Her heartbeat spiked. Durkhanai averted her gaze.
Asfandyar slowed his pace. In a few steps, she was side-by-side with him. He regarded her with open curiosity, as if waiting for her to speak.
She shivered, then shivered again, suddenly bitten by the cold. Her fingers had numbed without her noticing, her nails turning a shade of lavender blue.
“May I, princess?” he said, voice low. She blinked in surprise.
He extended his hand. Something sharp turned in her stomach. He smiled in a manner meant to be courteous, but she saw the dare that glittered in his eyes. He didn't think she would allow him—it was uncouth—but she would not be intimidated.
“How uncharacteristically kind of you, ambassador.”
His eyes glittered, but he did not smile.
She placed her fingers delicately onto his forefinger, and his gaze caught on the family crest ring she always wore on her third finger. Sudden emotion ran through his eyes, but before she could read it, the mischief was back.
Strange.
His hand swallowed hers. Something volatile, something barbaric, ran through her as he ran a thumb over her fingers, his knuckles grazing ever so teasingly against the curve of her palm. Pleasure rose in her throat, but she swallowed it.
“Comforted?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.
She smiled sweetly. “Not quite.”
He raised her fingers to his lips, then blew air into her hand. She couldn’t help the delicious warmth that ran through her, but two could play at this game.
She lifted her fingers until her nail grazed the smooth stretch of his bottom lip. His mouth parted, releasing a soft sound. Just as his lips closed into the whisper of a kiss, she swiftly pulled her hand away.
He looked stunned—starved.
“Shukria, ambassador,” she said, trying not to smile triumphantly. “I am most comforted now.”
She swore she almost heard him laugh, but he withheld, his lips in a downturned smile.
A draw, then.
They continued their walk, side by side, and admired the scenery. Below them, they could see a small lake, and the vertical folds of the mountains looked like the ruffles of an extravagant lengha. Higher, on the land, the roads looked like lightning bolts imprinted into the earth.
Durkhanai reminded herself to focus. She needed to make an ally out of him.
“You are quite the dancer,” she remarked. Men were easily placated with compliments. Asfandyar smiled.
“Nothing in comparison to you,” he replied. “Tell me, what other skills do you possess?”
“There’s too many to count,” she replied coolly.
“For the sake of your people and mine, let us hope exoneration is one of them,” he said pointedly. “You’ve three months to prove Marghazar was not behind the summit attack.”
Durkhanai bit her tongue. “The innocent needn’t worry about the swarming of vultures—the truth always reveals itself.”
“The sooner you find out, the sooner we can all leave,” he said, voice bored.
Despite wanting that outcome herself, she couldn’t stand his indifference to the privilege he had of being in her lands. “Why would you hasten your departure? Was it not you and your zillas that begged for the chance to be allowed entrance into my home?”
“Only to ensure there’s no fabrication of evidence,” he replied. “The chance to negotiate is a plus for the others, but Jardum and I couldn’t care less about the famed Marghazar. We’ve had great success without you for all these years and have no need of you now.”
“Oh, please,” Durkhanai said. “Marghazar has twice the resources of any other zilla.”
“Yet you withhold,” Asfandyar replied.
Durkhanai faltered. “We spend our resources on our people.”
“And what of the other tribes?”
“Their leaders should take care of them.”
“But you just stated Marghazar has twice the resources of everyone else—don’t you think that’s unfair? We can’t help the lands we were born to, after all. Haven’t you considered that trade would help the other zillas and their people, as well as your own people? Isolation is a barbaric notion.”
“Well . . .”
“No, you haven’t considered it. For the same reason you didn’t attend the summit: you are a haughty, selfish lot.” Asfandyar shook his head. “At least we have one another. With our joined forces, we’ve been able to hold back the Lugham Empire on all of our borders, and no matter how strong Marghazar is, that strength cannot last forever. Especially if Marghazar cannot prove its innocence and there is war. Yes, you are strong—but a triple-frontier war? Even Marghazar will crumble.”
