The Leopard Princess Read online

  It was evening and the zenana was quiet. Over the past moon, Jahani had come to enjoy these late times of peace. She leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes, thinking of her childhood. Hafeezah was in the forefront of her mind. Was she safe?

  Suddenly she saw herself, a child in the fire and then in the river. The terror made her eyes fly open, but she forced herself to remember. She saw a boy dragging her out; then goats and sheep; then Layla barking, chasing, her tongue lolling. Then she saw another boy – the two boys were fighting – but when she ran to them they stopped. The other boy had brown hair … Azhar. She knew he was the boy on the white horse in the field of wildflowers that she had always dreamed of – she saw him clearly now. Then she saw Zadi, the leopard, and Zarah and Hafeezah. She worked on transforming her dreams into memories. She realised they had been memories all along but her child mind had rejected the horror and fear, until only dreams remained.

  Now there were recent memories she wished she could forget, like the anger and sorrow in Rahul’s face as she flew off with Azhar on the carpet. She couldn’t leave Azhar to fall. But then he had. Her heart thumped and she stood to stare out at the night sky. She had always thought she knew best. Now she was alone.

  ‘Shehzadi.’ The word came as a whisper only.

  She swung around, but no one was there.

  Then she heard a quiet footfall and Qadi slipped into the room. ‘There is someone who wishes to meet you.’ He paused. ‘You understand it must remain a matter between us only.’

  She studied him, intrigued. His eyes were free from guile; they looked pure like Azhar’s had when he had taken her to the nomads. She tilted her head to indicate she would keep the secret.

  ‘Follow me, Shehzadi.’

  He lit a torch from a brazier and led her out of the zenana, through dark maze-like corridors and down countless stairs until they reached a stone passageway underneath the fort. She looked all around her; other than the caves they had sheltered in while travelling she had never been underground, not like this. The passageway was cut from rock.

  ‘This is the dungeon,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ji.’

  She stopped walking. ‘Is this a ruse to lock me up? Why have you brought me here?’

  He leaned to speak in her ear. ‘Just to meet someone – do not fear. We must go quietly. The guards are sleeping but will wake at any noise.’

  They walked on while Jahani found it torturous to breathe. The lack of fresh air, the mustiness and the smell of human filth was making her dizzy. She touched the wall to steady herself and her hand came away slimy.

  After turning yet another corner Qadi paused outside an iron door. He had a key and used it to open the lock. He entered first, gesturing for Jahani to stay in the passageway; after a minute or two he whispered for her to follow.

  The first thing she noticed was the odour of an unwashed body. It was much more pronounced than the smells in the corridor. Then she noticed the cold. She shivered, though it wasn’t as cold as being buried in snow. The last thing she noticed was the man. He sat against the stone wall on a mat stuffed with straw so old and mouldy she wouldn’t have fed it to a camel. His clothes were dirty, but she could see the remains of embroidery on his shirt. In the dim flame light it was hard to tell how old he was. She was surprised that his beard and hair looked groomed, though there was no water or mirror in the tiny room.

  Qadi bowed. ‘Sire, this is the lost shehzadi of Hahayul, Jahanara Ashraf Shaheen Khan. She is now betrothed to Muzahid Baig.’

  Jahani wasn’t sure what was more surprising: Qadi’s knowledge or the man, who must be someone of importance to warrant Qadi’s bow.

  ‘Forgive me, Shehzadi,’ the man said as Qadi took a step backward to wait by the door. ‘I cannot rise,’ he indicated chains on his ankles, ‘and I will not ask you to sit with me because of my friends, the lice.’

  She detected humour in his tone. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered.

  ‘I am Kabeer Yazeed, the deposed mir of Skardu and the younger brother of your mother.’ He coughed.

  She stared, shocked. ‘You’re my uncle?’

