“Narcissus!” the voice blared. “Of all the sins thou hast committed, this one I shall not forgive. Depart from my temple and never darken it again!”

Rebekah heard the rabbi’s sobs, the eunuch’s harried footsteps retreating down the steps, subsiding. She could imagine the spark of triumph in Raven’s eyes. Bless her mischievous heart.

Rebekah waited for the rabbi to leave. He had not detected herself and Raven in the ark. No need to add yet another offense to his sacred convictions. She would return later and offer him a bouquet of mint.

The rabbi tapped on the doors. “Rebekah, my son lives close by. His place is safe. If the Lord finds it proper to raise His voice in your presence, who am I to send you away.”

34

From his vantage, on the peak of the mountain, the Shah searched for Gold Dust. He would share his intoxicating triumph with his favorite. The universe was at his feet, the clouds his crown, the enemy vanquished under the scorching vomit of the volcano. If only his father were here. Even with madness distorting his faculties, he would have applauded his son’s victory.

If only Raven were here. Her praise would have been sweeter than the music of houris. The two of them were of the same blood, but she was merciless, strong, and courageous. His character had been formed by the solitude of the Cage, hers by the heritage of her ancestors. When he returned to the city, he would discuss the future with her. He had promised to raise her as a man, strong and ruthless, and able to protect herself. Yes, he confessed to himself, he had. He did not want to repeat his late father’s mistake. Smother his daughter’s soul in the dungeon of solitude. He would allow her free rein to act upon her ambitions. She was capable of handling bolder experiences. His late father’s blood flowed in her veins.

He would allow her to choose her man. He would endure his pain at having to share her with another and accept her gratitude as his reward.

A dead crow crashed in front of the horse, a stain of black feathers on rusty rocks. Vultures swooped down and fought over the bird. They were everywhere—the cities, deserts, mountaintops—a bad omen, these funereal birds. Why this premonition after such victory? He tore his eyes from the carcass and cast them upon the horizon. Gold Dust’s chestnut stallion stood barebacked against the skyline. General Darius’s horse grazed nearby. The imperial guards had lowered their shields. The Shah’s brows came together.

He spurred the stallion into a gallop around the rocky pass, where hooves of beasts had worn the steep tracks. Amid a cloud of dust, he drew the reins next to the two idle mounts, leaped from the saddle, and dashed toward the general and the royal guards.