"My father would never have condoned this."

"Boaz," Pez said mildly. "This is precisely how your father's throne was won and held."

The Zar had not expected this and gave a soft sound of surprise. "I never knew that."

Pez shrugged. "It's hardly something he was proud of and it was something he deliberately asked that his own sons be shielded from until his death came about. You are Zar now and your mother can't keep the harsh realities of life from touching you."

"You sound as if you support her," Boaz replied sourly. Pez said nothing and the Zar looked appalled. "They're my brothers," he appealed.

"And would be your murderers if the shoe were on the other foot. Boaz, don't be naive. Every wife in the harem thinks the same way as your mother. The Valide is doing what she must to protect you and Percheron's throne."

"She is doing this for her own chance at power!"

The dwarf shook his head sadly. "Your father chose you for succession. She only dreamed it. He made it so."

"Why can't I rewrite the history books and magnanimously send them away?"

"And watch your back forevermore? No, child, they each have a rightful claim to the thronea"the older ones every bit as eligible as youa"and you might not think so now, but each of those boys is your enemy. Their mothers would see to it."

The new Zar made a sound of anguished disgust. "I cannot be there. I will not witness it!"

"You must!" Pez countered equally firmly. "Or you will be viewed as weak."

"So be it!" Boaz shouted, slamming his hand onto the table. He regretted the raised voice and his tone softened to a plea. "Save me, Peza"don't force me to bear witness. I cannot."

The dwarf was torn. He understood the young man's fear and felt sorry for him, but conspiring against the Valide Zara would be tantamount to treason and he had no desire to have that charge leveled at him, especially with Herezah searching for any excuse to have him killed, or at the very least banished from the palace. He began to shake his head when an idea struck him. It was unpleasant but effective, and hopefully without repercussions.

"Hold out your arm."

"What?"

"Do it."

Boaz obeyed, nervously. "Only Lazar and I know the real you, Pez. Everyone else thinks you're demented."

"And you've never told the truth. Why not?"

"Because you're my secret. The only thing truly mine that my mother can't spoil or interfere with. I don't share it because you're true; there is no one else I trust in the way that I trust you."

Pez smiled and his collection of odd features seemed to blend and becomeanot handsomea"not by any stretcha"but suddenly right. The warmth and beauty in his smile revealed his heart.

"There will be, son."

Boaz frowned, confused. "Who?"

Pez burped theatrically for his answer and Boaz had experienced the dwarf 's evasive tactics enough times to know he would get nothing more from his friend on the subject.

"This is going to hurt, Zar Boaz, but not nearly as much as watching your brothers die."

The new Zar instinctively closed his eyes.

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?" Herezah growled at Tariq. "Today of all days!"

She'd donned an exquisite black tunic over matching silk trousers, presumably her mourning garb, but no one could miss how the cut of the outfit showed off her sensuous figure. Even in grief Herezah intended to take everyone's breath away.

To the Vizier's credit, his somber expression did not falter at the outburst. "Pez found him, Valide Zara. Apparently Boaz had been running to find the jester when he fell and sustained the injury."

Herezah made a sound of disgust at the Vizier's pointless explanation. "I worked that out for myself, Tariq." Her eyes blazed anger as she turned toward the Spur. "Spur Lazar, what do you have to say about thisasituation?"

"Pez fetched me when it happened. I could see that Boaz's arm was broken and I sent for one of the city physicians immediately. I didn't have much choice, Valide," Lazar said. He did not wish to anger her further by reminding her that it was she who had called for the palace physicians' deaths to be carried out immediately.

The men had died bravely. They had said their prayers and written notes to their families before kneeling calmly in the execution courtyard and together chanting the mantra to send their souls safely to the Garden of Zarab.

Lazar would not permit the palace soldiers to handle this sort of killing. He had assembled a small team of executioners to carry out any deaths ordered by the royals or their agents. In this instance two experienced men had arrived quietly to stand behind the physicians. A third, the most senior man, gave the signal when the mantra had been cast. The executioners had reached a blade around each victim's throat and expertly slashed the jugular. It was not pretty but it was swift and it was honorable. The heads were later fully severed but would not be pushed onto spikes until the Valide gave permission for the city to learn of the Zar's passing.

"Well, I've sent the city physician away," Herezah said, exasperated. "Yozem will take care of Boaz. We shall need to hire a new team of physicians for the Zar."

"As you wish," Lazar murmured, still wondering at the senseless waste of life. The dead doctors would have made fine physicians for Boaz.

"Nothing is as I wish," she replied acidly. It was galling to know that Boaz would not be present, but having seen the gray-faced Zar sweating from the pain of his damaged arm, she knew it was impossible. Yozem had already mixed the pain-relieving opium paste, including the crushed dust of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies accorded royalty, although, from now on, Boaz would take his opiate in the gilded tablets prepared for the Zar alone.

"If not for Peza"" Lazar began, but the Valide cut across his words angrily.

"Yes, yes, if not for Pez! If I didn't know he was so feebleminded, I could almost believe he works against me." Both men made noises of gentle admonishment, which she ignored. "What have people been told?"

Lazar answered. "They know only that the Zar is injured and that he is with his physicians. No one knows of Joreb's death yet."

Herezah nodded, seemingly no longer interested. "So is everything ready, Tariq?"

"As ordered, Valide. Salmeo is with them."

