Silver Angel (22 page)

“But—”

“Your word, Shahar, or you don’t leave me now.”

“Nothing has changed,” she told him plainly.

“I did not think it had, but you will come here anyway, and we will see what happens. Your word?”

She bit her lip in indecision, then finally nodded. This brought his hand to her cheek for a soft caress and an even softer warning. “Save your fighting for me, little moon. If you have not noticed, I have accepted the challenge.”

When she rushed from the room, it was with a certain degree of dread, but something else as well. She wasn’t ready to admit it might be anticipation.

C
hantelle couldn’t work up much interest in her new “prison cell.” She now had two rooms instead of one, and both were three times larger than her previous cubicle. Very nice, she supposed, with Rhodian tiled walls and marble floor in the anteroom, where large pillows surrounded a low table. There was even a little fountain in the center of the room, and latticed windows facing a large court of pink marble.

In her bedchamber, she had a rose canopied bed instead of a pallet, and a large chest already filled with a dozen of the skimpy outfits she thought of as underwear. There were shelves behind a lacquered screen for her cosmetics, oils, and perfumes, and a magnificent Turkish carpet of crimson and gold covering most of the floor. Here there was another window, this one overlooking the walled-in garden of the favorites, where a larger fountain gurgled among beds of carnations, tulips, and dark purple lilies. A jasmine shrub just below the window allowed the sweet scent to drift in with the breeze.

She had been brought here directly from Jamil’s apartment, where Kadar had again been waiting for her out in the hall. She had been too ashamed to look at the giant eunuch with his battered face that she was responsible for, and so hadn’t really noticed where he was taking her until she stood in the doorway of her new abode. Adamma was there beaming at her, but so was Haji Agha, so Chantelle didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in being brought here.

It was Kadar who enlightened her. “This is yours now,
lalla
, as am I.”

Chantelle whirled around to see him grinning from ear to ear. A gambit of emotions crossed her own features, guilt on seeing the evidence on his face and arms of the violence she was capable of, anger that Kadar could be given away so easily, suspicion as to the reason, and finally amusement, for his grin was so infectious, she couldn’t help but return it. But only for a moment, and only Kadar was treated to her brief smile.

Haji Agha got the brunt of her suspicion. “Is this true? Does he belong to me now?”

The older eunuch nodded hesitantly, taken aback by her feral tone. He was unused to such directness in a society that insisted on the exchange of pleasantries before any discussion, no matter how serious. And he certainly had never before been attacked when a concubine was informed of her improved status in the harem.

“You are not pleased?” Haji stated the obvious.

Chantelle waved her arm impatiently. “What has that to do with anything, when it’s never before mattered if I was pleased or not? I want to know why you’re giving Kadar to me.”

“It was Jamil’s wish,” he replied simply.

“His wish? Oh, of course,” Chantelle sneered. “How foolish of me to forget that your great master can do anything, even force you to give away your own slaves.”

“I was well compensated,” Haji tried to tell her.

She was quick to snap, “Good for you.”

Haji shook his head at this attitude. “If you don’t want Kadar—”

She cut him off. “You still haven’t told me why he’s been given to me.”

“Every favorite has her own personal eunuch. You must know that by now.” He said this with surprise.

Chantelle surprised him further. “I’m not a favorite, Haji.” She was too angry to address him with the respect he was due. “I know how things are done around here, and I know that no concubine can aspire to be a favorite until she has first—” Embarrassment nearly choked her. “Suffice it to say I don’t meet the criterion yet.”

“Then you haven’t—”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I thought surely this morning—” He stopped at the emphatic shake of her head. “This is amazing,” he added incredulously.

“Hardly,” Chantelle snorted. “You’ve been presumptuous, is all.”

“Not quite, Shahar.”

She didn’t like the obvious pleasure he found in contradicting her. “I’ve told you—”

“It doesn’t matter. You are here because Jamil ordered me to move you here. You are now his first
ikbal
, regardless that you have yet to share his bed. It is unusual, certainly, but we do not question the Dey’s wishes.”

“And if I don’t want to stay here? No, forget I asked. I’m sick of being told I don’t have a choice.” In the midst of her rancor, another thought occurred to her. “If Kadar belongs to me, then I can set him free, can’t I?” That Haji
and
Kadar both shouted, “No!” simultaneously made her cringe. “Oh, for God’s sake, all right. Where did I get the ridiculous idea that I could do something
I
wanted to do?”

