“Come, let me recite you some poetry to soothe your mind,” Zarmina said, leading her to the couch and picking up a book from the table.
But even after an hour of beautiful lines, Durkhanai was not content. If anything, she felt more aggrieved. She knew there was another she could seek out, but Dhadi’s warning rang in her mind. It was with sadness that she retreated to her private library, leaning on the windowsill and staring out at the mountains. A crow cried in the distance.
A little time later, in the last place she’d expect someone, she had a visitor.
Chapter Eight
“Am I interrupting?” a deep voice asked.
Durkhanai’s heart caught, but she refused to turn from her spot in her private library, her favorite place to slip away to think. She stood before one of the highest windows in the palace, overlooking the lush valley below. She heard footsteps padding across the rug as he approached, but she did not move.
She reminded herself that he was a foreigner. One her grandmother forbade her from seeing.
In the three weeks that had passed, she hadn’t talked to him much. She had been far too busy—perhaps intentionally too busy—with visiting villages and cataloguing the new illness sweeping through them.
Despite how large the marble palace was, she had seen him often, in passing, and even if they didn’t speak, they always shared a glance and a nod of acknowledgment. Sometimes a smile, even, or a smirk.
Once, however, she saw him thrice in the span of a day, and on the third occasion, she couldn’t help but laugh. Something about him made everything turn bubbly, like she’d downed champagne.
“Ambassador,” she had said, feigning surprise. “Are you following me?”
“Princess,” he had replied, feigning equal surprise. “Perhaps it is you following me.”
“Need I remind you this is my palace?”
Neither had stopped walking, merely slowed their respective pace. He had laughed as he passed by, and the way he looked at her—she couldn’t get it out of her head.
He was charming, and she was optimistic. She was a rosy-eyed fool, but oh, did the rose smell sweet.
She could sense she was being silly, but she didn’t mind. Even though she should have. If the ambassadors weren’t here, she could return to focusing on the wars and the villagers’ wellbeing rather than spying. It was why she had not sought him out.
So, in that moment when Asfandyar finally sought her out, as she had somehow sensed he would, Durkhanai refused to acknowledge him. He came and stood beside her. Still, she did not turn.
“Not interrupting, then?” he asked again. She could bear it no longer. She looked at him, her response an indifferent glance. He nodded, turning to lean against the window. As he did, he slipped his pakol off, unfurling his curly hair.
Durkhanai regarded the valley once more.
“Ghaam ki shaam lambi hoti hai,” she said, more to herself than him. The evening of despair is long.
“Magar shaam hi toh hai,” he said. But it is only an evening, after all.
Durkhanai looked at him. He smiled softly, and tears pricked her eyes. It was one of her favorite lines of poetry. How had he known?
She felt inexplicably seen, as though he’d carved open her chest and rather tenderly touched her heart. She wished to tell him, to somehow touch back, but she was afraid of ruining the sudden intimacy.
She did not care if it was forbidden. She would not turn him away.
“You haven’t been here much,” he said, breaking the silence, the comment too plain for the moment. A jolt ran through her; she was taken aback. He was looking at the hat in his hands, not at her. She furrowed her brows.
“I’ve been occupied,” she responded. “How did you come across this place?”
“A spy never reveals his secrets,” he responded with a smile. “Another tip for you to learn, though I won’t ask you to reveal the secret of your hidden mountain trails for eavesdropping.”
He was teasing again. She glared. She didn’t want to talk about herself. Perhaps it was time for him to feel bare.
“How did your parents meet?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject. She had wondered for some time now.
His entire face crumpled.
“Does it matter?” he snapped, jaw set.
“No,” she snapped back. “It doesn’t.”
She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have wanted to know him. She needed allyship from him, not friendship. Want had no place here. As Dhadi had so pointedly reminded her.
Asfandyar sighed, looking at her guiltily.
“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said. “It’s just that I’d rather not give anybody the opportunity to further torment me for my mother’s race.”
Durkhanai appreciated the honesty. “That’s fair.” Perhaps allyship and friendship were one and the same, after all . . .
“Qismat,” he said, voice soft. “A woman from Dunas and a man from Jardum. It was improbable, impossible.”
“And yet.”
“And yet.” He smiled.
Durkhanai, the hopeless romantic, wanted to ask more details about their backstory but didn’t want to seem too interested.
“They must be proud of you,” she said instead. “So young and accomplished. I’m sure many would kill to have gotten the chance to come to Marghazar as ambassador.”
He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “A few years ago, Abu died in the war against the Kebzus, and Ammi died shortly after from grief,” he said. “I never knew somebody could die from grief, you know, but after Ammi—I understood.”
Durkhanai gasped. “I’m sorry.” He was an orphan as well, and while she’d never known her parents, making their absence perhaps a little more bearable, it seemed he had lost his parents after years of love.
Asfandyar shrugged, but his voice was cloudy when he said, “It was a long time ago.” He cleared his throat, confident and easygoing once more. “Now, will you tell me why you’re Princess Pouty today?”
