Chapter 45
The world returned in nauseating flashes. Aisha could see the shock on Tariq’s face as the weight of her words settled. The sounds from the beach were getting louder—shouting, crying, steel clashing. He rose to his feet and looked down the hill.
‘Go,’ Aisha said. ‘They need your help.’
Tariq looked torn.
‘I’ll stay here with her,’ Safiya said. ‘Keep her hidden.’
That seemed to ease the tension in Tariq’s shoulders a little. ‘Don’t move from this spot. I’ll come back for you.’
He gathered the rest of his men, and they headed off down the slope towards the beach—gone from sight.
Safiya propped Aisha up against the rock. Aisha’s head still swam, but she didn’t tell her sister that. From that position, they could see part of the beach below. The real fighting was well underway.
Safiya nocked a fresh arrow and crept forwards to see what was happening.
‘Can you see him?’ Aisha called to her.
Safiya looked around. ‘He probably hasn’t even reached the beach yet.’
Even in her weakened state, Aisha found the energy to go and look for herself.
Safiya groaned. ‘Will you get back there and rest, please?’
It was pure chaos below, but eventually Aisha found him. He moved like a current, cutting down every warrior he encountered. The sun flashed off his blade each time it came down. Men fell into the surf, turning the water red, but plenty made it ashore.
Nearby voices drew Aisha’s gaze to the left. Three holy warriors appeared over the crest, immediately spotting the two women.
‘Safiya,’ Aisha said.
Her sister was focused on the fighting below. ‘What?’
‘Incoming.’
Finally seeing the men, Safiya immediately swung her bow in their direction. ‘Stay back!’
The warriors ignored the warning and continued towards them.
Safiya released the arrow, but the men were ready, and it missed.
Panic surged through Aisha. She reached for the sword at Safiya’s hip, her fingers clumsy on the hilt.
Her hands shook so violently she nearly dropped it.
She knew the basics of sword fighting, but she had never used a sword outside of a training yard before—and certainly not straight after a vision.
The closest of the three warriors raised his shield and charged towards them.
Aisha got to her feet—barely—and tightened her grip on the sword.
Safiya fired a second arrow at his leg, this time hitting her target.
He went down, clutching his leg as he slid a few feet down the slope.
Safiya’s next arrow hit the man behind him before he could get his shield up.
He toppled backwards, collecting the third warrior on his way down.
The sword fell from Aisha’s hands. ‘Thank the gods one of us is useful right now.’
Safiya snatched the sword up and returned it to its sheath. ‘Next time, don’t grab my blade unless you mean to use it.’
That was completely fair.
‘We need to leave,’ Safiya said.
Aisha looked around. ‘Is there another way down?’
‘We’ll make one.’ She looked Aisha over. ‘Can you walk by yourself?’
‘Yes,’ Aisha replied as confidently as she could.
‘Follow me.’
They forged another path to avoid the warriors. Safiya kept her bow trained ahead as they half ran, half slid towards the bottom. Aisha fell over more times than she cared to admit, but thankfully Safiya didn’t seem to notice.
By the time they reached the bottom, Gruisea’s line had fractured. Soldiers were scattered all over the beach, some fighting with blades, others wrestling in the surf, some sprawled unmoving on the sand. There was no safe place, no fixed point of retreat. Only chaos.
A warrior caught sight of Aisha, and his eyes widened with recognition. He came for her, not with a weapon, but with hands outstretched. She was far more valuable to them alive.
Aisha stumbled back out of his reach. ‘Safiya!’
But Safiya was already locked in another fight. ‘Run.’
Even if she could run, there was no way she was going to leave her sister behind.
She spotted a sword lying in the sand nearby and swooped down to grab it.
The man stopped and laughed. Laughed.
Aisha suddenly wished she had taken training as seriously as Safiya had growing up. Instead, she staggered around, messy and weak.
The man lunged at her. She swung her sword at him, and the tip of it sliced the back of his hand. He didn’t seem to notice, because he lunged for her again.
A shadow cut between them.
That shadow was Tariq.
The king drove his weapon through the man’s neck, steel bursting through flesh. The warrior’s eyes widened in shock before he crumpled to the ground, blood spilling out on the sand.
Aisha looked from the dying man to her own useless weapon. Her hands were covered in flecks of blood. When she looked down, she saw that the rest of her was also sprayed with blood. She dropped the weapon.
‘Are you hurt?’ Tariq’s voice drowned out the noise around them.
She looked around for Safiya and found Kaidon with her. They were safe. All she needed to do now was to keep it together.
