Gold Dust felt Hazel-Boy’s warm breath, his lips too close. She had remained in the harem first to punish her mother and then to avoid her fate. But since the beginning of this day, which now felt like an eternity, the rage to please a eunuch had taken precedence over all else. She stared at the silver bottle he did not separate from, and at the henna heart that seemed a part of him. Maybe by the end of the week he would disclose their secret.

She turned around and slipped closer to him, her back molding into his body. His legs circled her thighs; his hands cupped her breasts. Now she would never fall asleep.

A stream of light woke her, and the image of Hazel-Boy came to her like a dream. She had fallen asleep after all. Reluctant to break the spell, she half opened her eyes.

Naked, he lounged next to her, his head propped on one hand, his gaze on her. He had awakened earlier and painted his lips red and rimmed his eyes with kohl. A gossamer gauze fell over his hair. “Today,” he said, “I shall recount a love story.”

His voice sounded fragile, feminine. He was a storyteller. She would learn to be one.

“The Shah ordered a costly bath set between his rosebushes where in the evenings he bathed Pari. The sultanas, hearing of such an act of servility from a man known for his impatience with women, could not contain their jealousy. On one of the harem outings, Pari sat on a cliff, watching the River of Dreams. It was a calm Persian day; all the elements were in harmony; even the river was serene, the logs floating aimlessly with no trace of sharks.

“Pari tumbled down the cliff and disappeared in the river.”

Gold Dust caught her breath. The river again. Its name was misleading; so was its glassy veneer, which reflected a world of green and blue, and the many logs that drifted on its tranquil surface.

“It was rumored,” Hazel-Boy continued, “that one of the jealous sultanas had pushed the favorite to her death. From that day on no woman was allowed inside these quarters.”

Now she was here. She had replaced Pari in the Shah’s heart. Did Hazel-Boy know that Moon Face had pushed Pari off the cliff? “Hazel-Boy, why are you telling me Pari’s story?”

“Because, little one, you must remember that those whom the Shah favors must see with many eyes and hear with many ears to survive.”

“You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

He enveloped her in his warmth. “When this week ends, it’s best we go our own ways.” He uncorked the silver bottle and took a swallow from its contents.

“May I have some?” she asked.

“Stay away from the nectar of poppy seeds and other narcotics. For me it’s a habit to pacify painful memories.”

She rested her head on his chest and fell asleep.