  He inclined his head. ‘When Qadi told me you had survived the massacre – that the legend of the lost shehzadi was indeed true – it gave me hope. I wanted to see you for myself.’ He stared up at her and she thought he smiled. ‘You have the likeness of my sister. She was your age when we escorted her to the Kingdom of Hahayul so she could marry your father. She was happy, for the reports of Ashraf were favourable.’ He paused while he shifted his legs and his chains clanged. Then his voice grew soft but urgent. ‘You must be careful. Qadi will help you – he is my loyal ally and was once the commander of my army. Muzahid is evil to treat such a man the way he has. I’m sure Qadi has wished many times that Muzahid had killed him as he has killed many others, but the war lord has perverse reasons for his actions that no one understands. Now I believe Qadi was kept alive by Qhuda to be your protector.’ He glanced over Jahani’s shoulder at Qadi.

  Qadi’s voice echoed behind her. ‘Sire, I will always be at your service.’

  Her uncle turned back to Jahani. ‘Your father made you his heir in a treaty created not long before the massacre. He must have heard rumours that Dagar Khan was infiltrating his army. Your father was no doubt waiting for proof of this treachery when the rebellion happ—’ Kabeer was suddenly taken by a coughing fit.

  Qadi rushed to aid him, giving water from a leather pouch at his side.

  Kabeer gasped, then said, ‘There is no doubt that Dagar Khan will kill you to keep the kingdom, though I suspect he truly wants to kill the memory and hope of you more than anything. While you live the people long for you and reject him.’

  There was a bang on the iron door. ‘You all right in there?’

  Qadi swiftly grabbed Jahani and pulled her beside the hinged side of the door so that if it opened they wouldn’t be seen. Jahani hoped the guard wouldn’t try the door; she couldn’t remember Qadi locking it after they had entered.

  ‘Do not worry, my friend,’ her uncle wheezed, ‘it’s just a cough.

  ‘Stop talking to yourself then, mad fool.’

  There was silence while they waited until he had gone. Finally Qadi motioned for Jahani to stand by her uncle again.

  ‘It was a blessing you survived that dreadful time,’ he said softly.

  ‘I … I never knew who I was until recently.’

  ‘It is a mercy you didn’t – you’ve lived your childhood without fear. Now you are stronger and you can take action to reclaim the kingdom.’

  Jahani stared at him in consternation. ‘What if I can’t? I have been raised simply by a foster mother.’

  ‘Never let that thought enter your mind again. How do you think mirs and salars do their jobs? They are trained, yes, and they have inner talent, but mostly it is the presence of their will, to keep persisting, to override the doubts, to keep hope alive even when sorely treated and tortured.’ His glance slid to Qadi.

  She thought of Ali Shah. She couldn’t imagine him having a single doubt in his life.

  ‘Certainly, everyone has their weaknesses, but the great leaders overcome them. The path to greatness is simplicity itself – practise kindness to others, which leads to justice and peace. Strive for wisdom like Sulieman, the rana of ancient Israel. A true leader serves the people.’ His voice petered out and Qadi gave him another drink of water.

  Her uncle cleared his throat and continued. ‘Dagar Khan serves himself as does Muzahid Baig. They can only rule by terror as they will never be loved or accepted as your parents were.’ He thought for a while, then spoke again. ‘Your mother was with child at the time of Dagar Khan’s revolt. It was rumoured that the child was his.’

  Jahani gasped.

  ‘Do not fear. It is naught but an evil rumour. If it were true he would have spared her life. He wanted the kingdom and would have used any method he pleased to gain it.’

  Jahani didn’t need to ask how Dagar Khan could be so
evil. She was beginning to see what some people with a crown within their reach would do. Emperor Aurangzeb had imprisoned his own father and killed his brothers. Yet Emperor Akbar had no such succession problems. He had been a moderate thinker and tried to be fair and just to all.

  Her uncle looked tired. She glanced at Qadi, who stepped forward. ‘Sleep now, sire,’ he said gently as he laid the man on the mat.

  Before she turned to go, Jahani said, ‘What can I do to help? You are my uncle, the first true relative I have met since that day of the massacre.’

  ‘The rest of our family is hidden in the town, but this is just as bad as imprisonment. At least they are not here.’ He paused to think. ‘The only way to help us is to kill Muzahid as he did my father and his own father.’