“
Lalla
, if you don’t want me, Haji Agha will find you another.”

She turned to Kadar and felt ashamed that her mood, which had nothing to do with him, had wounded him. “No, Kadar. If I must have my own eunuch, I’m glad it’s you, honestly I am, though I don’t see how you could be pleased about it.”

But he was. His renewed grin told her that. And Haji seemed pleased now, too, as he took his leave of them, no doubt thinking he had weathered this storm without too much damage.

Chantelle tried to hide her dissatisfaction when Adamma insisted on showing her everything, bubbling over with her own enthusiasm. But Chantelle simply wasn’t interested in her new apartment. She couldn’t help concluding that Jamil was too confident, that he had put her here because it was just a matter of time before she did in fact give in to him. Hadn’t he told her he had accepted the challenge? But the wretch fought dirty. He was letting the whole harem think her defloration was a fait accompli, for who would believe that he would elevate her status before he had actually bedded her?

“The only things you do not have that the wives have are an extra room or two and your own private garden,” Adamma was telling her happily. “
This
is the best apartment in the pink court. Mara herself had it.”

“And what happened to her?”

“She was moved back to the court of the
gozdes
. And what a fuss she made!” Adamma giggled. “But there is room here for only six favorites.”

“So she was the least favorite but had the best room,” Chantelle commented skeptically.

“Mara had enjoyed her position just recently, but
because she served a purpose, she was given special treatment and got whatever she demanded.”

“What purpose?” Chantelle asked, only to have Adamma turn away and try to change the subject. She was having none of that. “What purpose, Adamma?” The young girl was still reluctant to answer. “Must I ask Jamil’s mother?”

“No! You mustn’t do that. Lalla Rahine never approved of Mara.”

“Well, then?”

Adamma bent her head. “Her—Mara, that is—her nickname is ‘the whipping post.’”

Adamma expected that to explain it. It did. “The…you mean Jamil beats her?” Chantelle gasped.

“Not him,” Adamma said quickly, and then was slow to add, “But his mutes do.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?” Chantelle exploded. “Does the girl cause trouble?”

“Not at all,” Adamma assured her. “She is just peculiar in that she gets no pleasure out of sex without some form of violence done to her first.”

“That is preposterous!”

“It’s true,
lalla
. She goes to the Dey smiling and comes back smiling. The bruises mean nothing to her. My mother says it is because Mara’s first experience with a man was violent, but she still found pleasure in it.”

“You mean with Jamil?”

“No. Mara was raped by the slave master who brought her to Barikah.”

“But I thought all of Jamil’s women were virgins when they came here.”

“Mara was still a virgin,” Adamma replied. “She was raped in a different way.”

The image that arose didn’t bear thinking of. “But Jamil still has her beaten before he—before—”

Adamma nodded, saving Chantelle from finishing. “She cannot experience pleasure otherwise. And the Dey only summons her when his mood is terrible. She is happy and his anger is relieved. So you see the purpose she serves? His bad moods are not taken out on his other women, and Mara gets what she wants, too.”

“It’s despicable,” Chantelle said, but quietly.

“But who is hurt by it,
lalla?
”

No one, apparently, though Chantelle couldn’t help being appalled. Yet she had no business being surprised. She had seen with her own eyes that having a woman beaten was nothing to Jamil. She was almost grateful for the reminder of how cruel he could be. Forgetting that had made her dangerously enjoy his embrace this morning. But no more.

“Lalla?”

“Yes?”

“You will now be able to select three more slaves for yourself. If I may suggest—”

“Wait a minute,” Chantelle interrupted in surprise. “Who said I am to have more servants?”

“It is customary.”

Chantelle frowned at the girl. “You heard me tell Haji Agha that my being here defies custom, Adamma. I have not
earned
, shall we say, any special privileges, nor do I intend to.”

“You mustn’t say that,
lalla
. If the Dey stops summoning you, then we will be moved back with the unimportant concubines.”

From the look on Adamma’s face, that move was to be avoided at all cost. Chantelle understood the girl’s desire to remain here. When a concubine moved
up, her servants also advanced in the hierarchy of the slaves. But the servants didn’t have to deal with the Dey. She wished Adamma could understand her desire
not
to remain here.

“Lalla Shahar?”

