It was al-Masagin again, the crowd in the square, the figure tied to the stake. But the figure wasn’t Laila, it was the young man in the night at Alexandria. His eyes turned to Amira. Then, somehow, Ali was dragging Laila’s body down a beach, blood trailing. Amira ran behind, begging him to stop. The blindfold fell from Laila’s face. It wasn’t Laila. It was Amira. The Amira who was watching tried to touch the dead Amira but couldn’t. It was as if her arms had heavy weights on them. She looked down and saw two snarling black dogs clamping her wrists in their fangs.

Someone was tugging at her, there in the dark. Oh, God, it was Ali. She could smell the liquor.

“Ali, what are you doing?” “Teaching you a lesson.”

“Please, Ali!” She tried to push him away, but something held her hands.

Was she still dreaming? Oh, God, she was tied.

Ali switched on the light. The pupils of his eyes were mad pinpoints; the pills had won.

“Now, bitch,” he said. “Now.” He showed her a quirtlike whip, the kind camel drivers used.

“No, Ali!”

“Turn over unless you want it in the face.” “What have I done, Ali?”

The whip cut across her breasts. Amira cried out at the fiery pain and rolled onto her stomach.

“You’re a sow. Yet, you look down on me. I can read your devil’s eyes. You dare to look down on me. Your husband. A royal prince. Respect. I’ll teach you respect.”

Each sentence ended with a lash of the whip to her back, her legs, her buttocks. There was no escaping it. She screamed. Surely someone would come—a servant, anyone. No one did.

In his room, Karim howled. Somehow, Amira tore one hand free, then the other, skin peeling on the rope. She tried to rush past Ali, but he blocked her into a corner.

“Please, Ali. I can’t help it if I’m not a man. For God’s sake, just stop!”

He did stop. But only for a heartbeat—just long enough for Amira to realize that she should have endured the whipping. On her husband’s face, she saw cold, deadly rage. She saw murder.

She tried to shield her face as he came for her, but his fist smashed between her hands. She felt the cartilage in her nose snap. A blow to her cheek sent stars dancing through her brain. The room was very bright and distant. Something slammed into her abdomen, driving the breath from her, and she fell. A liquid warmth touched her thighs. I’ve wet myself, she thought with shame.

The last thing she saw was Ali’s foot floating toward her in dreamy slow motion, a child’s balloon on a string.

O