Page 39 of Silver Angel

All things considered, she should have felt rather intimidated. She might have if Rahine had reacted as Safiye did when they first arrived, but she didn’t. Her tone was moderate, with about as much feeling in it as her expression.

“Is that what she is?” Chantelle asked. “My warden?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And you?”

“I am Jamil Reshid’s mother.”

Chantelle waved a hand impatiently. “No, I didn’t mean that.”

“If you want to know what power I have, my dear, it is absolute. I rule the entire harem, in concert with Haji Agha, of course. My son’s wives, his favorites, all his women, are ultimately under my care.”

Chantelle had already heard from Safiye that Rahine was all-powerful. She supposed what she had wanted clarified was the meaning of “under my care.” Safiye might be her warden, but Rahine would have the last word on anything important. No wonder Safiye had suggested she make friends with her.

But Chantelle couldn’t quite see herself doing that. There was a coldness about Lalla Rahine much like her son’s. They were indeed cut from the same mold, these two. And if he was a cruel, heartless wretch, what was his mother, who had raised him?

While Chantelle was thinking this, Rahine was casually inspecting her from top to bottom, and what she saw confounded her completely. She might not be close to Jamil anymore, but she knew his tastes in women better than anyone, and there was nothing about this girl that would have attracted him. She was nothing but skin and bones. Hollow-cheeked and hollow-bellied. Allah’s mercy, was the girl sickly? And she was blond. There was not a single blonde among his many women, and not for lack of availability. Jamil’s preference was redheads, but any color would do as long as it wasn’t blond. Of the three blondes Rahine had bought for him over the years, each had been promptly gifted to someone else. And she knew why. It hurt, but she couldn’t deny it. He disliked blondes because she was a blonde.

She was more confused about this girl now than before she had seen her. Sheelah had been able to supply no clue. Aside from the fact that Jamil had stopped sleeping with her recently, due to a restlessness that was plaguing him at night, his affections for her hadn’t changed at all. So why had he chosen this girl? Or was she not for himself?

Rahine would have struck her palm to her forehead if she had been alone. Of course! The girl could be intended as a gift for someone, perhaps even to be included in the yearly tribute to the Sultan. That would explain everything.

As her confusion passed, Rahine began to see some possibilities in the girl. She had exquisite features. That was undeniable. Good bone structure, graceful movements, a certain pride in the way she held herself so erect, but that was not a bad thing. And with a strict diet, her figure could be enhanced, made desirable. Blondes were prized by other men here. Yes, she could be a beauty of both face and body, a gift worthy of the Sultan.

“You’re English, aren’t you?” Rahine asked suddenly.

“And here I thought my French was superb.”

Rahine actually smiled. “Your wit is refreshing, child, but be careful whom you bestow it on. Few Muslims have a sense of humor that would appreciate what is very near impertinence.”

Talk about a subtle scolding. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now Safiye will supply you with a personal servant, and a tutor will be provided to begin your training. I would suggest you apologize to Safiye first, however, or she is likely to find the most lazy slave in the harem to attend you. Give her this.” Rahine reached into a pocket and withdrew a small pouch of coins. “A few coins should appease her present annoyance with you. Keep the rest for when they’re needed.”

“A bribe?”

“Bribery is a way of life here that has gone on so long that the empire cannot operate without it. It is no different in a harem, though we look on it as the ‘obligatory gift.’ You do not visit someone without bringing a little token. If you want something done, you must pay for it.”

“Then how do I see about getting a solid door with a lock on it to replace those curtains?”

Rahine grinned, a remarkable occurrence, though Chantelle didn’t know it. She almost wished this English girl would be staying. There was another in the harem, but she didn’t possess this lively wit that brought back memories of home.

“You don’t, my dear, not in this court anyway. Doors with locks on them are found only in the court of the favorites, where the women have earned the privilege of having a little privacy.”

And they still paid for it, with their bodies. Chantelle would have to resign herself to no doors. There was no point in making an enemy of this woman by letting her know of her abhorrence for this place—or her son, at least not until it was absolutely necessary.

Chapter Twenty-one

“Idon’t believe it!” Rahine exploded.

She shot to her feet and began pacing about the Chief Black Eunuch’s coffee room, one of numerous rooms in his suite, located near the harem gate. But it was a small room, not really designed for agitated pacing. The marble floor was polished and slippery. And the low divan and round table took up much of the space.

She gave up when her shin bumped the low table and spilled coffee onto the tray of uneaten baklava pastries next to Haji Agha’s water pipe. He made no comment when she rejoined him on the divan, even though this display of emotion was quite unlike her.

“Well?” she demanded. “Tell me I misunderstood you!”

Haji smiled. This was the fire of the young Rahine whom he had befriended more than thirty years ago, not the calm, unruffled control of the most powerful woman in Barikah.