There was merit to what Asfandyar was saying. Durkhanai had never considered it like that before. Perhaps he would be a useful ally after all, though she was doing a poor job at trying to make him one.
“Is that why you are here?” Durkhanai asked, keeping her voice level. “To convince Marghazar into your talks of unification?”
“No, that is not why I am here.”
“Then?”
Asfandyar cut her a sharp grin. “For you. I came for you.”
“What?” She didn’t understand, but it didn’t stop her heart from racing as the space between them narrowed. Her stomach twisted. He balanced her chin on his index finger and lifted her face to meet his.
“Of course,” he said, voice husky. “I came to see the famed jewel of Marghazar.”
His voice split into an easy grin. He was mocking her. She turned her cheek, but she couldn’t help her heartbeat.
It was then she realized that they had gotten even further ahead of everybody, no one in sight ahead or behind them.
“You’re distracting me,” she said, irritated.
“Yes,” he replied. Gulalai had warned her, but she couldn’t help how much she enjoyed his company. He was surprisingly candid.
She cocked her head to examine him.
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “The truth, please.”
“The truth?”
“Yes.” She was losing her patience.
“I’m a spy.” He smirked, drawing closer as she frowned. “Aren’t you as well?” he whispered. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Don’t worry—I won’t tell.”
Her frown deepened.
“I’ll give you some advice, spy to spy,” he said. “But it’s a secret between you and I. Do you think you can manage that?”
He was treating her like a child. She wanted to strangle him.
“Don’t let every emotion show on your face so plainly, little red,” he told her.
Her eyebrows furrowed together, her face folding into a frown.
“See,” Asfandyar continued, tapping her cheek. “Your face gets florid.”
She wanted to scrunch her face up in irritation, but she caught herself, flattening out every emotion she could until her mien was detached.
“That would be good advice if I was a spy,” she tried to say coolly. “How unfortunate you lack basic logic. Why would I be a spy in my own home?”
“Okay,” he countered, eyes glittering. “If you are not a spy, why are you here, talking to me? When you and Gulalai-sahiba seem to be such friends, and Palwasha-sahiba is desperate for your help, and Rukhsana-sahiba’s anger should surely be placated. Why are you here?”
She started, unsure. Nobody ever questioned her. She looked at him. “Because the mountains are beautiful. Because I am a princess.” Then, heart hammering, she said, “Because I enjoy your company.”
His lips twitched.
“Well done. I cannot tell if you are lying or not,” he responded, charmed. She had told him a half truth.
Durkhanai was never good at lying; she was always filled with acid and everything burned for the heartbeat before the lie left her lips. Often, she would feel so guilty she would concede and tell the truth.
“The mountains are quite beautiful indeed,” he said. “The mountains and the river S
’vat make a good pair.”
“Indeed they do.” Durkhanai loved them both—but she couldn’t help but sigh in remembrance of the valley in which she had spent the first half of her life.
“What troubles you?” Asfandyar asked. She hesitated, but his face was kind and curious. Besides, she needed him to trust her. Despite their bickering, perhaps they could move forward, reach some sort of common ground, as with Gulalai.
“I wasn’t raised here, you know,” she finally told him. “After my parents died, I was sent away to a village named Mianathob far from this place, to be raised by distant family. My father was the crown prince, and after he died . . .” She swallowed. “I am the crown princess; I needed to be kept safe.”
“How did they die?” he asked. Something sparked in his eyes at the mention of her father, but it was something she could not place. Everyone knew she was an orphan, but few knew the full story.
Unfortunately, she was not one of the few, either. Her grandparents said there was no use in knowing things that would only hurt her, and after some time, she had stopped asking.
She told him all she knew.
“They were assassinated . I barely survived myself . . .”
“I am sorry to hear that.” This time, she knew what was in his eyes: genuine sorrow.
