She didn’t want him to go but knew he must.
“Rest well, princess,” he whispered.
And then he was gone.
After he left, she scrubbed her body raw. Even after the sun began to slant into the room, she couldn’t get his face out of her head. She was addicted to him, somehow.
She didn’t love him—she knew she didn’t. But she could grow to. She knew she should cut the thoughts and feelings at their inception before they manifested into something too deeply rooted to get rid of, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to butcher this sapling.
It was a soft, quiet thing; she felt a tenderness toward it, even if its thorns pricked her from time to time because, oh, did it smell so succulently sweet.
She could get drunk off just the scent.
Chapter Fourteen
When she finally awoke, just a few hours later, Durkhanai’s mind was spinning.
What had Palwasha-sahiba been doing out so late at night? Why had she run? Her mind was racing with questions and concerns, theories and secrets.
Then, it all gave way as she remembered was the man from the night prior: the slow and sickening feeling of losing control. Her whole body hurt and ached. Then her heart melted as she remembered what had come after, the exact comfort of safety that can only come after a sufficient dosage of fear.
Outside, the weather was stormy, on the verge of rain, and hazy, even though it was summer now. She felt a creeping feeling she didn't know how to describe. A haunting feeling.
Durkhanai had something to say but couldn’t taste the exact flavor of the words. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out, and maybe she knew what it was, deep down, but she didn’t have the courage to bring herself to speak.
Her head was pounding, but she busied herself with investigating.
If Palwasha-sahiba had done all this to gain Marghazar’s favor, there had to be some correspondence, some alliance papers, something.
And she knew where they would be.
Durkhanai grabbed a key and slipped into her passageways without another word.
The passageways were dark and cool as ever. It was refreshing; her skin felt too hot. She lifted a lantern for light and began the route she had memorized by heart, her hand trailing along the wall for guidance at every turn, ever corner. She had learned these passageways when she had first arrived at court—she knew every room, every entrance, every exit. The Badshah had made sure of it.
For if one got lost in here, there was no saving them.
A pebble skittered behind her.
Durkhanai turned, straining her ears to hear but—silence.
Perhaps she had imagined it. She continued walking, until she felt a shift in the air—the cool current no longer empty. Footsteps echoed behind her.
With a swift movement, Durkhanai pulled the dagger from her side and turned around, holding it up to her follower’s throat.
He raised his hands in surrender.
“Asfandyar?” she balked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Following you, obviously.”
She gave him a look.
“Can we drop the dagger?” he asked, looking down at the tip of the blade that pinched into his chin.
She narrowed her eyes at him, pressing the blade a little closer to his skin. He raised a brow, and she dropped the blade.
“I almost stabbed you,” she informed him. “Don’t frighten me thus.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, rubbing his neck. “Where on earth are you going?”
“Why on earth are you in the passageways?’
“I was coming to see if you were alright after last night,” he responded easily. “But since you are wielding dangerous weapons, I can see that you are. Also, you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m going to see . . . a friend.” It was a poor attempt, but her head was spinning. He gave her a look.
“Right,” he replied. “Here I was thinking we were friends—allies. But if you are acting suspicious, I must assume Marghazar is suspicious, as well.”
“No,” she replied. “It’s just—I’m actually—I don’t . . .”
She rubbed her temples and released a sigh. “Fine, you can come along.”
He grinned. “If you insist, Shehzadi.”
It was just as well. She could use his help in deciphering whatever she found. Besides, two people would be better to investigate in the little time they had before the Badshah would be back from his meeting.
They reached their destination, and Durkhanai pulled a little key out from her waistband. For the more important rooms, the passageways had locked doors, barring entry into the room without a key.
Durkhanai unlocked the door and they entered the Badshah’s private office.
“Try to find anything from the B'rung zilla,” Durkhanai told Asfandyar. “Anything to do with Palwasha-sahiba, such as negotiation drafts.”
Durkhanai’s gaze caught on a painting that rested behind the Badshah’s desk. In it, the Badshah and the Wali of S’vat were adorned in finery, as usual, and the Badshah held a baby girl on his forearm between them, the baby’s feet sitting in his palm.
Durkhanai smiled. Agha-Jaan always said she was only that small for a few weeks, but he had always loved holding her in one arm.
Durkhanai had been in her grandfather’s office only a handful of times, and she had never snuck in before; guilt crept through her, making her dizzy. She put her hand on the table, steadying herself.
She pushed the guilt away—she needed answers.
They began looking around, and she rummaged through some of the books, hoping to find something hidden between the spines.
After some time, she turned to see how Asfandyar was faring and caught him holding her grandfather’s seal.
“Don’t touch that!” she scolded. It was the Badshah’s mark for his correspondence. He dropped the seal and held his hands up innocently.
“Stay focused,” she ordered. They continued to read through documents, until Asfandyar suddenly stilled.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
She didn’t, but before she could even react, he rushed toward her.
“Someone’s coming!”
He grabbed her waist from behind and pulled her toward the bookshelf, hiding in the shadows until they were hidden from plain view. Durkhanai’s heart pounded furiously against her chest, but she reckoned it had more to do with Asfandyar’s fingers lingering on the bare skin of her waist.
