The Lady or the Lion

  She didn’t know how to handle it, this struggle. She knew she should dampen the stubbornness and soften her edges, but she didn't want to. She was too emotional, too volatile.

  She needed this energy or she was afraid she would go numb. It felt as though all her life she had been asleep and only recently had she been woken. She was afraid to fall asleep again.

  “You should leave,” she said, voice hard.

  “Why?” he asked. “Because I’m right?”

  “You cannot be right,” she snapped. “Not for me.” She was a match about to be struck.

  “Durkhanai, don’t—” he began, voice soft, and she could not bear it.

  “Rashid has proposed to me,” she said, voice full of fire.

  Asfandyar went still as stone. Finally, he had nothing to say. He studied her face, eyes blazing. She was breathing hard, her hands curled into fists.

  “Congratulations,” he finally replied. “Don’t forget to send me an invitation.”

  Her nails bit into her skin, but before she could say anything else, he left without another word. Her heart hammered with anger and a thousand and one emotions more.

  She didn’t understand, didn’t comprehend if he was bad for her, wrong for her, impossible for her. Was it her instinct and self-preservation pushing him away or pride and arrogance? She couldn’t understand it.

  Why was her heart caught on him? Why did her heart keep turning to him, even as she tried to walk away? Even as he walked away? Oh, wretched, cruel thoughts. How horrible they were to her.

  Durkhanai knew she would never marry Rashid, yet she still hadn’t told him. Judging from Naeem-sahib’s comment earlier, Rashid must have been anxious for a response.

  Chagrined, she could sense she was being a coward, prolonging the inevitable. She had pondered over the softest way to approach the situation, but enough was enough.

  She had wondered if problems really didn’t go away if they weren’t addressed. She had been determined to test it out, but no more.

  Rashid deserved a response. She went to get Heer, intent on riding to his house. But when she neared the palace stables, she found there was no need. Rashid was there in the hall, heading in the same direction.

  “Rashid!” she called. He turned. When he saw her, a bright smile covered his face.

  “Shehzadi!” He walked toward her.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said.

  “I was just going riding with my father.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. His father stood in the distance, watching them. “Perhaps we could have chai together afterward?”

  Why wasn’t Rashid the one she loved? Durkhanai cursed her wretched heart.

  The sight of the nobleman almost changed her mind, but—no. She had to choose herself. She deserved more, and so did Rashid.

  “It will only take a moment,” she said quickly.

  Rashid stepped closer. Durkhanai took a breath.

  “I appreciate what you said,” she told him. “But I do not feel the same. I cannot accept your proposal.”

  “Oh,” Rashid said. His face slackened, contorting with confusion. He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Is it not opportune? Have our families not discussed this very idea?”

  “It is, they have, but I cannot.” Durkhanai hoped he would understand, not press her for more details. “I do not wish to marry merely for political gain.”

  “But I thought . . .you asked me for help.” His usually warm eyes had lost their sunlight. “I spoke to all those noblemen on your behalf.”

  “You are to head your clan one day,” she responded. “Surely you were not being amiable to the other noblemen solely for my sake?”

  “But I thought—”

  “Rashid, please,” she said. “I am sorry if perhaps my actions misled you. I do consider you a good friend and an even greater ally. I sincerely hope this unpleasantness will not ruin the bond our families have shared for generations.”

  “You cannot care about that,” he said, voice bitter. “Not when I am trying to strengthen that very bond, and your response is to callously reject me.”

  “I do care, which is why I think we will be better suited as allies than husband and wife. I am sorry, Rashid, but I cannot offer you more. I will leave you now.”

  Without waiting for a response, Durkhanai set off. She released a long breath. She knew this would have consequences, but she could not lie. She did not wish to.

  Durkhanai had negotiations to handle. She was tired of waiting. Until now, the Wali of S’vat had been handling everything. The Badshah, too focused on his wars, could not be bothered and nor could the Shehzadi, too focused on the people—but no more.

  The people had asked her when the ambassadors would be leaving. Durkhanai would give them a response.

  She went directly to Gulalai’s room. Her friend was sitting, writing a letter.

