Smidha recognized the signal also, of course.
The two of them fell into a cautious silence.
A bull elephant trumpeted, answered a moment later by another.
The eunuch joined them on the balcony and approached. His obeisance was perfect. He came erect and said, “The Sultan Al’Azam requires your presence.”
* * *
Jahanara was relieved to see that Dara seemed alert. That could be a mixed blessing, of course—and judging from the scowl on his face, it probably was. He was in his private chambers, seated comfortably among cushions, and attended only by Nadira, who had sent everyone away with her son upon her sister-in-law’s arrival. That he was not abed was surely a good sign, though his glower was not.
So she was surprised when his first words were not a reprimand. “Nur Jahan is at the Water Gate,” he said. “She begs for sanctuary, having taken a boat from Agra proper.”
For an instant, Jahanara’s mind blanked. Among all her present concerns, projections, plans, and worries, Nur had been distant and of little import. And for the woman to be approaching from Agra when Aurangzeb’s Red Tent had been south of Red Fort?
Nur Jahan. Here? What could she possibly be thinking?
The answer came on the heels of the question, and she spoke it aloud. “It follows naturally on Aurangzeb’s bold attack. The misinformation he had from the Venetian spy, Gradinego—what she was deceived into believing was reliable information—led him astray.” She’d almost added and from Roshanara but stopped herself in time. As furious as she was at her younger sister, Jahanara had better use for her alive than as a corpse.
Dara Shikoh grunted. “Your doing.” That sounded more like an accusation than the compliment she deserved for the sacrifices she’d made to bring off his great victory. Yes, there would be a reprimand coming soon.
But not yet. Her brother left off scowling at her and his glare softened as he looked at Nadira, seated close enough to hold his hand. Then, looking back at Jahanara, he said, “I don’t want Nur Jahan anywhere near my wife and son. She’s too dangerous. In fact, I’m inclined to simply execute her and have done. But…”
Jahanara gently shook her head. “Make use of her instead: employ her as your mediator with Aurangzeb.”
“So he can be her executioner?” Dara ran fingers through his beard. “I suppose that would be better. She is Jahangir’s widow, after all. An empress in all but name, in her time. So let her imperial blood be on his hands, you’re saying?”
“Possibly. But that might be the least beneficial outcome. What I am primarily thinking is that the way Aurangzeb deals with her will tell us a great deal about his state of mind after his defeat at your hands. His self-restraint, especially.”
Dara had not invited her to sit, so she remained standing even though after all the hours she’d spent the day before overseeing the work in the healers’ pavilion her feet still hurt. She didn’t mind the pain so much as the distraction. She’d be able to think better if she weren’t forced to hover on aching feet.
“What do you propose Nur should tell him, beloved?” Nadira asked.
Dara was still running fingers through his beard, as he often did when deep in thought. He glanced from his wife to Jahanara. “What is your advice?” His jaws tightened. “As angry as I am at you, I do not—cannot—deny that you are shrewd. Very much so. So what do you think?”
“Offer him the governorship of the Deccan,” Jahanara said, ignoring his tone to concentrate on achieving her ends.
“He will only use such a position to strengthen himself,” protested Nadira.
Jahanara nodded agreement, even as she outlined her reasoning: “And yet, over the last ten years, the Deccan has been ravaged by famine, plague, and, of late, the vast armies of your brothers’ comings and goings. What remains is a war-torn and famine-ravaged region without the resources that you command here—and we also can strengthen ourselves further given the head start you have obtained for us. It will be what the Americans call an ‘arms race’ in which we have all the advantages.”
She waggled her head. “It is either that or resume the war. Time will work to our advantage, not his.”
“Aurangzeb is not stupid,” cautioned Nadira. “He will understand we offer a flower thick with thorns.”
“Yes, of course. But…” She really wished she could sit. Her aching feet were muddying her thoughts. Not so much making them murky as slowing her normally quick mind.
After a moment seeking her inner calm, the game pieces came into sharp focus, the board before her clear. “The thing is, I don’t believe Aurangzeb has much choice. You gave him a great bloodying out there, brother—and the fact that it was you who did it—in person, leading from the front—makes it all the worse. He has suffered a great blow to his prestige and is already losing men. Some will have lost any taste for fighting and will leave for home, but others will begin exploring their options, begin to make overtures to you. His army might remain larger than ours should his key umara remain loyal, as I expect them to, but he will not resume fighting again. Not by choice, and not for at least a year. His army is a bent blade, and he needs time to mend it before bringing it to battle again. And in that time, you will further strengthen your position, forces, and technology to the point any fool will see who is the rightful Sultan Al’Azam.”
A few heartbeats passed. Enough that Jahanara worried she might have overstepped, said too much, but then Dara lowered his hand. “Do it, then. Instruct Nur Jahan”—he smiled thinly—“on her new duties.”
She almost said, “What—me?” The last thing she wanted to do was undertake the walk down to the Water Gate. Firoz Khan could
