Her horse stepped sideways, nostrils flaring as it eyed the rushing water. Aisha didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know if she was being pursued. All she knew was that Rafiq was dead and Maryam had chosen to remain behind.
‘Ride. As fast as you can.’
She had to trust Maryam’s vision.
Dismounting, she led her horse along the riverbank in search of another crossing. Her boots slipped on the damp ground. The minutes stretched, and her breathing quickened. If she couldn’t find a crossing, her only option was to go back.
The river eventually narrowed upstream. A cluster of half-submerged stones formed a broken trail across the water. It was no bridge, but it was a chance.
Aisha pressed her forehead to the horse’s damp neck and whispered a shaky prayer. Then, guiding the gelding with slow, coaxing steps, she began to cross.
Her boots skidded slightly on the slick surface, and the horse threw its head up behind her, snorting at the churning water. She kept a firm grip on the reins and murmured some reassurances. Mira let out a low, uncertain growl from the saddlebag, but Aisha kept her eyes focused on the path in front of her. Water rushed around her calves as she moved from one rock to the next, testing each one before shifting her weight. The current pulled at her cloak and skirts as her teeth began to chatter. She was halfway across when her foot landed on a moss-covered stone. It slid out from under her, and in an instant, she went under.
The cold hit like a slap, water closing over her with a roar. The weight of her cloak dragged her down, but she clung desperately to the reins with both hands. Miraculously, her horse held its ground. Aisha surfaced, coughing and heaving as she clawed her way back towards the rocks.
But then the current carried her away once more.
The horse threw its head up in response and took a trembling step backwards. Aisha used the opportunity to grab hold of a rock. Finally, she found some footing beneath the surface and climbed back up onto the crossing. Soaked and shaking, she crawled the rest of the way to the riverbank, the horse staggering after her. The moment she was clear of the water, the horse leapt up the bank, dragging her through the mud for a few paces before swinging around to face her.
‘That went well,’ Aisha muttered as she got to her feet.
She went to check on Mira, who wasn’t happy. The cub whimpered, despite only having some water spray on her face.
Aisha looked down at her sodden clothes and boots full of water. At least they had made it across. She looked up at the sun again to get her bearings and wondered how much further the border was. After emptying the water from her boots and wringing out her clothes as best she could, she climbed stiffly into the saddle. Her muscles were sluggish from the cold, and her clothes stuck to her skin. The sun continued to rise, but it offered no warmth. She nudged the horse into motion, clutching the reins with numb fingers.
‘Almost there,’ she said—mostly for her own benefit.
The landscape began to slope down. Aisha urged the horse faster while checking over her shoulder every few minutes. Hills in every direction.
She rode for another half hour before a village appeared in the distance like a mirage: low stone homes and smoke curling into the air. As she got closer, she caught sight of a pale blue banner fluttering in the wind, a distinct desert rose symbol at its centre.
Avanid.
The relief came out as a sharp laugh. ‘We did it.’ She clapped her hand on the horse’s neck, then nudged it forwards. ‘My sisters are never going to believe this story.’
Another mile and she would be across the border.
She whipped her head around to look when she heard horses coming at a fast canter, dust lifting into the sky behind them. Her stomach dropped when she recognised the white surcoats banded with scarlet. Holy warriors. She sank her heels into the horse’s sides, and the gelding responded with a surge of speed.
‘Just a little further,’ she told the horse, holding the reins so tightly her palms burned.
Mira’s frightened cries were muffled by the rush of wind.
She risked another glance over her shoulder and saw that the warriors were closing in. Leaning low over the horse’s neck, she said, ‘Come on, come on…’
The gelding’s hooves struck the road as they flew towards the village. A farmer in the fields turned at the sound, his hand lifting to shield his eyes from the sun. He looked from Aisha to the warriors behind her.
‘Help me!’ she shouted as loudly as she could. ‘Please!’
The man dropped the plough he was holding and turned to shout in the other direction. Two more figures appeared. Aisha’s horse stumbled on some uneven ground but recovered well, sides heaving as they reached the edge of the village. She continued towards the men, blindly hoping they would protect her. Her horse skidded to a halt in front of them. The tall man with the greying beard was holding an axe and looked ready to cut her down from the saddle.
‘I’m Princess Aisha, and I need help,’ she blurted.
The younger man looked from her mud-streaked face to her wet clothes. The man from the field came running over.
‘We don’t want trouble here,’ he said, out of breath.
‘She claims she’s a princess,’ the young man told him.
