Gold Dust shuddered. Her mother had ascended into another realm. She seemed to levitate. The veins at her ternpies throbbed. Her arms spread out like bat wings and the mark between her trembling breasts glowed. Gold Dust had the urge to kneel and kiss her mother’s toes as if she were a divine being.

Rebekah’s footsteps bounced on the dirt roads. Gold Dust had fallen into the ceremonious gait she acquired when she was angry. Even now, away from the Ancient Zoroastrian, her mother seemed oblivious to her and stepped to the rhythm of her own schemes.

Rebekah raised Gold Dust’s chin. “Do you know what day it is?”

Gold Dust glanced at her mother. “A day like every other.”

“No. Today the black eunuch visits the Jewish Quarter!”

On the fourth day of every month, Narcissus the Great Black Eunuch came to call on Sharaby the Wine Maker. Rebekah was aware of the importance of the chief eunuch. He was the only man who could approach the Shah at any time. He was the private messenger of the Shah and the Court Minister and had free access to the Bibi Sultana, the Shah’s mother. Above all, the eunuch screened and selected girls for the harem.

Since the consumption of alcohol was forbidden in Islam and no Muslim was allowed to sell spirits, Narcissus purchased his alcohol from Sharaby the Wine Maker. The aroma and taste of Sharaby’s wine, which fermented in large clay pots in his basement, was known throughout the country. Narcissus preferred to visit the wine maker in daylight, when the spirits of the night shut their ears and eyes to the happenings of the mortal world. Narcissus did not fear the Jews. They would not dare disclose his visits to the outside world or care to meddle in his private affairs, and most welcomed an extra coin added to their resources.

Rebekah did not care about the chief eunuch’s secret or his coins. At the moment, she needed her daughter’s cooperation. “We have a surprise for him,” she said.

With her rising anger, the twist in Gold Dust’s eyes grew more pronounced. She thrust her head back, sending her hair flying in defiance. “If it has to do with my future, go and surprise him on your own.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Rebekah declared, overwhelmed by doubt. Had she weighed the repercussions of letting her daughter go? Being left alone with her memories and the kiln of ashes in her bedroom? Was she sending Gold Dust into a world of danger and intrigue? Into a golden cage? Was the sheltered harem preferable to a miserable alliance? Yes. Her daughter had no chance in a community where a respectable name was essential to secure her future. First Jacob, then Rebekah herself, and eventually Heshmat the Matchmaker had robbed Gold Dust of the possibility of a decent life among the Jews.

“You’ll join the harem,” Rebekah announced.