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.
