The Lady or the Lion

“One second,” he said, getting up. “Keep your hand closed, like it was before.”

  She did as she was told and watched as he grabbed a bowl and ran to the mouth of the farmhouse, holding it out to the open sky to fill it with water. He returned to her, his arm drenched.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  She obliged, and he cleaned it with water. Fresh blood spilled out as the old blood left.

  “It’s not too deep,” Asfandyar said. “But we’ll want to cover it.”

  He bit into the hem of his kameez and ripped a piece of the cloth off. She hadn’t even noticed he had discarded his embroidered sherwani and wore the simple shalwar kameez underneath.

  Durkhanai put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as he wrapped the cloth around her hand, clenching her jaw to bite back the ache.

  “This might hurt,” he warned. She nodded. He pulled the cloth tight, forcing the skin of her wound together, and she took in a sharp breath, her nails biting into his shoulder. “All good.”

  “Shukria,” she said, slightly embarrassed. She let go of his shoulder, and cradled her hand to her chest again. As she did, she felt sticky blood on the bottom of her necklace. With an irritated grumble, she undid the necklace, then undid the rest of her jewelry, too.

  Asfandyar got up and returned with a little sack, and she put her gold inside. She could see that he was shivering and that she was being a little selfish with the loi, which had fallen off her shoulders when she had tripped. She picked it up. The loi was made of thick and scratchy wool, the size of a blanket; they could share.

  “Come,” she said, adjusting the loi so half of it covered her, and the other half hung off her outstretched arm. “The night is cold.”

  Asfandyar hesitated, a rare show of chivalry stopping him.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “There’s no telling when the rain will stop; we’ll have to wait it out before we can return.

  Asfandyar nodded, moving to sit beside her. He took the other end of the loi and wrapped it around his shoulders, but because he was sitting far away, it barely reached.

  “Why are you so large?” Durkhanai tsked.

  Asfandyar chuckled. “Apologies, princess.”

  “We need to be strategic,” Durkhanai said, heart hammering. “Come closer.”

  When he inched closer, careful not to touch her, Durkhanai moved closer herself, relishing his warmth as she aligned their bodies from their shoulders to their hips to their knees.

  Which was probably a bad idea.

  But at least now the loi fit, and Durkhanai brought it to wrap across their legs. Instantly, they began to warm, in a cocoon, but Durkhanai’s fingers remained frozen. She cradled her hands to her chest, blowing on her fingers.

  “Allow me,” Asfandyar said, voice low.

  Durkhanai hesitated.

  “Oh, now your shame is stirred?”

  “How rude!” Durkhanai balked, bumping his knee with hers. “Are you saying I’m shameless?”

  “No,” he replied, ears turning pink. He looked away, thinking he had truly offended her, and she laughed.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re friends, right?”

  But Durkhanai felt dangerous, on the edge.

  “This is okay,” she said, giving him her hands, and she wasn’t sure if she was convincing herself or him, but she knew she was fooling neither of them.

  He held her hands in his, blowing on them, pressing them tight in his palms, careful of her wound. A shiver ran down her spine. She was holding her breath, her heart beating too fast, too loud, in her ears.

  “Better?” he asked, voice close to a whisper.

  “No,” she said, pulling her hands away, swallowing hard.

  Then she remembered something she did to routinely torment Saifullah. Thinking it would lighten the mood, Durkhanai pressed her fingers against Asfandyar’s neck, his skin deliciously warm against her freezing fingers.

  Asfandyar swore, making a strangled sound, writhing from her fingers, and she withdrew her hands.

  “Are my hands too cold?” she asked innocently, grinning.

  “Yes,” he replied, voice rasped. “That’s it.”

  “How are your hands not cold?”

  Asfandyar shrugged carelessly. “One of my invincible qualities.”

  “Ooh,” Durkhanai replied. “People do say you’re star-touched. It’s how you’ve become so successful so quickly.”

  “Not because I’m the Wali’s whore?” Asfandyar teased, referencing their first meeting. Durkhanai grimaced, covering her face.

