“How clever, indeed!” Palwasha-sahiba cried. “I would be so grateful if you would consider describing to me . . .”

From the corner of her eye, Durkhanai saw Zarmina slip. She bit back a cry and threw her hand out to stop Zarmina from falling.

But in doing so, the gold chudiyan on her arm jingled loudly. The three of them stilled.

The conversation above stopped. Silence filled the mountains.

Durkhanai pressed further into the mountainside. If the ambassador or noblewomen above looked over the trail edge, they would not see Durkhanai and her cousins, but just in case.

Then she noticed a steel-gray shawl, lowering into her sight.

It swung back and forth, until it entered the opening of the hidden trail rather than hitting solid mountain.

Oh no.

“Dear Shehzadi, I hope that is not you down there,” an amused voice called. Asfandyar. “What a nasty trick indeed, though poorly executed.”

They’d been caught.

“Fittay mu tera,” Durkhanai muttered. He had not even been with them earlier. He must have heard her chudiyan, as well. Unfortunately, she was the only one obnoxious enough to be wearing so much jewelry.

“Zarmina!” Saifullah hissed.

“Shut up!” she snapped.

The conversation above had truly ceased, and there was no point listening further. Cheeks burning, Durkhanai motioned for them to retreat. They made their way back, pace quick so as not to be truly caught red-handed.

Ashamed by their lackluster performance, Durkhanai rang for tea and changed her clothes. Only after being placated by biscuits and samosay did Saifullah breech the subject.

“Foreigners, conspiring in our own mountains! How could Agha-Jaan have let it come to this?” Saifullah sighed, running a hand through his wavy black hair. “It hasn’t been done for centuries!”

They were angry at her grandfather for allowing the ambassadors to enter Safed-Mahal in the first place. For the people of Marghazar—for her family—tradition was everything.

“It isn’t so simple,” Durkhanai argued. “Marghazar looks immensely guilty right now. To appease the other zillas, it had to be done.”

“But what precisely are the ambassadors doing here? What were those two discussing?” Zarmina asked, dark brown eyes confused. She played with her long braid of thick black hair. It is clear they do not simply wish for a view into the land of legend.”

“I doubt it’s so simple,” Saifullah countered. His eyes matched Zarmina’s. They looked so alike to one another and nothing like Durkhanai, who everyone said looked just like their mother, her Nazo Phuppo. The twins resembled their father, while Durkhanai was all her grandfather.

“The other zillas have never had the opportunity to negotiate with Marghazar,” Durkhanai explained. “This is the first time any of them have been allowed a serious audience with the Badshah, and while Agha-Jaan won’t be bullied into any sort of agreements, he is open to negotiation in order for appeasement. Nobody wants war. And it’s buying time to prove our innocence.”