Her lips quirked. “There is some sort of sickness spreading through the villages. I’ve visited a few in the past weeks, and the people are falling ill in a manner most alarming, especially considering it’s near summer.”
“You have medicine here in the palace, don’t you?” he asked. “Why not distribute it?”
“I asked, but we do not have much.”
“Perhaps what you are looking for is hidden from you.”
“I have access to everything,” she said, voice icy. “So if you are trying to imply my grandparents are hiding something from me, you are wrong.”
“Perhaps you aren’t looking in the right places,” he said, unbothered by her thorns. “The palace is huge, after all. I doubt you’ve searched every nook and cranny.”
“If you have something to say, say it.”
“I would check a cupboard in the corridor east of the infirmary,” he replied casually.
“And how, exactly, would you know that?”
“You’ve been busy, so have I,” he said with a shrug.
She wanted to pout, then remembered how he had said not let every emotion show. It made her want to pout even more. “Why are you here?” she asked instead. “Hoping to manipulate information out of me?”
“I doubt you have any,” he replied easily. “I’m here to find evidence of my own, and truth be told, the more I see, the less I am convinced Marghazar was behind the summit attack.”
The way he said it made it seem like an insult.
“Don’t think we are cunning enough?”
“Precisely. The attack was immensely nuanced and had to have been carried out by somebody who knew the area meticulously—your lot never leave your lands.”
Not that she needed Asfandyar’s approval or his help, but Durkhanai was glad he believed in Marghazar’s innocence as well. Besides, he made a good point.
Plus, he had been at the summit—he had witnessed the attack. She had been racking her brain for the past month for ways to
find proof of her people’s innocence but had come up with nothing.
In just a minute, Asfandyar had already provided her with more information than she or anybody she had asked could have ever come up with because he was right—she and her people didn’t leave their lands. Eavesdropping on Palwasha-sahiba had been a failure. Calling for tea with Rukhsana-sahiba had been a failure.
She had no clue about any of the details. This was a problem.
“Then who do you reckon was behind it?” she asked. “And why are you telling me this?”
She held her breath.
“Despite your sharp tongue, you may be the only person in this blasted tribe with any useful information beyond what I’ve been able to find myself. I’ve spent the past few weeks without any success—I figured we might be able to help one another.”
“And why would I help you?”
“For the same reason you would help yourself: you don’t want war between our tribes, nor do you want peace. The sooner this dreadful matter is closed, the sooner we can both go back to our people and our lives.”
“So you’re proposing we . . . what? Work together?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he replied with a shrug.
Interesting.
“I’ll consider it,” she replied, turning to go.
“Durkhanai,” he called. Something tickled in her tummy upon hearing him say her name.
“Hmm?”
“It’s good you’re worried,” he told her, voice earnest. “About your people, I mean. It means you care. So don’t give up on them.” He smiled. “They adore you.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it.
It felt good to talk to him. Unlike everyone else, who told her not to worry, Asfandyar took her seriously. It was only this that compelled her to search where he had told her to.
She found the cupboard he spoke of easily, but it was small and held only a half-empty medicine cabinet. Durkhanai almost gloated, but for the sake of her people, she checked the other corridors. Nothing.
She returned to where Asfandyar had suggested. This time, she looked closer.
The medicine cabinet wasn’t flush with the wall.
She leaned around the side. Sure enough, it was a cover. She pushed the light cabinet over, and it glided easily, revealing a door that led to a massive room.
Rows and rows of medicine vials. They were labeled differently, for different things. Different colors and consistencies. She opened one and it smelled strongly of cardamom.
“Fittay mu tera,” she whispered. “Goddamn him.”
He was right.
Which also meant her grandmother had hidden the truth from her.
Durkhanai could understand her grandparents keeping her at a distance with the ambassadors, but she had always thought they trusted her completely when it came to her people. It was why she was so meticulous about meeting with them.
Dhadi always praised her for the care she showed the villagers. Agha-Jaan always said she was performing her duties most diligently.
Yet, they had kept this from her. They did not truly trust her in this, either.
The sense of authority she had crumbled. Perhaps all it really had been was a falsified sense of authority, to begin with. Just enough information to make her feel as though she knew everything, when in truth, she knew very little.
It hurt. And it didn’t make sense. Why not give out all the medicine they had?
Durkhanai wanted to ask her grandmother outright but stopped herself. Perhaps Dhadi would hide the medicine again, and then it would be of no use to anyone.
But why hide it at all? Durkhanai was sure Dhadi had a good reason, but she wouldn’t risk it by bringing it up, not at such a critical moment for the people down in the villages, not after what Naeem-sahib had implied. Her grandparents might not take her seriously on these matters, either, and then she would fail the very people relying on her.
And how had Asfandyar known?
Maybe Gulalai and Saifullah were right: Asfandyar was dangerous.
Right then, she needed to focus on the medicine. She needed clarification.
