Page 42 of Silver Angel

She was pretty, with her exotic coloring and delicate features. She might not know who her father was, but he had to have been fairly light-skinned to bequeath the African girl her golden coloring and light amber eyes. And she was sweet, eager to please, and ecstatic about her new position. Chantelle had liked her immediately.

Adamma had previously worked in thehammammore or less as a maid, running back and forth from the kitchens with refreshments for the concubines who lazed the day away in the baths. It perhaps explained why her young body was still so coltishly thin at her age of sixteen, giving her a certain clumsiness. Chantelle certainly wouldn’t run her so ragged, but that wasn’t the only reason Adamma was delighted to belong to her now. Being the personal slave of one of the Dey’s concubines was a position to strive for among the slaves not so lucky to be bought to share the master’s bed.

This Adamma had happily explained to Chantelle while she was applying her makeup. Chantelle felt the girl was more luckynotto have to share the Dey’s bed, but she didn’t say so. That she would rather be a simple servant like Adamma was not going to be understood, so there was no point in trying to explain it.

Adamma had just finished removing most of the black kohl from Chantelle’s eyes when another young girl entered the room. This one was no servant, however, or so her clothes and jewels indicated. Chantelle was instantly annoyed that she had just walked in, without asking for permission to enter.

“I am here to explain sex to you.”

“You must be joking,” Chantelle said dryly, for the girl looked several years younger than she.

“This is normal,lalla,” Adamma piped up. “She will explain all things sexual to you.”

Chantelle frowned to see her sitting there avidly waiting for the instruction to begin.Shemight have to listen to this scandalous information, but sixteen-year-old virgins did not.

“You may go, Adamma.”

“But—”

“Go!”

Chantelle regretted her tone instantly, for Adamma scurried out of the room so quickly she didn’t have a chance to tell her that she wasn’t displeased with her, but with this lesson she must endure. She would apologize later. She wasn’t going to have a servant of hers living in fear of displeasing her mistress, which every other slave in the palace did. When death could be the result of such displeasure, this fear was understandable, but Adamma would learn that was one fear she need no longer have, at least while she remained Chantelle’s servant.

She returned her attention to the girl, who had plopped down on a pillow across the low table from her. Bangles clinked loudly on her wrist as she reached for a sweetmeat that Adamma had provided earlier. There was about her an air of superiority and condescension, a petulancy around the soft mouth. She was voluptuous, for all that she looked so young. She had a round, full-bodied figure that was truly on the plump side, with heavy breasts, thighs, and hips, and a thick waist. That this was supposed to be a desirable figure Chantelle found amusing. Safiye had already told her that she would have no hope of being summoned by the Dey until she gained some weight.

Understandably, Chantelle had not touched a single one of the rich sweetmeats Adamma had tried to tempt her with. She knew she had lost a considerable amount of weight since her ordeal began, and she fully intended to gain it back, but not an ounce more. Exercise was the key, and she would throw herself into it each night after she was finally alone. Let them wonder why the rich diet they had planned for her wasn’t working. She would keep her exercising a secret.

“You were expecting me, were you not?”

“I suppose,” Chantelle replied with a sigh. The soonerthiswas over, the better.

“I am called Vashti,” the girl supplied, adding haughtily, “It means ‘the beautiful.’”

She was that, Chantelle had to allow, but the girl’s attitude was rubbing her on the raw. “How nice.”

Vashti shrugged, mistaking sarcasm for a compliment, but no amount of flattery was going to endear the Englishwoman to her. She despised her already, forshehad been bought by Jamil himself, while Vashti had been purchased by his mother and had enjoyed his bed only once in the eight months since she had entered the palace harem. She was jealous of his wives, jealous of his favorites because she had not become one of them, and jealous of this newcomer who was causing such a stir of speculation.

She thoroughly resented being given the chore of instructing a virgin on what to expect in her master’s bed. She needed instruction herself, for she had obviously not pleased Jamil enough to be summoned back, but had Safiye taken that into consideration? No. She had simply snapped at Vashti to tell the English bitch what it was all about. Very well, she would tell her, and she hoped she would worry herself sick in anticipation of it as Vashti had done after that spiteful Yasmeen, her own tutor, had made sex sound so horrible.

Vashti smiled smugly, thinking about it. She didn’t know that her very lack of experience was what had prompted Safiye to choose her for this instruction; the older woman was furious with Shahar after what had happened in thehammamand the setdown she had received from Rahine because of it. If she hadn’t already given her Adamma, she would have supplied the most lazy, good-for-nothing slave she could find. Vashti was the next best thing, for the girl’s spitefulness and jealousy were well known.

Chapter Twenty-three

The moment Derek entered his new bedchamber, he tossed off his turban and heavily jeweled caftan. Omar, following him, smiled to see him shed the unaccustomed raiments of the role he had finally assumed.

“It was a successful diversion, will you not agree?” Omar remarked.

“Oh, ho,” Derek snorted. “For someone who argued as loud and long against it as you did, you’re sounding mightily pleased now.”

The diversion had been Derek’s idea, and Jamil had gone along with it, though Omar had not. But it had worked splendidly, with Derek appearing in the outer court as Jamil, ostensibly to examine his new matched pair of Thoroughbreds, long enough to gain the notice of everyone present so that Jamil, dressed in the same burnoose that Derek had worn when he’d entered the palace, could slip out the main gate unnoticed.

Just showing himself was all that was necessary to be the immediate center of attention, for it had been months since Jamil had appeared in public. But Derek had gone one better, mounting the white stallion and spending nearly an hour putting him through his paces, to the delight of the surprised crowd, and thereby allowing Jamil ample time to reach the harbor and the ship that would take him to Istanbul. But this also gave any would-be assassin the opportunity to kill him, if any were fanatic enough to try it with so many guards about. None were, and Omar had nothing left to complain about.

But he did redden slightly at the reminder that his dire predictions had been proved wrong, and he defended himself. “Itwasdangerous, and I still say another diversion could have been staged without your involvement.”

“Yes, but this one served more than one purpose. Jamil made it safely out of the palace, the public got a good look at the Dey’s beardless appearance, and the assassins have valid proof now that their target is still in residence. Besides, it assured that no one would follow Jamil if they decided he looked worth following, which was a distinct possibility if I hadn’t been on display as a distraction.”

“True, true, all true,” said the Grand Vizier with a sigh.