“The valley was the first home I had ever known,” she continued. “So I miss it. Things were so much simpler in the farmlands. Bari Ammi—my grandfather’s sister—raised me for the first part of my life.”
She had grown in a lush, green valley by a cerulean blue lake, surrounded by golden farms and eternal sunshine. There, her grandfather’s sister, who never married again after losing her husband in the wars, raised her. The village had been filled with widows, a sort of safe haven for women with no family and nowhere else to go.
When Durkhanai thought of her childhood, she imagined her head in Bari Ammi’s lap, the older woman’s gentle hands stroking her hair as she told story after story. She imagined a fluffy teddy bear that a maid had told her was a “secret gift from her father,” that became old and worn because she took it with her everywhere.
She hadn’t known any sorrow there, only peace and simplicity. She had been spoiled then, too, but with attention and love, vastly different from the jewels and finery she was spoiled with at court.
Back then, she would visit the marble palace once a year, for a few of the hotter months when the mountains were cooler, and she had always yearned to be home in the valley. The mountains had seemed too cold, back then, unkind and harsh.
She was adored by her grandfather, of course, and her chachay and phuppo, but it hadn’t been home. And while she loved her grandparents, Agha-Jaan would always be busy, and Dhadi would always be reminding her of her duties as princess when all Durkhanai wanted was to play. At the palace, her every choice and her every word were scrutinized.
“It’s been years since I’ve been back at court, and I adore it, truly,” she told him. “But I miss home, too. Back then, I didn’t even know how to say my whole name. I could only get out Durre, so that’s what everybody called me.” She paused. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”
She hadn’t told anyone that before, but there was an easy comfort in talking to a complete stranger. She could be whoever she wanted to be.
She dreamed about and missed the fields, the women, the rivers, the crops, the heat, the sunlight, the golden sheen of it all, the stories, the stars.
Sometimes, Durkhanai ached for that simple life, away from court.
“It’s horrid because I remember then, I would miss my grandparents and the mountains, and now I’m missing my aunts and the valley,” she said. “Always missing something.”
Asfandyar didn’t say anything, and they continued walking. From here, the mountain was mud brown, but the base was grey-blue where the stones met the river, like the mountain’s toes had gone numb.
“Rule number two, if you want to be a successful spy,” Asfandyar said, breaking the silence. “Don’t give anyone information for free.”
She stopped walking, her lips turning down into a frown. She had slipped. Again.
“You’ve tricked me,” she said stupidly. She hated to be made a fool of. She really was going to strangle him.
His smile didn’t waver, but it was one of kindness, not malice. He shook his head.
“I haven’t,” he told her. “For in exchange for your anecdote, I shall share one of mine. When I was a boy, I didn’t love the mountains, either. I would visit my mother’s tribe in Dunas, where there are no mountains at all. We lived right by the water, and the vast ocean’s beauty is incomparable, I believe. There, the horizon stretched for centuries and at night, there were more stars than I’ve ever seen here, shimmering in an infinite sky.
“I don’t think there is anything more beautiful than the stars and the stories they hold. My mother would craft tales from the constellations; we’d lie on the beach for hours, staring at stars.”
Durkhanai made a soft sound. She didn’t know what to say. They walked in silence for a bit longer.
“You didn’t have to, you know,” she finally said.
“I know,” he replied. The devilish glint returned to his eyes. “But perhaps I enjoy your company, as well.”
Their eyes met in an infinite moment. It felt like staring at the sunrise, like being outside of time. She felt a strange softness toward him, the hatred she knew she should feel already gone, and Durkhanai couldn’t help herself. She knew he could be her enemy, could be using her, or distracting her, or making a fool of her, but in the end, she just couldn’t help herself.
She wanted to know him. It was as simple as that: she wanted.
“Durkhanai!”
The moment shattered.
She turned to the sound of a familiar voice. Durkhanai grinned.
“Zarmina!”
Chapter Five
They were here!
