The Lady or the Lion

Durkhanai had the faint thought of wondering what she was due, but she refused to dwell on it.

  “But when!” someone cried. “When will we have our victory?”

  Durkhanai pressed her teeth together. She wished she had all the answers, but she didn’t.

  “Patience, my dear people. Listen to your Shehzadi, who cares for you and loves you,” Saifullah said, sensing her distress. “Believe in her; have faith in her. All will be settled, in the end.”

  Durkhanai nodded at Saifullah, grateful to have her cousins by her side.

  They did not say much, but Saifullah helped in coaxing the people to listen to her when they became angry, trying to soften their frustrations.

  “I promise you all, proper actions will be taken,” Durkhanai told her people. “The Marghazari are just and strong. We will not allow blows against our people to go unpunished. But we cannot have another war, not now! You do not wish to send off your young boys, do you?”

  The people mumbled in agreement.

  “The Shehzadi is right,” a voice cried out. “We cannot have new wars on new fronts. We have no men left.”

  They settled down for a moment, only to rise up again.

  “When will the rest of these wars end?” another voice responded. “Decades have passed yet still we are stuck in the same place!”

  Their concerns were valid. While the crisis of illness had been resolved, the wars still raged on. Too many men were dying at the Kebzu borders, even more so against the Luhgams. They couldn’t afford a war against Teerza, not then.

  Even if Durkhanai wanted it to make Rukhsana-sahiba pay.

  “Have the wars not gone on long enough, Shehzadi?” someone asked. “When will the Badshah relent?”

  Durkhanai took a deep breath, turning to Saifullah. Yet he stayed silent when the people stated their anger at the Badshah—he almost seemed to agree with them. She furrowed her brow.

  “You know as well as I that the wars will not be so easily won,” Durkhanai reminded her people, though now even she was beginning to doubt the validity of these wars. “If we relent now, we will be reduced to nothing more than a colony in the Lughum Empire!”

  But was that the only reason they fought? Or was it for the Badshah’s vengeance?

  Surely the Lughum Empire was tired of fighting, as well. Could a truce not lead them both to an advantageous era of peace?

  She did not give voice to these thoughts. Instead, she said, “Yet we continue to fight for our freedom—to remain unconquered by the imperialists.”

  The people continued their grievances, and Durkhanai continued to listen. She wanted to lash out at them, to tell them to stop their fussing because there were enough things on her mind, but she knew she had to be the dutiful Shehzadi, patient and poised.

  By the time Durkhanai made it back to the palace after a week of such conferences, she was agitated beyond patience. Feeling scattered and pulled thin, she went straight to the presence chamber, veins thick with emotion, face florid. Her people were right—Rukhsana-sahiba had to pay for what she had done.

  Durkhanai would fight for her people.

  She went to find her grandparents. They were alone in the war room. Agha-Jaan stood pensively before a map that covered the expanse of a table. Dhadi stood across from him, shifting pieces on the table.

  “What is to be done with the Teerzai ambassador?” Durkhanai asked, stopping at the head of the table. Agha-Jaan did not look up. Dhadi sighed.

  “She is leaving, today,” the Wali replied. “The preparations are nearly complete.”

  Durkhanai stilled.

  “Leaving?” she repeated. “That’s all?”

  She waited for a reaction and received none. Not even her grandfather, so hot-headed, so swift and severe in punishment, had anything more to say. He shifted a piece on the map, then stood back to consider it.

  “Agha-Jaan, she must be punished!” Durkhanai cried.

  “She must,” the Badshah replied, not turning to her. “But she won’t be. This is the diplomatic solution.”

  “Diplomacy?” Durkhanai wanted to scatter the entire table’s pieces, but she would not lash out as a child would. “The foreign woman who poisoned our own people in our lands goes free without penalty? Why the sudden recourse?”

  “Durkhanai, enough,” Dhadi sounded tired.

  “You’re the ones who said you must never give something in exchange for nothing,” Durkhanai snapped. “Yet you so willingly give this woman her freedom.”

