“Now I won’t have to inspect my reflection in the pool.”

“Why is that important?”

She did not reveal to her father that she had acquired the habit of scrutinizing her chest in pools and fountains. One day she would grow a mark like her grandmadar’s. Then she would become strong and willful like her, with the power to force her wishes on fate, and on others.

“Pedar, it’s pure vanity,” she replied, enjoying the ring of his laughter.

Narcissus asked permission to leave, so he could calm himself with opium.

With a piercing trill, Raven summoned a savage peacock she had tamed. The peacock came wobbling from around the fig tree and began pecking at the seeds in her palm. The king settled on a stone bench. The head gardener brought a bunch of freshly picked mint. Neglecting the peacock, Raven began sorting the most fragrant sprigs to tuck behind her ear.

From the back of her hand, drops of blood colored the dirt. The peacock had stabbed her with its beak. The red flush left by the sun on her cheeks darkened as she chased the bird past the fig tree, in and out of the hedges, around the fountain courts, and cornered it between two columns. She edged forward, her eyes dulled by sunlight.

She grabbed the bird and dragged it to the stone bench, next to her father, squeezed it between her thighs, and plucked the feathers from its tail. Grabbing the shrieking peacock by the feet and dangling it upside down, she raised it in front of the king. “I hope peacocks don’t grow feathers again. I’d hate to punish it twice.”

He gathered her in his arms. “By God, Raven, I promise to raise you as a man. Strong and ruthless, and able to protect yourself.”

23

Raven was vacillating between childhood and womanhood, when she discovered the naked divers. During her habitual roaming through the Secret Passage, in her tireless search for a path to the outside, she stopped by a porthole and stared out. On the highest cliff, facing the River of Dreams, a young man, his brown body shimmering with oils, lifted his hands in graceful arcs, stretching his muscles to the limit, poised to dive.

Surely the diver was trying to impress someone, pretending to dare the voracious sharks. She craned her neck and located another man who prepared to dive.

Swift as a falcon and accompanied by a shrill whistle, he plunged into the river.

She counted the seconds. Soon waves would agitate the water; it would turn red; eventually his bare bones would rise to the surface; the last ripples would die; the river would return to its usual calm, the squawk of vultures the only sound.

Did he end his life because he was a helpless commoner and had no command over others? Did not have the power to transcend fate as she would one day soon?