Gold

Everywhere she looked, there was something that startled. Huge grey domes, marble arches and pillars as thick as ten men, lush green courtyards with bubbling fountains and clean stone paths. Minarets reached for the sky, glazed iwans welcomed masses of people into various buildings. There was so much colour it hurt to look. Khaya didn't need her heightened sense of hearing to discern all the sounds that filled her ears – the far off water crashing against the banks of the Tigris, the chorus of rebabs accompanied by sweet singing voices, heavy drumbeats, the clip-clop of dozens of horses' hooves against the stone, bells ringing in the mosque.

Ayaan reached behind into one of the saddle bags, pressing Khaya into a precarious position. She grabbed at his collar to keep her balance, but didn't voice her annoyance.

"Put this on." He handed her a thick red bangle. Khaya frowned and turned it around in her hand. It was smooth and had an intricate, mesmerising marbled pattern.

"Where are we going?"

She had taken a moment to notice that the caravan had split up as soon as they reached the Kufa Gate. Some of the pilgrims had stayed behind, while the nobles had all veered off to the other side of the Inner City. The royal family has presumably gone straight ahead to the palace. Even from here Khaya could see its great green dome, rising above everything else like a watchful eye.

Will I be living there, now that I am to be Prince Rehan's whore?

She wanted to ask Ayaan, but the fact that he was barely older than Salsal dawned on her, and she kept her mouth shut.

Eventually a squat building of beige stone came into view. Two hulking guards stood at attention at the gate, armed with menacing spears. Khaya's shoulders immediately knotted.

"What is this place?"

"The harem." Ayaan loosened his reins, and added, "Don't worry, I'm going to hand you to the eunuchs. It's perfectly safe." His high voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

"Eunuchs? What are those?"

Ayaan's shoulders shook with laughter. "You really are precious... Khay... something, was your name wasn't it?"

"Khayzuran," she almost snapped.

"Well, Khayzuran sahiba, a eunuch is a man who has had his nethers removed, usually in the most gruesome way imaginable."

Khaya gaped, but not in horror, in pure fascination. "Is it a punishment?"

Ayaan raised an eyebrow.

Uncle Yahya was right, she is an interesting one...

"Sometimes it is, sometimes people volunteer."

Ayaan leaned back, and the horse halted smoothly. To Khaya's surprise the guards fell on one knee when he dismounted. Perhaps he was some noble's son, to command such respect.

"Do you want a hand?"

The gates opened and a plethora of men flooded out, each dressed identically in an olive green robe tied with a brown leather belt. One broke away from the rest of the group and approached Ayaan. He was tall and skinny, with a sharp chin and small, stern eyes, resembling a bird of prey. He wore a small black cap on his head, setting him apart from the rest.

Ayaan pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Take good care of her, Kalan."

Khaya stared down at the man, the eunuch, from the saddle. He appeared normal in every respect.

"Sahiba." he bowed in an exaggerated motion, folding an arm over his chest. "I am at your service."

Two more eunuchs approached, one took the horse's reins and the other helped Khaya dismount. All the while she eyed them with open awe and interest.

So, they do not have...

Her gaze dropped to below Kalan's belt for a split second, a motion he spotted with his sparrow-eyes, but chose to ignore. He led Khaya towards the gate, where the group of eunuchs had assembled into two columns, waiting to escort her. She and Kalan stood between them, and they closed around them like a protective shield.

They eunuchs in front pushed open the gate and guided them inside.

"Welcome to the Royal Harem, sahiba."

Ж

In a courtyard somewhere in the north wing of the palace flower petals disturbed the surface of a clear pool. Rich colour and life reflected in the water – bushels of pink berries, twisting vines climbing up the pillars, short shrubs and tall trees dotted with yellow flowers. The courtyard was a garden of true magnificence, unrivalled in the whole of Arabia.

A woman sat on the edge of the pool and skimmed her fingers through it, watching the ripples. Her narrow frame was so small she could have been mistaken for a girl, but her eyes reflected the weight of her years. She had smooth dark skin, but her nails were caked with dirt and the scent of wet earth. Long locks of hair fell over her shoulders and touched the water, turning an even darker shade of brown. At the sound of footsteps approaching from the archway she looked up.

"You look tired," Yahya al-Barmaki said, making his way around the pool with purposeful steps. His white kaftan stood out against the bright greens and citrine colours.

"And you do not." The woman pulled her soaked hair tips out of the water and lazily lifted her eyes from the water to meet his gaze. His fingers grazed her shoulders as he bent down and planted a soft kiss in her hair.

"I brought something for you."

Her focus shifted to his hands, which pulled out a small handkerchief. She took it and unwrapped it with careful, curious hands. Her eyes brightened as she lifted the blue hyacinth up to the light, admiring the dark azure bands in the centre of each petal. The colour matched her sirwal.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get a full one."

She wrapped the flower up again and tucked it into her qamis collar. It seemed they had had this conversation many times, because she didn't feel the need to reply.

