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hands whose long nails were dyed a rose color.
    “I’ve never seen a çubuk ,” I said, sitting across from her, almost envious of the gorgeous gown she wore, a concoction of sky blue silk and tulle cinched at her tiny waist, puffed sleeves bursting from the fitted bodice. Only her hair kept her from looking like a perfect Western fashion plate.
    “So you are Emily Hargreaves. Lady Emily Hargreaves?”
    “Yes.” I smiled. “And you are Bezime?”
    She ignored my question. “I am not one to waste time on things lacking significance. You know of the murder that occurred last night?”
    “Yes. I was there when—”
    “Ceyden and I were close. I knew her when she first came to the harem. She was difficult then. Wouldn’t speak to anyone.”
    “I can well imagine that. She must have been terrified. To have been stolen—”
    “Sultans, Emily”—my name sounded exotic on her tongue, “ Aimahlee ”—“do not steal women. Yes, she was taken from her family and sold into slavery. But the noble Ottoman who bought her did her no harm. She wasn’t well. He had her cared for, and when she was healthy, he gave her to the sultan as a gift. It is a great compliment for a girl.”
    “To be forced to live as a slave?” I asked.
    “Do I look to you like a slave?” She narrowed her eyes and held up her arms, the heavy gold bangles on her wrists clanging together. “I have more freedom than my English counterparts.”
    I smiled. “You’ll find I’m no proponent of the restrictions placed on my fellow Englishwomen. I’m well aware of the limitations of my society.”
    “I did not come to the harem as a child. I worked in a hamam —a bath—in the city. Mahmut—he was the sultan then, Mahmut the Second—saw me carrying linen from a laundry across the street. My beauty enchanted him.” She drew deeply on her çubuk . “And I was brought to the harem, where I became his favorite, and I gave him a son. And when that son was made sultan, I was valide sultan, the most powerful woman in the empire.” She leaned forward again. “Tell me, Emily Hargreaves, can an English girl, working for a living, aspire to someday marry the Prince of Wales and give birth to a future king?”
    I pressed my lips together hard. “No. She could not.”
    “The lack of enlightenment in your country is unfortunate. I cannot see how women bother to live when they have no hope of advancing their positions.”
    “There’s a certain amount of advancement possible, it’s simply that—”
    Before I could finish, she dismissed my statement with a wave of her hand. “What they can hope for is insignificant. And the loss of hope . . .” She turned away, then looked back at me, meeting my eyes. “There is nothing worse than the loss of hope.”
    “You’re right.” My skin prickled discomfort. “Why did you send for me? Because of Ceyden?”
    “Yes. I am told that your husband will investigate the murder. But he will find no solutions outside of the harem.”
    “And he cannot come into the harem. We’re well aware of that. It’s why he sought—and received—permission for me to—”
    She laughed. “Do you think, Emily, that I do not already know everything you do? You are to be set upon us, asking questions. That is not why I have summoned you here.”
    “Then why?”
    “I have decided to offer you my allegiance. My support. Without which you will flail and accomplish nothing. Did you even know I was here? That this graveyard for the previous sultans’ women existed?”
    “No. I confess I did not.”
    “And do you know that Murat, the sultan’s cast-aside brother, has a harem of his own at Ç?raan Saray?, the palace that is his prison on the shores of the Bosphorus? And that the dealings of the women in both these locations must be considered if we are to find and punish the person who ended Ceyden’s life?”
    “You speak as if you have an idea as to the identity of the guilty party,” I said.
    “Ideas, perhaps, but