"I did not say it was, Asaf Khan," Aurangzeb said, striding from the tent into the sun.
"I will kill it, Grandfather!" Shah Shuja, crowed, raising his bow. Born between Aurangzeb and Dara, Shuja seemed always afire with desire to please his elders. At eighteen he was a man grown, however, and larger than Dara by a head. Of course, that head was rarely full of things other than those he might hunt, fight, or ride.
Asaf turned to face his eldest grandson. "And you, Dara?"
"I will take what it pleases God to place before me."
"Pious words," Asaf said, nodding approval.
Behind grandfather's back, Aurangzeb shook his head and commanded his horse be brought up.
"Where are you going?" Asaf asked, edges of his beard curling down as he frowned.
"I will take the animals my brothers miss, that way I am sure to have a good day hunting."
Shah Shuja grunted as if punched in the belly, face darkening. He too had been shamed by the poem making the rounds of the court.
Doing his best to ignore the insult, Dara gestured at his leopards. "Brother, that is why I have brought my cats, to run down escaping game."
Aurangzeb shrugged, took up a lance. "Then I will race your cats, and beat them, to the kill."
Asaf stepped toward Aurangzeb, raising hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I would advise caution, brave one. If there is a tiger in among them, it will easily overtake a horseman. They can only be hunted safely from elephant howdah."
Aurangzeb shrugged again. "Then it will be as God wills it," he said, putting spurs to his tall horse and speeding off to the left of the firing line and the sole exit to the killing ground, a trail of attendants and guards in tow.
"Here they come!" one of Grandfather's cronies cried.
"Nur Jahan respectfully asks a visit, Begum Sahib."
Jahanara had been expecting such a request since arranging her great aunt's poisoning, if not so soon.
"She is recovered, then?" she asked the eunuch.
"Indeed, her illness has passed, thanks be to God."
"Praise Him," she answered in reflex. And because, while she had been expecting the request, Jahanara did not feel ready to grant it: "I shall consult my astrologer before visiting. He found some peril to my health in his last reading, and advised me to caution." She waved dismissal at him. "You may take my words to her."
The eunuch bowed low, yet remained before her.
She let him grow uncomfortable before asking: "There is more?"
"I pray you will forgive me, Begum Sahib, but my mistress waits without."
Jahanara tried not to display her concern-Nur Jahan's eunuch would surely report everything observed to his mistress. Still, a bit of pique was called for: "She presumes much, my grandfather's sister."
The eunuch pressed his head into the ground, "As you say, Begum Sahib. Nur Jahan commanded that I convey her assurances that the illness is not catching, and that she has words of import for your ears."
"Very well, I will trust to her greater experience in this. She may attend me. Go and fetch her."
The eunuch said nothing further, just bowed and withdrew.
Jahanara used the time to shore up her mental defenses. Tending Father's re-ignited grief had proved draining, leaving her tired and out of sorts. Worse yet, the result was still uncertain. Shah Jahan had risen this morning and made only one command after attending morning prayers: he ordered his daughter to summon someone literate in English to Red Fort. Knowing no other she dared call on, Jahanara sent for Salim. He had yet to answer her summons, just as Dara had yet to respond to her messenger.
And now Nur Jahan, veteran of thirty years of imperial harem politics, was coming.
She wished Dara were here. She wished Mother was here. She wished for many things, yet none of them had come to pass when Nur Jahan entered her receiving chamber.
Head high, the older woman's direct gaze immediately fixed on Jahanara. Nur Jahan approached with the supple grace of a woman much younger than her fifty-six years, a result of a life-long regimen of dance and diet. Dressed in fine silks and damasks of her own design and pattern, Nur Jahan called to mind a great cat stalking prey.
Nur Jahan came to a halt, bowed, a delicate scent teasing Jahanara's senses. "Grand-niece."
Wishing to keep things formal, Jahanara used the other woman's title, "Nur Jahan," as she gestured the other to take a seat.
A brilliant, cheerful smile answered the formality and called to mind the reason for her title as "Light of The World." So great was the charm of that smile that Jahanara could not be certain it was false, despite knowing that it had to be.
"Must we be so formal, Janni?" Nur asked as she reclined on cushions across from Jahanara. "I am fresh recovered from illness, and would celebrate another day among the living with my family. And-as all the boys are hunting and your sister is with your father-I naturally thought of you."
Jahanara hid her displeasure at the other woman's use of her childhood nickname, answered in even tones: "I merely pay you the respect my grandfather bestowed upon you in recognition of your beauty, especially as you appear so well and happy."
Nur Jahan blushed, actually blushed, at praise she had likely heard far more times than the sun had risen over Jahanara. "Jahangir was a great man, always kinder to me than I deserved."
Marveling at the woman's control over her body, Jahanara ordered refreshments for them both.
She looked back at Nur, found the older woman regarding her with a steady gaze.
Wishing for more time, Jahanara stalled: "A new perfume, Aunt?"
A nod of the head. "Yes, I have been working on it for some time. Do you like it?"
"Very much."
"I shall see some delivered to you, then."
A silence stretched. Refreshments arrived, were served.
Jahanara let the silence linger, armoring herself in it.
"I have something I wish to tell you, Janni."
"Oh?"
"Yes."
"Must I ask?"
A throaty chuckle. "No, of course not. It is a tale. A tale from my first year with your grandfather. A tale of the hunt, in fact."
As the man's cry faded, a small herd of blackbuck, no more than eight animals, spat from the line of brush and trees. Bounding with the outrageous speed of their kind, the antelope seemed to fly across the open ground.
Dara shook his head, irritation flaring. Blackbuck were perfect game for his hunting cheetahs but he couldn't risk one of the cats attacking Aurangzeb or his horse.
Dara held out a hand. Talawat filled it with one of his lighter pieces, matchcord already glowing. Shouldering it, Dara picked his target: a good-sized, healthy animal just behind the leading beast.
He heard Shuja's bowstring slap bracer. A moment later Shuja muttered angrily.
Ignoring all distraction, Dara's world shrank to the chest of the beast he'd chosen. Finding it, he moved his point of aim two hands ahead along the shallow arc of its jump.
He pulled the lever and averted his eyes at the very last moment.
The gun thundered.
Dara handed it off to Talawat as the blackbuck fell, heartshot. The gunsmith handed him another piece.
Shuja shouted, his second arrow striking the lead buck in the belly.
He ignored the cheering of his grandfather's entourage, chose another buck, aimed, fired. Another clean hit to the chest. The antelope collapsed after a few strides.
"Well done, Talawat. Your guns speak truly," he said, passing the weapon off.
Talawat bowed, presenting another piece. "The Shehzada is too kind."
Taking the third gun in hand, Dara waited a moment, allowing the smoke to clear. Behind him, Talawat's apprentices busied themselves reloading the discharged weapons.