They passed a market where a group of musicians were playing instruments. But then the music waned, and a strange hush fell over the area. Aisha felt the ripple of tension spread along the street, prompting the head guard to raise a hand, signalling some sort of warning. Tariq gestured to a nearby alleyway, and the guards pressed in around them. He grabbed her reins as horses appeared. The riders wore white surcoats banded with scarlet, chainmail visible beneath. Verses were carved into their bracers so that every movement flashed with prayer.
Slevaborg’s holy warriors.
They were nothing more than the Emperor’s soldiers wrapped in scripture. Gods, how long had it been since she had seen them up close? Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse beating in her ears.
‘Princess.’
She flinched at the word from Tariq’s mouth. When she looked at him, she was met with the same intense stare as earlier, after her vision.
‘You’re shaking,’ he said, gesturing to her hands.
She looked down and saw that he was right. She quickly took hold of the saddle again to still her hands. ‘It’s cold in the shadows.’
He let her have that lie, his eyes returning to the road.
The head guard walked his horse to the edge of the alleyway and looked both ways before signalling to the others. The horses began to move again, and Tariq let go of her reins.
When they returned to the street, people looked at them with suspicion now, likely realising that the warriors were looking for them. Tariq must have noticed this too, because he told his head guard to ‘Pick up the pace.’
No one spoke again until they reached the outskirts of the city, a stark transformation from the bustling streets behind. The noise faded, replaced by the gentle rustle of desert winds and the occasional call of a raven overhead. Aisha had not seen the desert in over a decade, since her mother was alive, when it had all felt safe. Nothing had felt safe since that day. Her father had kept the fear alive for good reason.
Tariq remained at her side as they made their way through vast stretches of golden sand. Aisha marvelled at the raw beauty of the setting, with its towering date palms along the horizon. Aside from the occasional cluster of nomadic tents, there was nothing but space and gentle sunshine.
‘How far to the port?’ she asked.
Tariq met her gaze. ‘You don’t know how far your own port is?’
Aisha’s cheeks heated. He thought her sheltered. What kind of princess didn’t know the distance from her own capital to the sea? She shifted in the saddle. ‘What I meant to ask is how long will it take to get there?’
He was about to answer, but then his head turned sharply. He appeared to be listening for something. Aisha followed his gaze across the shimmering dunes, wondering what he had heard that she didn’t.
‘Shit,’ said the head guard.
Aisha heard it then—the pounding of hooves in the distance.
Tariq wheeled his mare around with a clipped signal to his men. ‘Let’s get off the road.’
‘How do you know who it is?’ Aisha asked.
‘We don’t,’ his guard replied. ‘Which is why we’re getting off the road.’
Tariq sent her gelding forwards with a sharp slap to its flank. The horse lurched after the others. ‘Ready for a gallop?’
‘What? No?—’
‘Lean forwards and hold on.’
Then they were off, the guards thundering into formation around them.
Aisha lowered herself against the horse’s neck, grabbing handfuls of mane as sand and sunlight blurred together. Risking a glance over her shoulder, her stomach dropped as horses crested the horizon. She reminded herself that she had seen herself and Tariq on the ship. That meant they would make it.
She just needed to stay on the horse.
Tariq remained close to Aisha, bracing for her to tumble off her horse. But to his surprise, she stayed on.
‘We’ll head west for a bit,’ Kaidon called over his shoulder, signalling to the other men.
Tariq snuck another glance at Aisha, who was holding on for dear life while the horse’s mane whipped her face. Then he looked over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.