“No one is here,” she whispered, taking a step away from him.
But then she heard it, too.
The Badshah and the Wali outside the doors.
Durkhanai pulled Asfandyar toward the passageway entrance, slipping in and easing the door closed just as her grandparents entered.
“This is good,” she whispered. “I wanted to be here for when they met later.”
Durkhanai left the door open a peak so they could listen. It was impossible to hear once the door closed. They pressed against the wall to catch the conversation. She pressed a cheek against the cold stone, but Asfandyar was warm behind her. She suddenly felt breathless, her feet swaying.
But whatever was wrong with her felt deeper than just his presence. Her head was still spinning. She leaned against the wall.
“Are you alright?” Asfandyar asked, hands falling to her shoulders to steady her.
“Yes.”
Durkhanai tried to focus on what the Wali was saying.
“It is confirmed then?” the Wali said. “The Kebzu Kingdom carried out the summit attack?’
“Yes,” the Badshah replied. “Read this.”
Durkhanai couldn’t tell what it was that he was showing the Wali, but no matter. She had been right—it was the Kebzu Kingdom. But they still couldn’t provide evidence as to who informed them.
Durkhanai continued to listen to the Badshah’s conversation, but there was nothing more of substance, and finally, he and the Wali left. When they did, Durkha
nai and Asfandyar followed suit and began walking back.
“I didn’t get to show you, but I think I found something,” Asfandyar said. “It was a negotiation draft: Marghazar would help B'rung in the building of roads if they gave Marghazar a tax in the form of soldiers, I suppose to aid Marghazar against the Lugham Empire.”
It was the initial step to annex B'rung into Marghazar. The same thing had happened with Trichmir and Dirgara, when they were smaller zillas of their own before the Badshah joined them together with S’vat to create Marghazar a hegemony.
“Hmm. So B'rung is getting a good negotiation with Marghazar after all.”
They had a good incentive, then, to inform the Kebzu Kingdom about the summit. Without the summit attack, they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to negotiate with Marghazar.
“If B'rung was responsible,” Durkhanai began. “Marghazar wouldn’t have war, correct?”
“I suppose not,” Asfandyar replied. “B'rung would have to pay a price, but only if concrete evidence was found. To avoid war between our zillas, we need something that explicitly shows B'rung was the zilla that informed the Kebzu Kingdom of the summit—only then will Marghazar be exonerated.”
“Marghazar won’t be blamed for B'rung’s actions, even if B'rung did it to gain Marghazar’s favor, yes?” Durkhanai asked.
“Precisely.”
But how could they get such evidence?
They both contemplated this, until Durkhanai had an idea.
“Somebody had to inform the Kebzu Kingdom, correct?” Durkhanai asked. “And I doubt the Wali of B'rung would provide that information in written paper—it would be much too risky. Instead, the Wali must have sent someone to deliver the message.”
“If we can get that person here to confess, we would have our evidence,” Asfandyar said, finishing her thoughts.
“We could send a letter from Palwasha-sahiba to the Wali of B'rung, asking for that witness to come here—we can claim the Badshah wishes to see evidence to prove that B'rung was behind the summit attack before he believes them and forges an alliance?” Durkhanai proposed.
“Yes, but it will take time,” Asfandyar replied. “At least five days journey to send the mail and then five days journey back.”
There was only one month left. On the first of July, the ambassadors were to leave, and if they were unsatisfied, they would return with armies.
It would never get to that point: if the Badshah had suspicions the ambassadors were unsatisfied, he would have them killed before they could leave, out of spite. At that point, war would already be declared.
The only way the ambassadors were leaving was with a peace treaty.
Chapter Fifteen
Durkhanai slept through the day, and she woke not feeling the slightest bit rested.
All she could think about was Palwasha-sahiba, Rukhsana-sahiba, alliances, negotiations, wars, threats—everything spinning and spinning. When she closed her eyes, all her body could remember was Asfandyar’s skin against hers, their bodies pressed together against the cool stone walls.
But something else nagged at her, too: discomfort and unease. Perhaps all the fatigue of her late nights and worries was catching up to her.
Durkhanai wanted to talk to somebody about this all—no, she wanted to talk to Zarmina. But Zarmina would only worry about what a fool Durkhanai was feeling.
But in the end, she didn’t have to say anything; Zarmina came to her on her own.
“You showed Asfandyar the passageways,” Zarmina said, voice broken. She stood in Durkhanai’s doorway, not coming in.
It wasn’t an accusation; it was fact. She was angrier than Durkhanai had seen her in a long, long time.
“How did you—” Durkhanai started, heart hammering. She went to stand, and her head spun from the sudden movement.
“I saw him leaving, at fajr, before dawn,” she replied. “I’ve barely seen you lately . . . and I couldn’t sleep after praying . . . so I thought I would come visit—I didn’t know you already had a visitor.”
“You don’t understand,” Durkhanai said. Her mouth filled with bile. “Please, come sit with me.”
