Muzahid scowled, then lowered Jahani onto the divan. He knelt beside her. ‘Who gives you food?’
‘Your wives.’
‘One in particular?’
She tried to think; her thoughts were so blurry. ‘When I’m half asleep, Vardah gives me soup. Otherwise, I eat with Shayla and Zeb-un-Nissa.’
Muzahid glared at Qadi as he rose. ‘Did you know this?’
‘Nay, sire. I will look into it.’
‘I trust you to keep control of the zenana, Qadi. Send me the culprit.’
‘Ji, sire.’
‘This girl must be kept safe. I want the damage healed. Ready her for marriage as soon as possible.’
‘Ji, sire.’
‘And strip her hair. I will marry a girl with red hair.’ Muzahid put his mouth to Jahani’s ear. ‘We will be together forever,’ he whispered, and his lips softly brushed over her neck.
She was too slow to pull her head away and he smiled lazily at her. ‘You will like being married to me, I can tell.’
Jahani was disgusted – how could she respond to this vile man?
Qadi lifted Jahani from the divan and carried her to the zenana. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Muzahid wanted her well now, but what would happen once he was tham and had everything? She knew in her heart he would kill her then.
Qadi laid Jahani on the charpai in her room. ‘Rest,’ he said gently, then left.
Minutes later Zeb-un-Nissa hurried in to see her, Anjuli close on her heels. ‘What happened?’ Zeb-un-Nissa asked. ‘Qadi’s in Vardah’s room shouting about poison.’
‘Muzahid suspects someone is drugging me.’
Zeb-un-Nissa frowned. ‘Vardah?’
‘I don’t know, but Qadi said he would find out.’
‘It will be too difficult now to give you the drug I suggested. He’s been alerted. Damn Vardah.’
‘Will you be all right?’ Anjuli asked.
Jahani sat up. ‘I’m sure I will, but I want to take these clothes off and put mine on. I don’t want to remember anything.’
‘That bad, was it?’ Zeb-un-Nissa said.
‘He kissed me … on the neck.’
Zeb-un-Nissa raised her eyebrows. ‘He will do more than that when he marries you. Unless you can get out of it you’ll just have to—’ she paused with a glance at Anjuli, ‘—endure.’
‘You’re not very comforting.’ Jahani shuddered. ‘That man has nothing but evil seething in his blood. I don’t know how your cousin can bear him.’ She looked up quickly. ‘Or does she care for him?’
‘I think not, but she has many things to bear. As well as the knowledge that she isn’t enough for him now he wants you.’
‘He only wants my kingdom.’
‘Maybe not.’
Jahani’s brow furrowed as she tried to think. ‘I gather I’ll start feeling better now?’
‘Ji, if you were given a fatal dose of poison you would have coughed up blood and died in five minutes. Little by little takes a long time. You should get your strength back soon. I’m sorry I didn’t notice.’
‘I’ve only a few days to think of a plan.’ Jahani yawned and lay down. ‘But I’m so tired.’
Anjuli crawled onto the charpai and hugged Jahani until she slept.
24
Askandria Fort
Kingdom of Skardu
The next day, Jahani, as well as the whole zenana, were ordered to watch Vardah’s whipping. An hour before it took place, Jahani asked Qadi to take her to Muzahid. Qadi’s face showed surprise, but he did as she asked.
‘Why are you whipping Vardah?’ she asked upon entering Muzahid’s receiving room. ‘She will just hate me more.’
He walked lazily toward her until he stood so close she felt desperate to step backward. She steeled herself not to flinch.
‘Would you rather I had her beheaded?’ his voice purred.
She had been stupid to come. ‘Certainly not. Vardah was just protecting her position.’
Muzahid studied her, his head to the side. ‘She was trying to kill you, my pyari.’ His tone was low and intimate as if they were married already.
Her skin crawled. ‘What if it were me being whipped?’
Muzahid raised his eyebrows. ‘Hmm, what if it were?’
He made it sound like a possibility and she felt a coil tightening around her chest, making it hard to breathe.
‘I didn’t choose my other wives. They were given to me.’ He lifted her chin with one finger. ‘But I have fought for you.’
More like cut off fingers and heads, she thought.
