Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“It is urgent,” Bezime said. “And concerns Murat.”

He winced. “What is it?”

I paused, thinking Bezime would want to tell him, but she did not speak. “My husband is confident the former sultan is perfectly content with his situation. My husband has, however, confirmed that an associate of his is in the process of attempting to stir up trouble.”

“How so?” He crossed his arms and peered at me, his eyes all intensity.

“I can give you this—it details all he’s learned.” I passed the papers to him, thankful I’d brought them to show Bezime. “But Bezime can tell you better than anyone his approach.”

“Bezime?” His muscles tensed, and he spun on a heel, facing her and then taking a step closer. “You know something of this?”

“He’d written to me, prodding to test my loyalties.” She shrugged. “I disregarded him.”

“And you did not tell me?” His voice shook.

“It was irrelevant. I have read your chart. You have nothing to fear from him.”

He slapped his hand against the wall next to her. “That is not a decision for you to make. I should have been informed at once.”

“Forgive me. It is not always easy to reach you.”

“It would be in this sort of situation.”

“I need it to be all the time,” she said.

“Please,” I interrupted. “What’s important now is that we ensure that no one else in the harem—here or at Yıldız—has received letters from him.”

“It is all irrelevant,” the sultan said. “He will be arrested at once.”

I shuddered at the thought of the man’s fate. “But you need to know if there’s anyone else with whom you should be concerned.”

“I could—” Bezime started, but the sultan stopped her at once.

“I will deal with you later,” he said. “Leave us now.” Without the slightest hint of worry on her face, she bowed and retreated from the room.

“I do apologize for springing all this on you,” I said. “I had wanted to reach you through the proper channels.”

He nodded. “I have, perhaps, acted in haste when banning you from Yıldız. I sometimes let others have too much influence on me.”

“It was Perestu, wasn’t it? She was upset at my finding the jewelry.”

“I don’t know what troubled her and don’t suppose it matters now. Do you think I am safe?”

“I do, and my husband agrees. I hope you know that if we felt you were in the slightest danger, we would alert you at once.” I remembered Bezime’s story about them coming for her son and better understood the paranoia of the man standing before me. He was at once supremely powerful and grotesquely vulnerable.

“I expect nothing less.”

“I do think, however, that if you allowed me to return to Yıldız, I could determine fairly quickly whether this man had contacted any of the concubines there.”

“He will tell his captors after he’s arrested.”

“How can you believe him?”

“They are persuasive men and settle for nothing short of the truth.”

I hoped I hadn’t visibly cringed. “But Ceyden. What if there is a network of connections in the harem? What if he does resist your men? Is it wise to depend entirely on the confessions of one man?”

“No, Lady Emily, it is not.” He stood, watching me, silent for so long that I started to fidget. “You may return to Yıldız, but only so long as it pleases me. And you are not to foster the traitorous wishes of any of the concubines. Roxelana will not leave the harem. Is that understood?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“And if Perestu asks that you walk away from certain questions, you are to respect her.”

I wanted to protest but bit back the words. I was in, and for now that would have to be enough.

“You look happier than I’ve seen you in I don’t know how long,” Margaret said. She was waiting for me on the terrace at the restaurant in Misseri’s, where we planned to have tea with Colin. “Where have you been?”

“I, my dear, have triumphed,” I said, recounting for her my conversation with the sultan.

“Wonderful! That’s fantastic, Emily.”

“I must admit to being rather pleased,” I said, pouring milk into my tea. “I wonder what’s keeping Colin? He should have been here by now.”

“Do you think something’s wrong?”

“No, he’s undoubtedly detained questioning someone.”

I didn’t begin to worry until we’d finished our tea and talked the afternoon away. As the sun started to set, I grew anxious and went to the hotel desk to see if he’d sent a message that had somehow not made it up to us on the terrace. There was nothing, of course, but when I returned, Margaret had ordered for me a glass of port.

“Dare we speculate?” she asked.

“There’s no point,” I said. “Any fiction we write would undoubtedly be worse than reality. It will not serve to make us feel better.”

