“Saifullah, I was just coming to find you,” Durkhanai said. “I was hoping we could call for tea with Rukhsana-sahiba from Teerza. Perhaps find out a little more about her . . .”

“Sorry, dear one, but I must attend to something,” Saifullah said. There was a letter in his hand, but it was not addressed to anyone. Before she could ask, Saifullah began walking again. “Do try Zarmina! Not like she’s ever up to anything.”

Dhurkhanai felt unavoidably hurt by the brush-off, but she redirected her steps all the same. Zarmina was in her room, reading a book of poetry.

“What’s the matter?” Zarmina asked, closing her book. “You look prepared for war.”

“I wanted to call for tea with Rukhsana-sahiba. She’s the only ambassador with whom I haven’t spoken personally. Will you join me?”

Zarmina nodded. Durkhanai grabbed parchment and wrote a note to Rukhsana-sahiba, to invite her, followed by a word to her maids to prepare her sunroom with a chai spread.

“Let me just get ready, and I will meet you there,” Zarmina said. Durkhanai nodded, going to her room. While she dressed, the maids wove her hair into a complicated braid. They fixed her dupatta in place with her crown, and she replaced her walking shoes with silk khussay.

Zarmina, too, was properly ready when she entered, her dark hair twisted into a simple updo, her simpler clothes exchanged for an embroidered gharara and kurta. The maids followed her in with fine porcelain plates of samosay and biscuits and chicken patties.

They waited.

And waited.

Somebody arrived at the door. Durkhanai straightened her stiff back, but it was just a messenger with a note. The note was from her Dhadi.

Rukhsana-sahiba is priorly engaged and cannot join you for tea.

Durkhanai crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. Zarmina quietly went to read what it had said, then sighed. She came to take Durkhanai’s hands. “There will be more opportunities.”

Durkhanai frowned. “I need to do something, now.”

“You look tense, jaan,” Zarmina said. “Perhaps what you need is rest.”

For once, she felt uncertain of what to say. She considered telling her cousin about what Naeem-sahib had insinuated and the refusal of the people to work without medicine. But while Zarmina was family, there was a distinct separation between their roles and thus, a distinct separation between their loyalties. Saifullah had shown as much already.

Durkhanai did not wish for Zarmina or Saifullah to doubt her grandfather’s rulership. Nor did she wish her visit to the nobleman to come across as purposeful meddling, taking things a step too far from assuaging the villagers’ worries to direct action to address it.

No, perhaps she should not bring it up until she had discussed it first with Dhadi.

“The illness in the villages is only getting worse,” she said, able at least to divulge that much, “and the people are not getting the medicine they need.” Durkhanai rubbed her temples.