Amira was the only wakeful one. Long into the night, she stared into the darkness of her bedroom. She felt like a desert traveler when the stars are hidden. Movement was vital, but in what direction? It was nearly dawn when, repeating over and over that it was all in God’s hands, she lulled herself to sleep.

O

She woke with the vague sense that something was wrong. The house was very quiet, but that was logical: Ali undoubtedly had gone out already. Philippe was probably still asleep. Zeinab and her tribe had departed.

Karim slept peacefully. Yet, it was so quiet. She dressed quickly and went downstairs. Where were the servants? She called and got silence for an answer. She was about to call the servants’ quarters for an explanation when she saw the little chambermaid, Hanan, dressed in her best clothes, crossing the garden toward the side gate.

“Hanan! Come here. Where is everybody?”

“Why, I don’t know, Highness. Master sent some of us to the palace to prepare for your return. And some of us he gave the day off—because of our hard work during the festival. I’m one of those, and I was just on my way to visit my mother.”

“But there’s no one left!”

Hanan said nothing. Disputes between the master and his wife were none of her business.

“When did he order all this?”

“Why, just this morning, Highness, just before he left.” Hanan looked faintly guilty. “I could stay, ma’am, if I’m needed.”

“No. No, go and enjoy your day off.”

“Thank you, Highness.” The girl headed for the gate before Amira could change her mind, but she turned long enough to call, “I’m sure some of those at the palace will be back soon.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Thank you, Hanan.”

In the kitchen, Amira searched for coffee. Surely, Philippe would be awake soon. She found fruit and bread, and there were eggs in the refrigerator—should she try to make an omelet? It pleased her to think of preparing breakfast for Philippe and sitting down to it with him, just the two of them. Yet, she was irritated with Ali. Why would he send away all the servants with a guest in the house? It made no sense.

Then suddenly, it did. Amira stood stock-still. No, she told herself; no, not even Ali would try that. It would be like a bad joke. She almost smiled, but the smile never came. Of course, Ali would try it, and it would be nothing at all like a joke.

Under Sharia law, a woman accusing a man of rape needed the directly corroborating testimony of four witnesses. But a man accusing his wife of adultery had only to demonstrate a pattern of incriminating behavior. To be alone in the house with Philippe was damning in itself. Amira had also dined with him in her husband’s absence—and someone, she remembered, had seen them in the garden late at night.