Hours passed. Two guards entered and lifted Zahir up, dragging him away.
“Where are you taking him?” Arwa called out. “Please—please tell me!”
They didn’t respond. She was alone.
She was hallucinating. She was sure of it.
Shadows flickered on the walls. The lantern was guttering. The pain was so constant that she was beginning to believe she had always been in pain, and always would be.
I am going to die, she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut. Felt ash upon her face. When she turned her head, she saw the arrow impaled through her shoulder. But her shoulder was all mirror and glass. Through it she could see the shaft of the arrow; upon it she could see the reflection of her pained face, surrounded by a halo of blood and black hair.
Then she opened her eyes and saw nothing but her own skin once more.
The tent flap opened.
Gulshera strode in, bow and arrow still over her shoulder. Gone were her widow whites, her veil. She was dressed like a guardswoman, with nothing but a shawl wound about her hair to protect her modesty.
“Come to kill me?” Arwa asked.
“I don’t want you dead,” Gulshera said. “I’m trying to convince Jihan to arrange you a physician. For now, you will have to be patient.”
“I might… be dead. Before then.”
“Try not to be,” said Gulshera. She kneeled down. Offered Arwa a cloth. “Bite on this.”
Arwa did not want to take it, but when she turned her head, Gulshera merely stuffed the cloth into her mouth. Then she took hold of the shaft of the arrow, and snapped it clean.
Arwa bit down hard, screaming. Gulshera waited a moment, then pulled the cloth from Arwa’s lips.
“You should be a little more comfortable now, when the pain passes.”
“You shot me,” Arwa said hoarsely.
“I told you court had teeth and claws,” Gulshera said eventually. “Well, now you have faced court’s fury.”
“You didn’t… tell me,” Arwa forced out, “that you were… the claws.”
“I did not know I would need to be,” she said.
Arwa forced herself into an almost seated position. For all it hurt, white-hot, it was easier to breathe like this. She dreaded looking at her shoulder, which still had the rest of the arrow embedded within it.
“What will happen to me?”
“If Jihan allows you a physician, you’ll live,” Gulshera said levelly. “Until the Emperor decides what best to do with you, of course.”
“Death either way, then,” Arwa said. “I see.”
“She ordered me to shoot you if Zahir disobeyed,” Gulshera said, no inflection in her voice. “She was testing me, as she does. I could not fail her.” Gulshera reached a hand out to Arwa’s face. Hesitated. Drew it back. “I tried to prepare you for this world, Arwa. I truly did. But my first loyalty has always been to Jihan. That has not changed. Your fate is in her hands now.”
Gulshera stood and began to walk away. But Arwa could not, would not, let her go so easily.
“For a little while. In the hermitage. And in the palace.” Gasp of breath. Gritted teeth. “I thought of you as—a mentor. As a—friend. I trusted you.”
“Ah, Arwa.” Gulshera shook her head. “There’s no need for this.”
“No. There is. I trusted you when I feared trusting. Trusting anyone. And now.” Deep breath. “She’ll turn on you too, one day. We are all—things. To people like her.”
“I know what Jihan is,” Gulshera said steadily, her eyes on Arwa. “Perhaps one day she will. And when that day comes I will accept my fate. Because she is the child I nursed—and because she is the only worthy child the late Emperor had.” Gulshera bowed her head. A gesture of respect and farewell. “Emperor’s blessings on you, Arwa. I promise you, although it may be little comfort to you now: Your fate will haunt me for the rest of my days.”
