The triumphant army of Persia entered the capital. But there was no sign of gaiety on them. In his eagerness to reach his palace, the king had pushed his men to the limit. Their faces were caked with dust and streaked with fatigue. The horses fought for breath, their mouths foaming, their hooves worn down to the frogs. The populace came out with jugs and filled the helmets of the soldiers with fresh water. Ice flowers floated in the air and rosewater was sprinkled against clattering hooves. Eunuchs of the palace adorned the horses with shimmering cheek rosettes and bridles fringed with silver bullion. Men and women prostrated themselves at the sight of their king.

A whisper originated from one mouth to another and turned into a moan that threatened to poison the fragrant air.

“Is that General Darius at the head of the army?”

“Why is he carrying a saddle on his back?”

“Who is that lifeless body on the Shah’s lap?”

“Is she the favorite?”

“Gold Dust!”

The funereal words floated on the wind past Rouh’Allah the Spirit of God’s gardens, past the Ancient Zoroastrian’s home, past the temple of the One-Eyed Rabbi, and entered the house of the rabbi’s son.

Rebekah thanked him, left Venus in his yard, and took the road to the palace with Raven.

It was a long, arduous path filled with people and their words. “The Shah and his men just passed the gates of the city.”

“The enemy is vanquished, but the Shah forbade any show of merriment.”

Rebekah grabbed one of the soldiers by the arm and asked, “Why?”

“No one is to celebrate the fall of Arabs, Mongols, and Teymour the Lame until the favorite recovers.”

The words gnawed at Rebekah’s heart. Meaningless gossip. Jealous rumors. Gold Dust was well, she assured herself. She had borne with dignity the brand that heralded her daughter’s birth. She had spread her legs to men who smelled of iron, lard, and greed so she could support Gold Dust. She had pressed her mouth to the stinking crack of a eunuch to secure her daughter’s future. Her journey must have a different meaning, a different ending. Her daughter would not die in a senseless war.

“Where’s Narcissus?” she asked the soldier.

“There’s rumor he could not greet the king because he had come down with high fever and great abdominal pain.”

The slimy snake was aware that no ailing man, whatever his sin, would be punished and executed before he was ready to stand trial. He wouldn’t get away so easily. She would make sure of that. Let him hide. She had his treasure. He would come calling for it.

Because they were cloaked by their veils, none recognized Rebekah and Raven as they pushed their way among the foot infantry. Rebekah struggled to hold on to Raven, who, unaware that the column was many farsangs long, was eager to run to the head of the procession and to her father.