“Killing the local populace isn’t quelling. It’s a famine for the future; when we have none of Durevi’s fruits and crops, after the lack of rainfall in Chand—”
Akhtar waved her off with a look of vibrant irritation on his face.
“Logistics don’t matter to the people of this court, and the views of court are the ones we must consider right now. What if the nobility sway our father’s choice of heir, Jihan? What then?”
“The logistics of food production are all that matter,” Jihan snapped.You foolseemed to be heavily implied. “The court need full bellies and loyal citizens, and they know it. If we can’t ensure that our trade routes function as they should…”
“Be that as it may, sister, that is not what is in question right now,” Akhtar said sharply. “Your experiment is. Playing into your schemes is beginning to actively hinder me. Parviz is taking a clear stand against heresy, and when he reveals Zahir’s presence in my household, he will damage my reputation at court. Icannotafford to lose any of my reputation. It’s the only true weapon I have.”
“He knows how I love Zahir,” Jihan said calmly. “He won’t want to hurt me.”
“Love won’t hold him forever, Jihan. Or me.” Bite to his voice. “Have you accomplished anything you hoped for? At all? Has your pet bastard managed to find the Maha yet? Solve all our problems with a sweep of magic?”
Jihan turned then, gaze sweeping over Arwa, before settling on Zahir. A look passed between the two of them.
“Prince Akhtar.” Zahir’s voice was soft. Cool. “When you were a small boy your grandmother doted upon you. She would let you sit with her when she entertained visitors. She fed you grapes from a silver bowl.”
Spasmodic twist of Akhtar’s mouth.
“Anyone could have told you that, boy.”
“They can’t tell you what she taught you,” Zahir said, voice silken and cold and eerily reminiscent of the Emperor’s own. “She taught you how to recognize poisons. Salt, bitter, sweet. The women of the imperial family have always known such things. But learning about death made you afraid. You couldn’t sleep. You had nightmares, brother, you—”
Akhtar took Zahir by the throat.
“You don’t call me brother. And you certainly don’t demean my grandmother, when you’re no more than a whore’s son. Don’t try to anger me,bastard. I’ll be sorry later when Jihan cries over you—but not that sorry.”
He held Zahir for one beat, two. Jihan did not cry out. Did not defend him. She was very still, staring into the distance, her expression remote.
Arwa trembled. Hands in fists.
Do something, she wanted to cry out.Jihan, have you brought me here simply to watch Zahir suffer? What test is this?
Very carefully, Jihan tilted her head toward Arwa. She looked at her, dark eyes fixed and intent.
Finally, Arwa understood why she had been summoned here. Not simply to witness an argument between siblings, a political tussle in which she had no place—but for this.
She stepped forward.
“Stars,” she blurted out.
Akhtar turned. Blinked at her, as if he had not even thought of her, until that moment. She had faded into the background, as all guards and maidservants faded, as all insignificant women faded, to people of his stature.
Stars. Arwa breathed deep. Spoke once more.
“You did not like the dark as a child. And your gracious grandmother told you she could arrange for the stars to remain with you always. She stitched them in gold thread on gauze, and placed them upon the ceiling of your chambers. Sometimes she would watch you sleep, and she would see you clutching for them with your hand, as if in a dream…”
Arwa felt the ash like a physical thing: a memory coiling up from the base of her skull, unfurling across her mind’s eye. For a moment something of the Emperor’s own mother lived within her, breathed within her, then faded to sudden dust. Lost.
She had no more. Paused. Glad for her veil, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and breathed, and breathed.
“And who,” said Akhtar, face gray, “is this witch you have dredged up?”
“This honorable widow,” Jihan said coolly, “studies with Zahir. She has been here a mere handful of weeks. And no one told her about your childhood bedroom, I can assure you. I had hoped to have her demonstrate for you how far my experiment has come, brother. But not like this. I thought you would be more—civilized.”
Akhtar released Zahir with a curse. Zahir doubled over, coughing, heaving for breath.
“We found—all. Memory of her soul,” Zahir forced out, voice raw. “In the realm of ash.” He coughed again, massaging his throat a little. “I will learn what the Maha knew. I will give you his knowledge, so that you may save us from the curse, when you are Emperor.”
