Gold Dust, alert and conscious, fought to harness the sighs that threatened to rise from her disjointed bones. Her mother had warned her against submitting to the merciless brown addiction. But, hearing the sultanas’ stories, she wished she could lose herself in their opium dreams that made them forget their distant homes.

Gold Dust followed the rough voice of Moon Face, the soothing murmurs of Honey. The reason for the Shah’s wavering moods, and his periodical need for solitude, the two women agreed, was the years, not long ago, he had spent in the Cage, a tower close to the palace, but off-limits to everyone, save certain eunuchs and a handful of deaf-mute guards, whose eardrums had been punctured and tongues severed.

The Shah was too sensitive for a prince, his father, the late shah, had decided. His firstborn son was unworthy of wearing the crown. The late shah had locked the kind-hearted heir in the Cage with thirty other princes, his younger sons, whom he feared might rebel and claim the throne. And from then on, if a sultana became heavy with child, he had her tied up in a sack and hurled into the river. The late shah suffered from madness that had afflicted Persian kings because of their constant fear of invasion. Once Persian culture flourished and harmony prevailed, an attack from remote countries was imminent. The resources of Persia—carpets, iron, and copper—were a constant temptation to other countries, especially to an empire on another continent that harbored pale, blue-eyed scoundrels, and a gray, gloomy climate.

While the late shah had wandered the halls of the palace, struggling with the rapid process of aging and rambling about better days, his son, in the Cage, lacked for nothing but freedom. He had women who had been stripped of their childbearing organs; he had baths that were kept warm throughout all hours; he had musicians and clowns who performed at the snap of his fingers; he had a young, fair-complexioned, exquisite boy called Hazel-Boy, who took care of his personal needs.

Wide-eyed, Gold Dust asked, “What needs?”

Honey pressed her palm to Gold Dust’s mouth. “My sweet, don’t ask dangerous questions.” She slipped her fingers between Gold Dust’s legs.

Gold Dust struggled to comprehend a world where no secrets were honored, no privacy allowed. Narcissus had warned her that if any man or woman touched her she would be spoiled for the Shah. She brushed aside Honey’s hand.

Moon Face wiggled her finger into Gold Dust’s waistband, snapping the elastic. “Be kind to yourself. No one will reward you for abstinence.”

The Shah will, Gold Dust thought, shifting away from the women.

“The Shah learned the art of falconry and the cultivating of roses.”