Above hovered a fawn-colored dust that forever blew from the northern mountains, but did not settle on the inner palace because of the plethora of vegetation that protected the grounds.

Raven walked toward the center of commotion to join the excitement with which the merchants held up their goods and shouted their prices, waved their fists in the air when a price was not right. The languor of the harem was suffocating.

The Shah grabbed her arm, craving to share in her contagious fire; instead, he coaxed her toward the opposite end of the courtyard. “Never mingle with common people. In time, we will introduce you to every official and courtier, instruct you of his duties. Set aside a few hours each week when you will report to us. One day you will become queen regent until your son grows to claim the throne.”

She slipped her arm around his waist, a masculine act of gratitude and bonding, so different from her mother’s, which had become cloying and needy.

“Pedar, why do you believe in my sons more than in me?”

Crows took flight from the top of plane trees and darkened the skies. The aromas and cheerful noises of the bazaar were fading. A vibrant ring encircled the sun.

The Shah pressed Raven to himself, feeling the germinating of her young breasts. “Alas, the law of our empire does not allow a woman to become king. But you, our dear Raven, coupled with the right man, would surely give birth to sons worthy of the throne.”

“You are the king,” she said. “Change the law.”

“This is the decree of our fathers and forefathers.”

“Have you selected my man, then?”

“Not yet,” he said, stroking her hair

“Can I choose him?”

“When the time comes.” Could he ever share her?

“Promise.”

“We cannot promise you the future.”

They entered a passage concealed by tall cypresses and climbed a flight of steps to the top of a tower, flanked by two gold-capped minarets. On the landing, he wrapped her in the veil so her hair and shimmering scarves would not attract attention. “Watch through the grilled window. That’s our Registry, where preparations and inspections of council documents and notices of tax levies take place. Taxes. The lifeblood of the empire.” He pointed at the vast hall below. “This is where our people, even our most trusted attendants, cheat us. Sometimes we punish them, most of the time we do not. It’s a daily occurrence.”

Her eyes sparkled. “If I were you, I’d punish every one.”

“It is dangerous to have too many enemies. It scares away sleep and makes us suspicious of every morsel we put in our mouth. These larcenies are an inevitable part of our government.” As a child, every week, in the Courtyard of Horses, he had gazed up at severed heads putrefying on stakes under the sun. The eyes went first, then the raw flesh on the cheeks as pestilential flies had fought over the rotting trophies.