Chapter 32
The iron grip on Aisha’s arm tightened as guards escorted her out of the courtyard. The stone beneath her feet felt foreign.
‘You can’t lock her up without a trial!’ Safiya shouted behind her.
Aisha kept her eyes forwards. Safiya had known what was going to happen, and yet still she fought the inevitable.
Footsteps came at a run behind her. ‘Aisha.’ It was Lilah. ‘What have you done?’
She wasn’t talking about the murder, because she knew Aisha would never do such a thing. She was talking about the confession.
‘Go with Safiya,’ Aisha said over her shoulder. ‘Now.’
Zara, Omar, Yasmin, and her father had already left for the port. The plan was that Safiya would follow with Lilah once she was freed.
‘She’s lost her mind,’ Lilah told Safiya.
Safiya grabbed Lilah’s arm and pulled her in the other direction. ‘Let’s go.’
‘We can’t leave her.’
Aisha didn’t hear Safiya’s reply, because she was marched through the tower door before it groaned shut behind her.
Darkness swallowed her.
The air inside the tower was colder. It tasted different.
Torchlight flickered across damp stone walls as she was led up a winding staircase.
The shadows seemed to reach for her. No one spoke, one guard ahead and one behind.
The rhythm of their boots matched the pounding of her heart.
She tried to slow it down, tried not to fall apart.
The staircase finally gave way to a corridor with a single iron-banded door at the end.
One guard pulled out a ring of keys to unlock it.
The scrape of metal on metal was loud in the small space.
The door creaked open, and she was guided into a cell with one tiny window at the top.
A single cot sat against the far wall, with a folded woollen blanket on the end.
The floor had been swept clean. It felt like a tomb.
The door clanged shut behind her, and the guards retreated to the other end of the corridor.
Aisha walked slowly over to the cot, brushing dust off it before sitting down.
Her hands trembled in her lap as she looked around, and her mouth was so dry.
She reminded herself that she had lied to save them.
Her sisters, her father, and Omar—the future King of Avanid.
But the cost of that decision was being locked in a cell and praying Tariq wouldn’t execute her.
The cot creaked beneath her weight. There was no warmth. No comfort.
Shuffling back, she leaned against the wall and pulled her knees up, dropping her forehead to them. A tear slipped down her cheek and was soaked up by her robe. She didn’t lift her head again, because there was nothing to see but stone and shadows. So she closed her eyes and waited for dawn.
The cold crept in overnight, and Aisha woke with a sharp jolt. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was. The walls were unfamiliar, and the bed was harder than anything she’d ever slept on. Her gaze went to the small window above, where pale grey light finally filtered in.
It was morning.
Her throat ached, and her body felt sore from being tense all night. She ran a hand through her hair as she moved to the edge of the bed, her feet meeting the chill of the floor. And that’s when she felt it. That sense of being watched.
She looked up.
Tariq stood on the other side of the door, watching her. He looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. The hollows beneath his eyes were the darkest she had ever seen them, and his jaw was dusted with stubble. He looked… brittle.
Aisha slowly stood, waiting for him to speak.
‘Your family’s ship departed Gruisea an hour ago.’ His voice was low. ‘Everyone made it aboard. I thought you’d want to know.’
There was relief, but there was also crushing grief. ‘Thank you.’
Her gratitude seemed to agitate him. ‘I had no reason to keep them here, since you apparently acted alone in killing my father.’
‘I’m sure your mother would have preferred to see us all locked up.’
Tariq’s expression didn’t change, his cold eyes staring at her. ‘I would have investigated the situation thoroughly.’
‘I saved you the trouble.’
He took a step closer, so that his face was almost touching the iron bars. ‘I need to hear it from you, one last time, before I meet with the council. Did you kill my father?’
Aisha’s pulse thundered in her ears. ‘Yes.’
The disappointment on his face crushed her.
‘Were you really in such a rush to be queen?’ he asked.
‘I did it for both of us.’ The lie came out easier than she thought it would. ‘So we could change all the things we planned to change. Save lives.’
His jaw worked. ‘Last chance to take it back. Once the council rules, a sentence will be passed.’
Aisha’s hands twitched at her sides. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you what you want to hear.’ That part was truthful.
‘You’re sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘They’ll sentence you to death. And I won’t be able to stop them.’
‘I know he loves you and will protect you with his life.’ Maryam’s words came to her. Aisha had no choice but to trust the woman who had deceived her.
‘Will you take care of Mira?’ she asked.
Tariq’s eyes filled with anger. ‘You have a lot of audacity asking for favours.’
She swallowed guiltily.
Without saying another word, Tariq turned and left, the heavy scrape of his boots fading down the corridor. A bolt slid shut in the distance. Aisha remained where she was, breath jammed in her throat, knowing the last thread between them had snapped.
She returned to the cot to sit and wait once more.
Hours passed slowly. Aisha attempted to count them by the shifting light from the window. A guard brought her food and water, and she ate it despite the absence of appetite. Eventually, the light turned golden as the sun slipped westward, before dimming completely.
Then time lost all structure.
She didn’t sleep that night, not properly. She drifted in and out of dreams, her body too tense and her mind too busy.
In the morning, she sat with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
She had managed to braid her hair back despite her fingers fumbling from the chill.
It gave her something to do and something small to control.
Rising, she paced slowly from one end of the cell to the other, again and again.
She tried not to think of her family now far away.
They would be so worried about her. She whispered a prayer for courage.
A noise broke the stillness.
A door closed far below, followed by heavy boots. Voices. Muffled at first, then clearer as they entered the corridor.
