Durkhanai seemed to be the only one reacting. Around her, the royal family was calm. Even the ambassadors—who had delayed their departure, who she knew objected to such a barbaric practice as the tribunal—wore calm expressions. They weren’t the least bit shocked.
It was only Durkhanai who was at war with herself.
On the one hand, she could make a plan for Asfandyar to escape and for her to go with him—but in doing so, she would lose her people, her crown, and her family. She would break her grandparents’ hearts, just as her father had.
They would never accept him in court. Running would be the only option. She would be free from all the rules, free as she had been when she was a child, growing in the valley, unadulterated and pure.
They would be together.
On the other hand, she could let him die. This man who she hadn’t even known a few months ago. The man she now loved. But what was love? If he was eaten by the lion, all of Durkhanai’s problems would flutter away.
It would hurt, of course, but all pain passed, eventually. If he was dead, she would come to terms with not having him, but if he lived, she wasn’t sure she could say the same.
They could never be together.
Durkhanai was struck by how much she missed him, already. She hadn’t seen him, not since he had been taken away. Just a few hours, and already her heart was aching without him by her side. Only a day, and already her lips yearned for his.
She recalled everything that had happened in the hours before his arrest, everything Asfandyar had wanted to tell her, while she hadn’t given him the chance. And everything he had told her—the knowledge of her father being alive, the betrayal of her grandparents, the mistrust in the crown.
The decision weighed heavily on Durkhanai’s shoulders, heavy as the crown on her head. The fatal decision. Was it even a choice, when there was nothing more sacred than blood?
Love or blood?
But were they not the same?
Durkhanai wished she had run with him when she had the chance.
Now, she stood alone, facing an impossible choice.
She closed her eyes, remembered who she was. She was Durkhanai Miangul, the future Badshah of Marghazar. She was birthed by the mountains and River S’vat.
There was nothing she could not do.
So she stitched her bleeding heart together again. She put her heart in a velvet pouch and tied it tight. Then she put the pouch in a wooden box, and the wooden box in a stone crate, and the stone crate in a marble house. And around the marble house, she molded a mountain. And over the mountain, she poured the ocean.
Thus her heart was protected, never to be broken again.
She took a breath.
Asfandyar turned and looked at her.
When their eyes met, the haze of faces around them faded away. There was nobody but them, and he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the lion, and behind which stood the lady.
He had expected her to know it.
He understood her nature, the determination and stubbornness within her. Even if Zarmina hadn’t told her, Durkhanai would have uncovered the truth one way or another.
Asfandyar had complete faith in her.
Then it was his quick and anxious glance that asked the question: “Which?”
It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it had to be answered in another.
Durkhanai raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the left.
No one but Asfandyar saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step walked across the empty space, toward the two doors—toward his fate. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man.
He turned, casting a final glance toward Durkhanai.
There was nothing—no one—in the world but them.
In that moment, she saw the unmasked love in his eyes.
She knew the same love was mirrored in hers.
Then he moved, across the empty space, toward a door.
The door on the right.
* * *
Which came out of the opened door—the lady, or the lion?
A Parting Riddle
Once upon a time, in a very olden time, there lived a beautiful girl who fell in love with a beautiful boy. She put her rose-gold heart in a rose-gold box and gave it to him as a gift. But when the boy opened the box, it was empty.
Was it because she hadn’t actually given her heart to him?
Or because she had no heart to begin with?
Acknowledgments
Alhamdulillah. We made it!
Thank you first to the team at CamCat Books for making my dreams come true. To Sue: on that first call, you said, “You can scream now!” and I've been doing just that ever since. To Cassandra, my wonderful editor. You’ve taught me so much about craft, and I couldn’t imagine my characters in better hands. You brought out the best in me and them, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Thank you to everyone who went into making this book real: Laura at Marketing and Maryann for a gorgeous book I could hug all day. To Asrar Farooqi, for painting my stunning cover. To Fatima Baig and Areeba Siddique for the preorder art that I love so dearly.
