“He is right. Moscow has mistaken our hospitality and gratitude for weakness. I am not under their control. This nation is not under their control!” he grumbled. “The Politburo needs to take a step back or they will put us all in danger.”

Neelab motioned for us to leave. As she turned, she let out a yelp. Two scarlet drops slid down her forearm from where a thorn had pierced her skin. Knowing the sight of blood made her light-headed, I quickly pressed the hem of my black shirt to her arm. When I lifted my shirt from her arm, the blood was gone.

But Neelab did not look relieved. Instead, she looked betrayed by the soft blooms.

“Come,” I said to distract her. “Let us find the boys.”

We spotted our mothers at the fountain. Faheem was pitched over the circular concrete edge, his hand splashing in the bubbling water and a bare foot dangling in the air. I heard my brother’s corkscrew laughter, the giggles that rose and fell and drew more attention than the muezzin’s azaan at prayer time.

The palace had been desperate for lightness lately. The walls seemed to be bending inward. Neelab stared at the fountain.

“Sitara,” she started quietly. “Do you think the people of Ai-Khanoum escaped? Or do you think they were buried with all those treasures?”

I’d known Neelab so long, it was as if our lives were plaited together. Sometimes I imagined she was God’s way of making amends for reclaiming my older sister before I could meet her. I could tell from the lilt of her voice that Neelab was terrified. We were fluent in the cutting conversations of politics, but what we’d just heard chilled us both.

“It was a long time ago, Neelab. Maybe they went back to Greece or went searching for some other land,” I offered. She was not assuaged by my theory.

“There must have been children in Ai-Khanoum,” Neelab said somberly.

I found myself saying things I didn’t even believe because I wanted to rally her spirits.

“I didn’t see any toys or small rings in the crate. I bet they were too busy carving stone into columns to think of having children.”

Neelab looked skeptical.

“Come,” I said brightly, pulling at her hand. “Let’s sneak up on our mothers. With all the wives and foreigners present last night, maybe we’ll catch a bit of juicy gossip.”

We stepped forward in synchrony, as we always had, except that I dared to look back. The wooden doors were once again closed. The president, his advisers, and their tall shadows had all disappeared and the garden was once again serene.

Faheem was crouched behind a wheelbarrow in a game of hide-and-seek, his flattened palms pressed over his eyes, his chestnut hair catching the afternoon sun. A note of glee escaped his parted lips.