“Was she successful?”

“She was an accomplished artist, though a terrible musician. She could speak French fluently—something the sultan finds enchanting—and wrote maudlin poetry.”

“Did he favor her at all?” I asked.

“He might have come to. But I kept her from him. The sultan cannot risk having children like her. It would threaten the very empire.”

I opened my mouth to protest, having read scores of stories about the cages, as they were called, in which the crown princes grew up, not allowed to learn anything that might make them competent rulers—competence would threaten the sultan, compromise his political stability. This was a dynasty in which rulers for centuries had murdered their own brothers upon ascending to the throne in an attempt to secure their own positions. The immature behavior of a traumatized child paled in comparison.

“You are skeptical, I see,” she said.

“I admit to feeling that it stretches credulity, but I’ve no reason to doubt your veracity.”

“It is essential the sultan know that he can depend upon my judgment. I have in front of me scores of girls when you include the slaves in the harem as well as the wives and concubines. I choose for him the best. Ceyden was not that. You may not agree with my decision, but your opinion of the matter is irrelevant.”

“Quite right. Please do not think I am questioning your actions.” Alienating her would not benefit me in the least. “Did Ceyden know her situation was hopeless?”

Perestu shrugged. “I did not deliberately hide my feelings from her. But her persistence knew no bounds. The day she died she brought me a scarf embroidered with the most intricate detail I’ve ever seen—flowers and birds all in gold and silver thread against a red background. I collect such things.”

“Did you feel she was insincere in her affection for you?”

“Affection? Her generosity was entirely self-serving, but there was a charm about her, a certain naïveté. She did not understand the art of bribery.”

“Did she try to influence anyone else?”

“She had a friendship with Jemal that grew too close.”

“I met him at Topkapı. Does he work at both palaces?”

“He was sent to Topkapı because of Ceyden. As I said, they’d become too close.”

“Who forced him to move?”

“I am valide sultan,” she said, smiling. “No one in the harem balks at my orders. It is as if they are law.”

“Why did Ceyden’s friendship with Jemal concern you?”

“Because I didn’t trust either of them.” I opened my mouth to ask why, but she did not let me speak. “And for now that is all there is to be said on the topic. It does not, I assure you, have any bearing on the matter at hand.”

“Did Ceyden make any other attempts to circumvent you?”

“There would be no point.”

“The sultan never makes a selection on his own?”

“He could, of course, but petty amusement is far from his top priority. He has an empire to run, Lady Emily. He already has children and their mothers to contend with.”

I tried to squelch the judgment rising through me. Children and their mothers, yet still in need of petty amusement? For a moment, I wished I could return to my romanticized view of the harem. Candor, I decided, was my only option. “Perestu, forgive me. This is all so very foreign. I cannot imagine sharing my husband.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Only a few months.”

“A short time, and you are very young. But this is not relevant.”

“I suppose not. I’m only trying to better understand Ceyden’s situation.”

“The harem is a world of its own. She wanted to climb to the top of it. I would not let her.”

“Are you glad she’s dead?”

“Her existence made no difference to me. It was, occasionally, amusing to watch her unschooled attempts at seduction.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t close to the sultan?”

“No, only to Jemal. She loved him.”

“But the eunuchs...” I was now full in territory that repelled, fascinated, and confused me.

“Are not true men,” she finished for me. “Quite right, but some of them are men enough.”

A thousand questions leapt to my lips, but I could not bring myself to ask a single one. “I didn’t—”

“You are unused to this sort of openness. Such subjects are not forbidden to women here, Lady Emily. Ceyden was not entirely incapable of using her charms, limited though they were, to her advantage.”

“Could Jemal wield influence with the sultan?”

“He would like to think he can influence me.”

“Is he right?”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“Who was watching Roxelana and me in the park? One of the guards?”

“We’ve covered quite enough for today.” She gave me a narrow smile and left the room.


