They reached the palace gates. The sky was the shade of persimmons. They sat on the ground, waiting—Rebekah concealed in a shimmering veil of sequins and rhinestones, Gold Dust in layers of dove-colored chiffon. Rebekah had saved strips of material, remnants from the rolls she had sold, and had stitched them into a multilayered skirt with a clinging top that traced Gold Dust’s young body. A cascade of ivory lace fell over her hair and face.

With the first cry of roosters, Rebekah cupped Gold Dust’s shoulders in her hands and drew her close. Rebekah was rendered speechless by the enormity of her decision, Gold Dust by the fear she might never see her mother again—was she allowed to visit? Rebekah smoothed her daughter’s hair, adjusted her blouse. Gold Dust grabbed her mother’s hands, but the words she had readied stuck in her throat.

Rebekah stepped back and with the scrutinizing stare of an experienced woman checked her daughter’s simple but snug dress, the rounded shoulders slightly exposed, the eyes sparkling through the lace tumbling over her face.

She came forward and unveiled her daughter.

“You will be the first woman to enter the harem with uncovered face.”

A breeze brushed against Gold Dust’s naked cheeks. She raised her hands to the sky. She liked this freedom. Her gaze swept over the River of Dreams, where the colliding logs now sounded cheerful.

The palace guards opened the gates, honoring the eunuch’s stamp and the familiar figure who visited the harem on the first day of every month.

“Who is this girl?” one of the guards asked.

“My apprentice,” Rebekah sang.

Silence shrouded the palace. They were ushered through an overwhelming opulence. Alabaster columns supported mirrored ceilings, and chandeliers threw rainbow colors on basreliefs that depicted battles, love scenes, and mythological beings from Ferdowsi’s Epic of Kings. Esfahan, Tabriz, and Kashan carpets sprawled on marble floors.

“The Great Black Eunuch is in the servants’ quarters,” the guide said.

“Lead us there,” Rebekah replied, hoping to catch the eunuch in his chambers, where the intimate and more humble surroundings would be more conducive to her request.

Past intricate webbing of halls and vestibules, a door opened into a corridor of soot-covered walls. The odor of stale oil and mildew invaded them.

The Great Black Eunuch, his face puffy from the prior night’s opium suppository and from his constant consumption of raw sugar, filed past young apprentices, awaiting their morning inspection. The eunuch stared at a boy no older than twelve. Dark, curly hair framed his brown, bony face.

Narcissus turned to his assistant. “Prepare for the bastinadoes.”

With a display of exaggerated pomp, the eunuch’s assistant pulled the boy out of line, stretched him on a wooden frame, and bound his hands and feet.

One. Two. Three. Narcissus flogged the soles of the servant. The shrieks sounded inhuman. One. Two. Three. The boy’s body jerked with every lash.