‘Put her in there,’ Jibran said, pointing to a small hut with a warped door.
Aisha looked over her shoulder at Tariq, who was still holding the grieving father, before she was ushered inside.
‘Lock the door and stay away from the window,’ Kaidon instructed before the door slammed shut between them.
With her heart racing and palms sweating, Aisha stared at the closed door for a few more breaths before looking around. It was a single room with a small iron stove in the corner and a rickety table with two mismatched chairs near the window. A bed sat in the centre.
She didn’t know what to do next—besides stay away from the window.
Walking over to the bed, she sat on the edge of the hard mattress and watched the door.
Minutes passed by.
Aside from the occasional sound of muffled voices in the distance, all was silent. Then came a soft knock.
Aisha walked over to the door, hand on the lock. ‘Who is it?’
‘Jibran’ came the familiar voice.
Aisha unlocked the door and cracked it open. Jibran stood holding a wooden tray. She immediately opened it the rest of the way. One of the guards who had travelled with them was standing guard at the door, eyes scanning the area.
‘For you, Your Highness.’ Jibran spoke barely above a whisper. ‘Best I could do.’
She took it from him. ‘Thank you.’ When he went to leave, she asked, ‘Is the prince all right?’
He faced her again. ‘There are some heavy conversations taking place. I’m sure he’ll join you as soon as he can.’ He turned and left.
‘Lock the door,’ the guard said, glancing in her direction.
She did.
Aisha set the tray on the bed, then dragged the table away from the window so she could eat at it. She stared down at the tray, which held some flatbread, dried fruit, and a small dish of warm fish. A bowl of steaming water and a washcloth were also included, which she was most grateful for after the long ride.
She washed her hands and face, then sat picking at the food. The room was lit by a single lantern, which cast flickering shadows on the walls. She watched them as she ate. When half the food remained, she set it aside in case Tariq returned hungry.
The night stretched on, but despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep. She lay on her back, staring at the uneven ceiling and listening for any sound of his return. It must have been past midnight when the door finally rattled. She got to her feet, blinking against the haze of fatigue, and opened the door without checking it was him.
Tariq’s shoulders were rounded with fatigue, and his cloak was covered in dust. His eyes moved over her before he asked, ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No.’ She stepped aside to let him in, then locked the door.
He took his cloak off and hung it on a loose nail on the door.
‘I saved you some food,’ she said, gesturing to the table.
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I wasn’t sure if you would get the chance.’
He held her gaze for a long moment, then walked over to the table, sinking down in a chair. Aisha sat in the other one and watched him clean his hands and face. There wasn’t much that could be done about the dust clinging to his hair. She pushed the tray of food towards him.
‘Thank you,’ he said without looking at her. He tore off a piece of bread and used it to pick up the fish, eating quietly.
‘Is the man all right?’
He swallowed before answering. ‘No. Nor are the others who lost family earlier in the week.’
She swallowed. ‘What happened to them?’
