She was no longer the woman new to her position and power that Gulshera had described during their journey from Numriha. Now Jihan was the established head of her brother’s household, with her own retinue of noblewomen and a sharp elegance to her carriage that reminded Arwa—as if she could forget—that Jihan was the Emperor’s own blood.
Her words were clearly calculated to make Arwa and Gulshera both aware of that reality.This is my household now, her tales said.And here, everything is under my control.
“He is generous, my brother, and he has improved his palace extensively at my request,” Jihan finished. She looked at Gulshera. “You remember my mother’s passion for pigeon breeding?”
“Yes,” Gulshera said slowly. When Jihan stared at her, Gulshera shook her head. “Oh, my lady, no. They’re vermin.”
“Your hermitage would have benefited from its own dovecote, Aunt,” Jihan said. “I know how you hate my birds, but think how much more easily we could have exchanged our letters by carrier.”
“Hawking is a much more respectable hobby,” said Gulshera.
Jihan laughed. “Oh, Aunt,” she said fondly. “Perhaps, but it is far less useful. Come. Let me show you my brother’s gift to me.”
A set of winding steps led them up to the highest point of a tower. Pale-bricked, open to the sky and air, the tower was covered in miniature structures of tessellated bricks, small dovecotes with nooks for pigeons to roost in.
Arwa resisted the urge to bring her shawl to her nose. Everything smelled faintly of bird shit.
Jihan did not seem to have noticed the smell. She led Gulshera around the dovecote tower with genuine pleasure, cooing over the pigeons, expanding volubly on Akhtar’s efforts to build a dovecote tower befitting his sister. She seemed to have forgotten Arwa, so Arwa took the chance to move to the tower’s edge. Even the walls had nooks for the birds. One, plump and raisin-eyed, with feathers a mixture of brilliant green and ash gray, rested serenely on the edge of the wall. It didn’t even rustle its feathers when Arwa leaned on the wall beside it and stared over the tower’s edge.
Set on the edge of Prince Akhtar’s minor palace as it was, the dovecote tower gave Arwa an unimpeded view of both the vast imperial gardens of the women’s quarters and the world beyond the palace’s walls. It was that great world that drew Arwa’s attention. She gazed down at the fortified walls of the imperial palace and the water that lay beyond them. She stared at the city of Jah Ambha. Arwa could only stare at it in astonishment. She had never seen a city so large or so strange.
“… unrest again,” Jihan was murmuring. “You were right about your Lady Roshana’s nephew. His mistress claims he’s too deep in his cups to collect tax revenue from Demet, no matter how well he’s hoodwinked the Governor into trusting his word. I’ll speak to Akhtar, and see what can be done.”
Gulshera’s gaze slid to Arwa, and in response Jihan went silent. Then she smiled once more.
“Ah, Arwa,” she said. “We’re talking of the Empire’s ills—there are so many of them, my dear, too many to enumerate now.” She walked toward Arwa, a kernel of pity in her voice when she next spoke. “But you will be familiar with such things.”
Jihan placed a hand on Arwa’s shoulder.
“I was so pleased when Gulshera offered you to me,” she said, voice gentle. “The offer felt like a piece of good fortune, a change in the Empire’s ill fate. You are something we can use, Arwa. I am glad to have you.”
A piece of good fortune. Ah, thank the Gods.
“You and Gulshera will stay,” said Jihan. It was not a request.
“Thank you, my lady,” Arwa said, lowering her eyes.
“It is natural for a royal woman to care for noblewomen who do not share her blessings,” murmured Jihan. “The elderly, the widowed—you will see many of them in my household, Lady Arwa. And in return for my benevolence, I am fortunate to have the wisdom of my elders, to receive their advice and guidance. Your presence here will not seem strange, I assure you. But your true purpose—well. It will not be guiding me.”
There was a beat of silence. Arwa heard the soft coo of birds, the rustle of wings, as the pigeon at her side took flight.
“What will be my true purpose, my lady?” Arwa asked, still staring at the ground. “How may I serve?”
“You will assist my brother in his work,” said Jihan.
“Prince Akhtar, my—?”
“His name is Zahir,” Jihan cut in, voice suddenly as smooth as a blade. “And he is no prince, my dear. But you will honor and respect him regardless.”
“My lady,” Arwa agreed, uncomprehending.
“A guardswoman will show you the way tonight. You must be obedient, Lady Arwa. Whatever he may ask of you—think of yourself as a tool that may save the Empire, a tool my brother must utilize, and act accordingly.”
Arwa murmured her agreement once more.
She felt Jihan’s eyes trace her face, slow and assessing.
“You do not look very Amrithi,” Jihan said finally. “Lucky girl. I think you’ll do well enough.”
