On one populated mountain, she saw two waterfalls, and while ordinarily the glittering water brought her peace, today the two holes punctured in the mountain flowed water like eyes flowing with tears. In the distance of the unpopulated lands, she could almost see the blue green S’vat river, which protected them in the north from the Kebzu Kingdom.

Now, for the first time, they would need protection from those within their lands.

Ya Khuda, protect us, she prayed.

They waited for the bell to quiet, the valley to turn silent. Then, hand in hand, her grandparents made their way to the door, to head back down to the palace below.

“Come,” Agha-Jaan motioned for her to come.

“Just a moment longer,” she responded. “I want to make dua.”

Her grandfather nodded, allowing her solace, and she was alone.

“Ya Allah,” she prayed. “You are the Protector of all people, so please, protect my people. Bless us, forgive us, let no harm come to us. Ameen.”

She blew onto all her lands, the homes that dotted the mountains, praying her people and her country would stay safe from those who were coming.

“I will protect you,” she promised her people. It was her sacred duty to protect this land. With a final glance, she went back down to her palace, to prepare.

A banquet had been arranged for the ambassadors, and Durkhanai had to change to get ready for it. The defenses were up, but their greatest defense was their behavior: they had to act absolutely unbothered by any of this and entirely innocent—which they were.

They were to be kind—but with an undercurrent of cruelty.

As Durkhanai walked to her rooms, she noticed a man walking alone in her hall, his fingers dancing along the windowsill. She paused, blinking.

Who was he? More importantly, what was he doing here?

Durkhanai approached until she stood beside him. Noting her presence, he turned and smiled at her, his black eyes molten and warm, hiding a thousand emotions and layers.

“And you are?” she prompted.

He smiled an easy smile.

“Ambassador Asfandyar of the Afridi tribe of Jardum,” he said. His deep voice was stone: ragged and solid. “Pleased to meet you.”

He lowered his head with respect, but a smirk tugged at his lips. Durkhanai frowned.

From what she knew, the Jardum people were courageous and rebellious. They were good fighters who were pragmatic in picking their battles and making alliances.

She didn’t even know him, but she knew he would be trouble.

Sudden anger flashed through her: she had known the foreigners were coming, but now that they were here, in her home, the irritation was thrice folded. And in her halls!

This would not do.

“How pleasing indeed for you, ambassador,” she said, voice clipped, “that such an egregious occasion has arisen to force Marghazar’s hand into welcoming your sorry hides into our pure lands.”

He met her glare with an easy half-smile, nearly laughing.