Rebekah’s fist closed over a note the man forced into her palm. Nothing mattered. He held her arm. She jerked around to face him and had a feeling that in a past she would rather forget, she had seen this man. What did he want from her? Even now, they would not leave her alone. She plunged through the chaos toward the palace, oblivious of the elbows thrust at her ribs, the boots crushing her toes, and the odor of bodies that had not touched water for weeks. She struggled to bring concentration into her glazed mind. Entering through the gates would not be a problem. But if Gold Dust was badly wounded or very sick, Rebekah might not be allowed into the infirmary.

At the palace gates, two guards disclosed that, hours ago, the favorite had been carried through the Gates of Bliss into the harem.

Fresh life flowed through Rebekah’s veins. Gold Dust had not contracted the plague, or she would have been segregated. She was not seriously wounded, or she would have been moved to the infirmary.

Outside Gold Dust’s bedchamber, Rebekah opened her palm and smoothed out the note, wet and crumpled from her perspiration.

“Years have passed, but the violet spark of your eyes and the blush of your naked toes remain my daily companions. With every single breath, I have regretted sending you away that day. Please accept my remorse. May I help?

Rouh’Allah the Spirit of God.”

The day she was robbed of the last shreds of her dignity came back to her. The heaviness of the pouch of gold he offered still hurt her lap. They all bought her with coins. Even the honorable merchant. Would his wealth heal her daughter? Why the remorse now? Had he married his son, was the daughter of a whore no longer a threat? Her eardrums echoing the gallop of her heart, she entered Gold Dust’s room and stood over her. Her daughter lay on the crumpled divan, tears rolling down her cheeks. This lifeless body did not belong to her daughter, her Gold, the girl she paraded around the Jewish Quarter, the girl who had a sweet wandering eye, the girl who never cried. No. This was a bag of shapeless bones. A face of tears.

35

A hacking cough and a stream of tears replaced Gold Dust’s sweeping laughter. The hakim announced that the cough was due to the accumulation of powdered marrow in her lungs, but he did not know what had caused the flow of tears. Five times a day, she was ordered to drink an infusion of quince seeds to relieve the cough. In the evening, she endured cupping, where hot suction glasses extricated evil demons, which left purple marks on her skin.