The war elephant chose that moment to trumpet once again, making everyone but Dara flinch. Salim could only shake his head, stunned at the scope of these baseless accusations. Had he not known better, he would have thought someone had been whispering vile rumor into the emperor’s ear.
“Say this, at least, of Salim Gadh Yilmaz’s honor: he made no effort to lie to me when confronted with his shameful impropriety.”
“Lie? Suborn? Impropriety?” Salim asked, anger cutting through his surprise and making each word louder and sharper than the last. “I have not lied. I have not touched your sister. I am your faithful and obedient servant. I would not disrespect you nor your sister!”
Dara scoffed. “I know you met. I know you desire her.”
Unable to answer that without betraying his feelings for Jahanara Begum and condemning himself, Salim took a deep steadying breath and said slowly, “Sultan Al’Azam, I am not your enemy.”
“Then what are—” Dara’s angry retort was cut short by a groan. He surged erect, walking toward the edge of the dais. Salim’s gaze caught Dara’s contorted expression. No longer angry, it was bewildered, eyelids closing unevenly. Then, the emperor’s entire body convulsed. Moaning, he toppled forward, falling atop one of his body slaves with a heavy thud that frightened Salim more than the unreasoning anger of a moment before.
While Salim struggled, first to comprehend what had happened, then to thank God Dara had not fallen over the balcony, Firoz leapt into action. He pulled the emperor from the tangle of slave and silks.
Salim broke free of his stupor and barked at a slave, “Find Gervais or the up-timer physicians!”
Firoz eased Dara onto a set of cushions and commanded some order out of the trembling slaves.
Bertram and Gervais arrived quickly, Rodney a few minutes later.
As they took over Dara’s care, Salim sought solace in the teachings of Mian Mir. Slowly, and with great difficulty, he asserted control over both the rate at which his breath filled his lungs and his unruly thoughts, and was rewarded by the feeling of his scarred hands uncurling from the killing fists they had balled into during his confrontation with the emperor.
It was only later, when the emperor was being treated for his collapse, that Salim realized that even if the slaves present did not reveal everything they had seen, his shout had been loud enough to be heard throughout the harem.
Jahanara appeared, dressed and veiled in accordance with propriety, despite the heat and urgency of the situation. Salim tried not to think at all. Tried not to remember the emperor’s snarl as he made his allegations. Allegations that were true only in Salim’s heart.
Do I want her?
Of course.
Would I have sacrificed honor and position for her?
Quite possibly.
And yet, despite these desires, I have not.
Not yet, at any rate.
Yet Dara is ready to punish me for acts I have not committed.
Something must be done.
Soon.
Red Fort
Jasmine Tower
“Amir Gadh Yilmaz, there is much we must discuss. Please, be seated,” Jahanara said, gesturing at the cushions across from her.
“This is most unwise, Begum Sahib. We should not be meeting like this again,” Salim said, declining to sit.
“You sound like Atisheh,” Jahanara said, repeating her wave for him to be seated.
“Then Atisheh gives sound, correct, and timely advice,” Salim said, avoiding her gaze and still refusing to sit. Not that she minded overmuch. She liked looking up at him. He was wearing a fine saffron-colored robe of silk with a turban of slightly darker hue pinned with a large silver brooch studded with small diamonds and a central emerald that complimented his eyes. Beyond his dress, there was something about his confidence that filled a room without being overbearing, and his every movement spoke of a lifetime of training at weapons-work and horsemanship.
Deciding not to press further, and genuinely glad to focus on something other than what his body might feel like under that silken robe, Jahanara spoke as if he had not contradicted her: “I wanted to discuss today’s events and how we might retrieve something of value from the situation.”
Salim looked down, bearded cheeks darkening.
Assuming he was still feeling the embarrassment brought on by Dara’s outburst, Jahanara pretended not to notice. “I received intelligence that I think we must act upon, and that works with our current circumstances.”
“Something that will save me from your brother’s wrath?” he muttered.
Jahanara gently cleared her throat to make him look at her. “The information alone is not so valuable as that. It is what we will do with it that will, God willing, serve to assuage Dara’s anger and confound Aurangzeb as well.”
She had Salim’s full attention now, making her suddenly, unaccountably anxious, proof of which was finding one hand toying nervously with one of the tassels of the cushion she knelt on. An effort of will stilled it. However fiercely his gaze made her heart hammer, she wanted his eyes on her. For what she wanted to see in them. For what she wanted to tell him without words.
Would he risk everything for so little guarantee of reward?
And really, she feared his answer would not be what she wanted to hear. Or, worse yet, Salim could only tell her what he thought she wanted to hear.
She took a deep breath and said, “Dara wishes to exile you…”
Salim muttered something inaudible, something she thought was English.
“What’s that? I don’t understand that particular English idiom.”
He shook his head. “Only that is the very least I expect him to do, Begum Sahib,” he said, though she’d had the distinct feeling there was one of John Ennis’ favorite words in there.
She decided it wouldn’t serve to get distracted, and went on without pressing the matter. “Rest assured, Nadira and I would not normally allow him to make such a rash move, but we will not pressure him to do the right thing in light of the intelligence just received from