‘Your command in the zenana will be obeyed – Vardah’s sentence will be reduced from fifty to fifteen lashes. You will be the ghenish and my favourite wife.’ He chuckled, showing how entertained he was.
Jahani regarded him with distaste. Even though she knew little of men she suspected his humour wouldn’t last. ‘What about my reign in the kingdom?’
He smirked at her. ‘No man who marries a shehzadi would be content to be king regent. You will never rule the kingdom – you are destined to be ghenish in name only.’
She thought of the Angrezi rani, the Virgin Queen, who had never married so she wouldn’t have the problem of a man stealing her power. She had shown it was possible to rule her kingdom of England without a husband and be respected.
Without another word, Jahani turned suddenly and left the room. Qadi was a step behind her, a supportive hand on her elbow. She knew it was disrespectful to leave, but she couldn’t stomach another moment in Muzahid’s presence.
Later, Jahani stood beside Zeb-un-Nissa with an arm around Anjuli to watch the whipping. Though Vardah wasn’t well-liked, most of the girls were crying, probably from fear for themselves. Jahani couldn’t stop her tears at the cruelty. Fifteen strokes. She didn’t know how Vardah bore it. After ten Vardah was mercifully silent. Jahani hoped she had passed out and could no longer feel the pain.
The atmosphere shifted in the zenana immediately after the whipping. Vardah had been the head wife, but now all deferred to Jahani. They knew that without Jahani’s intervention, Vardah would have died. Something changed in Jahani, too; she was regaining her strength and, with it, her mind was clearing. Zeb-un-Nissa had said she was a true shehzadi. Her uncle had said she could take action. All that they had spoken about formed rivulets in her mind leading to one main stream. There she took each doubt and drowned it with what she knew was true: she was Jahanara Ashraf Shaheen Khan, Shehzadi of Hayahul, and she would escape the fort for the sake of her people. A plan began to form in her mind – a mad, terrifying plan.
But there was only one day to prepare.
Clothes came out of trunks. Jahani was bathed and pampered, her hair washed and soaked in hot coconut oil to strip the black dye. All the girls toyed with make-up and practised dance steps while Qadi oversaw it all.
The weather had abated enough for the priest to reach the fort. She could withhold her acceptance when the priest asked, but they’d marry her anyway – the priest would either be bribed or claim deafness. Her obstinacy would only serve to make Muzahid mistreat her later; she understood Vardah’s whipping was also a warning for her.
That afternoon, she lay face down on the charpai thinking of her next step as she was being massaged by a eunuch. Azhar, if only you were alive and could fly me away from Muzahid, she thought. I wish you could come to me.
Suddenly a thought fell into her head. Shehzadi?
The relief almost made her shout aloud. Is it you, Yazan?
Awa.
Are you well?
Well enough. And you?
I was poisoned but growing stronger. The wedding to Muzahid is tomorrow.
He wants you alive for now.
Jahani paused. She knew it was true. After she had borne Muzahid enough royal sons she would outgrow her usefulness. She imagined him putting a pillow over her face as she slept and saying she died in childbirth. She shook her head to free her mind from the dismal image.
I won’t marry him, Yazan. As she poured out her heart as in prayer a memory flitted through her mind, but she couldn’t catch it.
When the women ate together that night, Shayla gave chai to Vardah in a brass cup with a spout used for babies. Vardah couldn’t sit up and instead lay on her stomach with her head to the side. She looked across at Jahani. ‘You will not be happy,’ she managed to say. ‘Your marriage will be cursed.’
Jahani decided not to respond to her comment. Instead, she asked, ‘Why did you take such a risk?’
‘When Muzahid marries you he will live in Hahayul and forget about us and about my son. Eventually your son will rule Hahayul, not mine.’
‘Your son can rule Skardu.’ Jahani thought of Hafeezah, Zarah and Yasmeen; and her true mother. A mother would do all she could for her child.
After the servants had taken away the dishes and the children were abed, Jahani said goodbye to Zeb-un-Nissa.
‘Why say your farewells now?’ Zeb-un-Nissa asked. ‘You will still be here tomorrow.’
‘We may not have a quiet chance like this again. Muzahid may keep me in his rooms or make haste to Hahayul after the wedding, if the rumours about Dagar Khan wanting to conquer all the kingdoms are true.’
