Page 36 of Silver Angel

“Generous!” she burst out, gaining an immediate frown from him.

“Enough,” he said softly, but with the stern authority he was known for. “You will follow me, or you will be dragged along in my wake. I would think your pride would prefer to walk.”

He was correct. She was a Burke, after all, not a sniveling coward, and she was grateful for the reminder. It was bad enough that she had pleaded with his horrid master earlier, and for what? A little modesty? There would be worse things in store for her, she was sure. But, by God, she wouldn’t beg again, not for anything.

She followed him out of the room and didn’t even blink when his personal bodyguards fell in behind her just beyond the door. She was led back outside the building into the large court where the litters had dropped her off, through an arched gate into yet another garden court, and toward a pair of iron-studded doors at least fifteen feet high.

Her step faltered as she saw the eight heavily armed eunuchs at guard outside these massive doors, intuition warning that this gateway was the last she would pass through. This was the entrance to the palace harem, and once she was beyond these doors, there would be no turning back. Chantelle Burke really would be dead to the rest of the world.

The panic that overwhelmed her had nothing to do with reason and her own wishes. She stopped dead, took a step backward, and would have run like hell if a hard chest hadn’t slammed into her back. She was surrounded closely now, two of Haji’s bodyguards having moved up on either side of her, and the one behind her shoving gently, but with enough force to get her moving again. Still, the panic was riding her hard and she would have struggled in earnest, screamed and disgraced herself utterly, if Haji hadn’t taken that moment to turn and raise a knowing brow at her, as if to remind her how futile were her efforts. There were a half-dozen hulking black men surrounding her, another eight in front of her, two at that moment opening those horrid doors.

Her backbone stiffened, but her knees felt like jelly. The eunuch behind her still had to help her along, and she realized hewashelping her take those last few steps, his hand beneath her elbow supporting, rather than forcing. And then those heavy doors slammed shut, and there was an echo, an awful, deafening echo, like a death knell. Chantelle closed her eyes, stopping, listening, aching with the knowledge that it was over. She had entered the Babylon of hell, and there was no way out.

“Does it feel easier now, Shahar?”

She opened her eyes and stared at Haji Agha. How did he know? But it was obvious, wasn’t it? She was inside. There was nothing left to fight against. She didn’t answer him. He represented the authority here. He had picked her out of a roomful of women when he could have picked any one of the others instead. Because of him she was here, owned by a man she found loathsome.

She turned around to look up into the eyes of the man who had helped her not make a complete fool of herself. He was a Nubian like the others, tall and muscular and dark as sin, but unlike the others, he had warm, amiable brown eyes; and when she smiled her thanks to him, he understood without having the words said, and flashed a dazzling white grin at her. It made her feel somehow stronger, more herself, and not quite so lost in this foreign world.

“What was his name?” she asked Haji as they moved away together, his guard dismissed now that they were inside the harem walls.

“He belongs to me, Shahar. His name is of no import to you.”

“Dammit, why can’t you just answer my question?” she replied without thinking. “You’ve got me in here. I’m not going anywhere. Is it too bloody much trouble to just answer a simple question?”

He stopped, making her plow into his back. She jumped back, realizing she might have sounded a bit impertinent. But what the hell. She was the Honorable Chantelle Burke, no matter what they called her. She might as well establish right up front that she wasn’t going to be pushed around, ignored, or remain ignorant, as they seemed to prefer their women.

“Well, is it?” she asked in a more reasonable tone when Haji turned to glower at her.

For a long moment he said nothing, and then he resumed walking, expecting her to follow, and she heard a mumbled “Kadar is his name, if youmustknow.”

She grinned to herself. “Thank you,” she allowed, to which he grunted, picking up his pace.

They moved deeper and deeper into the harem, through countless doors that had to be unlocked and then locked again, through a labyrinth of corridors, alleyways, and richly tiled hallways, down narrow stairways leading to courtyards, along colonnaded torchlit walks, and gardens where small, domed pavilions called kiosks could be seen dimly in the moonlight.

Even at this late hour they passed people along the way, mostly women, and these mostly servants, or rather the harem slaves, recognizable by their white cotton trousers and tunics, which seemed to be the standard dress of the lower menials. But there were eunuchs, too, and young boys in bright-colored outfits who, Chantelle was horrified to later learn, were castrated pageboys.

Those women who were concubines stared at Chantelle in either curiosity, hostility, or plain surprise. The servants, however, fell into an attitude of deep obeisance as Haji Agha plodded by, ignoring one and all.

“Why do they all bow to you?” Chantelle wondered aloud.

“I am the Chief Black Eunuch.”

“Really? That would make you the third most powerful man in Barikah, wouldn’t it?”

He glanced at her with a degree of surprise. “Who told you that?”

“I had a very persistent teacher on the voyage. I think he hoped I would end up here, and so he drilled me on the heirarchy of the palace. I don’t usually forget what I learn, even when it’s learned under duress.”

“Did he also teach you the heirarchy of the harem?” Haji asked.

“If you mean the caste system, in which certain women stand higher up the ladder than others, yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I’d rather not,” she replied with distaste. “It’s degrading, if you ask me, the ways of aspiring to a higher caste—”

“Tell me,” he repeated stubbornly.