I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing slaves and concubines, many of them stunning Circassians, the stuff of harem legend in Western tales. These women, brought from the Caucusus Mountains to be sold in Constantinople, were treasured for their beauty—pale, luminous skin, mesmerizing bright eyes, and lustrous hair, blond or dark. Everyone to whom I spoke agreed Ceyden had done whatever she could to gain Abdül Hamit’s notice, but her lack of success in doing so kept her from threatening the positions, or desired positions, of her compatriots. The similarities not only in substance but in verbiage of what they told me made it apparent that someone had coached them, and well. Only a handful of them spoke much English, so Perestu translated for the rest. I had no idea whether she accurately reported to me what they said.

“Jemal must be subjected to extensive questioning,” I said to Colin as we sat on the balcony outside our bedroom that evening. The view stretched nearly to Topkapı in the south, the hills of the city piling on top of one another as they rose from the Bosphorus. Houses and buildings formed a dense tapestry above the waterline, flat and peaked roofs obstructing all but more roofs behind them, as if each were vying for a superior view. Far to the north was the Black Sea, and a steady stream of ships—barges, feluccas, caïques, and yawls—moved towards it, well out of our sight. “As for the women, it’s all too well organized, too orchestrated. I can’t decide whether they’re hiding something or just afraid.”

“Afraid?” Colin asked.

“Whoever killed Ceyden could strike again. Perhaps the girls are afraid of drawing attention to themselves.”

“They’d be better served by allowing you to gather as much information as possible. How else will this man ever be stopped?”

“How can you be sure it’s a man?”

“It’s difficult to strangle someone,” Colin said. “More likely that a man would have the strength for it. I don’t know that a woman could do such a thing with her bare hands.”

“Hideous.” Not wanting to dwell on the details, I mentally flipped through the catalog of women to whom I’d spoken and determined that each was far too delicate to pull off the task. “So we need a man in the harem.”

“I’d say they could use several men in the harem.”

“You’re dreadful, and I’m going to ignore you.” I let my eyes rest on his just long enough to fill my head with all sorts of visions about which I could do nothing at the moment.

“What of the other women?” Colin asked. “Did Ceyden have any particular friends?”

“None who will admit to it.”

“They undoubtedly want to distance themselves from her, regardless. Avoid any guilt by association.”

“Guilt?” I asked. “Ceyden is the victim in all this.”

“True. But the status of these women depends entirely on their relationship with Perestu, and the sultan, if they’re lucky enough to have won his favor. The reputation of her friends may have been tarnished by Ceyden’s violent death.”

I frowned. “Yes, but why not admit the relationship to me? Surely Perestu already knows. She keeps careful track of everything that happens in the harem.”

“A harem that shelters no secrets?” He drew on his cigar. “I’d be thoroughly disappointed if I could bring myself to believe it even for an instant.”

“Did you learn anything of use today?”

“I went back to Çırağan and spoke to Murat. Excellent prison, the palace.”

“And is the former sultan discontented?” I asked.

“He did not seem so,” Colin said. “Spends much of his time listening to music and watching plays. Enjoys his children. The stress of ruling did not agree with him. That does not, however, mean that those around him would not prefer to take a more active role in the government.”

“Could they be plotting a coup?”

“It’s unlikely. The sultan has a spy in the household—the chief black eunuch in Murat’s harem. He’s as thorough a man as I’ve ever met and isn’t likely to miss something on that scale.”

“What about something smaller?” I asked. “A plan that looks on the surface like nothing more than standard harem politics?”

“The discontent I felt comes from the men around Murat.”

“You’ve not been in the harem.”

“No, but the chief eunuch was adamant about there being no trouble there, and I believe him. Those women stand no chance at advancement, and there’s surprisingly little intrigue other than petty gossip.”

“You’re certain?”

“I shall continue to press him for information, but my own efforts will be focused elsewhere in the palace.” He rolled the cigar between the tips of his fingers. “And what about you? Will you search for concubines who were close to Ceyden?”

“Enemies, my darling man, are even more fascinating than friends, don’t you think? I want to find out who despised her.” I rose from my chair and stood in front of him. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”