that you are a cruel man for kidnapping a harmless scholar like Malik. And an idiot for thinking you could bully me into helping you."

The man snorted a laugh and shook his head. "I see now why Malik walks so far for his inks."

I ignored his laughter and narrowed my eyes. "You never answered my questions."

He nodded. "My name is Altaïr. And I did nothing with Malik other than convince him to stay in bed and rest. He is ill. He…" Altair frowned then, as if he was considering what to say next.

I interrupted his thoughts. "Is that why I have not seen his this week? Because he is ill?"

Altaïr nodded, and I let out a sigh. "I was worried that he was upset with me."

"No," Altaïr said. "Though he is rather upset with that swine you work with. And from what I saw today, I can see why."

"Why are you here? Surely not just to bring me Malik's regards."

"I was in the area," Altaïr shrugged, as if that explained everything.

"Well," I said, smiling up at him. "I appreciate your efforts. And please tell Malik to rest."

"Ah, good," Altaïr nodded. "I was hoping you would say that. I have a feeling he may actually consider resting if he knows you requested it."

I let myself laugh. "In that case, tell Malik I will be very upset with him if he is not well enough to buy his own inks next time."