“You bring up an important subject,” Naeem-sahib said, stirring sugar into his chai. “It is something I have been contemplating myself. Seeing as the Badshah is preoccupied with the wars, and the Wali busy with the ambassadors, I may as well discuss it with you.”

Durkhanai straightened. While she did not enjoy being a last resort, at least Naeem-sahib thought her capable—even if only in regards to domestic affairs. “Please do.”

“I am finding that the illness is taking its toll,” he said. “The workers are not able to accomplish as much as they once were.”

Durkhanai nodded. “I feared as much. What can be done to aid those in need? Perhaps a redistribution of resources and skills between clans?”

Naeem-sahib shook his head. “This idea has been brought up before, but clan members do not like working for others for no apparent benefit. While I can understand and appreciate how sending a Durrani farmer to a Wazir field, while a Waziri mason comes to fix Durrani homes, will benefit the community at large, unfortunately, the people do not wish to participate unless there is some advantage to them personally.”

“I see.”

“What we need is more medicine, properly distributed.”

“The medicine is . . . being tested for accuracy,” she improvised. “I assure you, distribution will be swift and soon.”

“It must be sooner,” Naeem-sahib insisted. “The farmers are angry—they are threatening to leave their work until their families are cured, which is understandable, Shehzadi. I have tried to raise the issue at the palace, but no one has heard my concerns.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

“I, as well as the other tribe leaders, have tried to keep the people calm, but they are understandably upset, particularly with the onslaught of foreigners in the capital. We don’t want any riots or protests on our hands, do we?”

Durkhanai blinked. She had not expected a threat, however subtle. She had thought she would have a polite conversation with Naeem-sahib, learn what she wished to know, then be on her way.

“I understand, Naeem-sahib,” she said. “And I assure you, the medical staff is working as hard as they can. I will speak to the villagers—reassure them.”

Naeem-sahib let out an irritated noise, unconvinced. “If the Badshah does not do something and soon . . .” His voice trailed off.

“What then?” Durkhanai would not allow him even to insinuate discontent with her grandfather. When Naeem-sahib did not reply, she continued in a low voice, “I would advise you not to question the Badshah. Not now. Not with everything else going on—when you know his attention is elsewhere for understandable reasons. One may misinterpret it as purposeful.”

Naeem-sahib’s eyes widened slightly, face stunned and frozen. Then he lowered his head.

“Of course, Shehzadi,” he replied. “That was not my intent.”

He stepped back, and she nodded.