  “It is the best option,” Agha-Jaan replied, voice hard. He finally looked at her. “Teerza no longer has any good cause to quarrel with us, and for their transgressions, Teerza must send soldiers to help aid in the fight against the Luhgams. And besides, there is no hard evidence against her—just because that plant is popular in Teerza does not mean that is the only place it grows.”

  “If there is no evidence, then this is the perfect cause for trial by tribunal,” Durkhanai said, satisfied with this punishment.

  It was, after all, the custom of her people. She didn’t care if it was considered barbaric by their contemporaries. She was sure Rukhsana-sahiba would be torn apart by the cruelest lion for her transgressions.

  “No. The ambassador had come to negotiate something from us; she will leave giving us something instead,” Dhadi explained.

  “This is cause for tribunal,” Durkhanai argued, her blood still running hot like lava through her veins.

  “No,” the Badshah replied, voice resolute. “We know her to be guilty, but her life is worth nothing. However, with the Teerzai soldiers, we can strike back at the blasted Luhgams and end this ceaseless war.”

  Durkhanai held her tongue, not saying what she was thinking: that the war with the Luhgam Empire would never end, not even with a few more soldiers.

  How far would her grandfather go to defeat the Luhgams? She was only beginning to understand.

  There was nothing more sacred than blood, and the Luhgams had filled the earth with the blood of the Miangul family. Retribution was necessary; the Badshah would have nothing less than his revenge in the form of a victory.

  The Badshah was growing more and more impatient.

  Durkhanai knew she must look at the larger image: to see how the Teerzai ambassador was such a small piece in a much larger game that was being played. But she did not care.

  Rukhsana-sahiba had attacked her people. By extension, she had personally attacked the Shehzadi herself.

  The matter was settled, yes, but Durkhanai’s anger had not.

  She would not let it go so easily.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She went to find Rukhsana-sahiba and find her she did.

  Rukhsana was in the corridor outside her room, gazing out the window, perfectly calm. She seemed at peace, even, with a cup of tea in her hands.

  “No shame in being caught?” Durkhanai spat at the elder woman. Rukhsana-sahiba turned and smiled. She set down her teacup.

  “Have you come to see me off, Shehzadi?” she cooed. “Such a shame to leave the frivolous splendors of your marble palace and it’s uncivilized people, but I believe the time has come for my departure.”

  Rukhsana reached for Durkhanai’s hands, as though they were friends. Pulling back, Durkhanai clenched her hands into fists. Anger burned her tongue.

  She was losing hold of her emotions and felt them cut inside of her. She felt more barbaric as the days went on. She was beginning to feel cruel.

  “Don’t miss me too much, will you, dear?” Rukhsana said. “I promise I’ll visit again soon.”

  “Bring your burial shroud with you when you do,” Durkhanai seethed. “For if you step foot in my lands again, it will be your mangled corpse sent back to Teerza.”

  Rukhsana tsked lightly. “Oh, darling, come now, don’t be so crass. I’d hate to tell the Wali of Teerza how ill-mannered and barbaric the famed Shehzadi of Marghazar is.”

  “Tell the Wali whatever you please,” Durkhanai said, a thought turning in her mind. />
  She ironed out her anger, forcing her countenance to melt into that of the sweet Shehzadi’s. Durkhanai smiled her rose-gold smile. “Who do you think people would believe? The old, pitiful ambassador who was unsuccessful in bringing her zilla any goods or advantages? Or the famed Shehzadi of Marghazar, adored by all?”

  Rukhsana laughed. “Not so beloved anymore, from what I have heard.”

  Durkhanai was no longer amused. The anger returned swiftly. She could only pretend for so long. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied. But her voice wavered.

  Rukhsana caught on all too quickly. “Oh, sweetheart, life catches up to everyone, eventually. Even Shehzadis. Your fall will follow shortly after your grandfather’s, if it is not with his, I can assure you that much.”

  “Shut up,” Durkhanai said through her teeth.

  Rukhsana leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The Badshah’s insatiable greed for victory against the Luhgams will be his downfall. Even with Teerzai soldiers, he will die a sad, old man who has accomplished nothing in his long reign.”

