Perhaps she had imagined it. She continued walking, until she felt a shift in the air—the cool current no longer empty. Footsteps echoed behind her.

With a swift movement, Durkhanai pulled the dagger from her side and turned around, holding it up to her follower’s throat.

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Asfandyar?” she balked. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Following you, obviously.”

She gave him a look.

“Can we drop the dagger?” he asked, looking down at the tip of the blade that pinched into his chin.

She narrowed her eyes at him, pressing the blade a little closer to his skin. He raised a brow, and she dropped the blade.

“I almost stabbed you,” she informed him. “Don’t frighten me thus.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, rubbing his neck. “Where on earth are you going?”

“Why on earth are you in the passageways?’

“I was coming to see if you were alright after last night,” he responded easily. “But since you are wielding dangerous weapons, I can see that you are. Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m going to see . . . a friend.” It was a poor attempt, but her head was spinning. He gave her a look.

“Right,” he replied. “Here I was thinking we were friends—allies. But if you are acting suspicious, I must assume Marghazar is suspicious, as well.”

“No,” she replied. “It’s just—I’m actually—I don’t . . .”

She rubbed her temples and released a sigh. “Fine, you can come along.”

He grinned. “If you insist, Shehzadi.”

It was just as well. She could use his help in deciphering whatever she found. Besides, two people would be better to investigate in the little time they had before the Badshah would be back from his meeting.

They reached their destination, and Durkhanai pulled a little key out from her waistband. For the more important rooms, the passageways had locked doors, barring entry into the room without a key.

Durkhanai unlocked the door and they entered the Badshah’s private office.

“Try to find anything from the B’rung zilla,” Durkhanai told Asfandyar. “Anything to do with Palwasha-sahiba, such as negotiation drafts.”

Durkhanai’s gaze caught on a painting that rested behind the Badshah’s desk. In it, the Badshah and the Wali of S’vat were adorned in finery, as usual, and the Badshah held a baby girl on his forearm between them, the baby’s feet sitting in his palm.

Durkhanai smiled. Agha-Jaan always said she was only that small for a few weeks, but he had always loved holding her in one arm.

Durkhanai had been in her grandfather’s office only a handful of times, and she had never snuck in before; guilt crept through her, making her dizzy. She put her hand on the table, steadying herself.

She pushed the guilt away—she needed answers.