Their collective curse had befallen the princess, but not in the fashion they had predicted. Yes, she was born colorless, but her beauty and grace outshone even that of Gold Dust. Raven’s white curls, streaked with silver, fell to her knees and framed skin so translucent her pleasure and anger reflected on her dimpled cheeks in hues of sunsets. Her sentiments and the display of light transformed the color of her eyes from a lucid to a stormy gray or to the soft pink of her cheeks or, in an instant of anger, to a flaming ruby. She exuded such range of emotions even the Chief Eunuch felt trepidation at her presence.

Gold Dust went to visit the king. She set Raven in his lap. “The princess misses you.”

Gripping the arms of his chair, the Shah glanced down at the daughter who would not be ignored. Every corner he turned, every room he entered, he heard talk of her. Now he saw why. She did not resemble an infant of seven months. Her hand rose to the armchair, and her fingers grasped his with painful force.

“Shah”—she uttered her first words with ardor and clarity—“Pedar.”

“She’s destined to a life beyond the seclusion of the harem!” he announced.

Smoke of jealousy curled around the halls and seeped into cracks. Plots and the cry of murder raged on embers in braziers. Gold Dust set out on a long journey to preserve her life and that of Raven.

Rebekah the Bundle Woman came to see her granddaughter. She leaned over the crib of emeralds and stared at a child who resembled no other, demanded as no other, and inspected Rebekah as no other ever dared. “My Raven,” she whispered, “you’re much like myself, but fortunate to be born into a world of possibilities. Use your power to your advantage and to your mother’s. Show no pity to men, but in the process don’t lose your soul.”

One day, Raven would vindicate her, Rebekah, by ripping the rational fabric of the world, defying fate, and transcending the binding rules of men.

Glancing around to make sure she was not being observed, Rebekah unbuttoned her blouse, baring her brand. “Secure emotional and financial freedom, so no Devil will ever reign over you.”

Raven reached out and with great accuracy traced the edges of Rebekah’s brand, caressed the inner ring, lingered in the warm center, cupped her palm over the mark to conceal it from the world and transform it into her own treasure. She raised herself and, with tenderness, pressed her lips to the brand, licked it, blew on it, whispered to it in an alien language. A deep baritone reverberated in her chest.

Rebekah sprang back in surprise. The voice echoed in the room, off the ceiling and walls. Then a soft, loving murmur, a feminine whisper replaced the baritone. Rebekah marveled at the trumpeting of elephants, chatter of nightingales, bleating of sheep, and at the gush of pouring rain Raven imitated when she saw Rebekah’s joy.