Tears of Pearl

protected.”

“Ceyden was one of your interests, was she not?” I asked. Bezime nodded. “And she was killed. What is going on? You know more than you’re telling me.”

“My intentions with Ceyden went no further than attempting to help her catch the sultan’s eye. Not the sort of thing people are murdered over in ordinary times. Something else is going on.”

“A power struggle in the harem?”

“Not precisely. A struggle that goes further than that. Do not forget the sultan’s brother, Murat, is still alive. It is entirely possible that he would like to return to the throne he was forced to abandon.”

“And have only a low-level concubine help him?”

“She would not be noticed by anyone; no one would give her a second look or thought. She might have been spying, she might have been sent to do something far worse.”

“Assassinate the sultan?” Margaret asked.

Bezime shrugged. “It is possible.”

“Possible, perhaps,” I said. “But have you any proof she was involved in such a scheme?”

“Suffice it to say, I know there are some at Çırağan who think the harem is the way to power.”

“No, Bezime, that does not suffice. Besides, Murat would have to be crazy not to find someone in a better position.”

“My dear child, Murat is crazy. Why do you think he was forced from the throne?”

“So a crazy man sends an incompetent girl to assassinate a sultan? If this is harem intrigue, I’m painfully disappointed,” I said.

“Make no mistake. She was not incompetent. Remember that I helped raise her. She was skilled in many arts, deception one of them.”

“So what is Jemal doing at Yıldız?” I asked again.

“Watching, listening. Deciding whether I am in danger. The bowstring was a strong message. If Ceyden was involved with Murat—and I don’t know that she was—her connection to me could prove problematic. The easiest way to deal with problems is to eliminate them.”

“You’re so very confident about my own future. Can you not see yours?” I asked.

“I cannot.” Bezime met my eyes. “And it is why I have befriended you, Emily. I know that you, too, have the gift of prophecy.”

Chapter 11

“She is absolutely marvelous,” Margaret said, pacing in front of Colin, puffing on a cigar, glee filling every bit of her voice. “I’ve never seen anything so wonderful in my life. Is everyone in the harem like this? I’m nearly ready to sell myself to the sultan.”

“Yıldız is a different world from Topkapı,” I said. “If you’re going to be a concubine, you want it to be the height of the empire, when you’ve risen to power over thousands of others and are the political ally and most trusted confidante of the sultan—”

“Who never wears his silver-soled shoes when he thinks he might see you, because he doesn’t want to scare you off.”

“Stop.” Colin, amusement in his eyes, his cheeks tight with repressed laughter, clipped the end of a cigar. “You’re both diverting in ways I could never have imagined, but we must maintain some sense of focus here. Bezime essentially lives in exile. She’s got no power. The sultan did not give her a position in his harem, remember? She does not get to decide which eunuchs are sent to his palace.”

“She’s very clever,” I said. “I agree she’s without direct power, but she may have orchestrated the situation.”

“How? Abdül Hamit was very clear with me on this point: Bezime has no contact with anyone who, for lack of a better word, matters in his court. She may seem an impressive figure—and I’ve no doubt she once was one. But that day has long since passed.”

“So she’s scorned,” I said. “And hell hath no—”

“Yes, yes, fury, I know my Shakespeare. But you cannot plan assassinations, train spies, or have them assigned if you’ve no power.”

“You can, however, take advantage of circumstances. Not having been responsible for getting Jemal to Yıldız doesn’t preclude her from using him as a spy.”

“True enough,” Colin said.

“What do you make of her claims about Murat?” Margaret asked.

“I’ve spent loads of time combing through everything at Çırağan,” he said. “There’s an unquestionable mood of discontent in the palace, but it does not come from him or his harem. There are a handful of men who, if Murat were still sultan, would undoubtedly be his aides—his former vizier, for one. They’re not happy.”

“Would they enlist the aid of one of the sultan’s concubines?” I asked.

“In theory, they might,” he said, lighting a cigar and handing it to me.

“But do you think Ceyden?” The tobacco tasted rich, all nuts and moss and spice and oak.

“It would surprise me,” he said.

Margaret paced. “Why would he choose Ceyden? How would anyone at Çırağan know of her existence?”

“They wouldn’t,” I said. “Someone with status would have had to refer her.”

“Bezime could have done that,” Colin said. “Still, I’m not sure. I’m afraid she’s trying to manipulate you.”

“I would think that she, more than anyone we’ve spoken to in either palace, would want to know the truth about Ceyden’s death,” I said. “She’s the only person who seems to have felt anything approaching real affection for her.”

“Is there a solution to the crime that would harm her?” Colin asked. “Is she protecting someone?”

I swirled the whiskey in my glass. “I don’t know. But your idea that she’s manipulating us is striking. What if it’s for the most simple of reasons?” I asked. “What if it’s nothing more than her trying to seem once again important?”

“An excellent hypothesis, my dear,” Colin said. “Keep it near you as you continue your work. You’ll find that people are often not complicated in the least.”

Every inch of my body hummed; never had I known such delight. To be sitting with the man I loved, engaged in a lively discussion of our work—work in which he considered me an equal—my dear friend at my side. There are moments when all in life seems right and good.

Meg stepped into the room and announced Sir Richard, who followed close behind her. He looked a mess, fatigue darkening the already deep circles under his eyes. Margaret leapt up and poured him a whiskey after Colin had introduced her and she’d offered him her condolences for Ceyden.

“I have heard so much about you,” she said, handing him the glass. “Your life fascinates me. What stories of adventure you must have.”

“Adventures that didn’t turn out well in the end,” he said.

“I understand, and I’m terribly sorry about that,” Margaret said. “But do you ever consider the good parts now that the bad can’t be changed?”

Sir Richard froze, looking at her, and I all but cringed for him, wishing there were something I could do to change the subject, reverse her words, anything. But my angst was unnecessary. He smiled.

“A wise question, young lady,” he said, his words almost slurred. I wondered if he’d been drinking before he came to us. “And I’m afraid my answer is no, although it shouldn’t be. I thank you for pointing out this shortcoming.”

“You can’t stay forever mired in sadness,” Margaret said. “At some point, you have to let yourself live again.”