Zeb-un-Nissa nodded. ‘It has been wonderful meeting you. We are of different faiths – but you are just like my sister. I sent a note of warning about Dagar Khan by pigeon to the palace in Dehli as well as to the mir of Qashmir. I mentioned Muzahid, too, but I don’t know if the notes will be received. I doubt my father will respond, but perhaps the mir will send support when you need it.’
‘Thank you. If I have to marry Muzahid, maybe the mir could send help later. Muzahid will make a mess of the northern kingdoms. All he can think of is the revenue from the Silk Route in his coffers.’
‘Try to keep your spirits up. Even in the worst of situations, we can find a glimmer of hope. Do not let him destroy your soul.’
‘Zeb-un-Nissa …’ Jahani bit her lip. She was about to mention her uncle but Qadi had cautioned her not to tell anyone. ‘My relatives who have escaped this fort, I wish I could help them.’
‘After the wedding, Muzahid will feel magnanimous. Ask him to free them then.’
Jahani smiled, though she was hoping for different advice. ‘I’ll write a poem and send it to you.’
Just then a thought from Yazan settled in her mind. Friend coming. Be ready. You can trust him.
Thank you. That gives me fresh hope.
All evening Jahani paced around the zenana, tossing her plan to and fro as her emotions swung from excitement to fear. She had to escape, but she also had to get Anjuli out of the zenana – there was no doubt she was being groomed as a concubine for Muzahid. Her plan hinged on one thing she couldn’t control: she needed Shamsher. It was a risk to enter a lion’s den unarmed. Friend coming, Yazan had said. But was it truly Yazan? What if it was a trap? He had sounded muted, tired, but perhaps that was due to his injury. At least he was alive.
Eventually she prayed on the zenana rug. Then her heart grew quiet. She had finally remembered what Azhar said when he left her with the nomads: he was only a prayer away. She smiled sadly. In a way Yazan was, too. She decided to trust Yazan, but she also knew she needed to make her own escape happen. That way she’d be ready when Yazan’s friend arrived. She wondered who it would be.
Before she retired to her room, she sought out Qadi. ‘Will you look after my uncle, and get him out of here?’ She paused. ‘Even though I would want you beside me, if I marry Muzahid or not, I will set you free.’
His eyes grew bright as he regarded her for a long moment. Then he turned to the side, pulled a dagger from his kamarband and slipped it under her shawl. It was as if he knew what she was planning.
The whole zenana had fallen quiet when Jahani slipped out from under the quilt and dressed in the clothes Yasmeen had made: her grey shalwar, green dress, embroidered kamarband, sheepskin boots, gloves and woollen cloak. She slipped the dagger into her kamarband. Then she woke Anjuli.
‘What is it?’ Anjuli said sleepily.
‘Put on your warmest clothes,’ Jahani whispered. ‘I want you to go up to the roof and wait for me.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll show you. Get ready.’
Qadi must have been busy. No guard stood at the zenana door to the balcony and they crept out into the night. Outside the sky was clear and the moon shone, making the snow below sparkle like zircon in a pari lake. Jahani pointed to the wooden steps leading upward and she watched Anjuli disappear. Then she followed the dark corridor to Muzahid’s rooms and slipped through the door, her hand on the hilt of the dagger. The room was empty. She tiptoed to another door on the opposite side.
From the doorway she saw Muzahid reclining on a wide bed resplendent with silk curtains. Candles flickered around him. His hand moved to the hilt of a sword beside him on the bed. There was no way out now – he was alone, but he was not asleep.
‘So, it is my bride who visits me late at night. Should any bridegroom be so blessed? I must admit I am surprised, Shehzadi.’
She pursed her lips. ‘I have a proposition for you.’
He removed his hand from the sword and smiled lazily. ‘A proposition? Do tell.’
‘We will fight. If you win, I will marry you tomorrow. If I win, I leave and I leave alive.’
‘Wah.’ Muzahid sat up and chuckled. ‘You want to play games. I never expected it of you. I thought we may have – how shall I say – a proper but boring marriage. But you fulfil all of my expectations.’ He jumped up and Jahani tried not to stare at his bare chest; she had never seen a half-naked man. ‘You know what you have done, don’t you?’ He sneered. ‘You will not escape this room unscathed, one way – or another – for my servants won’t disturb me until morning.’ He raised his eyebrows at her, grinning as if to say, ‘Come get me’. In the candlelight it looked like the smile of a lover, but she knew better. A man who beheads the adoptive parents of his bride is no true lover.