Would she get no peace today to son out this new situation. Chantelle turned, glowering at the newcomer who stood framed in her doorway. She had not seen him before, but he was undoubtedly a eunuch, for no other type of men were allowed in the harem, servants or not. Only this man was fair-skinned, and looked very important in his flowing fur-trimmed clothes and high turban.

Through the windows she could see several
ikbals
standing out in the court watching him. They were unable to hide their curiosity. Neither could Adamma. Kadar had also reappeared and stood directly behind the fellow, but Chantelle detected no curiosity in him, merely a watchfulness that disturbed her for some unknown reason.

“What is it?”

The man bowed formally. “I come from Jamil Reshid.” He extended his hands, on which rested a thin rosewood box at least a foot square in size and rimmed in mother-of-pearl. “With the Dey’s compliments,
lalla
.”

Chantelle was still frowning as she took the box, but that was nothing compared with her scowl when she opened it. Inside, and spread out on white velvet to show off every single gem, was a two-tiered necklace of amethysts, with a single jewel the size of an acorn right in the center. It was a necklace every bit as magnificent as the sapphire one she was still wearing, and undoubtedly just as valuable, what with the
enormous size of that purple-hued stone in the middle.

What had Jamil told her? That such a necklace was for a woman who gave birth. So what was he doing honoring her with such a gift? The first assumption she had made this morning was obviously correct. The Dey was going to try to buy her affections now.

She started to hand the box back when the servant said, “There is also a message,
lalla
, if you will allow me. The Dey said to tell you, ‘With your own jewels, you are less likely to forget them, but…’” The man’s brow knitted, his eyes closed, his teeth clamped down on his lip, and then his eyes popped open as he finally remembered. “Oh, yes! ‘But I hope you will continue to forget them.’”

Why should that message bring color rushing to her cheeks? No one understood it except her, but she was afraid she understood it too well. Was this Jamil’s way of telling her he knew she hadn’t really objected to their last intimate embrace? How could he know?

Chantelle did thrust the box back now, only to find the messenger gone.

I
t wasn’t long before word ran through the harem that Chantelle had been chosen for tonight. It came as little surprise to anyone, since it was customary for a new favorite to be summoned several days in a row, sometimes longer. What was speculated about was why she hadn’t become a favorite the first time she had visited the Dey, for only a select few knew that she hadn’t lost her virginity then. Only those same few knew she still hadn’t lost it, but this was not information they wanted bandied about.

If Chantelle thought no big to-do would be made over her this time, she was mistaken. She was still escorted to the
hammam
, this time under the supervision of Lalla Savetti, a Serbian of middle years who was Mistress of the Pink Court. Haji Agha was there waiting with several of his eunuchs, obviously taking no chances. Kadar also accompanied Chantelle, though she had to wonder whose side he would be on if she happened to panic again. But she wasn’t panicked, at least not where it showed. And she had given her word to Jamil. She
had
to go through the extensive preparations and be presented at his door. After that was another matter.

Unfortunately, the baths were not empty this time. It was early yet, and from what Chantelle could see when she first entered, it appeared the entire harem was present in the main chamber, or very nearly so. And unlike Safiye, who was reserved in her manner, Lalla Savetti was the exact opposite, and nothing
would do but that she introduce Chantelle to the other favorites, as well as to Jamil’s three wives.

Chantelle was utterly unprepared for this meeting. She had seen a few of the favorites before in the baths, but to see them all together, for Savetti called them over to her, was enlightening and disconcerting. They were every bit as beautiful as could be expected of the elite of the harem. One had black hair, one had dark brown, but the other six had red hair in a multiple of different shades. It wasn’t difficult for her to conclude that this color was Jamil’s preference. Glancing about the rest of the room revealed more than half the women present were also redheads.

These eight women were extraordinary, making Chantelle feel inferior, washed out, and plain dowdy by comparison, not to mention sickly. Her body seemed like a stick next to theirs. Not one of them was the least bit fat, just depressingly curvaceous. And she had never seen so many jewels in all her life as sparkled on these eight women, even in the baths, for God’s sake.

It was fortunate that there was no time to chitchat, for Chantelle felt completely tongue-tied in their presence. It wasn’t that she detected any animosity, not even a little jealousy, which might be expected. They were in fact all friendly toward her, including Noura, the black-haired one with the sultry dark eyes to match her glorious mane. Noura’s attitude might be suspect, but the others seemed to genuinely want to welcome Chantelle into their little group.

