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Authors: TASHA ALEXANDER
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sultan.”
“And what of his opinion?”
“Men’s opinions are oft en not worth considering.”
I could not help but laugh at this. “Does he know you feel this way?”
“I make sure of it,” she said. “For a very long time, the girl was not happy here. As a child, she was skittish and unpredictable. I understand this is to be explained by the violent manner in which she was taken from her parents, but we knew nothing of that until Sir Richard told her story after the murder. I am sorry for what she suffered, of course, but her inability to rise above it confirms I was correct about the flaws deep in her character.”
“She saw her mother murdered and was then kidnapped.”
“Yes. And was then taken extremely good care of and brought to the most spectacular palace to be found on earth. She was pampered, doted on, educated, given every luxury.”
“Did she have any memory of what she’d been through?”
“Not at all. We think she was around five when she came to us—a gift from a noble family. They’d bought her from traders, I suppose, and had her in their household for at least two years. It is not unheard of to present the sultan with such a girl—it is an honor. She didn’t speak English until Bezime taught her, and if I remember, she had a difficult time of it. It was strange—she seemed to have an affinity for languages, but English always troubled her. She all but refused to speak it.”
I pressed my lips together hard, thinking of the little girl pulled away from her dying mother. “Surely that was because she remembered something of her past?”
“She was a proud girl and knew she hadn’t mastered the language. It came as no surprise that she would avoid showcasing a weakness.”
“Did she come to find a comfortable place here?”
“Eventually. As she got older, she began to enjoy the politics of the harem, and she did everything in her power to catch the notice of my son.”
“Was she successful?”
“She was an accomplished artist, though a terrible musician. She could speak French fluently—something the sultan finds enchanting—and wrote maudlin poetry.”
“Did he favor her at all?” I asked.
“He might have come to. But I kept her from him. The sultan cannot risk having children like her. It would threaten the very empire.”
I opened my mouth to protest, having read scores of stories about the cages, as they were called, in which the crown princes grew up, not allowed to learn anything that might make them competent rulers—competence would threaten the sultan, compromise his political stability. This was a dynasty in which rulers for centuries had murdered their own brothers upon ascending to the throne in an attempt to secure their own positions. The immature behavior of a traumatized child paled in comparison.
“You are skeptical, I see,” she said.
“I admit to feeling that it stretches credulity, but I’ve no reason to doubt your veracity.”
“It is essential the sultan know that he can depend upon my judgment. I have in front of me scores of girls when you include the slaves in the harem as well as the wives and concubines. I choose for him the best. Ceyden was not that. You may not agree with my decision, but your opinion of the matter is irrelevant.”
“Quite right. Please do not think I am questioning your actions.” Alienating her would not benefit me in the least. “Did Ceyden know her situation was hopeless?”
Perestu shrugged. “I did not deliberately hide my feelings from her. But her persistence knew no bounds. The day she died she brought me a scarf embroidered with the most intricate detail I’ve ever seen—flowers and birds all in gold and silver thread against a red background. I collect such things.”
“Did you feel she was insincere in her affection for you?”
“Affection? Her generosity was entirely self-serving, but there was a charm about her, a certain naïveté. She did not understand the art of bribery.”
“Did
“And what of his opinion?”
“Men’s opinions are oft en not worth considering.”
I could not help but laugh at this. “Does he know you feel this way?”
“I make sure of it,” she said. “For a very long time, the girl was not happy here. As a child, she was skittish and unpredictable. I understand this is to be explained by the violent manner in which she was taken from her parents, but we knew nothing of that until Sir Richard told her story after the murder. I am sorry for what she suffered, of course, but her inability to rise above it confirms I was correct about the flaws deep in her character.”
“She saw her mother murdered and was then kidnapped.”
“Yes. And was then taken extremely good care of and brought to the most spectacular palace to be found on earth. She was pampered, doted on, educated, given every luxury.”
“Did she have any memory of what she’d been through?”
“Not at all. We think she was around five when she came to us—a gift from a noble family. They’d bought her from traders, I suppose, and had her in their household for at least two years. It is not unheard of to present the sultan with such a girl—it is an honor. She didn’t speak English until Bezime taught her, and if I remember, she had a difficult time of it. It was strange—she seemed to have an affinity for languages, but English always troubled her. She all but refused to speak it.”
I pressed my lips together hard, thinking of the little girl pulled away from her dying mother. “Surely that was because she remembered something of her past?”
“She was a proud girl and knew she hadn’t mastered the language. It came as no surprise that she would avoid showcasing a weakness.”
“Did she come to find a comfortable place here?”
“Eventually. As she got older, she began to enjoy the politics of the harem, and she did everything in her power to catch the notice of my son.”
“Was she successful?”
“She was an accomplished artist, though a terrible musician. She could speak French fluently—something the sultan finds enchanting—and wrote maudlin poetry.”
“Did he favor her at all?” I asked.
“He might have come to. But I kept her from him. The sultan cannot risk having children like her. It would threaten the very empire.”
I opened my mouth to protest, having read scores of stories about the cages, as they were called, in which the crown princes grew up, not allowed to learn anything that might make them competent rulers—competence would threaten the sultan, compromise his political stability. This was a dynasty in which rulers for centuries had murdered their own brothers upon ascending to the throne in an attempt to secure their own positions. The immature behavior of a traumatized child paled in comparison.
“You are skeptical, I see,” she said.
“I admit to feeling that it stretches credulity, but I’ve no reason to doubt your veracity.”
“It is essential the sultan know that he can depend upon my judgment. I have in front of me scores of girls when you include the slaves in the harem as well as the wives and concubines. I choose for him the best. Ceyden was not that. You may not agree with my decision, but your opinion of the matter is irrelevant.”
“Quite right. Please do not think I am questioning your actions.” Alienating her would not benefit me in the least. “Did Ceyden know her situation was hopeless?”
Perestu shrugged. “I did not deliberately hide my feelings from her. But her persistence knew no bounds. The day she died she brought me a scarf embroidered with the most intricate detail I’ve ever seen—flowers and birds all in gold and silver thread against a red background. I collect such things.”
“Did you feel she was insincere in her affection for you?”
“Affection? Her generosity was entirely self-serving, but there was a charm about her, a certain naïveté. She did not understand the art of bribery.”
“Did
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