The boy had no choice but to obey. He went to his knees.

“Hands forward.”

Hesitantly, the boy put his hands forward, and she saw angry tears glistening in his eyes. He apologized again, his voice clipped. Inaya shifted uncomfortably, still behind Durkhanai.

“Inaya, hand me those rocks,” Durkhanai said, pointing to two large stones. She obliged, one by one. They were heavier than they looked. Durkhanai took one and held it at her eye-level above his hands. The boy whimpered, understanding. But he didn’t pull away.

It was not in the Marghazari to be cowards in the face of punishment. Moreover, he knew doing so would insult the Shehzadi, which would earn him the Badshah’s wrath—something nobody in their right mind would solicit.

Durkhanai forcefully dropped one on each of the boy’s hands.

The crunch of bones was loud in the quiet. He cried out in pain.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Looks as though my hands have slipped, as well.”

The boy was crying now, hands still beneath the stones. She kicked them off and saw his fingers were bloodied, the bones at strange angles.

How gruesome. Guilt panged through her, but she could not have the locals thinking she hadn’t inherited anything of her grandfather’s spirit.

The guilt gave way to anger. She would not be underestimated, considered silly and frivolous. She could be just as quick and clever as her grandfather.

“Get up,” she snapped. He did as he was told. With one finger, she tilted his chin so he looked into her eyes.

“Let us hope such a mistake won’t reoccur,” she said, voice sweet. “Tell your friends as well.”

Where there was one scoundrel, there was bound to be an entire herd.

He nodded, face wet with tears. Fear and pain shone in his eyes as he fled.

Durkhanai turned to Inaya. “You have nothing to fear from him, anymore,” she said, voice soft with kindness. Inaya nodded, wiping away her tears.

“I thought he loved me,” she said.

Poor fool. And how Durkhanai hated fools, and scrupulously avoided becoming one herself. She gave Inaya’s arm a pitying squeeze. “Let me walk you home.”

Inaya lived in a cluster of homes that seemed eerily silent. Usually, the women here would be out hanging laundry at this time. When Durkhanai followed Inaya into one house, she heard a cacophony of coughing.

A young man stopped her before she could go any further.

“Lala Farukh, what is it?” Inaya asked her older brother. She went to his side.

“Abu’s health has taken a turn for the worse,” Farukh replied. “And four more have fallen ill.” He turned to Durkhanai. “Shehzadi, I beg your pardon, but you mustn’t enter here.”

“Are they alright?” Durkhanai asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Hay fever, perhaps, due to the changing of seasons,” the man responded. It was April, and winter had thawed to spring.