  “I really said that?” she groaned.

  “You really did,” he replied, amused by the memory. How far they had come.

  “You infuriated me,” she said, defending herself. “You do still.”

  “Don’t worry, you infuriate me, as well,” he replied. He turned to meet her gaze, eyes soft. “Though I can’t seem to mind.”

  Durkhanai was suddenly acutely aware of all the places their bodies were aligned, separated by thin articles of clothing, and something buzzed through her, sending a shiver down her spine. Her chest felt like it was on fire.

  She bit her lip. He was looking at her with wonder, awestruck, like she was something magnificent, something sublime. It was suddenly very quiet. Durkhanai heard his breath. He was so close to her, his mouth a whisper away.

  Asfandyar was still, no movement save for the rise and fall of his chest.

  Then Durkhanai realized why it was so quiet: the rain had stopped.

  Durkhanai pulled back, hand and heart throbbing.

  “Time to go!” she said, voice overly cheerful.

  She got up quickly, pulling out from under the loi. Trying to steady her heart rate, she walked away from Asfandyar.

  As she did, she stepped in a pile of mud, which lodged her khusa and foot. In horrible slow-motion, Durkhanai fell forward, landing straight into a wet pile of mud.

  Durkhanai swore, loudly. “This blasted lengha!”

  She fell back, sitting down, which only made it worse. She was covered front and backwards in gross dirt. Durkhanai wanted to cry again, but then Asfandyar began to laugh, and did, too.

  “This isn’t funny,” she said, trying to pout, but a smile lingered on her face.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked, genuinely surprised. She wished she knew. “Are you sure you didn’t accidentally drink wine earlier?”

  She reached to hit him with her muddied hand, but he moved out of her reach, squealing.

  “Help me up!” she ordered. “Batameez.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Asfandyar warned, offering her his hand. She was thinking about pulling him into the mud with her but recanted, deeming it too cruel.

  “Fine,” she said, pouting but meaning it. “Just help me up.”

  She took hold of his hand with her good one, but before she could pull herself up, Asfandyar tumbled forward, falling into the mud anyways. Durkhanai let out a laugh.

  “Look who’s clumsy now!” she teased, though she suspected he had done it on purpose to make her feel better.

  “Clumsy?” Asfandyar repeated, grabbing a handful of mud and running it down her arm.

  She cried out. “This is an attack on the Shehzadi!”

  She grabbed a handful of mud and plastered it across his chest, up his neck. He squirmed, but they were both laughing, and perhaps they truly had drunk wine accidentally. She felt drunk.

  “Princess, you must stop attacking me,” he said, straightening his kameez

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she replied, shoving him again. He tumbled forward, almost falling, but caught himself before he landed further into the mud.

  Suddenly, he bumped his shoulder into hers. They were acting like children. Because he took her by surprise, the force sent her tumbling.

  “Hey!” she pouted. “Don’t be so mean to me! I am but a delicate maid.”

  “You? Delicate?” he repeated, laughing loudly. “That is entirely untrue.”
<
br />   “Yes,” she agreed with a smirk. “But it is a mask I like to wear sometimes.”

  She took his hand and pulled him into the mud beside her.

  “Truce!” he cried, lying down. He looked up at her, and now that she had seen it, she would never tire of the way his eyes gleamed to drink in the sight of her. She grinned.

  “Come, we should go,” Asfandyar said, breaking the silence.

  She didn’t want to but knew they must. They grabbed each other’s arms and helped one another up. Cleaning off the mud as best as they could, they climbed their horses, and began the journey back in comfortable silence.

  When they arrived at the palace, Durkhanai whispered, “Let’s use the passageways. I’ll let the guards know I’m home after we’re inside. Then we can clean up and go see the Kebzu soldier.”

  Asfandyar shrugged. “I doubt anyone has noticed I’ve been missing, anyways.”

  Durkhanai led the way, walking to a secluded section of the lower gardens to make entrance into the passageways. She grabbed a torch from the hidden stash on the side, and Asfandyar lit it.