She didn’t know how to relate to that. They obviously loved Jamil and were selflessly willing to share him with one another. What could you say to women like that?
I think you’re crazy. How can you love such a beast?
Not one of them could empathize with her.

But she was rescued by Haji’s remarking on the lateness of the hour and then whisked off for the full treatment. She didn’t know if she had gone through this last night unaware, but this time she wasn’t only bathed, shaved, and shampooed, but massaged, oiled, and perfumed, too, as well as having her teeth polished, her gums inspected, her nails dyed, and her breath sweetened. They would have attacked her hair and face if she hadn’t called a halt, insisting Adamma would attend to the hairdressing and cosmetics.

Haji had to give in to her wishes, since she was being so cooperative. Chantelle knew he was expecting trouble from her, perhaps had planned for it, but he didn’t know she had given her word, and she didn’t feel like relieving his mind by telling him so.

When she returned to her room, the Mistress of the Wardrobe was there waiting with a new creation of rose- and shiny silver-striped “underwear.” Chantelle did protest this time, for she had already chosen a much less revealing outfit from her own new clothes, but she was informed quite haughtily that what she possessed was too ordinary for a visit to the Dey, that her clothes were to be worn only in the harem. It wasn’t worth arguing over, especially after she requested a caftan to complete the costume and was reluctantly granted it. She could merely sigh when it was fetched, and it turned out to be so transparent it was barely noticeable.

The color of this outfit, Adamma pointed out, matched her amethysts perfectly, and Chantelle had to wonder if her morning gift wasn’t known to everyone by now. She had intended not to wear Jamil’s jewels. She wished now that the thief she had heard about who had been stealing items of value in the harem had paid her a visit today, because when
Adamma brought the necklace and everyone stood there waiting to see how Chantelle looked in it, what could she do? It would be breaking her word to make a scene, but she’d be damned if she would give her word again.

She was almost ready to go when Rahine showed up. She was surprised that the older woman dared to face her, or did Rahine not know that she was aware she had overstepped her authority by having her punished?

“If nothing else pleases you, Shahar, are you at least happy to have a door now that is quite solid and lockable?”

“You are correct, madame,” Chantelle allowed. “The door is the only thing here that pleases me.” Adamma was still fussing with her hair, but Chantelle waved her away and waited until she was alone with Rahine before asking, “Did you know that Jamil didn’t want me punished?”

Not a muscle moved on Rahine’s porcelain features. “I didn’t know then, but I do now. Why didn’t you tell him?”

Chantelle used the excuse of her hand mirror to avoid those green eyes. “What makes you think I didn’t?” she asked offhandedly.

“We would all have heard the results of his temper if you had. You aren’t going to tell him, are you?”

The question was asked with such confidence that there was no point in denying the truth. “No.”

“Why?”

“I would just as soon have stayed in the kitchen, if you must know. No harm was done.”

“Stayed in the—? Do you hate him that much?”

The incredulous tone snapped Chantelle’s temper. “I don’t want to be his next whore!”

“My dear, you could never be that,” Rahine said gently. “No concubine could when she is restricted to only one man’s attentions. But you must know that Jamil already prizes you. He breaks customs for you. He appears obsessed with you in every way. Can you truly find no tender feeling for him?”

“Why do you do this?” Chantelle cried.

“Because I live for his happiness. What else do I have to live for?”

Oh, God, how pathetic. Chantelle couldn’t stay angry with the woman after hearing that. “Can’t you go home? Why do you lock yourself away in here when you don’t have to? You’re his mother. He wouldn’t keep you here if you wanted to go, would he?”

“No, but I have nowhere to go. This
is
my home now, Shahar. Jamil, his children, his women, they are my family. This is my life. There is nothing for me anywhere else.”

“You’re not an old woman. You could still find another husband.”

Rahine smiled at that. “I can do that here, Shahar, if that is what I want.”

Chantelle gave up. “Very well, so you like it here. Kindly accept the fact that I don’t and never will.”

“I wonder if you will still feel that way, say, a week from now.”

Rahine didn’t wait for a reply but left Chantelle alone to wonder what could happen in a week that might change her mind. It didn’t take much intelligence on her part to guess. Rahine was warning her that Jamil’s patience wouldn’t last any longer than that. So be it. She had known, deep inside, that he would
get his way eventually, one way or another. She knew her days were numbered. But she would still hold out to the bitter end, and her feelings weren’t going to change when that end came.