  Rukhsana pinched Durkhanai’s cheek, slapping her softly.

  “Well, nothing except for raising a pretty little fool.”

  Durkhanai wanted to tear Rukhsana-sahiba’s eyes out, but she needed answers before she did. “Why did you do it?” she asked, anger rising once more. “Because you hate Marghazar for refusing to unify with the other zillas?”

  Finally, Rukhsana-sahiba’s light-hearted and amused facade broke to reveal grief underneath. Her eyes shone.

  “Because I know the truth,” she said, voice catching. “That it was Marghazar behind the summit attack—the blood of my brother is on your hands.”

  “That’s absurd—”

  “Is it?” Rukhsana-sahiba said, eyes hardening. She did not let the grief linger. It morphed quickly into an anger powerful enough to match Durkhanai’s. “The evidence provided was weak, at best, but because the other zillas wish to avoid war, they have conceded.”

  She shook her head. She took in a deep breath, composing herself. When she spoke again, she did so simply. “So no, I didn't do it because I hate Marghazar—I did it because we will have war, and when we do, your people will be much too weak to put up a good fight.

  “I can promise you one thing, Shehzadi—you will never be badshah.”

  Durkhanai pushed Rukhsana back, and in one swift movement, she pulled the little dagger out from the back of her gold necklace, where it always rested hidden under her hair, by the clasp. It was only small enough for a direct attack. Durkhanai held it to Rukhsana’s throat.

  All Durkhanai needed was a centimeter, and the knife would plunge into Rukhsana’s jugular, but Rukhsana barely flinched. She actually smiled.

  Gone was the anger, gone was the grief. She was amused once more, as though Durkhanai was a child playing at being queen.

  “Do it,” Rukhsana said, unthreatened. “Kill me.”

  Durkhanai didn’t know what she would decide—and then she didn’t have to. A voice called out her name.

  It was Asfandyar.

  Durkhanai pulled back, the trance broken. The fog of her anger subsided, and she looked at the little knife in her hand. The smooth silver glistened with the light.

  “Yes, do go,” Rukhsana said, giving her a parting kiss to the cheek. Her voice fell once more to a whisper.

  “Run along to your whore.”

  Shocked, Durkhanai stood frozen, unable to react. Rukhsana smiled one last time before disappearing.

  “What were you doing?” Asfandyar asked, catching up to her.

  Durkhanai was beyond irritated, beyond frustrated, and he only intensified the plethora of emotions running through her. But she didn’t want to take her anger out on him. Didn’t want him to see this ugly part of her, the semi-barbarism over which she was losing control.

  “Nothing,” she snapped, turning to leave.

  “Durkhanai!” he called her name again, but she did not turn.

  She walked away, still buzzing with anger and confusion and hurt. She ached and wanted to wipe the smug look off Rukhsana’s face. To make her pay for what she had done and her complete lack of remorse.

  She acted as though the Marghazari deserved it.

  Durkhanai’s feet began carrying her someplace without informing her where, until she was in the kitchens.

  She was perfectly calm, perfectly innocent, not that anyone would question her anyways, when she went to the pantry where they were preparing food packages for a journey.

  “This is for the Teerzai ambassador, yes?” Durkhanai asked the boy who was wrapping bread in cloth. He nodded quickly. He stepped back from the table and lowered his head.

  “Y-Yes, Shehzadi,” he said, not meeting her eyes. Durkhanai looked around and found that no one else was there. She offered the boy a kind smile, then looked at the contents of the package.

  “I’d like to ensure our guest is receiving an appropriate farewell,” she told him, examining the rest of the food. “How about some more cake, hm? It cannot be said that the Marghazari are stingy.”

  The boy nodded, quickly disappearing to find more cake from within the kitchen. Hands sure, Durkhanai slipped a finger into her jhumka earring, where a little packet of powder was hidden beneath the large umbrella design. Seamlessly, she emptied the powder onto the bread, then spread the remainder into the leather flasks full of water.

  The boy returned just as Durkhanai finished wrapping the last stack of bread.

  “Everything looks perfect,” she assured him, smiling her rose-gold smile.

