The Bibi Sultana curled a finger and motioned the eunuch to her side. “This one better find favor in my son’s eyes … or else one of these nights your head will roll in the Courtyard of Horses.”

Narcissus, too, heard the stirring of three hundred sixty-five dissatisfied women. He, too, sniffed the bitterness of an unused harem, the putrefying of fertile organs left to nothing but frustration. He, too, foresaw the biggest threat of all: the danger of the Shah’s slipping back into his old ways, finding his pleasure in the arms of the beautiful half-man whom the Bibi Sultana despised. Rebekah had appeared just in time. She had introduced fresh blood into the harem.

12

The Great Black Eunuch locked himself in his room. Drowned in a hypnotic trance, he rocked in front of an incense brazier, inhaled herbal fumes, and consulted with the spirits. When he left the room, his breath exhaled the morbid odor of a creature that had been fasting for many days, but the determined line of his jaw spoke of a man whose mind was set.

He presented Gold Dust to the Bibi Sultana as she sat spread out cross-legged on the dais and suffered the eunuch to go through the proper introduction. He spoke of Gold Dust’s unusual beauty, her charming qualities, and above all assured the Bibi that he had examined Gold Dust and found her a virgin.

With watery gray eyes that had retained the keen vision of a preying hawk, the Bibi gazed at Gold Dust. She thrust a tattooed fingertip at the girl’s cheeks, stomach, and buttocks to test their firmness. She slapped her twice. Gold Dust held her head high. Tears flashed in her defiant eyes. The Bibi Sultana raised her hand. Gold Dust did not blink. She seized the hand in midair. Narcissus shuddered. The sultanas gasped. The princesses giggled. Honey sighed at such boldness. Moon Face snickered behind her palm.

“You may join the harem,” the Bibi croaked, her mustache trembling. “I’ll personally rub your arrogant snout in dust.”

Her anger snuffed out by the hate on the Bibi’s face, Gold Dust prostrated herself. “I’ll forever be your servant.”

“Never forget that you are just that.”

Narcissus was relieved. The Bibi had accepted Gold Dust, welcoming the challenge of crushing another young girl. Now he would not need to reveal the marvel of sitars humming in Gold Dust’s throat. He would disclose that secret to the Shah with preparation, great pomp, and a begging palm.

Gold Dust began rigorous training in palace etiquette, dance, poetry, music, and the Islamic culture. With every lesson she learned, Gold Dust shed a tear for the home she missed, and another out of fear she decided to keep from her mother: the tales of twenty-five women, the castoffs of the Shah.