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more than ever, he needed to laugh.
    “Have you always been this wise,” he teased back, “or is it your age? Remember, I know how old you are too!”
    “But you are far too noble to disclose that information publicly, my lord, I am certain,” she said.
    Again he laughed, but then he grew a trifle sober and asked her, “Why do you not tell Yasaman exactly why Candra was taken from us? Does she not ever ask just what the ‘terrible news’ brought by the wise man was? She is normally as curious as a monkey.”
    “But she is still just a child, my lord, barely out of her babyhood.For now it is enough that Candra loved her and did not want to leave her. She would not understand even if I attempted to explain the truth to her. Later on when she is older and capable of more intricate thought, I will tell her precisely what happened if she wants to know. It may not be important to her then.”
    “Why did you tell her at all then, my dear one?”
    “Because if I had not, one day you may be certain someone would have. There is no way anyone would believe Yasaman was a child of your seed and my womb. It is obvious I am not her natural mother. I am plump and big-boned. My eyes are black. My skin is a wheaten-gold in color. Yasaman, on the other hand, is slender and delicately made. Her turquoise eyes give her away as the daughter of another woman. Her skin is the color of heavy cream, and her black hair, though it is as straight as yours, my lord, shines with hidden fire, even as Candra’s did.
    “There would come a day when someone, out of mischief, or jealousy, or just plain meanness, would have told Yasaman of Candra. They would not know the truth as I know the truth. Did you not order Abul Fazl, your personal historian, to erase all mention of Candra from his writings of your reign? I know that you did it because of your great pain over the matter, but others would not know that. They would try and make something unkind of it. They would hurt my child, and I will never allow anyone to hurt her! As long as there is breath in my body and strength in my arms, no one shall harm our daughter!”
    Akbar nodded, and taking her hand in his, he pressed it lovingly. “I chose wisely when I gave Yasaman to you, Rugaiya. I can remember back to when Candra came to me about how jealous Shaikho Baba was of me, for he wanted her for himself. When Yasaman was born he even suggested she might not be my daughter but the get of some Portuguese who had first taken Candra for his own pleasure. He was very angry in his deep disappointment, yet today he adores his little sister.”
    “No one looking at Yasaman could doubt she was your child, my dear lord,” Rugaiya Begum said. “The tiny mole between her upper lip and her left nostril is the twin to yours, but for its size, which is smaller; and although she does not resemble you exactly, her imperious look when she is thwarted is your look.” She laughed. “She quite cows the servants with that look.”
    “Yes,” he agreed. “I have seen it. Her fierce Tatar ancestry shows in that look.” Then he looked deep into his first wife’s eyes and told her, “You are a good mother, Rugaiya Begum. Yasaman is fortunate to have your love, to be in your care.”
    “She is the child of my heart, my dear lord. I thank God each day that you have entrusted me with her care.”
    “I am of a mind to rest comfortably this night,” Akbar answered her. “May I stay in your bed, my dearest Rugaiya?”
    “No comely maiden, my lord?” she gently mocked him.
    “Sometimes old friends are the best,” he replied, smiling at her and touching her soft cheek with gentle fingers.
    “Do you not mean old wives?” she teased him back.
    “No,” he said quietly. “You are my friend, Rugaiya Begum. I have thirty-nine wives, of which you are the first; but I have few true friends upon whom I can count. You are amongst those few.”
    “We are fortunate to have each other, are we not?” she