It was not until the last shards of colored light were fading from the sky that my husband appeared. He squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek but did not sit down, his face all tense muscles, his mouth tight. I looked up at him, afraid, as he spoke.

“Bezime is dead.”

We went to Topkapı at once. The trip across the Golden Horn was short, and the boat dropped us right at the palace docks. Inside the gates, all was quiet, as if nothing had happened, until we reached the entrance to the harem, where Colin handed Margaret and me off to Jemal. Colin could not accompany us but would interview the palace guards, search the outer courtyards, question servants and anyone who might have seen or heard something unusual.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said to Jemal, numbness temporarily replaced with surprise. “Has your assignment been changed again?”

“Not permanently,” he said. “A brief mission only.”

I thought I might crawl out of my skin. “Did you kill her?”

“Don’t be absurd. What century do you think it is?”

“I heard the sultan say he would deal with her later.”

“And now he’ll never have the chance. More’s the pity.”

I wondered about the bowstrings and revisited the possibility that Jemal had not received one but was instead the person responsible for sending them. If that was the case, who was to get the one he’d shown to Benjamin?

The silence was oppressive as we came closer to the valide sultan’s apartments, but Jemal did not take us into the rooms, instead continuing to walk until we’d reached the Courtyard of the Favorites. Bright moonlight bounced off the white plaster walls of the wood-trimmed building that contained apartments occupied by sultans long ago. The rows of wooden shutters were tightly closed, and the only sound apart from our steps on the cold stone floor was that of water pouring into the pool that edged one side of the courtyard.

Sprawled beneath the elegant oval arches of the path running along the sultan’s rooms was Bezime’s body, surrounded by a ring of guards and a handful of silent women. The color drained from Margaret’s face in an instant, and unable to offer much in the way of consolation, I took her shaking hand in mine as we approached the group. Violent death—the thin, reddish purple bruise on her neck identified it as such—offered those looking at the body no reassurance, no hint that a soul had found peaceful rest.

“How was it done?” I asked.

One of the guards bent down next to her and lifted a familiar object from the ground: a white, silken bowstring. I closed my eyes, tried to control my breath, knowing there was nothing that would still my heartbeat. “Did anyone witness the attack?”

Of course no one had. Nor had anyone seen or heard anything remotely suspicious. I questioned everyone present—Margaret by my side, unable to speak—but did not expect answers full of enlightenment. Could I doubt, even for a moment, that Bezime’s death had been sanctioned at the highest levels? Part of me wanted to run from the palace, not stopping until I’d found Colin and was safely ensconced in a compartment on the Orient Express. But at the same time, I felt the slight beginnings of a sensation I’d not known in many months: the unmistakable titillation that held firm its place next to the deepest fears.

Forcing myself to focus, I struggled to find anything of significance. After combing every inch of the courtyard and finding it devoid of anything that could be construed as evidence, I asked Jemal if I could question the other women in the palace. He did not object. Margaret hovered behind me, her hand pressed hard over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” she said as we waited for him to begin sending them in to speak to us. “I’m all but useless. I had no idea this would be so difficult.”

“It’s appalling. There’s no other word. But if we are to find justice for Ceyden—and now Bezime as well—we cannot allow ourselves the luxury of mourning right now. Push aside what you’ve seen as best you can and help me. When we get home, we can collapse.”

Jemal stood over us as we questioned the girls. Not surprisingly, no one admitted to seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary. And none of them met my eyes during the interviews. That futile exercise complete, I turned back to the eunuch.

“Where are the police? Have they already been through?”

“No. This is a simple harem matter. No use troubling the police.”

“So it’s an ordinary day in the harem when someone is murdered?” I asked. “Come, Jemal, I’m not so naïve. This was an execution, was it not?”

“You’ve been reading too many books, Lady Emily.”

“Is there no interest in finding out who killed her?” I asked. Margaret, still quiet, was methodically tugging at her gloves.

“The sultan will come here tomorrow, and the killer will confess,” Jemal said.