Gold Dust sat cross-legged on her pallet, a history book spread open on her lap. She stroked a melancholy-eyed gazelle, the animal’s rough tongue grazing her cheek. The Shah’s gifts didn’t give her joy. She felt helpless against the animosity in Pearl Hall. Stares stabbed like daggers. Words poisoned like hemlock. She frequented the royal library in hope of gaining insight into the intricacies of Persian dynasties, the strengths and weaknesses of kings and the women who manipulated them. Her only friends were Honey, Hazel-Boy, and, to her surprise, the Bibi Sultana, who had come to prefer Gold Dust to Hazel-Boy.

The Shah had heard of her recurring nightmares of bowstrings slicing her throat. He ordered tasters to sample her food for poison, and cooks to serve her meals in Chinese green porcelain, which changed color with the smallest trace of poison. His most trusted eunuchs stood watch outside her quarters.

Early morning, and with no warning, the Shah had entered the harem and planted himself in the center of Pearl Hall. His hands clasped behind his back, he warned, “If the favorite is touched by anyone, we shall ban opium, sugar, calming herbs, and hookah pipes. Not even the Bibi Sultana will be exempt!”

It was unheard of in history for a king to penalize his mother for the mere reason his favorite was in danger.

Right there and then, the Bibi plucked her mustache, swearing to no longer sport the symbol that raised her to the level of men.

Moon Face donned sackcloth and locked herself in the House of Tears with mourning widows and barren women. She plunged into the act of sewing her own shroud.

The door opened, and Rebekah appeared, jolting Gold Dust out of her thoughts.

“What’s the eunuch so upset about?”

Suddenly Gold Dust longed for the security of her mother’s closeness, to be the child of sixteen that she was.

Rebekah stepped back to survey the bedecked sultana she hardly recognized. Surely the Shah had invited Gold Dust to his divan. Her eyes sparkled with grace and assurance. A chain of pearls circled her slender waist. She used more kohl on her left eye, so the twist seemed less pronounced, and had shaded one of her nostrils to even it out. A gold coin dangled from the tip of each of her braided tresses.

Rebekah sighed. “You’ll become queen and won’t need me anymore.”

“I’ll need you more than ever.” Gold Dust glanced at her mother; the skin on her face was still firm. Not even a shadow had settled under her chin. Her eyes had retained their violet fire, and the mark between her breasts had not lost its luster. Was it true that those who returned from the dead never aged? To stop herself from probing into the past, she asked, “Teach me more about men.”

Rebekah slammed shut the book that lay idle on her daughter’s lap. “You won’t find these intimate details in books. I’ll disclose secrets men murmur in my bed, between my thighs, to my cleavage-eye—secrets that will help you confront life like a well-armed soldier.”