Gold Dust crouched over a tub of marble, her muslin skirt a tent capturing the aroma of embers of sandalwood, frankincense, and myrrh. To increase her seductive powers, she rubbed cloves and ginger behind her knees. She went to the Hall of Entertainment, her long train sweeping the ground behind her, a girdle of diamonds hugging her waist, and strands of pearl nestling between her breasts. On her head, at an angle, lay a cap embroidered with satin and damask.

In the hall, before the sultanas’ arrival, Rebekah had relocated the burners in odd corners and raised the flames into unflattering glares. The women followed Gold Dust in and lounged on the cushions. Oblivious to the world, Gold Dust rearranged her seat next to the curtains and reclined.

Rebekah whispered, “I’ve convinced Raven to stay away. I’ll remain with you.”

Gold Dust nodded her approval. No one could shatter her sweet solitude. She pressed her eyes to the gauzed window.

Cloaked in a skin-tight garment the color of coal, the acrobat bowed to the invisible audiences. The mask concealed his face. He blinked at the oil burners and wondered why the flames were turned so high and positioned at such unflattering angles. The scent of sandalwood and frankincense drifted to him. His gaze penetrated the gauzed window. A flash of honey. Her eyes. He sensed her warmth; heard the sound of her breathing, the flutter of her heart. She sat near the curtains.

Rebekah cursed his cunning. He was clad in a cat costume that emphasized the elegant line of his body and added mystery to his every move. And he still wore that enticing mask.

The acrobat folded his knees in a humble stance, coming down to kiss the fringe of the drapes, and Gold Dust knew this show would be for her.

A wheel strapped to his right foot and a flaming staff rotating in his left hand, he spun around the hall, gathering momentum, transforming into a whirling rainbow, into a powerful storm, agitating the velvets, and Gold Dust’s heart, who feared he would turn into a spirit and disappear before he revealed his face. As he slowly swiveled on his toes, his body found form, coming together. Had he tried to free the curtains? She released herself from her mother’s grip and moved closer.

He snapped his fingers. The Giant Man started to the center of the hall, his steps rumbling as if his boots were cast in stone. His frizzy hair, supported by metal springs, stood out. His gray eyes harbored the simplicity of innocent children. The acrobat and his wooden wheel bounced on the Giant Man’s shoulder, rolled around his other shoulder, then down his outstretched forearms as he marched around the hall, closer and closer to the partitions, the curtains fluttering in the breeze of his stride.