  Durkhanai walked away, her heart cold as ice.

  Now Rukhsana-sahiba would suffer as Durkhanai’s people had.

  Durkhanai knew she was being cruel, but she did not care, not even in the slightest.

  “Shehzadi!” a voice called. She turned to find a messenger with a letter in his hand. He handed it to her and was off, leaving Durkhanai with shaking hands and a shaking heart.

  But when she opened it, it was just from Rashid. He had called for her to come meet with him, which was not alarming at all, until she saw where he said he would be waiting for her.

  He would be waiting by the eastern falls and lavender fields.

  Durkhanai sighed—she did not want to go—but she could not outright ignore Rashid, especially when his note said he had an important matter to discuss.

  She had run off from the banquet. Perhaps he wished to speak with her about what had occurred there.

  She prepared and went to the stables, brushing Heer’s white-haired mane.

  As she brushed, her thoughts roamed to what she had done to Rukhsana’s food. Her hands slowed, and Heer gazed into her eyes, as if searching deeply. Durkhanai stared back.

  She felt no remorse, only the settling calm that came with a wrong being righted.

  “Chalo, Heeru,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  She mounted, and they set off. Strong winds whipped across her face, Heer’s gallops beating loudly against the earth. Durkhanai lost herself in the ride, but it was over too quickly.

  She dismounted, straightening her hair and crown. The falls were just as breathtaking as ever. There was a serenity filled by the sound of rushing water, the chirping birds, and the sky deepening into shades of purple and blue. The perfect backdrop for a beautiful memory.

  For a moment, Durkhanai wished to stand on the cliff-edge, feel the spray of water on her cheeks—but then she recalled why she was here.

  “Shehzadi!” Rashid called. His face lit up when he saw her. He had dressed well, which wasn’t strange for a meeting with the Shehzadi, but he had never dressed so formally before. He wore a jacquard black and gold waistcoat over his black shalwar kameez.

  “Salam,” she said in greeting, smiling. She tried not to be nervous, but she was suspicious as to why he had called her to meet him in such a gorgeous and, now that she gave it some thought, such an intimate location.

  “Come, let us walk near the falls
,” Rashid said. He offered her his arm, and she took it. As they walked, she felt his gaze on her. He stopped them too far away for her to feel it’s rushing waters spray past her.

  “Beautiful,” Rashid said, voice soft. She turned to look at him, and his hazel eyes were warm.

  She looked away. “Yes, it is,” she said, letting go of his arm. “Though not beautiful enough to distract me. You said you wished to discuss a matter of import with me? I thought perhaps it had something to do with the springs these falls provide water to?”

  “No, not quite.” Rashid smiled. “Though I so admire your knowledge of the land. It is one of the many things I admire about you.”

  Durkhanai gave him a friendly smile and continued walking.

  “Perhaps you wish to discuss Rukhsana-sahiba?” she suggested. “You must be as furious with her as I am myself, but she has taken her leave, and I have faith she will get her due, in the end.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Rashid said, “though that is not what I had in mind.”

  He hurried again to her side. Durkhanai lifted a hand to adjust her dupatta, and as she did, Rashid’s gaze caught on the bandage wrapped around her wrist. His face crinkled with worry.

  “What happened here?” He reached for her. She deflected, cradling her hand to her chest,

  “Nothing to fret over, I assure you,” she said, giving him a quick smile. “Just a little scratch. Doctor Aliyah gave me a salve that has done wonders. Oh, of course. That’s what you wished to discuss. The plans for distribution of medicine, now that we have found the source of the illness—”

  “No,” Rashid interjected. “What I wish to discuss is of more import even than that.” He took a deep breath. “I wish to discuss . . . us.”

  He drew nearer, and Durkhanai took a step back, heart racing.

  “Perhaps we should get going,” she suggested. “Heer is not a fan of the dark.”

  It was an excuse, and they both knew it. But Rashid would not be deterred. She could see it on his face. He had mustered up the courage and would not let it pass.

  “Wait. I really—” he paused, almost choking on the words. He cleared his throat and pushed forward. “I adore you. I would like to make my intentions clear.”