Nodding, Aisha followed her.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, until they found themselves beneath a corridor of trees.
‘Self-pity won’t rebuild Avanid,’ Zara began. She stopped walking and turned to face Aisha. ‘You should be grateful he got you out, because any other king would have happily watched you burn under those circumstances.’
‘I know that.’
‘Do you?’ Zara gave her a doubtful look. ‘You seem to have forgotten that the entire empire thinks you’re a king killer. We’re no closer to any sort of independence. In fact, we’re further from it. We’re one future queen down.’
Aisha made a face. ‘Ouch.’
‘Who in their right mind would marry you?’
Her sister’s words stung, but they were true.
‘Unfortunately, we don’t have time for broken hearts,’ Zara said, softening her voice. ‘If we don’t act fast, there will be nothing left of Avanid to save.’
‘I know that,’ Aisha said, guilt creeping in.
‘The palace is purely symbolic at this point.’
Aisha made an exasperated noise. ‘I know. I failed. Do you think I don’t realise how dire things are after being pursued across Montia? I’ve been carrying the weight of my failure since I got here.’
‘Then carry it forwards.’ Zara took hold of Aisha’s hands. ‘Lilah must be the focus now. We need an alliance secured, and it needs to be the most spectacular alliance we can fathom.’
Carry it forwards. Move on. Forget all about him. These were all variations of the same nightmare. Aisha’s heart and mind refused to let go. It was the plan none of them wanted but had all agreed to. ‘You know I’ll help in any way I can.’
Zara squeezed her hands before letting go. ‘I appreciate that. I shall leave you to think on it.’
Aisha forced a smile, holding it until Zara left. She was underwater, drowning.
And she didn’t know how much longer she could hold her breath.
Chapter 39
Smoke drifted from tall burners in the corners of the reception chamber. Tariq sat at the head of the crescent-shaped table, dressed in a blue robe trimmed with orange thread, the same formal robe his father used to wear when greeting foreign dignitaries. His mother sat at his right, wearing colour again, her mourning clothes finally packed away.
The Slevaborg delegation sat opposite, wearing their bold national colours. Their spokesman, a fox-faced man named Hadrik, had spoken at length about trade, tariffs, and piracy in the southern passage. Tariq wondered if they mentioned the piracy in every court they visited, just to keep people afraid. He listened with the detachment of a man observing a game he didn’t care to play.
‘We received your correspondence regarding next month’s reduction in supply,’ Hadrik said, his stare meaningful. ‘We trust this is temporary and Gruisea’s commitment to the empire’s supply chain has not been impacted by the transfer of power?’
Tariq held his gaze. ‘Gruisea remains committed to Gruisea. We have some internal reforms underway.’
Hadrik leaned forwards. ‘Such as?’
‘For a start, our mine in Ashwaq will soon be decommissioned.’
A short silence followed, and Tariq made no effort to fill it. It was better to let everyone sit with the discomfort.
‘That site accounts for a quarter of your limestone output,’ the younger envoy said, as if Tariq was unaware.
‘The yield is declining.’
Hadrik shifted atop his cushion. ‘I suspect that is because the number of workers has been reduced.’
‘Children,’ Tariq said. ‘Children have been removed entirely.’
Farrah cleared her throat. ‘His Majesty was eager to see them return to their education.’
