Chapter 13
It was clear Tariq had wanted Aisha to remain at the castle, but she would be easy prey for his mother with him away. He claimed he wanted a partner for this life, so a partner was what he got.
As the sun disappeared behind them, the temperature fell. Aisha retrieved her cloak from her bag and wrapped it around herself.
‘Regretting coming yet?’ Tariq asked, watching her.
‘No.’ She looked over at Kaidon, who was wise enough not to look back. Two additional guards also accompanied them.
A few more hours passed in silence before the trees thinned and gave way to barren slopes. Aisha sat a little taller in the saddle as the village came into view. It was even smaller than she was expecting.
Ashwaq was more like a settlement forgotten by time. Buildings leaned into one another, smoke curling from their chimneys. The streets were empty, and all was silent.
Aisha snuck a glance at Tariq, who wore a hardened expression. ‘Is it usually this quiet?’
‘Never this quiet,’ he replied.
As they entered the heart of the village, Aisha felt eyes upon her. She spotted people looking out at them from behind wooden shutters. They came to a stop in what appeared to be the main square, though it was nothing more than a widening of the dirt road.
Kaidon dismounted first, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he surveyed their surroundings. Tariq walked straight over to Aisha to help her down.
‘Stay close,’ he said.
A door creaked, prompting the guards to reposition themselves.
A man stepped out from the shadow of a low-built structure, his expression cautious rather than welcoming.
He looked middle-aged, though it was difficult to judge with miners, as hard labour ages a person.
A thick beard covered his jaw. His eyes narrowed on Tariq.
‘Your Highness?’
Tariq’s hand fell away from Aisha’s back, and he went to greet the man. ‘Jibran.’
The man laid his hand across his heart and gave a small bow. He looked past Tariq to Aisha as he straightened. ‘Who is this?’
A door crashed open before Tariq could answer. Aisha sucked in a breath as a man stumbled out into the square, his face gaunt and eyes wild. A knife gleamed in his hand, the blade catching the last scraps of light as he came towards them.
‘Murderers!’ the man shouted, his voice hoarse but carrying. His eyes were fixed on Tariq. ‘You send our boys to the mines. My son’s dead in the ground because of you!’
Kaidon drew an inch of steel and moved forwards.
‘Stand down,’ Tariq instructed, stopping all three guards in their tracks. He stood calmly as the knife glinted closer.
‘You sit in your fucking castle with your feasts and your finery while my boy rots beneath the stone!’ The man’s grief poured out in broken words. ‘He was twelve. Twelve!’
‘All right,’ Jibran said, his face tight. ‘You’ve said your piece. Now put the blade away.’
‘Shut your mouth!’ the grieving father replied, rounding on him for an instant before focusing again on Tariq. ‘Prince, king, emperor—it doesn’t matter. You’re all part of the same disease.’
Aisha stood frozen. She was both afraid and captive to the man’s anguish.
Tariq approached him, slowly. He didn’t reach for his weapon or call for his guards, instead meeting the man’s gaze with a steadiness that seemed to quiet him. ‘Give me the knife.’
‘You don’t deserve to live,’ the man rasped, his hand trembling as his grief overtook his rage. ‘Should be you in the ground.’
Tariq continued closing the remaining space between them, dropping his voice lower. ‘Don’t make your wife mourn her son and her husband.’
The man’s shoulders collapsed. His grip faltered.
In a single, controlled motion, Tariq seized the man’s wrist, turned it, and eased the knife free.
It landed with a soft thud in the dirt. The man began to sink to the ground, and Tariq grabbed hold of him.
The father sagged against him, sobs tearing from his chest as Tariq kicked the knife towards Kaidon, who snatched it up.
The sound rang through her. Raw, unbearable, and so painfully human.
‘Get her out of here,’ Tariq said to Kaidon.
The guard was at her side a moment later, an arm locking around her as he led her away from the scene at an almost run.
‘Put her in there,’ Jibran said, pointing to a small hut with a warped door.
Aisha looked over her shoulder at Tariq, who was still holding the grieving father, before she was ushered inside.
‘Lock the door and stay away from the window,’ Kaidon instructed before the door slammed shut between them.
With her heart racing and palms sweating, Aisha stared at the closed door for a few more breaths before looking around. It was a single room with a small iron stove in the corner and a rickety table with two mismatched chairs near the window. A bed sat in the centre.
She didn’t know what to do next—besides stay away from the window.
