Each poem was signed by the same author, in the same hand.The Hidden One.A false name, certainly. But between the careful, elegant script used for poetry were neat notes in another hand. Zahir’s hand.
Do not eat the ash.
She turned page after page, searching for his guidance.
Do not let go of your roots.This was heavily underlined.
Travel where the worlds break.
The answer is in—blood. (Lineage?)
His words were as cryptic as the poetry, she thought sourly. She read one final poem—the blazing eye sees the lamp of truth / the lamp of truth reveals the world—in a frustrated attempt to understand what on earth he wanted her to learn.
She snapped the book shut, and snuffed out her lantern.
She was already on the edge of sleep when she thought of bloodying her window. She rose from the bed and fumbled through her luggage. To her relief, her dagger was safe, still wrapped in its leather sheath. She used it to carefully mark the single latticed window to her room, before lying down once more.
She did not have the energy to keep her vigil, but she also found that her fear was curiously distant. She had fought and defeated a daiva. She had survived the journey through Numriha with nothing but a trace of blood on the palanquin wall. She could hold the daiva at bay, and no longer needed to fear discovery. That was a great weight lifted from her shoulders.
She was not safe, but this was the closest she had come since her widowhood. For now, while she was useful, apiece of good fortune, she could rest.
When she next opened her eyes it was hours later, but the dark was only beginning to fade from beyond her window. Her sleep had been deep, blissful, and empty of dreams. Waking left her disoriented, her mind still clouded with exhaustion. She would not have woken if she had not heard her name.
“Arwa,” a voice said again. “Time to get up.”
Gulshera was sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup of mint tea clasped between her hands.
“Take it,” Gulshera said. “I had to ask a girl to bring me tea three times this morning.” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t allow me to visit the kitchens.”
“Well, I’m very grateful,” Arwa said honestly, and took it from her. She tried not to yawn.
The tea was lukewarm, but not unpleasant. Still, Arwa couldn’t help but think of breakfast in Gulshera’s room: blisteringly hot tea and warm, spiced fritters. For all the opulence of the palace, she felt as if Gulshera had lost a precious measure of freedom she would not be able to regain.
“You’re well,” Gulshera said shortly.
It took a moment for Arwa to realize that Gulshera’s words had been a question, not a statement. She lowered her cup.
“Yes,” she said. Hesitated. “Lord Zahir was—”
“Best if you don’t tell me,” Gulshera cut in. Her gaze was distant, firm hands clasped in her lap. “I spoke to Princess Jihan. I was… concerned. The princess informed me I should not question or interfere. So I will not.”
“Questions are not exactly interference,” murmured Arwa.
“Perhaps.” Gulshera’s mouth thinned. “But Jihan tests the people she trusts. She has asked me not to pry. So I will not. But I am… very glad that you are well, Arwa.”
Arwa understood. Jihan had so clearly wanted Gulshera to know the influence she’d gained, in her absence: the changes she’d made to the Palace of Dusk, the tower her brother had built for her, in a reflection of his regard for her. Controlling what Gulshera knew was a further demonstration of her strength. It was a form of showing off, like a child demonstrating a newly learned poem or song. But Jihan was no child, and her newly honed skill lay in the hoarding of information, and with it, the hoarding of power.
What would she do to you, if you betrayed her? Failed her?
Judging by the tension in Gulshera’s shoulders, Arwa did not want to know the answer, and Gulshera would not provide it anyway. So Arwa took one more sip of cooling tea, then said, “I am glad you are well too, Aunt.”
Gulshera gave Arwa an unreadable look. Then she stood.
“Get dressed,” she said. “We must attend on the princess. The Emperor is holding audience.” She hesitated. “Jihan told me he has missed a number of audiences lately. She feels it is important her household attend his return to court in full force.”
“Asima told me the Emperor had been unwell,” Arwa said carefully.
“I’ve been assured his fever has passed.” Gulshera did not sound convinced. “Asima told you, did she?”
