All that and then to discover that Nadira had already taken on a burden she did not have to: defending her honor against rumors her own brother believed.
Jahanara stifled sobs, clutching Nadira in her arms. “I have not failed to protect Dara’s honor or mine. I have not given myself to Salim nor any other.” She swallowed against a knot in her throat. “You have not lied to Dara.” She dared not—could not—add: not yet, at least.
“That is good, sister of my heart…” Nadira lowered her voice to whisper her next words in Jahanara’s ear. “Though I would gladly do so in partial repayment of my many debts to you, Jahanara Begum.”
Startled again at Nadira’s perception of her inmost thoughts, Jahanara sat back. Smiling through her tears, she said, “I hope I am not so transparent to everyone as I am to you…”
Nadira’s smile was tender. “I should think your secrets safe, for now. No one else has my access to your doings, your brother, your plans, or your heart. Besides,” she said with a shrug of slender, silk-sheathed shoulders, “you need never ask for my aid, Jahanara. As long as I’m aware of your need, I am here to help.”
“Thank you, Nadira. Thank you. I promise I will ask for help rather than make you puzzle it out again.”
“I just want you to know”—a gentle squeeze of her hands—“deep in your bones, that you are not alone.”
Driven to tears again, Jahanara could only nod.
Nadira brushed her tears away with the hem of her sari and passed Jahanara her goblet.
The two had relaxed into a companionable silence over the drink, each enjoying the momentary quiet spent in company with the other.
Jahanara saw Prasad and the veil-swathed figure of Monique pass into the garden from the heavily guarded checkpoint.
Monique was readily identifiable—by the way she started removing the purdah-required veils as soon as possible—if not by her form and movements.
The most loyal of her eunuchs carried a bulging satchel, likely filled with correspondence, official and unofficial, that must be tended to with as much, if not more, care as the gardens surrounding them.
Even when she wasn’t exhausted, Jahanara often felt like a gardener forced to tend an unruly patch of ground that sprouted tangling briars and thorns far more often than flowers or sweet fruit.
She sighed, idly—and foolishly—wishing for the days when she’d had no responsibilities and only dreamed of having power over her own fate.
Nadira glanced up at the sound. A delicate sniff as they watched the eunuch make his way toward them. “I assume you’ve already seen the reports from Shuja’s camp?”
“I have.”
“I was utterly surprised that Aurangzeb bowed before his brother.”
“As was I. None of our sources saw it coming. I suppose that should not have surprised me. He was always very careful with his trust. Even when a boy in the harem, he would not go to anyone, even Mother, with his thoughts, preferring to pray over his hurts, his concerns, his thoughts…”
“Strange that so admirable a trait should produce so odd an outcome.”
“Then you do not believe his pledges of allegiance to Shuja?”
A mirthless chuckle, then: “What was that colorful up-timer expression that Priscilla used? ‘Ox-shit’?”
“Bullshit, I think,” Jahanara said.
Atisheh’s quiet snort confirmed her recollection.
“Bull—or Ox—the pledge reeks of duplicity.”
“Shuja seems to be holding his nose quite well, even so.” Jahanara grinned, watching Monique divest herself of everything but the lightest, sheerest silk.
Jahanara smiled. Not so many months ago, the young ferenghi woman would have been uncomfortable showing so much skin to anyone. Now she was more practical, and much cooler for it.
“That’s because he thinks he can have it all, should he hold his nose long enough,” Nadira said.
On reflection, Monique was not the only one to have been changed. Jahanara acknowledged, if only to herself, that the young woman was her closest friend and confidant outside her family and those who served for decades, like Smidha and poor, sweating Prasad.
The heavyset eunuch bowed low and presented his satchel to Jahanara, who ordered him to rest and take refreshment.
“But what a performance!” Jahanara said as the eunuch withdrew.
“Indeed. What I don’t get is what angle Shuja saw in accepting the lies. I mean, I understand that their combined army is more powerful for not having battled, but now each has to watch the other for betrayal at every turn.”
Jahanara nodded agreement. “I would hope that such vigilance would lead to suspicion and the dissolution of their alliance, eventually. But then, I didn’t think that either could keep their armies together when Dara cut off their supplies.” She pawed through the correspondence, found a letter she’d been waiting for, unsealed it, and quickly read the contents.
Monique strode up, bowed and fair threw herself down next to Nadira when she gestured the Mission woman to join her.
Jahanara missed some byplay between the two women, but watched as Nadira worked the other woman’s unruly curls into a short, heavy braid. Nadira preferred to keep her hands busy and while Monique’s hair wasn’t as exotic as Ilsa’s, the Frenchwoman seemed to enjoy the attention far more than John’s wife.
She suppressed a sigh. If reports were true, Nadira wasn’t the only one tangling her fingers in Monique’s hair of late. The twinge of unwarranted jealousy served to return her attention to the letter she’d already read once through without actually retaining any information.
“Finally!” Jahanara muttered after several minutes, rereading the pertinent section once again.
“What is it?” Monique asked, tip of her tongue protruding daintily as she concentrated on working another hank of hair into place.
“We presumed Aurangzeb and Shuja were pillaging the land as they came north, but wondered how they were able to maintain their strength, as the Deccan had scarcely recovered from the famine of a few
