A tear slowly welled in the corner of her eye. She dabbed at it with a silken kerchief, annoyed that she should show such feeling for him. Putting away her annoyance, she examined the source of her feelings as rationally she could.
Despite all the conflict that marred their history—or perhaps because of it—he had always been her favorite. Present for almost every single major event of Nur’s life, he, more than their father, had been the measure by which all men were judged. Judged, and found wanting. The current crop of male relatives were but pale shadows of Asaf Khan, and would have been dancing to his tune had he been healthy and, perhaps, closer to the throne when Shah Jahan was assassinated.
Even Aurangzeb, gifted as he was, would have been no match for the peerless politician Asaf Khan had been. Shah Jahan had ruled well and wisely, but he had been given that opportunity as much through the efforts of his father-in-law as his own military—or political—prowess.
Aurangzeb was gifted, certainly, and she had helped him bridge the gap between experience and training. But he had yet to face failure, and therefore could not be trusted to overcome it. For if there was one thing Nur’s long career had made her certain of, it was that failure at some point was always certain. And it was always a better measure of someone’s character to fail and rise again to the challenge that defeated them. She worried that, given his supreme faith that God was on his side, Aurangzeb might fracture under the strain of any significant failure. That could lead to disaster, both in the current conflict and in the future to come.
Not that she felt particularly averse to someone reining Aurangzeb in. He could be blithely inconsiderate of others.
Or perhaps he was not being inconsiderate but deliberate?
He was capable of great subtlety and possessed no little patience, something rare in someone so young. So it was not outside the realm of possibility that Aurangzeb had summoned her to attend him here, in the place she had fled so many months prior, in order to put her off guard.
And that bloody afternoon was, while not the worst she’d endured, certainly not forgotten. She did not need reminding of it. Not here. Not now.
As uncomfortable and irritated as she felt waiting for him in the garden, she had to assume the provocation was entirely according to Aurangzeb’s design.
She heard him before he came into view. Or rather, Nur heard his entourage before seeing the Sultan Al’Azam himself. Leaving them atop the plinth, he quickly descended the steps only recently sheathed in the white marble that was going up all over the monument to her niece. He came alone, certain in the protection of his guards. How she envied that light step, the boundless energy he expressed with every movement, and the sure certainty of youth that promised he would not, could not, be overcome.
He paused at the base of the stairs and glanced around, searching her out. She nodded when Aurangzeb’s gaze fell on her. He returned the gesture and strode quickly to her side.
“Sultan Al’Azam,” she said, lowering her head.
“Nur. Thank you for coming. I know you must be fatigued from our journey, but I had something important to ask of you.”
“You have but to command me, Sultan Al’Azam.”
He looked around, studying the garden a moment before continuing. “Was it here?”
Nur could not prevent her jaw clenching in sudden anger. “Pardon, Sultan Al’Azam?”
“My father was attacked here, in the garden?” he clarified, still not looking her in the eye.
“No, we heard the fighting up there first,” she said, pointing with her chin at the plinth he had just descended from. “It wasn’t until after a few moments had passed that the guards separating the garden from the plinth were set upon and overcome. It happened very quickly.”
“Yet not so quickly that you were unable to escape.” His tone was not accusatory. It was simply that of a son trying to grasp the circumstances of his father’s untimely death. Of an emperor determined not to suffer the same fate.
“As I told you, Sultan Al’Azam, I did not see him fall, only heard the resultant lamentations. And I was, at the time, as much a target for those assassins as your beloved father.”
Aurangzeb turned to look at her. “It seems I am to place you in danger once more.”
“Oh?” Nur asked, arching one brow.
He looked away again. “Although, it should be safe enough.”
Nur waited in vain for him to continue, was eventually forced to ask, “What shall I do for you, Sultan Al’Azam?”
The emperor cocked his head. “I would have you meet with my sister and negotiate on my behalf.”
Nur gestured at the distant bulk of Red Fort. “Negotiate? For what, exactly? Surely you have sufficient forces to overrun the fortress.”
“For the lives of my sisters, to start.”
“But he has made no threats to their safety…”
“I am too young to remember it myself, but I think it was at Murad’s birth that a cannonball launched from some fortress Father was besieging made it so far as to penetrate the Red Tent and threaten the lives of both Mother and Father.”
Nur, remembering the incident, suddenly understood. It would do his reputation no harm to show concern for the safety of his sisters. Indeed, it was a clever move. One she should