‘No.’ She looked at him properly for the first time and saw that he was covered head to toe in blood. ‘Oh, gods.’
‘Most of it’s not mine.’
‘Most?’
‘I’m all right,’ he reassured her. ‘Really.’
She looked from his blood-soaked clothes to the shrinking pockets of fighting around them. The beach was covered in corpses, just like her vision.
‘Have they broken the line?’ Aisha asked.
Tariq shook his head.
That didn’t make sense. Perhaps her visions were unreliable in her current state.
‘Take some men and go to the castle,’ Kaidon told Tariq. Blood streaked his jaw and covered his sword. ‘We can handle this.’
Tariq hesitated.
‘Your mother’s there,’ Aisha said.
He wiped a hand down his face, then took Aisha by the arm as he gestured to Safiya. ‘Let’s go.’
Aisha prayed the entire way back to the castle that her vision had been wrong. But when they arrived at the gate, her stomach clenched. Not one voice called down to them, and not a single sentry was visible atop the wall. Tariq slowed the horse, looking around.
‘This isn’t right,’ he said quietly.
The courtyard was silent, the usual clatter of hooves on cobblestone replaced by stillness. No groom or stableboy ran out to meet them. The castle’s steward was nowhere to be seen.
The party dismounted and drew their weapons, and Tariq pulled Aisha to his side. ‘Stay close.’
Aisha nodded, her throat like sandpaper. She looked over at Safiya, who also had her sword drawn. They led their horses into the stables, looking around.
‘Where is everyone?’ Safiya asked no one in particular.
A rustle from the far stall had them all spinning around. A young boy emerged from behind a pile of feed sacks, his face ghostly white and eyes wide. ‘Your Majesty…’ His gaze darted nervously about. ‘You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.’
Tariq sheathed his weapon and went over to him. ‘What’s happened here?’
The boy swallowed noisily. ‘Men came over the wall—dozens of them.’ His voice cracked. ‘They killed some guards…’ He broke off and shook his head as if trying to expel the imagery from his mind. ‘They’re dead.’
Aisha closed her eyes.
‘You can’t go in there,’ the boy said, sounding genuinely terrified. ‘They’ll kill you too.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ Tariq signalled for one of his men to remain with the boy before leaving the stables with Aisha, Safiya, and the rest of the soldiers.
They made their way across the courtyard towards the tall double doors of the Audience Hall, which sat ajar. Tariq pushed them open. Sunlight streamed through the windows, printing long golden beams across the polished marble floor. It was too bright. Too still.
Aisha froze when she noticed some Gruisean guards against the wall. Their shoulders sagged, and their eyes were fixed on the ground, where their weapons lay discarded.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Safiya whispered.
Aisha’s skin prickled as she took in the scene. Then her gaze snagged on a white robe.
Her lungs stilled.
Zahvik stood calmly at the front of the room. Beside him, on her knees, was Farrah. Her wrists were bound and her mouth gagged. The pins in her hair had come loose, and it hung messily. Despite the degraded state she was in, her chin remained high in defiance.
‘What the hell is this?’ Tariq asked, a dangerous rumble in his voice.
Zahvik’s gaze settled on him. ‘There you are, Your Majesty. We were all worried you might not make it back.’
Tariq’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He squared his shoulders as he stepped forwards into the light. ‘You better start speaking.’
Zahvik nodded, his expression bordering on sympathetic. ‘I am here under the command of Emperor Hassan. I bring terms for you.’
‘Terms?’ Tariq looked around the room. ‘Go on.’
‘You may yet keep your throne if you prove yourself obedient to the empire,’ Zahvik said.
It was eerie how the Gruisean guards kept their eyes down on the ground despite their king standing before them. Whatever Zahvik had said or done to them had clearly been effective.
The sectarian pressed the tips of his fingers together. ‘First, you will dismantle your army. Every sword, every bow, every weapon will be handed over. You will no longer command a force of your own.’
Aisha glanced over at Safiya, who was still holding her sword firmly, her eyes burning in Zahvik’s direction.
‘Second,’ he continued, ‘you will reopen Ashwaq Mine so the men who lay down their weapons have somewhere to go.’ Zahvik paused.
‘The limestone belongs to the empire—though Emperor Hassan is generous enough to compensate you for the work carried out to retrieve it.’ He looked up at the ceiling and opened his hands.
‘I pray the gods help you return to a righteous path.’
Aisha felt sick. Tariq had worked tirelessly in his short time as king to achieve everything he had. It would be devastating to see his soldiers forced back into those tunnels.
She looked back at Farrah. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing the proud queen in that position.