"The servants all arrived before you," she said as she turned her gaze back to the water, "They told me some interesting things about the latter half of your journey home."

Yahya bit his lip and waited for her to continue.

"Afsa says you bought something from the souk."

"For Rehan," he said without missing a beat.

She let out a tense breath and plucked a curled pink petal from the water. "What of the Nizaris?"

"Atishi, please don't worry. I have it under control."

"A wife has little work but tending to the garden and worrying for her husband."

"And you outdo yourself in both regards." He chuckled softly. Atishi fidgeted with the petal and looked up at him with pensive eyes.

"You should go meet Sharan. He has been counting the days till your return."

Yahya rolled his eyes and grunted in annoyance. "Have I not earned a moment's rest?"

"The Vizier does not rest," Atishi replied, looking at the petal again.

"I'm not Vizier yet."

Ж

The arcade within the harem seemed endless, the symmetry of smooth white pillars and vaulted arches sending Khaya's head spinning.

"First one of the eunuchs will take you for a hammam where you can meet the other women, and then if you like you can meet some of the teachers," Kalan said.

"Teachers?"

He nodded. "The women like to acquire various skills to keep them in good graces with the masters. You are free to learn whatever you want. Music, art, theology... anything at all."

Khaya's mind flitted to the pile of stories stuffed in her drawer back in Jorash, and she wondered if she would be able to find anyone willing to give her more.

They soon entered the closed hallways, which had walls with emerald green panelling and bone-white ceilings accented by gold floral patterns. They passed through a small grassy courtyard with a dovecote in its centre, covered in sparkling mosaic tiles. There was so much opulence and luxury, it startled the eyes without pause.

After a while they reached a set of large wooden doors. They opened inwards without Kalan having to utter a word. A bony but well-dressed girl, who Khaya recognised as Meia, emerged from the shadows and led her away into the darkness.

Eventually they reached a circular room with an intricate vaulted ceiling, and a gigantic hole in the ceiling to allow light to stream in, illuminating a wide pool on a dais in the centre. Several naked women sat beside the shallow water, with maids scrubbing away at their backs. Small alcoves along the wall were hidden by gossamer curtains, obscuring the figures within. The hum of quiet chatter died down when Khaya stepped into the light. Her eyes did not know where to look – at the geometric turquoise shapes on the ceiling, the veined marble pillars, the shimmering water, the oiled bodies of the beautiful, bronze skinned women, their bright curious gazes staring back at her.

There was movement in the largest alcove, and with a violent whip the curtains split apart to reveal Princess Rayta. Her linen chemise barely covered her behind. Without her usual adornment and make-up she looked... almost ordinary. The neutral look in her eye eventually turned to a glare.

"You're finally here."

The water stilled. Every breath in the room held itself.

Rayta beckoned with a hand, and smirked at Khaya's hesitation. "I won't bite."

The stone floor was surprisingly smooth beneath her feet. When they were an arms-length from each other Khaya had to tilt her chin up to meet Rayta's eyes. Her body was not only tall, but thick and strong and completely hairless. She smelled of pure jasmine.

"Come, let me bathe you."

The women began shifting to one end, as if they had heard Rayta's silent command. Perhaps this was some test for the new... initiates.

Khaya stripped off, unmindful of the curious looks the other women gave her, instead keenly focused on Rayta, who had already sat on the dais.

She took her time in scanning every inch of Khaya's body as she entered the water. Her eyes fell on the scar on her back, but she made no comment.

"You are so small." She twisted a thick towel and dipped it into the water. One hand gripped Khaya's shoulder, and the other slapped the towel onto her back. The cold and the pain shocked her into alertness, and a shiver curled around her spine. Rayta scrubbed with force, at first painful, but then cathartic. The dirt and grime and sweat and hardship of more than a month's journey slowly melted off her with every splash of water.

When Rayta finished washing her body she procured a cup of oil and began kneading it into Khaya's hair.

"That plump girl there is Rehan's niece."

Khaya's eyes fell on a voluptuous girl with chocolate skin wearing a saffron chemise. She would never have guessed that she was related to the Prince by looks alone. Her hair was thick and frizzy and messy, lips full and smiling.

"She will be the first one to threaten you, but don't be afraid. It is all hot air and big words."

Khaya's heart lurched at the warning.

Why is she telling me this?

"Most of the women here are his second and third cousins, then a few distantly related aunts and nieces. Everyone in this harem is related to the royal family by blood or marriage."

She heard the unspoken words: Everyone except for you.

"Does the Calipha stay here?"

Rayta gathered Khaya's hair and twisted it into a knot high on her head. "Yes. She will call on you soon after you finish hammam. You can trust whatever she says about Rehan." She paused to rinse her hands in the water and rise. "Come, we will go to the steam room."