  “Come with me,” Durkhanai said, plucking the pen from Gulalai’s fingers.

  “Durkhanai, what’s the meaning of this?” Gulalai asked, when Durkhanai grabbed her hand.

  “Trust me,” Durkhanai responded, bringing Gulalai along until they reached the presence chamber. Durkhanai threw open the doors, walking in with Gulalai at her side. The Badshah and the Wali watched carefully.

  “Ambassador,” the Wali nodded her acknowledgement. “Durkhanai-jaani, what is it?”

  “Kurra’s ambassador is leaving, and she will return with one hundred horsemen to aid Marghazar in her war against the Luhgam Empire, as Teerza has provided soldiers.” Durkhanai declared. “When the ambassador returns, she is welcome to an extended stay here as my guest. I pledge my loyalty to her as a friend, as she has pledged hers to me.”

  Durkhanai took everyone by surprise, including herself. Gulalai balked. The Wali was surprised, but they all waited for the Badshah to respond. Durkhanai’s grandfather regarded the young girls carefully, showing no emotion, no reaction, until finally he nodded.

  “One hundred and fifty,” he replied. “We make no written commitment to Kurra, and the pesky matter of the summit is truly settled, never to be brought up again.”

  It was a bad deal, in truth, and Durkhanai was entirely dependent on Gulalai to trust her. And while Gulalai was her friend, she was also an ambassador and daughter of the Wali of Kurra.

  Durkhanai waited with bated breath to see if Gulalai would agree to the terms. She turned to her friend. Gulalai tapped her fingers on her cane, her nails clicking against the jewels, face pensive.

  It would need to be enough. Perhaps this was how long-lasting alliances began: with nothing but trust.

  Finally, Gulalai turned to look at Durkhanai. Her brown eyes were warm.

  “One hundred and twenty-five,” Gulalai responded, voice sure.

  “Done,” the Badshah said.

  And thus, the oath was made.

  “Bring me the contract, and you will have my word on paper allowing your stay in exchange for the horsemen,” the Badshah told the Kurra ambassador. “When everything has been finalized, you will bring me those horsemen and continue your stay here, as our guest.”

  “Yes, Badshah,” Gulalai replied, bowing her head in respect. Durkhanai saw Gulalai’s lip quiver ever so slightly.

  “Ambassador, you are dismissed,” the Wali said. “Durkhanai, stay a moment, will you, gudiya?”

  Durkhanai nodded, turning to Gulalai.

  “Wait for me,” she said. Gulalai nodded, then exited the presence chamber, leaving Durkhanai alone with her grandparents.

  “We do not allow foreigners in Safed-Mahal,” the Wali said. “You know that, Durkhanai. These months have been an exception, due to the circumstances, but let’s not make it a habit.”

  “I trust her,” Durkhanai replied, keeping her voice cool. “And I think it’s time we change some traditions. How else will we progress?”

  She sounded like a libertarian, she knew, but perhaps it was time.

  “Durkhanai, janaan—” Dhadi began, but Agha-Jaan cut her off.
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  “I think it is good Durkhanai is taking charge,” he said. “The deal is not so horrible. With those horsemen, we can strike the Luhgam Empire hard. Good work, gudiya.”

  Durkhanai smiled. She knew the Badshah would see only his wars and would question nothing more. He was getting old, too old, and she felt a little guilty for using his greed against him, but if she was to be the Badshah, she would need to learn how to be a queen.

  “Very well,” Dhadi said, eyes sharp. Durkhanai could sense Dhadi wished to say something more, but because Durkhanai had gained Agha-Jaan’s favor, Dhadi withheld. “That’s all, then.”

  Durkhanai bit back a smile, satisfaction coursing through her. Her grandmother had challenged her to be a queen, and that was exactly what Durkhanai had done.

  Dismissed, Durkhanai went outside and found Gulalai waiting. She leaned against her jeweled cane, frowning.

  “You could have warned me,” Gulalai said, clearly cross.

  “You’re right.” Durkhanai said. “I’ve been in a mood. I’m sorry. I sort of thought of it just then.”