She felt like she was being squeezed into a tiny box. Shame pressed her cheeks red hot like coals sitting on her skin. Zarmina would think the worst, seeing them together so late at night.
“Nothing . . . like that happened,” Durkhanai insisted. “We were just discussing something about the illness spreading through the village.”
It was a half lie, acidic in her mouth.
But how could she explain? What could she say?
“Whatever it was, you showed him the passageways?” Zarmina asked, incredulous. “You do realize how stupid that was, don’t you? The one mode of hidden transportation within the palace—not even everyone in the family knows. You told Saifullah and I only a few years ago, yet you immediately told our enemy? When did you become such a fool?”
“Zarmina, please,” Durkhanai said. She was suddenly tired, much too tired. “I don’t want to argue.”
“You’re being nonsensical!” Zarmina said, scolding Durkhanai as if she was a child. “You’re so distracted, and you’ve become obsessed with Asfandyar. People are beginning to notice, and rumors—”
“Enough about rumors,” Durkhanai responded, rubbing her temples. “I’ve done no one harm, who would spread rumors about me?”
Zarmina shook her head. “You still don’t know how the world works. This could ruin you, not only as a woman, but as the princess.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
The people knew the truth about her, just as they always had. Who would believe such filth? She was confident nobody would believe it, and if they did, somebody would defend her, just as she defended her people.
“You don’t understand,” Zarmina said. “Asfandyar is the most important ambassador. You haven’t been paying attention, but Saifullah and I have. Jardum is our biggest threat. They are the most favored zilla. They haven’t even been negotiating—since clearly their ambassador has been occupied—and they’ve just been watching.
“They are friends with everyone. It’s said Jardum is the middle, the ally that gets goods for the other zillas, the one that gets things done. And it’s said Asfandyar knows everyone, everywhere. He’s so young, and there are many rumors about how he got such a position so quickly, but some say he works for a man—”
“That’s enough, Zarmina,” Durkhanai said. “Don’t treat me like a child.”
“You’re acting like a child!”
“Zarmina,” Durkhanai warned. “Enough.”
“I’ve tried to be patient with you, but you aren’t seeing sense! The only reason he is here is to gain an advantage,” Zarmina said, exasperated “And advantages are not gained but stolen from the powerful. We are the most powerful: your crown and your land and your people.”
“He isn’t like that,” Durkhanai tried to say. She didn’t want to think he was. She believed in him.
“When the negotiations are finished, he will leave here,” Zarmina reminded her, eyes sad. “And you will never see him again.”
“I know,” Durkhanai insisted, but Zarmina wasn’t finished.
Zarmina shook her head, turning to leave. She stopped, turning back to say one last thing before she went, her face cold.
“When you are left standing alone at the end of the day, I wonder if he will be enough for you.”
Durkhanai fell ill that evening.
She felt it coming all day, but that evening after maghrib, she laid down and couldn’t seem to get up. When a maid came to find her for dinner, she found Durkhanai’s skin burning with fever.
Of course, the entire palace was thrown into a frenzy. Durkhanai was visited by doctors and told what to do: here, change into something warmer; here, drink this medicine; here, lie down and rest.
“Of course you’ve gone and gotten sick,” Zarmina fussed, irritated. “Batameez.”
Durkhanai knew Zarmina was worried, and she squeezed h
er hand. It was the language of sisters and they were versed in it well.
“Don’t worry,” Durkhanai said. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, I am sure she is,” a voice said. They turned to find Gulalai entering. She was shaking her head, exasperated.
“Durkhanai, you’re too much,” Gulalai said dramatically. “Is this all a ruse for attention because I haven’t had chai with you lately?”
“Why, of course,” Durkhanai joked, voice faint. “You’re such a horrible friend, I hardly see you. I had to do something.”
“Yes,” Gulalai sighed. “Well, I surrender! I’ll be more attentive, I promise. Now hurry and get better soon.”
Gulalai reached over and squeezed her other hand. They were both sitting by her legs, and while it was nice to have them so close, Durkhanai was beginning to feel hot. Sticky.
Saifullah noticed from his seat by her bedside.
“Give her space,” Saifullah said, shooing Zarmina away. “You girls and your incessant need to constantly be glued to one another.”
Zarmina made a face at him but did as she was told. Her and Gulalai found seats on the opposite end of her bed, by her feet.
“Better?” he asked quietly. She nodded.
“Thanks, Lala,” she said. She rarely used the word of endearment for brothers; he smiled.
But there was something rooted deep below, something growing. An emotion she couldn’t understand. She recalled the passageways, his strange behavior. Even now, how he couldn’t properly look her in the eye.
“What is on your mind?” she asked him. He looked distracted, averted.
“You’re a good princess, Shehzadi,” Saifullah said, hand gentle on her hair. She smiled up at him and saw that he looked . . . sad.
“But?”
“But you are untested, untried,” he told her, voice lowering. “What if the Badshah were to do something you disagreed with? Would you defy—”
“That’s enough,” she said, shaking his hand off. “Agha-Jaan knows best, always.”
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