  23

  Askandria Fort

  Kingdom of Skardu

  The day of Muzahid’s return arrived earlier than expected and the whole zenana was in upheaval. Shayla spent many hours with her servants doing her hair, and trying on outfits. Zeb-un-Nissa watched sorrowfully and said to Jahani, ‘She doesn’t have a child. Her place here is worth nothing unless she has a son.’

  Jahani watched as Shayla approached to show them another outfit. ‘You look beautiful,’ Jahani said sincerely. Yet she thought Shayla’s plan to rival Vardah with a son of her own would be fraught with trouble.

  Suddenly Qadi appeared and took Jahani aside. ‘Muzahid sahib wants to see you, Shehzadi.’

  Jahani looked at him in shock. She had thought she would escape seeing Muzahid until the wedding as was customary. And she had hoped she wouldn’t even be here when he came back.

  Qadi tilted his head, understanding. ‘It is unusual, but he wants to make sure you are who you are supposed to be. The guard could have brought any girl to save his own skin. If Muzahid is satisfied, he wishes for the wedding to take place as soon as possible.’

  Qadi withdrew and Jahani hurried to Zeb-un-Nissa. ‘I need to follow your plan of escape as soon as possible,’ Jahani said, clutching her hand. ‘What is it?’

  Zeb-un-Nissa bit her lip, the first indication of her discomfort that Jahani had seen. ‘Come into your room.’ Once she was sure no one could overhear, she said, ‘It’s a drug that will make you appear dead for enough time to get you out of the zenana. But I still don’t think it’s wise to take it while you are so weak. It could kill you.’

  A servant bustled into the room with a shalwar qameez. ‘Qadi said to dress you in this, missahiba.’ There was no opportunity for further discussion.

  ‘We should take the chance,’ Jahani whispered to Zeb-un-Nissa before the servant removed her clothes.

  Jahani blew out a breath as she registered the sparkling outfit. She fingered the pearls on the purple bodice; it was fit for the bride of a shehzada.

  ‘Muzahid must have bought it for you. The style is all the fashion in the Mughal court,’ Zeb-un-Nissa said, her eyes shining. ‘Long and flowing with this short jacket.’

  Zeb-un-Nissa secured Jahani’s hair with bone pins and reddened her lips slightly. Then Jahani fastened the matching dupatta, embroidered with pure gold, over her nose.

  Shayla slipped in to see what the bustle was about. She stared at Jahani in wonder. ‘You look astonishing, Jahani.’

  ‘It is beautiful, but … he won’t touch me, will he?’

  Jahani saw Shayla glance at Zeb-un-Nissa. ‘He won’t,’ Shayla said, but she sounded woebegone rather than convincing.

  Jahani glanced at her in concern. How could she say she didn’t even want Muzahid when he was all Shayla wanted? But she couldn’t help herself. ‘I will not be his concubine.’ Jahani felt some of her passion return. ‘I will not. Can Qadi accompany me?’

  ‘He will take you to Muzahid’s rooms, but he will only be allowed to stay as long as Muzahid wishes,’ Shayla said.

  Jahani had to be satisfied with that. If only she had Shamsher, but there was nowhere to hide her sword in this ‘princessy’ outfit anyway.

  When Qadi came for her Jahani felt sick. He led her out of the zenana, across a courtyard and to rooms she hadn’t seen before. Inside, she sat on a carpeted divan and Qadi stood behind her with his arms crossed. She glanced back at him, so tall and strong. She hoped he could stay.

  There were footsteps. Seconds later a door opened and Muzahid appeared. On a wall behind him, Jahani caught a flash of weaponry. Her breath caught. Was Shamsher there? Or did the guards keep her sword?

  Qadi put a hand gently under her arm encouraging her to stand and show respect. Jahani wouldn’t have thought of it herself – Muzahid was a war lord, not a prince. He didn’t deserve her respect.

  Seeing Muzahid up close did nothing to change her opinion – she was still repulsed. He wore a cream shalwar qameez with a gold embroidered vest. His dark beard had been trimmed and he smelled of a recent bath laced with sandalwood.

  He kissed her hand and smiled. ‘I understand this is the greeting in the Kingdom of Hahayul,’ he said. ‘I should be acquainted with your customs.’

  Jahani tried not to wipe her hand as he regarded her. She was relieved to have a face covering.