Thank you to my mother and my father, who truly raised me like a princess, showering me with love and comforts, yet always pushed me to stand on my own two feet. I am honored to be your daughter, and I hope I have made you proud. Everything I have accomplished is because of you. Mama, thank you for being my friend, and Baba, thank you for always making me smile.
Thank you to Zaineb, my vibrant sister. Whenever anyone asks me to think of something I can’t live without, I always think of you. To Sameer, the coolest older brother. To Ibraheem, my partner in crime. I’m proud to be your sister and so glad we’re maneuvering this crazy life together.
To my grandparents, Mimi and Papa, who dote on me so. To Veeta Khala and my cousins Hamnah, Umaymah, Aizah, and the little ones. To Johnnie Mamoo and Faisal Mamoo. To Samina Phuppi. To Madho Khala and Nano and Ahmed Uncle and all my family in Pakistan. Thank you all for the constant love, laughter, food, support, and guidance. You’ve taught me that family can be a foundation, from which all else grows. And how I’ve grown! It is all thanks to you.
To Noor, whose wisdom always guides me. To Mahum, who showed me there is strength in silence. Thank you for all the laughs and pagalpan and besharami.
To Arusa. You are my rock. You are my constant. Thank you for the endless FaceTime calls, for listening to me, for understanding, and for somehow always knowing exactly what I need to hear. I love you more than words. Without you, life would be unbearable.
To Sara, my ray of sunshine. You are my warmth. Thank you for always being so supportive and reading the sloppiest drafts I’ve ever written and for reassuring me whenever I worried. To Justine, who understands me in ways no one else can. Thank you for always cheering me on. Your constant faith in me kept me going. I love you both so, so much. You are the very best thing to come out Mt. Sinai.
To Isra, my sweetest friend. Thank you for your kind reminders and for feeling things so keenly with me. I feel seen by you, which is no small thing. To Uroosa, meri jaan. Thank you for always holding me in your heart and making me feel loved and reminding me to be grateful. I love you both so dearly and for the sake of Allah. You remind me to be a better Muslim, which is the very best thing.
To Gia and Sidrah, thank you for all the love and support. We used to be kids, dreaming of what we would do when we grew up, and now we’re all grown, and I’m so glad we held on together for the ride. To Murriam and Sabiha and Sara, who are so far away yet still feel so close. To Salwa, Mutahira, Hanaa, and Maria, my gal pals. Thanks for the chaos, the sleepovers, and all the excitement and hype. I love each and every one of you.
To Yusra and Umaimah, thank you for the outpouring of love and support, and for the laughs we’ve had along the way. To all my friends on Twitter who have been cheering me on: Sanah, Liya, Siraj, Amna, and Meha. Your support has made all the difference.
To all the friends I've loved and lost over the years: I remember you. Thank you for the memories. I still think of them so fondly.
To Sabaa Tahir, for being such an inspiration to me as a Pakistani and Muslim. Representation matters. To Nafiza Azad and Shveta Thakrar for the kind words in your blurbs and for being such inspirations to me.
Lastly, thank you to the readers, to each and every one of you who picked up this book. This is especially for the Pakistani kids, the brown kids, and the Muslims kids: I hope you felt seen and continue to feel seen. I’m with you. I see you. I hope for a brief period of time, I was able to help you escape the madness of this world and transport you somewhere that is inspired by a country so dear to me with characters pulled from my heart. I hope, too, that you will always choose kindness.
If you can, spare a prayer for me.
About the Author
Aamna Qureshi is a Pakistani, Muslim American who adores words. She grew up in a very loud, very Punjabi household, parents surrounded by English (for school), Urdu (for conversation), and Punjabi (for emotion). Through her writing, she wishes to inspire a love for the beautiful country and rich culture that informed much of her identity. When she's not writing, she loves to travel to new places where she can explore different cultures or to Pakistan where she can revitalize her roots. She also loves baking complicated desserts, drinking fancy teas and coffees, watching sappy rom-coms, and going for walks about the estate (her backyard). She currently lives in New York. Look for her on IG @aamna_qureshi and Twitter @aamnaqureshi_ and at her website aamnaqureshi.com.
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