“For you—because I am yours, entirely,” he vowed, reaching for her hands. She snatched her fingers away before he could touch them, cradling her hand to her heart, trying to contain the explosion.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, trying not to cry. “Why did you come here? To Marghazar?”

“I told you,” he responded, eyes blank, voice empty. “I’m a spy.”

“For who?”

“Wakdar,” he replied.

Her father.

“Why? Explain.” She tried to stay calm.

“I am indebted to him,” Asfandyar replied. “I owe him my life, my blood. He swore he would exact revenge on the Badshah, and I swore I would help him.”

“My grandparents,” she said, chest tight. “My family, my blood. You know they are most beloved to me, beyond anything and anyone, yet you speak so casually of exacting revenge on them? Why?”

“They broke my heart,” he finally said, voice quiet.

“And you broke mine,” she snapped. “Are you happy now? You are just as wretched as your enemy.”

“There is much you do not know,” he said. Her heart had burned to ash, leaving nothing but the seared black bones of her ribcage, echoing emptiness.

What could be worse than this?

“The Badshah has allied himself with the Kebzu Kingdom,” Asfandyar continued. “It was him who told them about the summit.”

“Impossible,” Durkhanai said, but she wasn’t so sure.

“It’s why I’m here,” Asfandyar explained, voice thick with self-hate. “I’ve been distracting you, stirring civil unrest, as Wakdar prepares.”

“Prepares for what?” Durkhanai asked, filled with dread.

She had to warn her grandparents.

“Durkhanai, please, sit down, let me explain to you—” he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“I don’t want to sit down,” she hissed. “You need to tell me exactly what is going on, right now. Starting with why?” Durkhanai’s voice broke, and she hated herself for it. “Why did you do all this? You said you owe Wakdar your life, your blood, but why?”

“I killed one of his own,” he replied.

Durkhanai stilled. One of his own—that would make whoever it was one of hers.

“Who?” she seethed. Asfandyar looked miserable, but he had to tell her.

“His daughter,” Asfandyar replied finally, voice quiet. “My fiancée.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Asfandyar’s Tale

“She was my best friend,” Asfandyar began.

Suddenly, he was no longer nineteen, but fifteen again, falling in love for the first time. Back in Jardum, the song of his childhood played around him, memories unfurling to the distant melody.