“No, no. Not flowers. What do I need them for?”

Arwa picked Asima green vegetation and long grass. It took her a moment to realize the purpose of Asima’s commands. In Arwa’s defense, her thoughts were somewhat distracted. Her visit to Gulshera’s room was still running in small circles inside her brain, tying her insides into ever tighter knots.

“Can you weave them together?” Asima asked.

When Arwa shook her head, Asima clucked in response.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” she said, shaking her head. “A noble girl who can’t weave a simple basket! The Empire has truly fallen to shit, Gods save us.”

Her words drew a startled laugh from Arwa, quickly quelled by Asima’s gimlet-eyed stare. “As you say, Aunt,” Arwa said quickly.

“Can you embroider?” Asima demanded.

“Yes, Aunt.”

“But you can’t weave?”

What followed was a demonstration of how to make a grave-token. It was a simple enough lesson, and one Arwa could follow without paying it all her attention. As she followed Asima’s directions, taking green roots into her hands, winding them into a miniature braid, she worried over the thought of Gulshera watching her lantern-bright window. She worried over the thought as one worries over a sore tooth, incessantly, unable to soothe the irritation away.

Something had to be done.

Gulshera was not in her room. The door was locked. Arwa waited outside it for the woman to return. Eventually, Gulshera appeared, striding along the corridor. She hadn’t been attending to prayer or to mourning or ambling gently along a well-trodden path, as the other widows had. Her bow was at her back, her face flushed with the heat of the day.

“Arwa,” Gulshera acknowledged, tipping her head.

“You watched my room last night,” said Arwa, without preamble. “Why?”

She saw Gulshera’s forehead furrow into a frown.

“Did your mother not teach you subtlety?” Gulshera asked incredulously. “They would eat you alive in Jah Ambha, by the Emperor’s grace! Come inside.”

Arwa followed Gulshera into her room, shutting the door behind her as the older woman swiftly divested herself of her boots and her bow and the long jacket she wore over her tunic. Finally, when Gulshera was done, she sat by the window and gestured for Arwa to join her.

“I looked out of my window and saw the light in yours. For a moment,” Gulshera stressed. “No longer. I had no darker motive. I only cared about your welfare. Are you satisfied?”

No, Arwa was not satisfied. Far from it.

“In my experience,” Arwa said steadily, “people don’t just simply care about one another’s welfare. All actions have a purpose. I may be a child to you, Aunt, but I’ve lived long enough to know what people are.”