Free Wild Jasmine by Bertrice Small Page A

eldest, Yaqub Ali Khan, is, for all his recent submission to you, a rebel, and the middle son, Haider, follows him. Jamal Darya Khan does not.”
    “How old is Jamal Khan?” the emperor asked.
    “He is twenty-three, my lord,” she replied.
    “Does he have any wives?”
    “No. He has a zenana, not a large one—perhaps a half a dozen women of whom he is fond, but not overly attached.
    “Yaqub Khan is some years Prince Jamal’s senior and has a different mother. This youngest son is the offspring of a lady from a respectable but not very important Kashmiri family. The story, I am told, is that Yusef Khan married her when her father, a loyal government official, begged him to take the girl into his zenana. The man was on his deathbed. There was no other family, and he feared for his child. She was quite lovely—Prince Jamal is a particularly handsome young man.
    “Upon seeing the maiden, Yusef Khan agreed to marry her and to provide for her, which was, of course, far more than the official had hoped. The wedding was celebrated almost immediately, before the dying father. Yusef Khan took the maiden to his bed that very night, and proof of the consummation was brought to her father the next morning. He died that same day. Then several weeks later the new bride announced that she was expecting a child. It is said that Yusef Khan was most pleased, although Yaqub Khan’s mother was not, particularly when the new baby turned out to be another son.
    “This prince was raised by his mother from his earliest years to be totally loyal to his father and his father’s wishes. It is how the grateful lady repaid her debt to her lord. That is why, when Yusef Khan so gracefully accepted defeat at your hands in the battle for Kashmir and then became one of your most loyal generals, Prince Jamal did not rebel against you as did his brother, Yaqub Khan.
    “I knew Prince Jamal’s mother. She died two years ago, but she was a good and gracious woman. I believe this young prince would be a perfect husband for Yasaman. When you learn to trust him yourself as you trust his father, you might even make him governor here in your name. You cannot help but bind the Kashmiri people closer to you, my dear Akbar, by making a son of their former ruling family your voice and marrying your own beloved daughter to him as well.
    “Forgive me for speaking the unspeakable, but you will not always be here for Yasaman, and neither will I. One day Salim will rule, and with his favorite sister married to Kashmir’s governor, his northern flank will be safe. You must think on the future when you think of Yasaman’s marriage and Salim’s kingship,” she finished.
    “You have thought this out most carefully, haven’t you, my dear Rugaiya? I will, of course, want to meet this young paragonof princely virtue before rendering a decision in the matter.” Akbar smiled at his wife. “Does Yasaman know Prince Jamal?”
    Rugaiya Begum shook her head in the negative. “Yasaman knows nothing but the simple life she has always lived within the safety of her family. It has not been necessary that she know anything else.”
    He nodded slowly. “No. You are wise, my dear, in the ways of your motherhood. Salima was correct, however, when she said the girl had matured physically. She is suddenly quite beautiful. Indeed, the most beautiful of all my children. I wish Candra could see her now. Perhaps it is best we marry her young. Her mother was young when I took her as my wife.” For a moment his eyes were misty with his memories. “Young and very passionate,” he said softly, “and so beautiful.”
    “So you still think of her,” Rugaiya Begum answered him. “I certainly have never forgotten her. Sometimes Yasaman will gesture in a certain manner, or glance in a particular way, and I see Candra.”
    Akbar looked at her and said candidly, “A day has not gone by since Candra was taken from me that I have not thought of her, my dear. I did not stop loving her