She stood in the centre of the cell, blanket still wrapped around her, gripping it tightly.
The key scraped in the lock, then the door at the end of the corridor opened.
Jamil stepped into view and spoke quietly with the two guards posted there.
His hair was perfectly arranged, his robes pristine.
He met her gaze through the bars as he spoke, and her stomach dropped.
‘Your Majesty,’ he said, making his way over to her. The address felt patronising. ‘I have come to inform you that your sentence has been decided.’
Aisha said nothing. She didn’t trust her voice.
Jamil gestured to one of the guards, and they came forwards to unlock the cell door. ‘A ruling by His Holiness Zahvik supersedes any ruling made by royal decree,’ he continued. ‘Queen Farrah welcomed the decision in hopes of sparing King Tariq further stress.’
Zahvik.
Aisha stepped back as the guard entered her cell. ‘Wait. Tariq doesn’t know?’
‘Her Majesty has insisted on a private execution, shielded from the masses, out of respect for your station.’ Jamil said that last part as if he were delivering good news.
Aisha’s hands were seized and shackled behind her back once again. She didn’t fight, but this time she really wanted to.
The torchlight blurred as she was marched along the corridor and down the narrow staircase.
They didn’t exit through the door they had come through, instead turning left at the landing and walking through a narrow corridor that sloped downward.
There were no windows in this part of the castle—or air, for that matter.
It opened into a small courtyard Aisha had never seen before.
She froze when she laid eyes on the pyre in the centre of it, stacked high with dried wood and straw.
Off to one side stood a solemn Queen Farrah, wearing her mourning veil—and Zahvik Barakat.
The guards pushed Aisha forwards to get her walking again, but her body refused to cooperate.
Her steps faltered. She tripped, so they dragged her, not stopping until they were a few feet from the wooden mound.
Her eyes locked on the metal post embedded in the centre of the pyre, chains hanging from it. Panic exploded inside her.
‘Where’s Tariq?’ she shouted, looking over at Farrah.
The queen drew her veil back. ‘The king has suffered enough. Would you not agree?’
‘He would never allow it to happen this way, and you know it.’ Her gaze flicked to Zahvik. ‘If you do this, he’ll never forgive you.’ When she didn’t respond, Aisha added, ‘There are a thousand other ways to end my life.’
‘There is only one way to execute a covenweaver,’ Zahvik said, speaking for the first time. ‘The king will be informed once it is done.’
It.
Burning her to death.
‘You confessed of your own volition,’ he continued. ‘Before witnesses.’
This was the ultimate outcome for Zahvik, who had travelled to Gruisea to destroy everything.
Jamil moved closer, looked heavenward, and said a quiet prayer.
Then, clearing his throat, he turned to Aisha.
‘You sought a poison and used it knowingly to murder King Hamza. The act was carried out with the precision one expects from a covenweaver.’ His tone was thick with disgust. ‘Now you will pay the price for bringing this evil to our shores and taking the life of our king.’
It wasn’t supposed to end this way. She had never considered the possibility of a sentence without Tariq’s knowledge. Her trust in him was meaningless if he didn’t even know of her fate.
For a moment, she considered telling them the truth.
Even if they didn’t believe her, it might delay her execution.
But as she looked over at Zahvik, she realised he’d never accept an outcome where they all lived.
If he couldn’t destroy their alliance from within Gruisea, he would find a reason to go to Avanid instead.
He could take his pick of her family there.
‘Well?’ Jamil asked.
She realised she had missed the last thing he said. ‘What?’
He appeared agitated. ‘I asked if you have any last requests.’
She had barely wrapped her mind around the fact that she was about to die. She tried to concentrate on the question. What did she need in her final moments?
‘Yes.’ A tear slipped down her cheek. ‘I want you to tell my family that my death was quick. Tell them I lost consciousness before the flames reached me. That I didn’t feel a thing.
’ Her mother’s scream rang out in her mind.
She looked over at Farrah. ‘Please. Promise me you’ll do everything you can to ease their pain. ’
Farrah’s expression had turned from hateful to something more human. She nodded her consent.
‘So be it,’ Jamil said before stepping aside.
One of the guards pushed Aisha towards the pyre.
It wasn’t even a forceful push, but she stumbled anyway.
She had no choice but to climb the wooden steps to the narrow platform at the top.
The men secured her shackles to the post using the available chain.
They produced a second chain and wrapped it around her ankles.
She remembered how stoic her mother had been the day she died and channelled that energy, hoping it would ease the fear.
Once she was secured, the guards made their way back down the steps and positioned themselves well away from the pyre.
It was Zahvik who lit the torch and carried it to the pyre. Zahvik who lowered it to the debris and teased the edges until smoke rose.
Aisha closed her eyes, and the faces of her family flashed in her mind. Early memories too. Her father humming as he carved ivory. Her mother watching with a sleeping Omar pressed to her chest. Life had been beautiful once.
Then she saw Tariq. His barely there smile, the one that betrayed his restraint. The warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. She could almost feel the weight of his hand against her back. Maybe if she held his gaze for long enough…
A faint heat bloomed around her feet. It was the kind of heat one holds their hands to for warmth.
She made the mistake of opening her eyes to look, and they immediately began to water.
When she looked up, her eyes met Farrah’s.
The queen stood with her hands clasped, her veil catching in the draft from the tunnel behind her.
There was no disdain. No gloating or satisfaction.
Only tightness around her mouth and something resembling pain in her eyes.
Hers was the last face Aisha saw before she closed her eyes—tightly this time. The kindling crackled louder below her, and the heat thickened against her skin.
The world narrowed, and Aisha refused to scream.