Then Pari died.

Gold Dust leaned closer to Honey and asked, “How?”

Moon Face, paler than usual, directed a stormy stare at Gold Dust. “Someone pushed her off a cliff into the River of Dreams.” Rage distorted her face as she pointed a finger at Gold Dust. “She should not have occupied another sultana’s place.”

Gold Dust recognized Pari’s murderer.

Surely the whole harem knew. Why else was Moon Face so obvious in her unspoken demonstrations? Gold Dust realized she, too, must seal the secret in her heart to protect herself from Moon Face.

“Is Pari’s death,” Gold Dust asked, “the cause of the Shah’s moods?”

“From that day on, they grew darker,” Moon Face murmured, her breath bitter with opium and hate. “They come and go with no predictability. It might be lost love, the fear of another invasion, or the curse of madness that manifests itself in mistrust of others and ends in death.”

Honey directed a warning glance at Gold Dust. “Moon Face forgot the real reason for the Shah’s moods.” Her hand slipped between Gold Dust’s breasts. “Would you like to know?”

“Yes.” Let Honey fondle her, Gold Dust thought, a bait in exchange for precious information: the king’s strengths, weaknesses, needs, likes and dislikes. Even faults, to reduce him to the rank of ordinary men. Then she would understand him better.

“Listen well!” Honey’s breath was on Gold Dust’s neck, a murmur in her ear: “It’s the shame of his failure to produce boys.”

Trying to plug the joy in her bones, Gold Dust stifled her excitement. At last she had located the Shah’s flaw. He had no sons! That’s why boys were absent from the seraglio.

She pulled a mask of innocence over her features. “Why is it shameful not to have sons?”

Moon Face snickered. “With no heirs, the lineage will die with the Shah. A tragedy. A great shame.”

Both women, for different reasons, tried to scare her away from the Shah. But they had added mystery and fascination to the image Gold Dust had created of him.

No sultana had produced an heir to the throne! If the Shah chose her as a favorite, under the custody of the Mistress of the House, she would be bathed, endowed with private quarters, a barge, a carriage, and slaves.

She would bear the king’s first son. She would rise above the other concubines to become his wife. The queen of Persia.

“Snuff out that light in your eyes,” Moon Face barked. “Experienced women could not bear him sons.”

Gold Dust cast her eyes down. Let Moon Face think what she may. Although most sultanas were more skilled than she, none had a mother like Rebekah. Surely, among her mother’s many magical mysteries and potions, one would help her produce an heir.

Moon Face reached out bony fingers for the bowl of rock sugar. “Honey is your salvation. Enjoy her before you shrivel like the rest of us.” She set her head on Gulf Lily’s lap.