Jahanara motioned the two women over. Perhaps it was fatigue, but she could not dredge up their names.
“Would one of you find Firoz Khan and ask for help removing this creature, please?”
The women looked at one another. The shorter one nodded but it was the taller who spoke. “Begum Sahib, it will be our pleasure to drag this dog out ourselves. That was our cousin he failed to save.”
“I am sorry,” Jahanara said, her heart heavy and slow in her chest. She took a deep breath, reaching for calm. A princess must appear collected in such circumstances.
“May we?” the woman repeated.
“Please,” Jahanara said, releasing the miasma of ill-feeling the encounter had engendered with the exhale. “Tell Firoz this man thought he could physically bar my way and countermand all the hard work of the last few months simply because he is a man and I am not. Firoz will know what to do with him.”
“Yes, Begum Sahib,” the pair said. They bent and, none too gently, batted aside his feeble attempts to prevent them grabbing his arms.
He started to find his wind, however, and burbled some further complaint until one of the women slapped him as one would a wayward boy. Not to hurt, just to remind the fool who was in charge.
Say one thing about the women of Dara’s court: if the men would not or could not handle the challenges of the moment, the women were ready to handle anything.
“Begum Sahib?” Smidha said.
Jahanara turned to find her advisor staring down at the still-writhing physician, several taller women behind her. One, richly dressed in a beautifully dyed sari, had a black silk bag drawn over her head. Two muscular dancing girls stood to either side of the hooded figure.
Jahanara blinked. “Merciful God, but did she have to resist?” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“A monkey is ever a monkey,” Smidha said.
“Is this how you treat your sister?” Roshanara barked from beneath the bag.
“You put a hood on but didn’t gag her?” Jahanara asked.
Smidha waggled her head. “She was quiet for the walk over here.”
“Saving it up for me, was she?”
Smiles lit all faces in response to her mild attempt at humor. The smiles Ilsa and Monique gave were far more predatory than humorous, making the princess briefly wonder why their expressions were so hungry.
Roshanara, as was her wont, killed the moment. “Jahanara, I am no dancing girl or slave to be manhandled this way, I am a princess of the blood, just as you!”
“True,” Jahanara said, nodding encouragement at the two dancers. “And were you to start acting like one, perhaps you wouldn’t be treated like an ill-bred falcon.”
“I will have your—”
“Guess I should have gagged her,” Monique said, removing the long, colorfully dyed scarf she used to tie back her heavy curls.
“You don’t say?” Jahanara opined, the words freighted with irony.
“Your pet ferenghi won’t silence me!” Roshanara yelled.
“Want to bet?” Monique said, slipping the scarf around the shorter woman’s head and pulling it tight around her nose.
“My nose!” Roshanara cried, which proved precisely the thing Monique had been waiting for. She let the scarf slip off the nose and pulled it savagely tight as soon as it was between Roshanara’s open lips. Then, began tying it off.
Smidha arched a brow. “You seem quite…practiced at certain things…”
Monique’s shrug revealed indifference to any censure in Smidha’s tone.
Shaking her head, Jahanara looked at Smidha. “I had hoped we would not have to imprison her, but I think we must?” She looked for confirmation from Smidha.
“Hear that, spying bitch?” Monique punctuated each word with a hard jab of two fingers into Roshanara’s breastbone.
Surprised at the feral anger in the gesture, Jahanara opened her mouth to ask what had Monique so angry, but saw Smidha’s hand motion asking for silence.
“I believe that’s an excellent idea, Begum Sahib,” the old servant said.
“Very well,” Jahanara gestured at the dancers, “escort my sister to the Jasmine Tower”—she glanced at Monique and Ilsa, gauging how they would respond to her next words—“and see to it she has no harm done to her.”
Neither woman appeared ready to object, though Monique was still staring angrily at Roshanara.
“Then see Firoz Khan for your reward,” Smidha added.
Jahanara nodded. “Yes, do tell the diwan I am most pleased with your service.”
“Yes, Begum Sahib,” the pair said.
Monique made to go with them, but Smidha caught her wrist. “Bide with us, please. You as well, Ilsa.”
The two Europeans stood glaring as a whimpering Roshanara was led away.
Jahanara stepped over the mess Adnan Dashti—that was his name!—had left behind and joined Smidha.
“Where are the rest of your ladies, Begum Sahib?”
The princess gestured widely at the pavilion. “Those who are not caring for their own elders or children are at the tasks set for them when they volunteered their service.”
Smidha nodded.
“Let us go to the veranda. We could all do with some news from the battle and perhaps a drink,” Jahanara said, knowing Smidha wanted some time to think before she spoke what was on her mind.
“Not for me, thanks, I already have to pee too often!” Ilsa said, covering her belly. Her expression, at least, had none of the anger of a moment before.
Chapter 47
Ground outside Red Fort
Delhi Gate
Atisheh grimaced as she let fly with another arrow, felling a man who had thought to oppose Dara’s lightning charge. There were fewer men willing to do that because Dara’s sowar were in among the tents of the enemy, cutting down wounded and bewildered men as they sought to cause as much chaos as they could, as quickly as possible.
In fact, things were on the verge of getting out of hand. Dara needed—
The Sultan Al’Azam, as if hearing her thoughts, reined in. He shouted, “Drummer, signal: on me!”
Atisheh didn’t immediately slow, as she’d been hard-pressed to keep up with the emperor over the last few minutes. Not only did he have the