Khaya followed her, conscious of all the eyes on her naked body, through a narrow arch into a hallway which eventually led to a cozy room guarded by thick brocade curtains. When the curtains parted a whiff of steam poured out. There was a raised platform in the centre covered with a thick mat, and a cabinet on the far wall filled with small bottles of various balms, oils, and tinctures. It reminded Khaya of an apothecary.

"Sit," Rayta instructed, making her way to the cabinet.

Khaya crossed her arms over her chest, which were beginning to become damp with sweat from the steam. "Why are you telling me all this? What do you have to gain from warning me?"

"Those women terrorise others for no reason other than their own satisfaction. It makes me sick to watch," she said, returning with a jar of some scented paste. She began rubbing it into Khaya's back with strong, slow movements.

This was all proving to be too much for Khaya's nerves. She was glad for the steam and the strong scent of sandalwood – it calmed her enough not to pull at her hair in frustration.

Rayta could feel the tension unknotting in her shoulders. "Relax. Your life will be comfortable and carefree within these walls. Such is the benefit of being a concubine."

There it was, the word Khaya dreaded most, going against everything she believed and condoned.

Royal Whore.

"Doesn't that mean I am your rival?"

Rayta took another dollop of paste and worked it into Khaya's arm. "We are not competing for anything." After a pause she added, "The Prince and I never got along. Our marriage is just for show."

They remained silent as Rayta finished rubbing the last of the paste into Khaya's palms. When she finished she procured a scarlet linen cloak for Khaya. They returned to the main baths, where most of the women were preparing to leave, wrapping up in linen chemises and towels. Meia returned, bowing to them as she gestured for Khaya to follow her.

"One last thing, Khayzuran," Rayta said, "learn how to use a sword."

She wanted to ask why, but the Princess turned and sauntered off before she had the chance to even utter a word of thanks.

Meia led her down another, wider hallway which led to yet another courtyard. It was more intimate than the others she had seen thus far, with a solitary palm standing in the centre, encircled by a stone path. On the opposite side was a tall archway lined with intricate stucco. Everything was a shade of orange-yellow. As they stepped on to the stone path a figure in the archway came into Khaya's field of vision. It was a eunuch, dressed in the customary olive robe. His face was sharp and smooth and well groomed, feminine and delicate. His hair was an odd length, not quite at his chin but certainly past his ears.

Khaya recalled the meaning of eunuch, and blushed.

He bowed at their approach.

"Khayzuran sahiba," he said in a crisp, high voice. "Welcome. I am Zayan, your personal attendant."

Ж

Khaya's chamber was modestly sized but richly decorated, with bright tapestries, gilded mirrors and intricate stucco lining the archway that led to a small terrace overlooking another courtyard. There was a separate tiled room for private baths and a large vanity table with rows and rows of cosmetics lined up neatly. The bed was the largest Khaya had ever seen, with four posters and gossamer curtains, and thin brocade sheets. There were chests of drawers for her clothes and a large paper screen for her to sit behind if she ever needed to entertain men in her room, Zayan had explained.

"Though the only men permitted to enter this room are me and the Prince..." Zayan added as an afterthought. Khaya swallowed and carefully sat down on the bed. Meia pulled out some clothes for her and laid them neatly on the bed.

"You have already met Meia, your lady in waiting. She will serve you in any way you see fit. She sleeps in the anteroom there." Zayan pointed with his chin to the corner of the room where a thick curtain covered a smaller doorway. "I will take my leave now, sahiba." He bowed deeply, hands neatly folded at his stomach.

Khaya did not know what to do but nod slightly, as she had seen many masters do in Jorash. She looked up at Meia and smiled.

Khaya cocked her head. "So... are you to do as I command?"

Meia nodded.

"Whatever I say? No matter what it is?"

She nodded again.

Khaya's heart swelled. She did not know how to act in this position of power. Suddenly she felt a pang of guilt in her chest. Salsal and Ghatrif and their mother, worried and frantic and helpless without her, while she was here enjoying the luxuries of a noble woman.

Maybe they are doing better. I am not there chiding them constantly anymore, after all.

A whisper seemed to crawl into her ear as these thoughts passed through her mind. Khaya caught a few words without having to try.

"Prince Rehan-"

"Attacked-"

She jerked to attention. It was Yahya's voice. Her heart leapt as she tried to still herself and concentrate on the voices, but only clipped phrases and half sentences reached her ears. She opened her eyes and stared at the clothes laid out on the bed. Something shifted in her expression - a decision made. She reached for the first qamis set and matching veil - beige linen with a white border.

"Meia, do you know how to navigate the palace?" She asked, now fully dressed and covered.

She nodded.

Khaya did not want to have eyes on her, but it was better to have someone who knew the layout of such a vast and unfamiliar place than to risk navigating on sound alone. Even then, her hearing was not dependable enough. She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes, looking for the voices. Thousands of whispers flooded into her from all sides, hundreds of people chattering away, but in between them she found the one she was looking for, and held on tight.

The voice of Yahya al-Barmaki.

She looked at Meia, resolution in her eyes. "Let's go."