“Get ready,” she whispered. “Hurry!”

Prisoners don’t hurry anywhere, Gold Dust thought. They drown in the smoke of opium until nothing is left. “Where to?” she asked.

“The Shah found out. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Where? To the Jewish Quarter, where she would be trailed by the executioner? To a foreign world she did not know? Certainly not to Soleiman’s shack, where she would be discovered before dawn.

Honey threw the covers off Gold Dust and dragged her to her feet. “Hazel-Boy will meet you in the Secret Passage. Move!”

Smell of the passage filled Gold Dust’s nostrils. The odor of mildew and humidity, the scent of rain and tree barks. Dear Hazel-Boy. He was raised in the palace. He must know secrets none but the Shah knew. She trusted him, but she didn’t have the strength to dare the unknown. Her bones were weak and aching. “I can’t leave Raven,” she murmured, watching Honey rummage through her coffer of clothing, choosing pieces and setting them aside.

“Are you blind?” Honey said, dressing Gold Dust in layers. “Do you think Raven needs you? You’ve no choice. The Shah will execute you. Soleiman will be next.”

“I won’t leave him behind.”

“He has been warned. He’s in hiding,” Honey lied.

“Where?”

“I’m not aware of the details, except that you’re going there, too.”

Honey tucked a dagger inside Gold Dust’s belt. “I have to say good-bye to Raven.”

“Over my dead heart.” Honey’s lips trembled. “She must not find out until you’re many farsangs away.”

Above the pain she felt, Gold Dust had to confess to herself that Honey was right. She must leave without embracing Raven.

Honey cupped Gold Dust’s face in her palms and took her lips in her mouth. Her tongue glided over Gold Dust’s lips, teeth, the roof of her mouth. She tasted salt. Her own tears. Gold Dust’s grief.

On Honey’s breath Gold Dust smelled wine and the smoke of hookah pipes. She pressed Honey to her heart, felt a love she had no name for. She would miss her friend and all the forbidden things she symbolized. “If they find out you’ve helped me, they’ll kill you!”

Honey’s gaze fell on Gold Dust like a shock of burning water. “They’re after you, not me. Now go!”

She shut the door behind Gold Dust and secured the curtains, darkness falling on the room. She was at peace, almost happy. When Gold Dust had first burst into the harem, a girl indifferent to riches and class distinction, a virginal girl with alabaster skin and flaming cheeks, hair cut short and face bared, she had known she would become an important part of her life. She had been right. One of the few sultanas untainted by opium and wealth, Gold Dust had left an imprint in her otherwise gloomy life.