Was this, then, what Ali had meant, about learning to manage men from other women? Though he did sometimes lose his temper with no provocation at all, she could not imagine searching out other women and sending them to his bed. To her, the queen’s machinations seemed rather sad. It was true that, in al-Remal, saving face was all-important—but at what price did the queen ransom her pride?

Amira sighed and exhaled as her personal maid scrubbed her back with a loofah, a treatment that kept her skin soft and fresh. Much to her own surprise, Amira had learned to enjoy the ritual of communal bathing.

As her maid applied the henna that gave Amira’s hair reddish highlights and body, Zeinab called her son and daughter, who were frolicking happily in one of the enormous marble tubs. “Hassan! Bahija! Come quickly, so Nanny can give you a good washing.” The children laughed and continued to splash one another.

How lucky they are, Amira thought, the young ones who could run free, bathing naked together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Suddenly, the door to the hammam opened and closed. It was the queen, wrapped in a sarong like Turkish towel embroidered with silver and silk. “Any news yet, Amira?”

Amira rose to show her respect, wrapping her own towel around her. “Not yet, Mother, but soon, God willing.”

“Let us hope so.”

Amira returned to her bench, her sense of relaxation gone. She was not pregnant and therefore a disappointment to her mother-in-law. But how could she tell the queen that it was not her fault? That it was very difficult to become pregnant when sexual activity was so erratic and unpredictable?

In the weeks and months that followed her marriage, Amira had come to believe that Ali had two faces—and as many personalities. Sometimes he was kind and attentive, interested in what she had to say, content to curl up beside her in bed, his body wrapped cozily around hers, talking about the planes he flew or the changes he envisioned for al-Remal. She loved those quiet moments when it seemed they might be friends, and not just husband and wife.

But there were other times when he was moody and withdrawn, when her most innocent actions seemed to offend or anger him, when he came to her bed drunk and brutishly exercised his marital rights, as if she were there to serve him, nothing more. Yet since it was those occasions that were likely to give her a child, Amira endured them stoically, as a good wife should.

O