Walking over to the bed, she sat on the edge of the hard mattress and watched the door.
Minutes passed by.
Aside from the occasional sound of muffled voices in the distance, all was silent. Then came a soft knock.
Aisha walked over to the door, hand on the lock. ‘Who is it?’
‘Jibran’ came the familiar voice.
Aisha unlocked the door and cracked it open. Jibran stood holding a wooden tray. She immediately opened it the rest of the way. One of the guards who had travelled with them was standing guard at the door, eyes scanning the area.
‘For you, Your Highness.’ Jibran spoke barely above a whisper. ‘Best I could do.’
She took it from him. ‘Thank you.’ When he went to leave, she asked, ‘Is the prince all right?’
He faced her again. ‘There are some heavy conversations taking place. I’m sure he’ll join you as soon as he can.’ He turned and left.
‘Lock the door,’ the guard said, glancing in her direction.
She did.
Aisha set the tray on the bed, then dragged the table away from the window so she could eat at it.
She stared down at the tray, which held some flatbread, dried fruit, and a small dish of warm fish.
A bowl of steaming water and a washcloth were also included, which she was most grateful for after the long ride.
She washed her hands and face, then sat picking at the food. The room was lit by a single lantern, which cast flickering shadows on the walls. She watched them as she ate. When half the food remained, she set it aside in case Tariq returned hungry.
The night stretched on, but despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep.
She lay on her back, staring at the uneven ceiling and listening for any sound of his return.
It must have been past midnight when the door finally rattled.
She got to her feet, blinking against the haze of fatigue, and opened the door without checking it was him.
Tariq’s shoulders were rounded with fatigue, and his cloak was covered in dust. His eyes moved over her before he asked, ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No.’ She stepped aside to let him in, then locked the door.
He took his cloak off and hung it on a loose nail on the door.
‘I saved you some food,’ she said, gesturing to the table.
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I wasn’t sure if you would get the chance.’
He held her gaze for a long moment, then walked over to the table, sinking down in a chair. Aisha sat in the other one and watched him clean his hands and face. There wasn’t much that could be done about the dust clinging to his hair. She pushed the tray of food towards him.
‘Thank you,’ he said without looking at her. He tore off a piece of bread and used it to pick up the fish, eating quietly.
‘Is the man all right?’
He swallowed before answering. ‘No. Nor are the others who lost family earlier in the week.’
She swallowed. ‘What happened to them?’
‘One of the tunnels collapsed. Despite new reinforcements, they’re understandably hesitant to return there.’
Aisha stared at the tray. ‘It’s still so raw for them.’
‘And yet the mine will open in the morning.’
His tone made it clear he wasn’t happy about that. ‘Why the urgency?’
‘Because we have an agreement with Slevaborg that we must honour’—he reached for more food—‘at any cost.’
It wasn’t just Avanid bending over backwards to keep the Emperor happy.
Done with the food, Tariq leaned back in his chair and looked at her. ‘You should get some sleep.’
‘So should you.’
He looked over at the bed. ‘I’m sorry about all this. If I’d known the state of things here, I never would have agreed to you coming.’
‘I insisted, remember?’
He rose from his chair. ‘You take the bed.’
‘There’s enough room for both of us.’
He stilled and looked at her. ‘That’s a rather scandalous suggestion.’
She noted the hint of teasing in his tone, softened by exhaustion.
‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’
Tariq walked over to the bed and sat on the edge to remove his boots. Aisha averted her eyes as he stripped down to his sirwal, but not before seeing the outline of him. He wasn’t broad in the way of men who spent their lives labouring, but every curve spoke of discipline.
She waited for him to get into bed before extinguishing the lantern and following him. He moved as far over as was possible without falling off and opened the blanket for her.
‘Thank you,’ she said as she climbed in, remaining as close to the edge on her side as possible.
They lay on their backs, staring up at the roof in the dark.
After a long silence, Tariq said in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry that you’d rather be in this godsforsaken place than back at the castle. I hope that changes once we’re married.’
Aisha’s eyes traced the uneven ridges of the wooden beams above them. ‘I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I’m beginning to understand the difficult position you’re in.’
Silence.
‘I know this probably doesn’t mean much,’ she said, ‘but I think you handled the situation with that man perfectly. With dignity and empathy.’
More silence followed before he finally said, ‘Thank you. That means more than you realise.’
She listened to the steady rhythm of his breaths, the quiet rise and fall of his chest against the blanket, as she drifted off to sleep.