He hurled the animal at her feet and cowered under the bedspread to shield himself from her assault of curses.

With her sandals, she kicked the squeaking gerbil, then bent and touched the eunuch’s cheek so softly, he slackened his grip off the edge of the blanket. Her voice was slippery and scathing. “You’re blushing! I didn’t think blood flowed in your rotten veins. Next time use desert rats. They’re larger, hungrier; they’ll tear you apart.”

He whimpered; ejected beastly sounds; pulled the covers over his head.

“Get up, Narcissus! Did you think rats could find your lust gland? Did you think you were done with me? Why did you send my daughter to war?”

He bolted upright. “That’s a lie! Who told you that?”

“Sweetlove,” she whispered, easing down to the edge of his mattress and rebelling against the fatal vapors of his body. “Don’t make me yank the truth out of you. I’m tired.”

“It was the Shah’s decision.”

“You lie,” Rebekah said, glancing around the room. “I know the Shah. He’s the slave of words. Did yours sway him?”

“Gold Dust convinced him to take her.”

“Why would she?”

“To share in the trophies of war. To ride next to her man. You are more competent in deciphering love….”

“Was it love? Is this the truth?” She glimpsed the top of the divan, where a low table held the eunuch’s jug of water, bowl of raw sugar, opium suppositories, and a silk sash. Her glance rested on the sash. “Accept my apologies,” she purred. “My blood is too quick to boil. When will the army return?”

“Allah knows it might take weeks before they reach the mountains. The trip back depends on the outcome of war, the weather, and the condition of the soldiers.”

Her hand slithered under the covers. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I didn’t know.” He sighed as Rebekah found him.

“Poor Narcissus, the gerbils tore you to pieces.” She shifted to the head of the mattress. “Some opium to ease the pain.” Her hand slid over the sash, lay briefly on a hard object under it; a tap of her fingernail told her it was glass. Her fingers crawled away and into the bowl of opium, selected three dome-shaped pieces. Inserted one after the other.

He sprang up, terrified. “Not two, I’d never wake.”

She pushed him back on the mattress. “It was one, sweetlove.”

Her fingers grazed his buttocks, which trembled like mounds of lard, kneaded his shoulders as she hummed a soft tune, checking his breathing, the movements of his puffy lids. “Where is Raven?”

He fought to raise his languid eyelids. “In the gardens or the watchtower….”

His chest settled into rhythmic purrs. The occasional convulsion of his fingers betrayed the rush of opium in his blood. Rebekah brought her ear to his mouth. “Narcissus?” she whispered. “Sweetlove?”