Chapter 33
Tariq stood atop the eastern wall, hands braced on the cold stone embrasure and eyes on the tower in the distance. The morning was cold and bitter, the sky the colour of ash. The view was deceptively peaceful.
Once again, he had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Aisha’s face or heard her voice—the conviction in her tone.
‘Your Majesty,’ Kaidon said behind him. The guard had barely left Tariq’s side since the feast.
Tariq looked tiredly over his shoulder. Kaidon gestured to someone on the wall walk. It was Maryam—moving fast. When Tariq registered her panicked expression, he straightened and headed in her direction.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Your Majesty.’ She fell to her knees before him. ‘I have come to beg you not to go ahead with this execution.’
Tariq’s eyebrows came together. ‘That’s a little premature. Aisha hasn’t even been sentenced yet.’
Maryam looked up. ‘Yes, she has.’
A cold sensation crawled along Tariq’s spine.
‘Where’s that smoke coming from?’ Kaidon walked over to the embrasure for a better look.
Tariq looked over at the plume of smoke rising into the sky. Then he was running.
‘What’s wrong?’ Kaidon asked, following him.
Tariq bolted for the stairs, every footfall pounding in his ears like a war drum. He took the steps three at a time, his cloak flying behind him. His breath steamed in the cold air as he pushed himself faster. ‘Move!’ he roared at the guard standing at the bottom.
Kaidon managed to keep up. When they reached the tower, he yelled, ‘Open the door!’ at the slightly panicked guard watching their fast approach.
The man fumbled with a ring of keys, pushing the door open just as they reached it.
Tariq leapt up the stairs, heading for the corridor that led to the lower courtyard, where the smoke had been coming from.
The smell of it hit him full in the face as he slammed through the gate and sprinted down the final corridor.
The next door was unbarred, and when he burst through it, the world narrowed. Shackled in the centre of the pyre was Aisha. A motionless figure amid smoke, eyes pressed closed, surrounded by a ring of flames. They hadn’t reached her yet, but they were nauseatingly close.
Zahvik, Jamil, and his mother stood off to one side with some of the guards. Every head turned in his direction when he entered.
Kaidon skidded to a stop beside Tariq, taking in the scene. ‘Gods above.’
Adrenaline surged through Tariq. ‘You!’ He pointed at the guards. ‘Put out the flames!’
The guards hesitated at first, but when Kaidon roared, ‘Obey your king!’ they leapt into action.
The fire crackled, climbing higher. Tariq sprinted forwards, eyes locked on Aisha.
‘Wait!’ Kaidon shouted.
But there was no time. Heat swallowed Tariq as he leapt over the fire, his cloak brushing the blaze.
The scent of scorched fabric followed as he landed hard atop the wooden platform.
It groaned beneath his weight. Shackles clinked as Aisha startled, her eyes snapping open.
She stared at him as though she was trying to figure out if he was real or not.
He moved behind her, wrestling with the metal, fingers fumbling with the locking mechanism.
‘Shit,’ he hissed. The cuffs were already heating up, and smoke blurred his vision as pails of water were thrown over the flames.
‘Leave,’ Aisha pleaded, her voice hoarse. ‘Before you die here with me.’
‘Not a chance.’
With a final twist, one of the shackles snapped free. He dropped to a crouch to attack the chain around her feet. It burst open and clattered against the wood. Tariq scooped her into his arms, shielding her with his body as he looked for the best exit.
‘This way,’ Kaidon shouted. The guards had managed to extinguish a small section of the fire.
The heat clawed at Tariq’s back as he made his way towards Kaidon. ‘Cover your face,’ he told her. Then he leapt, hitting the ground below with a grunt and twisting to cushion her from the impact.
Kaidon doused Aisha with water, cursing the entire time.
Still cradling Aisha in his arms, Tariq looked her over. ‘Are you burned?’
She shook her head, dazed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Keep working!’ Kaidon shouted at the guards as he pressed a water flask into Tariq’s hand.
Tariq lifted it to Aisha’s mouth. ‘Drink,’ he told her.
She did, tears spilling from her red-rimmed eyes as she swallowed. ‘They’ll hate you for this,’ she said when he lowered the flask.
‘Yes, but that’s not for you to worry about.’
His emotions were all over the place. Part of him wanted to cradle her forever, and the other part wanted to place her on the filthy floor and walk away.
He couldn’t bear her death, but what was the alternative?
A life locked in the tower? Or banished to the countryside, perhaps?
Her mere existence would serve as a permanent reminder of everything she had done and all he had lost.
Footsteps approached, led by Zahvik. Smoke swirled in his wake.
‘You have offended the gods,’ Zahvik said.
Tariq slowly stood, lowering Aisha’s feet to the ground while keeping her pressed against him. ‘And you have offended me and this court by collaborating behind my back.’ His glare flicked to his mother, who at least had the decency to look guilty.
‘She is a covenweaver,’ Farrah said. ‘We had no choice.’
‘You have no proof of that,’ Tariq replied. ‘You should have been first to object.’
She raised her chin. ‘I was trying to spare you further pain.’
‘Liar,’ Tariq said. ‘You wanted to make yourself feel better and appease him.’ He set his gaze on Zahvik. ‘Well, that stops today. Pack your things, gather your men, and get out of Gruisea. You’re no longer welcome here.’
Nothing changed on Zahvik’s face. He simply tutted. ‘The devil has hold of your soul. The woman you defend is both a covenweaver and a murderer.’
Farrah looked at Aisha, who was limp in his arms. ‘She has bewitched you.’
Tariq shook his head, his breath shaking with anger. Anger at his mother, but also at himself, because she was right. Aisha had bewitched him. Body and soul.
‘Your Majesty,’ Jamil said, ‘justice must be served.’
‘It will be.’ He looked between the three of them. ‘But it will be served as I see fit. Your opinions are now void.’
He sounded much more confident than he felt. He needed space from all of them—even Aisha. Releasing his hold on her, he stepped back.
‘You cannot protect her from her own actions,’ Farrah said. ‘There are consequences when you go around killing kings.’
He had no right to decide Aisha’s fate while still so shamefully in love with her. And yet, because he had the power to do so, he would.
When he looked at Aisha, he saw she was shaking. The flames hadn’t touched her, but they had scorched something far deeper. She had nearly died the same death as her mother.
‘Take Aisha back to her cell and remain there with her,’ he told Kaidon. ‘No one in. No one out. Understood?’
Kaidon stepped forwards and gently took hold of Aisha’s arm. ‘No one in. No one out,’ he repeated.
Tariq backed away from Aisha, and her eyes followed him.
‘Where are you going?’ Farrah asked.
He turned away and left them all standing there, ignoring the questions. He entered the smoke-choked corridor with a single-minded purpose: to get his wife out of Gruisea. Not just for her, but for himself. If she stayed, she’d die. If she stayed, he would unravel piece by piece.
The shipyards. The patrol schedules. He knew them all. All he needed was an opening wide enough to smuggle her to the port. It was his only option, because the three people behind him would stop at nothing to see her destroyed.
Tariq moved through the castle grounds like a man possessed. The air was refreshingly cold against his face. Once indoors, he crossed the lower hall and took the back stairs to avoid the main corridors. The further he got from them all, the clearer his mind became. He wasn’t just reacting anymore.
He was planning.