  “It’s alright,” Gulalai replied. She gave a long sigh. “My father won’t be happy with these terms, but I will convince him. Durkhanai, you know this isn’t the most auspicious negotiation for my people.”

  “I know,” Durkhanai replied. “But you can trust me. We will lay the foundation of a life-long friendship and alliance in the coming months, and though it will not be written explicitly on paper, I swear my loyalty to you as the future Badshah of Marghazar. I swear it to Allah.”

  It was a powerful oath, one made to their Lord. Breaking it was damning. Durkhanai had not sworn to many things in her life. It was a sacred act, as sacred as blood.

  “At the very least, my father will appreciate you keeping me as a guest here for longer,” Gulalai said. “But Durkhanai—be warned. The Badshah’s greed for victory is alarming, not only to me, but to the others as well. It seems he is losing sight of anything else. You wouldn’t want anybody to take advantage of the situation.”

  “Is that a threat?” Durkhanai asked calmly.

  Gulalai laughed. “No, my friend. A warning. As your ally, I find it pertinent to tell you.” She held Durkhanai’s hands. “And I am glad to be going home only to return. We will continue our misadventures when I do.”

  Gulalai winked.

  “Go now, draft that contract,” Durkhanai replied with a laugh. “I have more matters to attend to.”

  And she did. Durkhanai went next to the ambassador from the B'rung zilla, Palwasha-sahiba, who Durkhanai understood now to be there only to barter some sort of legitimate advantage.

  B'rung was a small zilla, sharing a border with Marghazar in the south. Over tea, Durkhanai listened to the ambassador’s grievances, and the main problem seemed to be that the B'rung zilla was largely inaccessible due to exceptionally hilly terrain.

  “I went out some nights to inspect your roads,” Palwasha-sahiba said. “I’ve found them to be quite extraordinary.”

  So that explained why she was out that night.

  “If Ma-Marghazar could aid in the construction of some roads,” she continued, closing her eyes when she stuttered. “B'rung would be most grateful.”

  Durkhanai tested the same technique she used with Kurra’s negotiations and found that both Palwasha-sahiba and the Badshah were immediately compliant.

  He was willing to do anything for soldiers, his insatiable greed guiding him.

  Gulalai was right; the Badshah seemed ready to do anything for more troops against the Luhgams. She knew how badly he wanted to win this war, but he was becoming rash.

  He wasn’t seeing things clearly, clouded by emotion.

  But they had successfully negotiated with three zillas, which left Durkhanai with one more: Jardum.

  But that was a matter for another day. For the time being, Durkhanai was spent, mentally and physically exhausted. She went back to her rooms and took a long, steaming rose bath, but even as she cooled off, clean and warm, she could not quiet the anxiety within her.

  There were a thousand emotions running through her veins, and she squeezed her eyes shut, curled her hands into fists, doubling over, breathing hard.

  That night, she dreamt of him.

  When she awoke, Durkhanai felt him everywhere.

  She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn't stop her heart, beating so fast against her chest she thought for sure it would burst, leaving her a bloody mess. She squeezed her legs tight and pulled them into her chest, curling into a ball, trying to contain this explosion. But it would not be contained.

  She wanted to feel his skin on hers, and just the idea was enough to raise her heartbeat to dramatic rates. What an unholy thing she was, thinking such unholy thoughts. She was to remain untouched until marriage, but she couldn’t help thinking of all the ways she would let him touch her.

  It was dangerous, to think such things, but she couldn’t stop. She felt drunk off the thought of him and it was a liquor she never wanted to lose the taste of, drugs she never wanted to lose the habit of. There was madness growing within her, the junoon that came only with ishq.

  She wanted to scream.

  She didn’t understand: she knew he was bad for her and—yet. How could her heart do this to her? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, this revolt of her heart’s, this incessant attention and adoration for someone that would bring no good.

  That was the worst part, maybe. That she knew nothing good would come from this, but she still caught on him. She was absurdly in love with the idea of love, and there he was, a perfect vessel to carry those hopes. There he was, a perfect stature of distraction and aimless, indistinguishable delight.

