“Not interrupting, then?” he asked again. She could bear it no longer. She looked at him, her response an indifferent glance. He nodded, turning to lean against the window. As he did, he slipped his pakol off, unfurling his curly hair.

Durkhanai regarded the valley once more.

“Ghaam ki shaam lambi hoti hai,” she said, more to herself than him. The evening of despair is long.

“Magar shaam hi toh hai,” he said. But it is only an evening, after all.

Durkhanai looked at him. He smiled softly, and tears pricked her eyes. It was one of her favorite lines of poetry. How had he known?

She felt inexplicably seen, as though he’d carved open her chest and rather tenderly touched her heart. She wished to tell him, to somehow touch back, but she was afraid of ruining the sudden intimacy.

She did not care if it was forbidden. She would not turn him away.

“You haven’t been here much,” he said, breaking the silence, the comment too plain for the moment. A jolt ran through her; she was taken aback. He was looking at the hat in his hands, not at her. She furrowed her brows.

“I’ve been occupied,” she responded. “How did you come across this place?”

“A spy never reveals his secrets,” he responded with a smile. “Another tip for you to learn, though I won’t ask you to reveal the secret of your hidden mountain trails for eavesdropping.”

He was teasing again. She glared. She didn’t want to talk about herself. Perhaps it was time for him to feel bare.

“How did your parents meet?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject. She had wondered for some time now.

His entire face crumpled.

“Does it matter?” he snapped, jaw set.

“No,” she snapped back. “It doesn’t.”

She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have wanted to know him. She needed allyship from him, not friendship. Want had no place here. As Dhadi had so pointedly reminded her.

Asfandyar sighed, looking at her guiltily.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said. “It’s just that I’d rather not give anybody the opportunity to further torment me for my mother’s race.”

Durkhanai appreciated the honesty. “That’s fair.” Perhaps allyship and friendship were one and the same, after all . . .

“Qismat,” he said, voice soft. “A woman from Dunas and a man from Jardum. It was improbable, impossible.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.” He smiled.

Durkhanai, the hopeless romantic, wanted to ask more details about their backstory but didn’t want to seem too interested.

“They must be proud of you,” she said instead. “So young and accomplished. I’m sure many would kill to have gotten the chance to come to Marghazar as ambassador.”