‘I wish to choose one of your swords,’ she said.
He bowed and, with a mocking smile, indicated the weapons displayed on his wall.
She glanced at the swords but couldn’t see Shamsher. ‘Surely you have more.’
He raised his eyebrows and drew back the curtain to indicate the wall behind the bed. Shamsher. She uttered a silent prayer. Her sword was displayed amongst other jewel-encrusted weaponry. Shayla said Muzahid liked beautiful things. Barrel must have given it to Muzahid after all, no doubt to bargain for his life.
She pointed to Shamsher. ‘That one,’ she said and held her breath.
‘It is just a decoration piece,’ he said easily. ‘You will need a better weapon than that.’ He reached for a sword on the other wall.
‘It will do.’
He gave her Shamsher with a flourish and she threaded it onto her kamarband. Muzahid watched, his body relaxed; he was amused, but soon he wouldn’t be. Just then she unsheathed the sword and lunged forward. He blocked her too late, not expecting her thrust to reach him. Shamsher scratched the skin of his bare chest.
Think of the kingdom, Shehzadi. Your people. You need to be ghenish. It was Chandi. How did she know Jahani was fighting?
‘You little tiger. You’ve drawn blood!’
‘We’re fighting, remember?’
He stared at her a moment, then grinned again. ‘So we are.’ And he lunged in earnest.
Block to the left. Now attack to the right. It was as if Chandi was in the room with her.
‘There is no way you can win. You may as well give up now and fall into my arms, Jahani.’ He spread them wide showing what a pleasure he thought this would be.
Jahani shuddered at his use of her name. If she lost she’d have a lifetime of sleeping in his arms … until he tired of her. She plunged forward, sliced, almost hacked, but he blocked her every time. He’s too good, Chandi.
To the left. Now go onto the balcony through the other doorway. He will f
ollow and tire in the cold. Keep slicing.
Jahani hoped Muzahid would think she was giving up.
‘Aha, I’ve got you cornered now, Shehzadi. Retreating so soon?’ He swung with less force, like one expecting victory.
Outside Jahani rushed at him, both hands on Shamsher, then she sliced down. He only just parried the blow in time. Doubt entered her mind. Would she be able to kill a man? How would she win without doing so? He wouldn’t abide by her bargain.
He advanced and she turned to miss his thrust. Her cloak flew out behind her and caught his sword, the material tearing. She spun around and sliced in the same moment, making contact with his sword arm. Blood dripped onto the balcony as he jumped toward her. His eyes weren’t amused now. She only just parried his next blow.
‘How can you do this?’ He stepped away from her a moment, breathing hard, his gaze disbelieving as if she weren’t a real girl.
Suddenly all doubt flew from her mind. ‘I am Jahanara, daughter of Tham Ashraf Shaheen Khan, descendant of Sekandar Akbar the Great.’ She paused, catching her breath. ‘I will join together the northern kingdoms.’ She took another breath. ‘I come with a leopard and will bring peace to give the Kingdom of Hahayul back its name. Prepare yourself.’ Shamsher twirled in her hand.
Muzahid backed away. ‘You won’t find happiness with anyone. Every man – even the Nagir shehzada, if he’s still alive – will only want your kingdom. But I want you, only you.’
A snarl sounded from the roof.
Muzahid glanced up. ‘There’s a leopard!’ He looked back at Jahani and this time she could see the naked fear in his eyes. ‘I … I will let you rule as well. We can still marry … I will be king regent.’
‘You will never rule Hahayul, Muzahid Baig, murderer of the innocent.’ She ran toward him with Shamsher raised. In the same instant, Yazan growled and he leaped onto the balcony. He jumped onto Muzahid, his paws high on his back.
The impetus slammed Muzahid into Shamsher. He crumpled to his knees in front of Jahani, his eyes widening with disbelief. His sword clattered to the floor. ‘You can’t escape … Guards …’ But his voice bubbled and didn’t carry.
The Leopard Princess Page 15
