“Saifullah chose this,” Zarmina said. “I came to agree with him. It’s the only way for you to cease your incessant adoration of the man you have forsaken us for.”

“Zarmina, do not say such things,” Durkhanai said, taking her cousins’ hands. “I would never forsake you. You must know that.”

“I do now, looking into your eyes,” Zarmina replied. “But you have been so far . . .”

“I’m sorry.” Durkhanai hugged her cousin. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Durkhanai blew out the candle in her heart, allowing the final flame to sputter out in her fist. She didn’t know who she was apologizing to anymore, but Zarmina held her close. They were caught in the crossfire, both pierced.

Durkhanai’s mind was spinning. She did not know yet what she would do next.

Before she could consider her next move, sudden calm fell over Zarmina’s features. She wiped her tears and nearly smiled as she put her hand on Durkhanai cheek, wiping away her tears as well.

“I know, janaan,” she said, voice strong, “that you will do the right thing, in the end. You will do right by me, by your family, by your people: by all of us. Which is why I agreed to this—so you could stop it.”

Zarmina leaned forward and whispered in Durkhanai’s ear which room she, the lady, would be in: the left or the right.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Wakdar’s Tale

The night his daughter was born, Wakdar Miangul ran.

While his wife recovered, he ran far and fast. He loved his wife, and he loved his child, but that night he saw neither of them—it would have crushed his resolve, made things all the more difficult. If he had seen her, he would never have been able to leave.

And it was dishonorable, truly, to run as he was, but he had no choice left.

If he stayed, he would know no peace until he had slaughtered his parents for what they had done.

The blood was still fresh in his memory, the sight of his best friend being torn apart by the cruelest of lions. Wakdar and Yaqut had been inseparable since birth, and their friendship had grown as Wakdar learned his princely duties and Yaqut rose in the ranks until he became the lead general.

Their friendship had seen happy years and sad ones, long years and short ones. It had lasted through Yaqut falling in love with Wakdar’s sister, Nazo, and lasted even still when Nazo was married off to another for political gain.

The bond between Wakdar and Yaqut had lacked only blood, which they would have happily spilled for one another.

What their friendship had not survived was the tribunal.

Despite Yaqut’s innocence, the door had opened to reveal a lion.