Perhaps she could grow to love Rashid. She had held him in her heart for so long, she should still give it a try. It would be so easy, seamless, and everyone would be happy. He was the son of the most important tribe leader. Their union would be most auspicious. And maybe in the end it didn't matter if she loved him or not because she loved her people and if this was what was best for them . . .

Durkhanai shook her thoughts away. There was no use agonizing over something that was so far away, when there was so much else going on.

Something she was reminded of the next morning, when a messenger knocked on her door at dawn.

“Shehzadi, I have the mail you had requested I keep an eye out for,” he said, handing her a letter. It carried the seal of the Wali of B’rung.

“Shukria,” she said, dismissing him.

This was it.

And with hardly any time to spare. In three days, their deadline would be over. If the ambassadors truly decided to declare war on behalf of their districts, the ambassadors would be killed on the spot—and no matter how angry she was with Asfandyar, she didn’t want to see him killed. Or Gulalai for that matter.

Heart pounding, Durkhanai grabbed a knife, easing open the seal to reveal the letter inside.

It was a short letter, one that she read quickly. Then read again just to be sure.

The Wali had no idea what “Palwasha-sahiba” was mentioning. They were innocent.

But if it wasn’t B’rung who told the Kebzu Kingdom about the summit, who had?

Chapter Twenty

A celebration was called for that jummah.

Durkhanai didn’t know how her grandparents could be arranging such a banquet when they were all on the cusp of war, but it was the fiftieth year of the Badshah’s rule.

To celebrate, feasts were sent to all the villages, boxes of sweets distributed to every home. In the marble palace, a great banquet was held.

A canopy was spread over the courtyard, from which fresh flowers and hanging candles dripped down. The floor of the courtyard was covered in mirrors, reflecting the flowers and candles, creating double the effect. The courtyard opened into an open field, where the flames of candles glittered on pillars and great big bonfires filled the skies.

The aroma of firewood was thick in the air, mixing with the charcoaled smell of grilling meat, freshly slaughtered that day. There were tables upon tables of drinks and platters of food: golden and red dishes of biryani, stacks of chapli kababs with mint chutney, rows upon rows of mutton roast.

In the background, folk singers hummed low songs, in tune with the rubabs and dhols.