“Because once the Shah has a woman and captures her with his intoxicating scent, resentment replaces his initial excitement. He resents relinquishing part of his manhood by wasting his seed in our womb. The moment a sultana is confident of his love and acquires a voice of her own, he punishes her with indifference until nothing is left but the aftertaste of his scent.”

Gulf Lily brushed Moon Face’s hair, cupped her chin, and raised her face as if it were an exotic flower. His eyes softened with unspoken words.

“Above all,” Moon Face continued, “he loathes the fact that his women can’t produce an heir.”

“Does he blame the sultanas?”

“To blame himself is a threat to his manhood.”

Gold Dust moved closer to Moon Face. “So why are the sultanas eager for his invitation?”

“That you’ll not understand until you experience his touch and his addictive smell. It’s what every woman prays for … until she enters his lair.” A spark of lunacy darkened her eyes.

A melody suffused with fear and sadness surrounded Gold Dust. Confusion brought tears to her bones. She didn’t know whether to flee or wear her most inviting attire and roam the labyrinths of the palace in search of the Shah.

14

Gold Dust followed Narcissus into a secluded building behind the royal courts. They entered a bedchamber littered with costly tea sets, decanters, and perfume sprinklers. Beyond the latticed doors, drab with caked dirt, she saw a neglected yard. An exquisite bath of inlaid turquoise lay in a patch of over-grown weeds. There was such an air of negligence that suddenly Gold Dust felt lonelier than she had since joining the harem.

Narcissus set a bowl of yogurt and a slice of wheat bread sprinkled with sesame seeds on a dust-covered stool.

Gold Dust stared at her meager meal. “Narcissus, why am I here?”

“You’ll find out soon. In the meantime, keep your stomach as empty as possible.”

Seeing the puzzled look on her face, he burst out into a snicker that sounded like the cracking of ice. “A full stomach will make you sluggish. You won’t be able to copulate in a sprightly manner.”

After months of waiting, the time had come for her to meet the Shah. Was this a temporary station from which she would be called to him? Cautious hope filled her. Perhaps she had not heard about this ritual because it was reserved for those whom the king favored.

If only she knew what to expect in the person of the Shah, she would not mind waiting. But jealous sultanas, the basreliefs on the wall, and his silences and few words created the image she had of him. Was he ugly? Cruel? Old? She didn’t even know his exact age.

She aired the sheets, set the filigreed tea sets in order, and washed away the stale smell of spices and mold that clung to a pile of Arabian towels. She welcomed the sweat that cooled her frenzied thoughts.