“Doctor-sahiba,” she called, peeking her head into the head doctor’s office. The doctor immediately got up and lowered her head in respect, touching her fingers to her forehead.
“Shehzadi,” the doctor responded.
“Doctor Aliyah,” Durkhanai said. “There is an illness spreading through the villages. Would you be able to locate some medicine for me?”
“The Wali has informed me,” the doctor replied. “We are already working on finding the proper medicine and distributing it. Don’t fret, Shehzadi.”
“Yes, but I would still like to see where the medicine is held.” She paused to clarify. “Rather, which exact medicine will be used.”
“We are still modifying the precise concoction. No doubt the Wali would not wish to worry you.” Doctor Aliyah reassured Durkhanai with a confident smile. “Now, if you will excuse me.”
She left before Durkhanai could press further. It felt like a ruse. She left the office with a pout. She had found medicine, but didn’t know what to use, and Doctor Aliyah was only prescribing through Dhadi.
She needed to take matters into her own hands. She was the princess, after all. She remembered the villager’s sadness, their fright, and it was all she needed to devise a quick plan.
She peeked through the infirmary, plucking a young doctor in training from the room. He was a year younger than her with crooked glasses and frazzled eyes.
“Yes, Shehzadi?” he asked, blinking quickly. She gave out an exaggerated cough, melting her face into one of pain.
“I don’t feel so well,” she told him. “I think I have a fever.”
She leaned against the wall dramatically, closing her eyes and moaning. It had the desired effect: his face crumpled in despair.
“I will alert Doctor Aliyah immediately!” he assured her. Durkhanai caught his arm, gave it a squeeze. The boy froze.
“No, don’t,” she told him, coughing again. “I’d hate to be a bother.”
He looked like a scared kitten.
“Why don’t you just bring me the medicine I need?” she asked. He blinked at her, swallowing hard.
“Me?” he asked. She nodded.
“I would be so grateful,” she replied. Durkhanai batted her eyelashes for extra effect.
“Right away, Shehzadi,” he said. “Would you please tell me the symptoms again?”
“Fever, cough, fatigue, and sore throat,” she told him. He nodded.
“Wait here just a moment, Shehzadi,” he said. He disappeared and returned with a little vial of medicine.
“Put this in warm milk with turmeric and drink it in the morning and evening for three days,” he told her. “With Allah’s blessing, you will be healthy once more.”
“Jazakullah khair,” she said. “Your princess salutes you.”
The boy smiled shyly, and Durkhanai didn’t even feel a little bit guilty as she walked back to her rooms.
On the way, Asfandyar crossed her path.
“Princess, did you find what you were looking for?”
“Indeed, I did,” she replied.
He nodded, smug. “What are you going to do now?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she told him, smiling to herself.
Chapter Nine
“You really are predictable, you know that?” Asfandyar told her not four hours later.
Durkhanai scowled. The instant she’d lit a candle in the medicine cupboard, he appeared, casually leaning against the wall. With his bedroom eyes and sleepy sighs, he was even more insufferable.
To make it worse, he smirked like it was his profession.
“Khuda ke liye,” she muttered. “How long have you been standing there like a lunatic?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Just long enough to think about how satisfying it would be to catch you,” he said, grinning now.
“Don’t gloat.�
�� She pushed him to the side and began reaching for the medicine vials. She placed them into the leather bag she had brought, which already had little handwritten instructions to be given out with the medicine. She’d spent all evening writing them out.
Asfandyar shook his head at her.
“Well? Are you going to help me or not?” she asked.
“Do tell me what your plan is,” he replied, looking at her satchel. “You’re going to, what? Steal medicine and walk around the villages in your absurd night attire, handing it out?”
Durkhanai’s mouth fell open as she pretended to be offended. In truth, she was relieved he had caught her. She hadn’t wanted to do this alone, anyways, and now she could bully him into helping her. And he seemed looser at night. Friendlier, even.
“First of all,” she started, “it’s not stealing because, as I must continuously remind you, this is my castle! Two, this is not absurd night attire!”
Durkhanai looked down, and realized that perhaps her argument had been lost. She wore slippers, baby pink silk shalwar kameez, and a palachi shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
He raised his brows at her.
“Maybe this is slightly inappropriate,” she conceded. Especially considering how thin these clothes were: she could feel the curvy outline of her body against the silken fabric, and from the way Asfandyar looked at her, he clearly could, too.
“But,” she continued, pulling her shawl tighter, trying not to smile, “the people need medicine, and I have medicine to give them. Now, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me?”
She pouted for good measure. He rolled his eyes and snorted.
“I’ll help, but only because you’re entirely hopeless without me,” he said. “You’re welcome, by the way. Maybe this will convince you we really ought to be allies after all.”
He gave her a grin and took the bag from her hands. Which was lucky, since it was getting heavy. At least all his muscles weren’t just for show.
“Acha, zaada mat bano,” she told him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. But thank you, nonetheless.”
“Of course, princess,” he said, giving a dramatic bow.
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