  So she did the only thing she could—she prayed: prayed for her heart to cease this adoration and affection, to cease this love.

  She prayed for salvation.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Durkhanai could only prolong the inevitable for so long.

  All the ambassadors had reached negotiations and agreements. The only ambassador left was the one from Jardum: Asfandyar.

  She could talk to him about anything but this. Because she knew they would settle upon an agreement easily and quickly, and then, having done his job, he would leave.

  So she avoided bringing it up, like the coward she was. And she so hated to be a coward.

  All she could think about was Asfandyar and how close he was to leaving. She was barely bothered when she was summoned to her grandparents.

  “Durkhanai, what have you done?” Dhadi asked, confused. “Why did you turn down Rashid?”

  “Bas,” Durkhanai said with a shrug. “I just did.”

  “But, gudiya, I don’t understand,” Dhadi said. “I thought you two got along well—I thought you had grown to find him suitable.”

  “He is a good man,” Durkhanai said. “Kind, sweet, respectful. But I cannot marry him.”

  “Why?” Dhadi asked. “Meri jaan, we won’t force you. I just wish to understand.”

  “I just don’t want to,” Durkhanai said. She didn’t know how else to explain it. Knowing her grandmother would pester her to no end, Durkhanai went to Agha-Jaan’s side.

  “Agha-Jaan, I don’t want to marry him,” she pouted.

  “Janaan, now is a good time for a wedding,” Dhadi said, trying to coax Durkhanai and her husband. “The nobles are upset with the villagers, and a wedding could unify them all. You could unite them all: the people’s Shehzadi, the most precious of precious things.”

  Durkhanai shook her head. When she had made a decision, it was final. Agha-Jaan, at least, understood as much.

  “Let the girl go,” he said, calming his wife. “As if that boy is the last man left in Marghazar. We will find someone else, someone we are all happy with.”

  Even as he said it, Durkhanai knew it was impossible.

  “I’m going, then,” Durkhanai said. She reached over and kissed both her grandparents on the cheeks.

  She left the room, then
heard her grandmother follow a moment later.

  “Durkhanai, look at me,” Dhadi said, voice gentle. She tilted Durkhanai’s chin up until she met her grandmother’s green eyes. Dhadi furrowed her brow. “I do hope you have not grown attached to another.” Her eyes sharpened. “Especially when I expressly forbade you from associating with him.”

  Durkhanai tried to keep her voice steady as she lied. “No, Dhadi, there is no one else.”

  “Oh, Durkhanai,” Dhadi tsked, voice sad.

  Durkhanai looked away. She couldn’t bear the disappointment. “Please, Dhadi,” she said, voice fogged. “I am tired. I wish to rest.”

  “My little fool.” Dhadi sighed. “Go, then.”

  But there would be no rest for her.

  Then Durkhanai, like anyone in crisis, grabbed a glass full of mango lassi and sat on a windowsill, gazing out at the mountains, thinking and aching.

  After some time, Asfandyar found her, and she wondered how it was that he always did. He should have made a profession out of it; he could be her Royal Stalker. She wanted to tell him as much, to tease him, but instead said nothing. She had no heart for humor at the present.

  “What grief lingers on your tongue, princess?” he asked, and just hearing his voice, she forgot why she was angry with him.

  She responded with a sigh, sipping her mango lassi.

  Asfandyar sat beside her, looking out at the view. “The mountains never change,” he remarked, and she didn’t have to tell him that was why she loved her mountains so much. It was why he had said that in the first place.

  Sensing he wasn’t getting a reaction from her, Asfandyar held out his hand for her drink. It was natural to hand it to him, but she watched with a pounding heart as he held it up to the light. Her lips had left a red stain on the rim.

  He rotated the glass. Eyes focused on hers, he pressed his mouth against where hers had been.

  Her stomach lurched. Her heart beat quickly, much too quickly.

  He lowered the glass. A bead of red blossomed across his lips like blood.

  Swallowing hard, she reached a finger toward his mouth to wipe it, but he caught her hand. Held her cold fingers to his warm face.