Roshanara mastered a snarl and said evenly, “If he cannot meet my requirements, what is the point of my providing numbers? In fact, I am sorely tempted to see if the palace herbalist has made any progress, since your man seems unable to meet my rather basic requirements.”
“I hope I have not disappointed, Shehzadi,” he said, tone conveying a warning out of keeping with his actual words.
Which she translated as: Don’t be hasty! I’m trying, and you asking about such things might reveal what we’re about.
“I confess I am disappointed. I had hoped to participate fully in my sister’s work. If I cannot provide the new poultice that, on your assurances, I promised her, well then I shall be embarrassed before all the harem. I do not know what I will do with the shame.”
Roshanara quelled the wicked smile that threatened to grace her lips on hearing the clear sound of his indrawn breath.
He was silent a long time after. So long it made her wonder if she’d pushed too far.
She bit her lip. I will not apologize to this…this messenger. He and, more importantly, Aurangzeb, put me in this position in the first place.
She wanted to warn them of many things, not least that she was not some petty zenana toy, paid to dance for the pleasure of others and having access only to the small secrets of the harem. No, she was a princess, with knowledge of and influence on affairs of the wider court.
They would, at minimum, promise to treat her as such if they wished to learn what she knew: that Dara’s condition was still in question. That Jahanara ruled from the shade of the harem and, not content with flouting only that tradition, there were rumors she had engaged in clandestine embraces with Salim. Such rumors had doubtless already reached the ears of Aurangzeb’s other spies, but those whisperers were not to know that Dara gave credence to the rumors, so much so that he had placed many spies to watch his elder sister.
There were many spies in the harem now. So many that Roshanara felt a rising paranoia. It had begun as sensible caution, but now…Roshanara’s experiences of harem politics had been, up until getting caught between Nur and Jahanara, petty in nature. Harem life was always rife with intrigue, but she’d been too young to fully comprehend imperial politics when Father had vied with Jahangir and Nur for the throne. This was the first time Roshanara played for such massive, and permanent, stakes. It frightened her, but also made her feel very…alive. Alive in a way she hadn’t felt since…she could not remember ever feeling quite this way. Certainly, there had been moments of fear; when her sister beat her, when she’d nearly fallen from the horse at pulu, and the lengthy, if low-grade terror of not knowing if she would be executed by her brother for her role in the events that led to Father’s death. Those fears, however severe, were not the same as the constant state of tension she found herself in as she struggled to secure her own place in the world. A place outside the shadow of her sister or any other who wished to cast her back into obscurity.
I, too, am a daughter of Shah Jahan.
Mission House
Waiting for her moment to strike, Ilsa smiled and took another bite of tikka, watching her companions fondly.
Agra’s nights were blessedly cool after the scorching heat of the day, so the Mission members had made a habit of eating together on the long gallery above the inner court of Mission House.
Everyone but Ricky and Bobby were present, though they’d been receiving reports from the youngest members of the Mission or Jadu Das on a regular basis.
Even Rodney and Priscilla, who had been busy enough they’d missed the last few such gatherings, were present. The couple had their heads together, sharing a rare quiet moment. Not that anyone complained of their absences or their lack of participation this evening, as they had been training the medical corps Jahanara had commanded into existence, and everyone suspected Dara’s growing army would need trained medics before too long. Dara had created a new precedent, and named Priscilla to a military rank, admitting her to the ranks of his umara. The salary was not the equal of her husband’s but it was still a substantial sum, and allowed her to pay for the medical corpsmen out of her own salary. Those she had trained directly were now themselves training the rest of the corps, which was to number a few thousand, even leaving out the staff being trained to work in the hospital.
Farther down the table, Bertram and Gervais were talking with Monique, who was clearly enjoying illustrating some fine point of politics to Bertram. Gervais gazed upon his daughter and her suitor with an air of bemused happiness. The three of them were fixtures at court, serving both Dara and Jahanara as advisors. Both men had been given formal rank and salaries, just like John. Because they were not expected to command in the field, neither man possessed the military rank and salary John had been given, but they were still very well paid on the imperial administrator pay scale, called zat.
Even Angelo Gradinego had stopped by earlier in the day. His visits had become less frequent over the last few months as Bertram and Gervais mastered the languages and politics of court. He was still friendly, but Ilsa was not sad his visits had grown infrequent. The Venetian made her uneasy, what with his easy airs and assumption of superiority to all things female. If Gervais felt the lack, he made no report of it to the rest of the Mission.
John’s hand found hers under the table and gently closed on it. She put thoughts of the others aside and looked at the strong hand on