  “I’ll take you to your room, first,” Durkhanai said.

  “No, no, no,” Asfandyar replied, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve already fallen twice and injured yourself once. I don’t trust you to make it back on your own.”

  Durkhanai rolled her eyes. “Oh, please!”

  “I’ll drop you off,” he insisted, moving her along.

  Durkhanai obliged, too tired to argue, and relished in the few moments more with him, the illicit thrill that ran through her with his warm hands on her shoulders. She was filled with barbaric desire. When they arrived back at her room, however, Durkhanai noticed the light was on.

  Curious, she opened her wardrobe and made her way into her room.

  “There you are!” a voice said. Durkhanai jolted and saw Zarmina in her bed.

  “Zarmina?” she said, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” she replied. “I was worried. Where were you? Are you okay? You’re a mess. Did you tell the guards? They’ve been out looking for you.”

  “I was down in the village, alerting the people,” Durkhanai replied. “I just got caught in the rain for a bit and fell.”

  “And your hand?”

  “Zarmina, it’s alright, I’ll get it checked come morning,” Durkhanai said. She needed Zarmina to go back to sleep immediately. Durkhanai hoped Asfandyar had enough sense to go to his room on his own, but she had a feeling he didn’t.

  “Why is your face so florid?” Zarmina asked, taking in Durkhanai’s flushed complexion. “Don’t bother getting enraged over Rukhsana-sahiba right now.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Durkhanai said, waving her off. She busied herself with cleaning up, going to her dressing room. She took off her muddy clothes, avoiding Zarmina’s curious gaze.

  “Did you see Rashid?” Zarmina asked next, gasping. “Is that why you used the passageways to sneak into your own room?”

  “No!” Durkhanai said, but she responded much too quickly. Her cheeks burned red remembering the boy she had been with.

  She washed her hands and face with cold water, not removing the edge of Asfandyar’s kurta on her hand. When she left her dressing room, Zarmina’s face had widened into a shocked grin. She sat up.

  “Chal jhooti!” she said. “You little liar! What were you guys doing? Everyone did see you together all night. But now so late! The scandal! Hai main margai!”

  “Zarmina,” Durkhanai whined, getting into bed. “Kuch nahi. Let’s go to sleep.”

  “Acha, acha,” Zarmina said. “You don’t have to tell me, but I can guess.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows, and Durkhanai pulled the covers over her cousin’s face. She hoped Asfandyar had gone from the passageways by then . . .

  “Sleep,” Durkhanai insisted, getting comfortable herself. “I’m tired too.”

  “Someone’s a little exerted!” Zarmina teased, laughing.

  “Zarmina!”

  “Fine,” Zarmina said. “Shabba khair. Goodnight.”

  Finally, her cousin nestled back into bed, and she was asleep in an instant. She always fell asleep in the blink of an eye.

  Carefully, Durkhanai slipped out of bed, going to her wardrobe. She opened the door, brushed her clothes aside, and moved the panel to find Asfandyar leaning against the frame, wide awake.

  “Rashid?” was all he said.

  Hai Allah. She waved him off.

  “Ja yahaan se—go,” she whisper-shouted. “Why are you still here?”

  “I thought I’d wait for you,” he said innocently.

  “Go clean up and I’ll meet you here again in fifteen minutes,” she whispered. “We can’t very well go down to the dungeon covered in mud.”

  He nodded and left.

  As she changed into more suitable clothes and washed her face again, Durkhanai’s thoughts roamed.

  She was scared she would do something unholy.

  She wished she lived in the stars, in her dreams, where she wasn’t alone, but not just not alone, because she wasn’t alone, really, she had so many people—but in the dead of the night, she wanted somebody to put his arms around her.

  And she kept seeing his face.

  Oh, her cruel heart wouldn’t stop thinking of him, wouldn’t stop tormenting her. She couldn’t stop herself, no matter how hard she tried. She imagined a world, an impossible world, where she let herself dream—a world where he loved her, where he was hers.

