The acrobat’s stare tried to penetrate the fleeting gap in the flaps. Did her knees almost touch the partitions? The Giant Man’s frustrated steps racing uncontrollably, he reached out his hand; from his unlocked fist he produced a garland of golden flowers, tossed it at the curtains. The velvet refused to yield. The acrobat bounced down onto the carpet. A somersault. He balanced on his head. His legs bent in a graceful angle with his body. One leg folded from the knee, he retrieved something from the cuff of his other leg, spun on the crown of his head, thrust his toes between the hangings, parting the flaps.

Gold Dust held her breath. A single rose lay at her feet.

Rebekah clawed at her chest.

As if he had invisible wings, the acrobat vaulted high on the metal structure—from rod to rod—flying in the air—glass balls juggling above him—around him—a sword in one hand—the orbs bouncing—there was fire in his mouth—sparks flared and erupted—the crystals turned amber—the sword blazed—carved a luminous wreath above his head—softly, as softly as a cat, he landed on his feet—the balls came down in one hand—the sword in another—puff, the fire was out.

One single sweet call: “Marvelous!”

One hand pressed against his heart, the other lifted the mask.

She saw in his lazuli-blue eyes and beneath his fair skin the current of emotions he could not contain. The smooth lines around his mouth had not hardened. Time had embellished his copper-colored hair, the patrician brow, his fingers that had once danced on a tambourine. Did he save her cherry anklet? His branch of cherries lay dried between the pages of her history book. Was the scar under his chin a memento of a love clash, the cut of a dagger? Tears glistened in his eyes.

Soleiman the Agile. Her acrobat.

Rebekah watched her lifelong plans blown to the River of Dreams. She ripped her vest open and beat on her chest. “This is the last time I visit the harem.”

Gold Dust stared at her mother with glazed eyes. “You were the one to teach me the value of love. Did you see the tears in his blue eyes? He’s not afraid to love.”

“What else is he not afraid of? Endangering your life? Do you know the feel of Iron Heart’s scimitar?” With the pointed nail of one forefinger, Rebekah traced a line across her daughter’s throat.

Gold Dust did not flinch.

Rebekah’s brand flared. “How can you toss away your dream?”

“Your dream, Madar. For years I held stubbornly to the link that locked me to the Shah, an heir to make me queen and let you settle down.” Should she reveal to her mother that every evening, she faithfully changed the membrane from under a pomegranate rind to keep it intact and protect her against pregnancy? “Your dream is lost forever! I’ll never give birth to another Raven, the image of my mad memories.”