Gifting Fire, Alina Boyden [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

dead? How had that happened? Who had killed him? Was it the Safavians? Had they attacked already?

“Kadiro was attacked three days ago, your highness,” she continued. “The city was captured and my brother was killed. I escaped with as many of our men and zahhaks as I could and fled north.”

“She’s lying, your highness,” Sikander growled, shocking me almost as much as the poor woman standing before my throne.

“Sikander!” I hissed, horrified that he would say something like that when it was plainly obvious from the look on the woman’s face that she was telling the truth.

“Ali Talpur had no sisters, only a brother, your highness,” Sikander reminded me.

My heart sank. He was right. I should have seen it at once, but I’d been so wrapped up in the woman’s story that I’d missed it. I was annoyed with myself for being duped, but she’d seemed so truthful. Even now, she looked offended more than frightened. Whoever she was, she was quite the actress.

“I’m not lying!” she exclaimed.

I held up a hand to forestall any more of this nonsense. “Sikander is right. Ali Talpur had no sister.”

“And Sultan Humayun had no daughter!” the woman retorted.

A surge of anger welled up inside me on hearing that. I’d been mocked dozens of times for being a hijra before, but I’d never gotten used to it, and I’d be damned if I let someone do it in my own palace. “If you think that mocking me for the circumstances of my birth is a good way to live a long life in my province, you are sadly mistaken.” I reached out and stroked Sultana’s head scales to emphasize exactly what her fate would be if she said one more word about it.

The woman bristled at the obvious threat. “You know, your nayak, Geeta Barupal, assured me at the last jamaat that you were a lovely, polite little thing, not at all haughty in spite of the circumstances of your birth. I’m sorry to see that she was mistaken.”

I jerked my hand back from Sultana like I’d been touching a hot stove. My heart fluttered in my chest. I’d missed it. She hadn’t been insulting me, she’d been comparing her circumstances to mine, claiming to be a hijra herself. And the proof of it was in her words. There was no way she could have known our nayak’s name if she wasn’t one of us. But I could scarcely bring myself to believe it. Could she really be a hijra like me, and a royal too? Lakshmi was, but my little sister was so young, she didn’t understand the dangers and the responsibilities like I did. This woman, if she really was a hijra, shared so much with me. I longed to ask her for every detail of her life, to understand if she had been through the same things I had.

“I’m sorry,” I said, much to Sikander’s shock, “I think maybe we’ve misunderstood each other. I hope you’ll forgive me, and let us start again. I am Razia Khanum, princess of Nizam and subahdar of Zindh. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“Hina Talpur, daughter of the late Jam Rustam Talpur, and sister of the late Jam Ali Talpur.” Her voice cracked on those last words, and one of her retainers stepped forward, placing her arms around her shoulders to comfort her. “Forgive me, but I loved my brother very much.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Hina,” I told her, wanting very much to comfort her myself, though I knew that there was little I could do to remove the hurt of a loss like the one she was describing, and I wasn’t sure she’d want comfort from a stranger, a potential enemy, and someone who had threatened her like a fool. “When you’re ready, I think I should hear more about what happened in Kadiro, but for now, know that you are safe here in my dera.” I gestured to the palace around us.

The little jest wrested a slight smile from Hina’s lips. “Thank you for your hospitality, your highness. When my brother was killed, I . . .”

I held up a hand to stop her, as she was clearly having a hard time keeping the tears at bay. “There will be time for that later. Please, sit with me.” I stood up from the throne and descended the dais, instead gesturing to the few cushions we had arranged on the floor for courtiers. I looked to Shiv, who was standing just outside the pavilion, and said, “Please have refreshments brought for Lady Talpur and her entourage.”

“At once, your highness,” Shiv agreed, rushing off to see it done.

Hina sank gratefully onto one of the cushions, and her retainers did too. They all looked exhausted, though they struggled to keep alert enough to protect their leader if it came to it.

I gestured to them. “Are they hijras too?”

“They are, your highness,” Hina affirmed. “They’re my celas. I was, until recently, the nayak of Kadiro.”

“They’re really hijras like us?” Lakshmi asked, having watched all of this from her place with Sakshi on the dais beside the throne.

“Just like us,” I told her, though I could scarcely believe it myself. Ali Talpur’s sister was a hijra in command of her own army? God, it was like a sign from the heavens themselves.

Lakshmi rushed over to sit with us, and Sakshi was nearly as quick. We all sat within arm’s reach of one another, us staring at our Zindhi counterparts wide-eyed, and them favoring us with much the same expressions. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that I’d meet other hijras who rode zahhaks, who did anything but sell themselves to men.

“Your highness . . .” Sikander was staring at my behavior with slack-jawed bewilderment, and he wasn’t the only one. Arjun had his hand on the hilt of his khanda like he was expecting me to be murdered at any moment.

“They’re hijras,” I said, like that explained everything, and when it didn’t, I sighed. “When you’re