  She was already his.

  It was absurd, with everything else going on, absurd how small this was, in the grand scheme of things.

  But then, to her, it felt like the most important thing. So she let herself dream of being in love, and she knew she was being a fool, always the fool, but maybe, just maybe, it could work.

  Let me and my awfully, awfully romantic heart breathe this lilac scented air, sweeter than vanilla and warmer than pink tea, she thought to herself.

  No, Durkhanai warned herself. She would not lose her grip.

  She had swallowed her love like it was a lie and told herself it was lust.

  Cleaned up and covered in a shawl, Durkhanai slipped back to her passageways, where Asfandyar was already waiting for her. His face was covered as well.

  “Ready?”

  They headed down, Durkhanai leading the way. She knew all the routes by heart, and as they made their way to the lowest level, her heart began beating fast with fear.

  What if the Kebzu soldier told her something she didn’t want to hear? What if her grandparents truly had manipulated the evidence? What if there was some greater enemy out there that she hadn’t even considered?

  Questions flitted in and out of her mind, a thousand scenarios and possibilities.

  But it was all for naught.

  When they reached the Kebzu soldier’s cell, he was already dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  With the Kebzu soldier dead in his cell, there was really nothing more Durkhanai could do to find the truth. She had to trust her grandparents—trust they knew what they were doing, despite their suspicious behavior.

  The next morning, when she asked them why they hadn’t informed her about the evidence earlier, Dhadi had an easy response ready.

  “It was a surprise, gudiya,” Dhadi had said. “We didn’t want you to worry about that—it was your Agha-Jaan’s responsibility.”

  “We wanted you to focus on the people, and you have been so good at caring for them,” Agha-Jaan added.

  “Besides, we wanted to give you space to spend time with Rashid,” Dhadi said.

  While Durkhanai still felt unsettled, she hid her qualms, especially in front of Asfandyar, who she could tell was also doubting her grandparents. But it was one thing for her to doubt them and an entirely different thing for him to express concerns—she was blood.

  So as Dhadi finished negotiations with the rest of the ambassadors, who were preparing for their jou
rney home, Durkhanai spent the day in the villages.

  It was a welcome distraction.

  Durkhanai had always prided herself on never lying, on being honest and blunt always. Of speaking the truth. Not wasting time with deception or misleading others. But when she began to admit to herself how she felt about Asfandyar—it hurt too much.

  She couldn’t stand it. So she hid, even from her heart. She lied to herself, said she didn’t notice him, said she didn’t care, said his smile didn’t make her melt. Said he was nothing.

  When, really, he was everything.

  She avoided him.

  Once, by chance, he stumbled into her view, and the instant she saw him coming from a distance, her heartbeat quickened, and she felt it viscerally: desire nipped and bit, bruised and bled. She ached for him from her teeth to her toes.

  Perhaps what she felt for him was ishq, in which case there was still a lingering hope, for ishq was a love sourced on madness, and madness could still pass.

  She avoided him, lest she bring herself into disaster. But the cut on her hand and the pain of memories it brought with it would not be ignored.

  Durkhanai arranged to meet the people in the villages most affected by the poisoned well. In each village, the story played out in the same way. She would stand on raised ground with Saifullah and Zarmina, the people surrounding them, and their accusatory glances were enough to both break her heart and boil her blood. It took all her strength not to bite.

  “I know you are hurt,” Durkhanai started. “I know you are confused. I am here to discuss whatever you would like, to answer your questions.”

  Durkhanai could have sent for the noblemen to handle their tribespeople, but she wanted to do this herself. It would be best coming from a member of the royal family, more personal.

  “We call for the ambassador’s head!” one man shouted, and the others cried out in agreement.

  “This calls for war!” another shouted.

  But they could not have war, nor could they have Rukhsana-sahiba’s head.

  “I understand your grievances. I will speak with the Badshah to ensure proper actions are taken,” Durkhanai said, trying to calm the crowds. “Everyone gets their due, in the end. Is our Lord not Just?”