Aside from sheltering her from the heat of the sun, there was little ease to be found in the gardens around the Taj. The trees, grass, even the nodding flowers had sat mute witnesses to the killings that had claimed her father and nearly claimed her. Mute to what they had seen, but witnesses all the same.
She preferred the garden’s mute witnesses to the visions of Father’s blood on stone steps.
Such visions were why she retired to the gardens and let her brother speak to Father’s architects and overseers without watching him. They both needed the break. He from supervision, if only for a brief moment—among men who had too much to lose should his secret come out; she from covering for his every mistake, from ensuring the secret of his condition never escaped to reach the wider world and destroy their collective future.
So much killing. And for what?
On edge, she heard the slightest jingle of Atisheh’s armor. Jahanara looked at the woman who had nearly given her life to defend those in her care, found the big warrior woman tracking something in the direction of the Taj.
Jahanara tipped her head up to see what had alerted her guardian, spied Nadira’s lovely form gliding across the grass toward her.
“Sister of my heart, peace be upon you,” Jahanara said, her own soul still far from the peace she craved.
“And upon you, sister,” Nadira answered, folding lovely legs beneath her while one hand reached for a goblet. A slave moved forward with a sweating silver pitcher and filled the empty goblet.
“How is he?” Jahanara asked as the slave retreated out of easy earshot.
“Well enough. But he has heard something, a rumor, that sorely vexes him.”
“Oh? Something new concerning Shuja or Aurangzeb?”
Nadira’s pretty eyes went to the southern horizon. “No. Nothing so distant, nor so important. Not yet, at least. It was a not-uncommon whisper among men, but he gives it more credence than it deserves, as close to his own heart as the subject is.”
“What, then?”
“The rumor…” She trailed off yet again.
These repeated hesitations were most unlike Nadira. “So you have said, sister,” she prompted.
“The rumor is about you, sister.”
Jahanara sighed, tightened abdominal muscles and drew herself to a sitting position without the use of her hands. That she found the movement harder than it was a few months ago—the result of much less time spent at dancing and yoga these days—was a lamented result of matters of state taking up too much of her free time to pursue the rigorous training regimen of her youth.
“More of the same drivel about how I run the harem without your consent?” she asked, anger sharpening the words. “We wen—”
“No,” Nadira said, looking at her again. The concern in that look stopped Jahanara as much as the word.
Dread stirred her heart to beat more strongly. “What is it this time, then?”
“This rumor is more personal, and more threatening.”
“Do not keep me in suspense, sister. Tell me.”
Nadira lowered her voice. “That you and Salim are sharing a bed.”
Jahanara could not prevent the sudden heat that colored her from chest to cheeks at the thought of Salim’s hard body against hers, swordsman’s hands in her hair, lips pressing against hers.
Nadira’s indrawn breath told Jahanara she’d seen the powerful reaction the words had summoned.
Her sister-in-law chuckled on the exhale and spoke quietly. “I can see your great beauty is enhanced by desire. But, for all our sakes, I hope you can restrain such displays in future.”
Jahanara opened her mouth to protest, but Nadira spoke over her. “I know you have yet to throw yourself at him, but really, that people are speaking of you meeting him alone is bad for us.” She paused, looking at Jahanara from beneath lowered lashes. “And actually meeting with him, however innocently, is a risk you should not be taking.”
“How did you know?” Jahanara asked, fear making her blood run cold despite the heat.
Another chuckle. “I didn’t. At least, not before seeing your reaction.” Nadira glanced at Jahanara’s guardian. “But that, coupled with the fact Atisheh, only just returned from her convalescence with the up-timers, was assigned to guard you through the night? You are not known to be a harsh taskmistress, and that raised suspicions.”
Atisheh’s weight shifted again, the faint chiming of her mail a mute version of I told you so.
“Whose suspicions?” Jahanara asked. “Rumors always persist about the women of the harem…”
“Mine. Your brother’s. He is worried that your protection of his secrets is taxing your good sense.” Nadira took Jahanara’s hand in hers, met her eyes. “I do not disagree with him, in principle. I worried—worry—you feel as if you are alone in fighting for us, that in that moment of feeling isolated, you might do something careless, if only to feel like you were doing something purely for yourself.”
Silenced by the painful accuracy of Nadira’s words, Jahanara brushed at the sudden tears welling at the corners of her eyes. That Nadira was so perceptive did not surprise her. It was her own lack of perception that made her heart ache.
Nadira, first-and-only-wife of the emperor, watched her through tears of her own. Wiping at them, she sniffed, said in a firm, even hard, voice, “I have told Dara that his concerns are unfounded, the rumors false. Informed him that you are a pillar of strength, and would not falter or fail him in such a way.”
Shame wrenched at Jahanara’s heart—that she’d believed Nadira had
