Tears of Pearl

“But he stopped feeling that way for her, did he not? And why was that?”

“I couldn’t begin to tell you.”

He stood and began to pace in front of the doorway, the movement having a dizzying eff ect on me. “She is cut from all decisions, all events of importance. Is that not a precarious position?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “A lonely one, but not dangerous.”

“She was closer to Ceyden than anyone else, raised her like a daughter. Groomed her to please the sultan.”

“Only to have her efforts thwarted by Perestu.”

“Precisely.”

“But isn’t that typical court behavior? Are not all the concubines competing for favor? It’s hardly surprising that the valide sultan would refuse to aid the cause of the one woman who might have had the position she occupies. Perestu must know full well that the sultan could have named Bezime valide.”

“I have said too much. It would be best for us all if you would cease your questions.”

“Please—” A door in the corridor swung open, Bezime standing, arms crossed, on the other side.

“Go, Jemal,” she said. “I will handle this.”

The eunuch bowed deeply to her before disappearing. Bezime beckoned for me to come in, closing the door behind me with only the slightest click as the latch caught the edge of the frame.

“Come,” she said. “I will take you to where it is safe to speak.”

We wound our way through narrow corridors and series after series of connected rooms, until we were outside of the harem, in a courtyard. Then through an ornate gate, another courtyard, and into a tiled pavilion. She sat in the center of a low divan covered with buttery smooth crimson silk that ran the length of the wall and motioned for me to join her. Despite the sun streaking through the open windows, candles flickered in the tiled nooks that lined the walls, illuminating nothing but the space immediately around them.

“I must ask you about Jemal. He says—”

“I cannot speak of him right now.” Her voice was a shredded whisper. “I’m being threatened.”

“Th reatened?”

She did not reply, but removed a small package from the folds of her skirt. With gentle hands, she untied the frayed purple bow wrapped around it, letting the well-worn fabric fall away from the object it encased, a dark blue velvet bag. From within that, she took a thin white cord. “Bowstrings like this were for uncountable years used by the bostanji, the sultan’s most trusted guards and executioners. It was with these that anyone who threatened his throne—especially members of his family—was killed.”

“Who would send you such a thing?”

“It must have come from Yıldız,” she said, stretching the string in her hands, then laying it flat on the table in front of us. “No one elsewhere would presume to use such a thing.”

“When did you receive it?”

“Not twenty minutes ago.”

“Who at Yıldız would wish you harm?”

“That is no simple question to answer. Perestu, I suppose, is an obvious suspect.”

“How so?”

“I used to be valide sultan. Perhaps that threatens her.”

“Forgive me, but you’re not any longer—surely she feels her role is secure.”

“I’m still able to communicate directly with the sultan. She may not like that, particularly as she knows it is not difficult for a woman skilled in the mysterious arts to wield a certain amount of control over a man so full of fear.”

I sat silent, skeptical of her claim of control, particularly as she’d been sent to Topkapı as an elegant banishment.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“What sort of official power did you have before coming here but after Perestu had been named valide sultan?”

“I had no title, if that’s what you mean. But it is unusual for any concubine to be allowed to stay in the harem after her sultan no longer rules. I had the respect of every resident of the palace.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I had no choice. Perestu wanted me to go.”

“Which makes her an unlikely candidate to have sent the bowstring. She’s got you where she wants you.” I touched the silk, my fingers flinching at its cool smoothness. “Have you heard of anyone else receiving such a thing?”

“Never.”

“Could it have to do with your connection to Ceyden?”

“You think the killer wants me next?”

“I don’t know. Would there be a reason for him to?”

“Ceyden and I were close, as you already know. I did all I could when she was young to educate her, to train her to be everything that might please the sultan. She was a smart girl—eager to learn. Took to languages with no effort, except English. Her voice always had a seductive lilt to it—perhaps a hint of her lost British accent.”

“I never thought of a British accent as seductive,” I said.

“Here.” She passed me her pipe. “You have not thought it so because to you it has nothing of the exotic. The ordinary cannot be inspiring.”

“It is this knowledge, I imagine, that brought you to the center of attention in the harem.” Surprised by its sweet taste, I drew smoke deep into my lungs—too deep—and was overwhelmed with a burst of coughing. Bezime laughed.

“You are unskilled in this art.”

“Smoking? Yes,” I said, still stuttering with continued coughs.

“Yes, that too.” She took back the çubuk. “But I refer to the exotic. Seeking it, finding it, capturing it.”

“We were talking about Ceyden.”

“If you insist, we can return to that subject.”

“I’m afraid we must.”

“Then your lesson in the exotic must wait for another day. Your husband would not be pleased to know your priorities.”

“Oh, he’s perfectly pleased.”

“You answer too fast,” she said. “But I will allow you your misguided thoughts.”

“I’m not sure I should thank you,” I said, and watched her force a thin stream of silver smoke through lips stretched wide in a smile. “Back to Ceyden, though. Perestu made it exceedingly clear that she kept the girl away from the sultan. Am I correct to suspect you helped her gain access to him?”

“I did.”

“And it caused a rift between you and Perestu?”

She shrugged. “There are so many rifts. We all fought for our survival in the harem.”

“But what of your stories of freedom?”

“I was free to fight for it. Concubines who are successful must be able to charm both the sultan and the women around them. It is only once you’ve reached a high enough status—given birth to the sultan’s child—that the necessity of alliance begins to fade. I do not think there is a man alive who would not have wanted Ceyden. But the other girls hated her.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. I saw in her a brightness that appealed to me. And I was already old, had gained everything I wanted, stood to lose nothing by playing.”

“Playing?”

“I wanted to see if I could circumvent Perestu and elevate Ceyden’s status. Sadly, it did not work.”

“When were you sent away from the harem?”

“Shortly after Ceyden spent the night with the sultan. Perestu did not appreciate my endeavor.”

“Perestu seems to think Ceyden has never so much as spoken to Abdül Hamit.”