A moan came from behind a screen. A sigh. She hesitated, stopped, but did not turn around. She heard his breathing. The beat of his heart. And then she heard his voice:

“It was lovely.”

Late that evening, when the pungent vapor of opium hung over Pearl Hall and the slaves nudged the sultanas out of their dreams, Gold Dust asked, “Why does the Shah hide behind partitions?”

Shifting away from the ever-present shadow of Gulf Lily, Moon Face raised eyelids afflicted with lethargy. “Because of some curious disease of the spirit, he concocts childish games to raise himself beyond the habitual languor of the Cage. It’s his private titillation. As if he collects, one by one, the notes for some complicated music he’ll play when he’s ready. And even then, he’ll play it only once. No one knows who the next victim is.”

Gold Dust shuddered. “Why do you call yourselves victims? Why do you leave him with the taste of honey that turns to ash?”

“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?”