“Bless your heart,” Rebekah said. “Keep this our secret. It will come in handy.”

Raven rose on her toes, kissed Rebekah’s forehead, and plucked the sprig of mint from her ear and settled it behind her own.

“Smell it when cruel men threaten,” Rebekah said. “And remember that coupled with feminine cunning, even the benign scent of mint can turn into a weapon.”

Rebekah welcomed Narcissus and his ever-rising need to quench his obsession. She bathed him in witch hazel oil and aromatic waters, formulated a concoction with eggshell powder and aphrodisiac blends to strengthen the power of his lust gland, dried cockscombs and crushed them into a powder he poured into hot tea and drank for virility, and mixed a fine grit of fern seeds and employed it with the proper incantations, assuring him his organ would grow back before his death.

But she did not submit to his constant pleading to touch the brand between her breasts to secure magical powers from it. Fully dressed, and with an unerring touch, she played a teasing dance on his body until his agonizing pleas pierced the pillow stuffed in his mouth. Then, at the height of his passion and when it seemed his heart would stop, she paused, moved away, rearranged her attire, and ordered: “Promise to protect my Gold.”

Narcissus promised again and again, more out of fear of the child, Raven, than of the woman, Rebekah. He had watched Raven pat Rebekah’s mark and kiss it reverently. He had seen her sniff on the sprig of mint and stick it behind her own ear while Rebekah narrated stories of the Devil and his disciples. He had seen Rebekah brush and sprinkle her granddaughter’s hair with powdered gold and draw her brows with kohl as she urged her to hone her supernatural powers.

Narcissus was certain two giants of the underworld had come together and no mortal force could ever defeat them.

Flanked by a pair of gazelles and by walls of ancient cypresses, Raven and the Shah visited the gardens. Raven’s hair glistened like sunlit glass. Her dress and veil, made by the harem seamstress from Rebekah’s fabrics, glittered with silver threads. Her velvet collar and waistband were encrusted with rubies and emeralds from the Shah’s coffer. She demanded attention from nature, the peacocks, guinea fowls, flamingoes, and ostriches that roamed around. She petted the birds and fed them, hunted their eggs and delivered them to the chief confectioner at the jasmine kiosk. He offered her freshly baked sweetmeats, prepared daily for her.

The Shah watched his daughter feed the birds, examine their feathers for signs of malady, raise their wings as if to uncover the secret of their flight. He was learning to appreciate nature with the same insight he had temporarily acquired when in love. He was restless to retire from his daily duties to join Raven’s world, to ride the waves she stirred, trusting they would lead him to rewarding shores. He felt content. Her presence nudged to the background the constant distress he carried of an empire with no heir.