As her cousins Zarmina and Saifulah grew closer, she saw they gave Asfandyar a strange look, glancing between the two of them. Durkhanai put on a smile, masking the slight panic that rose in her throat.
“Where have you been?” Saifullah said. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Why did you stray so far?” Zarmina asked her.
“I didn’t realize,” Durkhanai replied. “But never mind that! Tell me about your journey!”
The twins whisked her away before she could realize she hadn’t said goodbye to Asfandyar. But when she turned around, he was already gone.
Almost like he’d never been there at all.
As they walked along the path, making their way back to the palace, they passed a small river. The water looked like a liquid moon, luminescent white and grey blue. It was beautiful but hazy; she couldn’t see what swam beneath the surface, couldn’t see anything but the current, pulling the water along.
As they made their way back, they passed a group of noblewomen speaking with Palwasha-sahiba, the ambassador from B'rung, Durkhanai caught a snippet of conversation.
“I do appreciate ho-how beautifully managed your lands are,” Palwasha-sahiba said. She spoke slowly, with a mild stutter. “B'rung, too, has many . . .”
Durkhanai slowed her pace, straining to listen further, but she could not hear.
“What is it?” Zarmina asked, slowing beside her.
“I’m not sure,” Durkhanai replied. “But we’re about to find out.”
It would be too conspicuous to turn around and follow Palwahsa-sahiba, but Durkhanai knew these trails intimately. Saifullah and Zarmina followed her wordlessly as she made a sharp turn, then sidestepped down the steep trail edge. There was a parallel path that ran below the trail the ambassadors were walking, built into the mountainside.
“Come on,” Durkhanai whispered. She quickened her pace, holding onto her jewelry so that it would not jingle. Zarmina did the same, and they slipped along until the voices grew louder above them.
This side trail was designed precisely for this purpose.
“Ambassador from B'rung,” Durkhanai whispered to her cousins. They listened closely.
“. . . I find it mo-most agreeable!” Palwasha-sahiba said, her voice high with enthusiasm.
That did not sound like an ambassador who believed Marghazar to be guilty of attacking her wali.
“How clever, indeed!” Palwasha-sahiba cried. “I would be so grateful if you would consider describing to me . . .”
From the corner of her eye, Durkhanai saw Zarmina slip. She bit back a cry and threw her hand out to stop Zarmina from falling.
But in doing so, the gold chudiyan on her arm jingled loudly. The three of them stilled.
The conversation above stopped. Silence filled the mountains.
Durkhanai pressed further into the mountainside. If the ambassador or noblewomen above looked over the trail edge, they would not see Durkhanai and her cousins, but just in case.
Then she noticed a steel-gray shawl, lowering into her sight.
It swung back and forth, until it entered the opening of the hidden trail rather than hitting solid mountain.
Oh no.
“Dear Shehzadi, I hope that is not you down there,” an amused voice called. Asfandyar. “What a nasty trick indeed, though poorly executed.”
They’d been caught.
“Fittay mu tera,” Durkhanai muttered. He had not even been with them earlier. He must have heard her chudiyan, as well. Unfortunately, she was the only one obnoxious enough to be wearing so much jewelry.
“Zarmina!” Saifullah hissed.
“Shut up!” she snapped.
The conversation above had truly ceased, and there was no point listening further. Cheeks burning, Durkhanai motioned for them to retreat. They made their way back, pace quick so as not to be truly caught red-handed.
Ashamed by their lackluster performance, Durkhanai rang for tea and changed her clothes. Only after being placated by biscuits and samosay did Saifullah breech the subject.
“Foreigners, conspiring in our own mountains! How could Agha-Jaan have let it come to this?” Saifullah sighed, running a hand through his wavy black hair. “It hasn’t been done for centuries!”
They were angry at her grandfather for allowing the ambassadors to enter Safed-Mahal in the first place. For the people of Marghazar—for her family—tradition was everything.
The Lady or the Lion Page 4