‘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.’