  As if he knew her thought, he waved at Qadi. ‘The dupatta.’

  Qadi leaned over and unfastened the scarf so it fell free. Jahani tried not to show her discomfort.

  ‘So, it is you.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she said sharply. ‘I could be anyone.’

  He leaned toward her as he spoke. ‘Your blue eyes, I’ve never seen any like them. From your Ayeshe family no doubt. Now you will be mine and I’ll join my blood with the heavenlies.’

  Now? Her mind whirled as though buffeted by a savage wind.

  He chuckled. ‘Nice to see I have an effect on you. Now would be pleasant, so I know you’re mine for sure.’ He walked around her. ‘But no, we will wait. It will be sweeter after the ceremony. Let’s say the day after tomorrow, Qadi?’

  She looked up in dismay. ‘Nay.’ The refusal escaped before she could stop it. She’d have to take the drug the next night, on the eve of the ceremony.

  He stepped in front of her and she thought he would strike her. But then he laughed. ‘I like a challenge and at last I have one. Very soon you will be mine and I don’t mind how it is accomplished.’

  The urge to fight him flooded through her body. He was bigger than her, muscular, and no doubt very strong. She bit her lip as she thought of how his death would benefit her uncle. But could she do it?

  He sat opposite Jahani and gestured for her to sit on the divan. She kept standing, but his eyes flickered and she sat on the edge.

  ‘I should be punishing you, but you probably had no say in being abducted the night before our wedding in Naran.’ He regarded her with raised eyebrows, but she said nothing. ‘I am told you are as pure as the fresh snow outside.’ He glanced at Qadi.

  Bile rose to her throat.

  ‘Even after being abducted you have not been touched. I find that hard to believe.’ His mouth curled.

  Jahani felt her anger rise. ‘Azhar was my protector and acted as a brother. Everything he did was for my safety only.’

  ‘You are naïve, my dear. The only safe place for a woman is with her husband; or in his zenana.’

  Jahani clenched her fists. ‘Have you the permission of your other wives to marry me?’ The words came out between her teeth.

  He laughed heartily. ‘I do not bother with such formalities. They do as I say or they return to their fathers in disgrace.’

  He stepped over and sat beside her on the divan, his arm touching hers.

  Jahani averted her eyes. Their meeting was a dance of sorts, one she could tell Muzahid was enjoying immensely. He had a powerful presence and was like a pendulum constantly moving.

  ‘I can see you have suffered during your trip over the mountains, but now you are recuperating we can get to know each other.’ He smiled just as she looked up and their eyes met. Her breath caught in panic. It was the first genuine smile she’d seen him give. He was turning on
his charm. Then the smile vanished and his usual cruel expression settled over his features, hooding his eyes like a cobra’s.

  ‘You will enjoy being back in Hahayul as my rani. You call it ghenish, I believe? But of course you will have no power. I have many plans for the Silk Route. The proceeds will fill my coffers. Perhaps we will make a treaty with Dagar Khan – he can have the southern kingdoms and I will have the northern ones.’

  ‘Dagar Khan will kill you.’

  ‘Truly?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me you’re acquainted with this tyrant.’ His voice lowered a register. ‘I’ll get rid of him easily enough and there will be just you and me in Hahayul.’ He moved closer.

  Surely he wouldn’t touch her, not with Qadi in the room. But he put a hand on her arm and stroked the skin underneath her sleeve. She shuddered.

  ‘We have forever to enjoy each other’s company. We will have many royal sons.’ Muzahid didn’t hide how amused he was at her distress.

  She felt like slapping him, but managed to control herself. His humour could turn into anger suddenly; she’d seen it at Naran. He was too close and she stood quickly to put distance between them. Instantly, dizziness overtook her and she pitched forward, unable to steady herself. It was like she was falling off a mountain.

  Muzahid caught her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured, but her words slurred. She lay in Muzahid’s arms, trying not to make eye contact. What a dangerous position to be in, but she was too tired to struggle.

  He frowned and opened one of her eyes wider. ‘Qadi, why is this girl drugged?’

  ‘She isn’t, sire. She is still weak from falling off a horse in a blizzard.’