Herezah knew Lazar would find her latest scheme heinous but he would hide his disgust behind that irritating mask of his face. Hoping this man would ever show any emotion seemed a lost cause. The gods knew she had been trying long enough. Why he intrigued her so much she couldn't say; perhaps it was his very remoteness that made her yearn to be able to reach him. All her life men had looked at her with lust, but this man hardly looked at her at all. And when he did, she felt as if he were looking through her. She hated him for that; it was a worse kind of humiliation, insulting her far more cruelly than being wanted purely to satisfy fleshly desires. Even a kind word beyond the courtesies he was bound to show would be something to cling to. Still, she thought, with no small measure of satisfaction, everything had changed as of this morning. It was obvious Lazar knew it too, which would explain his reluctant manner. Good. It was high time he had his feathers ruffled.

"Your men will secure the area, Spur Lazar. I trust I can count on them to be discreet?"

He bowed his head in acknowledgment but not before she saw the unhappiness flit across his face, so briefly that anyone else might believe they had imagined it. But not Herezah. She knew the planes and nuances of that face as well as she knew her own; had imagined herself touching it often enough, kissing those angry lips, staring into those furious silver-gray eyes.

"Validea"" Lazar started.

"Don't," she warned. "I will not be swayed. It is the only way to protect Boaz. You know that as well as anyone. Now, where are the women?"

"At the pools, Valide," the Vizier answered.

She turned away from Lazar to make sure he understood who was controlling the reins of power now. Boaz might be Zar but his mother was the ruler. She allowed herself to watch the Spur from the corner of her eye, though. No need to waste any opportunity to feast on the looks of a man who genuinely fueled her own desire. Zarab knew there was no other man around her who could. Too long had she had been forced to serve the whims of Joreb: old, fleshy Joreb and his strange sexual habits. And then of course there were the half men, the eunuchs, with their soft tongues, who illegally satisfied many in the harem, but not her. She found them repulsive. As for finding solace in another womana"she felt her stomach twist at the thought, although she knew that a number of the odalisques and wives took their pleasures in one another. She scowled to push the notion away. Lazar alone made her heart pound.

"Good. And the wives?" she asked her Vizier.

"Salmeo arranged for them also to go swimming this afternoon, Valide. It is such a warm day. Everyone but Ameera took advantage of his opening up a long-unused gate to the Sapphire Pools."

She raised an eyebrow in response. "He is spoiling them," she said, pretending not to notice Lazar's grimace at her condescension. "And Ameera?"

"Unwell. Confined to her quarters."

"Set a guard upon her." The Vizier nodded. Herezah continued: "So to the boys."

"At the Lion Fountain," Tariq confirmed. "Salmeo is meeting them."

"We're ready, then." She turned to the Spur and leveled a flinty gaze at him. "Wipe that scowl from your face, Lazar. You take your commands from me now, and as distasteful as you find this, your men will see it done properly."

"Yes, Valide Zara." The words were dutiful but she heard the contempt; saw it flash angrily in his eyes. Still her cold heart leaped, enjoying that ferocity in him, and yes, the defiance. He was the only man in Percheron who wore his face clean-shaven, save the youngsters waiting desperately for stubble to show as their voices deepened. But Lazar was no adolescent and he deliberately wore no beard with pride. The nakedness showed his firm jaw; he wore his dark hair loose and longer than any Percherese dared, and that, she knew, was another refusal to relinquish his independence. No jewels or adornments for Lazar either. No, she admitted, he was dazzling enough.

Too many of the harem's women committed hours of conversation to what it might be like to bed Lazar. Not once had he shown the usual foibles of men, and fallen for their charms, though. To do so was an offense of the highest order, of course, and would have meant instant execution.

Love it was not; Herezah would be the first to admit it, but she desired him with an irresistible passion, and she was the only woman of the harem who could now compel him to do her bidding. It would make for interesting times ahead.

"Good," she said, hoping her cheeks were not as flushed as they suddenly felt. "Let's finish it."

THE PRINCES of the harem wives, ranging in age from fifteen to just seven moons, were rounded up after midday, the baby seized from his wet nurse. It was she who set off the alarm with her terrible wails. She couldn't guess what might be occurring but she instinctively went running for the Sapphire Pools and the child's mother. The news of the snatching set the wives screaming as the reality of their fragile existence became clear. The Zar must have succumbed to his injuries, and that could mean only one thing. Why else would the baby be taken so carelessly? Clambering out of the pools, they ran wildly in the direction of where they had last seen their sons, their eunuch servants throwing cloaks over bared flesh in a desperate attempt to protect the modesty of these women who were not permitted to show their faces, let alone their naked bodies.

But it was already too late for the mothers. Their lions were gone, vanished away to a secret place from where they would not returnanot alive, anyway.

THE GRAND MASTER EUNUCH had quickly overcome any reservations he harbored at the Valide Zara's orders. He should not have been surprised at her choice of action and regretted his subtle warning of earlier. Never again would he underestimate Herezah, certainly not now that she held his future in the palm of her hand. Oh, how the tables had turned!

Life had been near perfect for him with the old Zar. No one, not even calculating Salmeo, could have foreseen the accident that had ended the Zar's life. A fall from a horse, of all things! And Joreb such an accomplished horseman. He had been showing off for his sons; two men on horses charging toward the same flag stuck in the ground. Joreb had run the same race countless times, had gleefully wagered five of his prettiest odalisques against that crimson flag. And he had won this time, but paid handsomely with his life. Who could have known he would slip off his saddle as he reached down to grab the prize? Or that the other horse would arrive not even a full second later, without any opportunity to avoid trampling the Zar's body so viciously that he would never recover from the massive internal bleeding?

Salmeo sighed. All was not lost. He was still the most powerful man within the palace next to Boaz, despite what that ambitious Vizier might believe. His wealth was so vast and his influence so far-reaching that Salmeo feared no one. No one that is, except Herezah.

He must ingratiate himself swiftly. They'd had their differences but Herezah was not a foolish woman. Better the devil you know, as the old adage said. He could count on her knowing how to play the game; it was why today she was Valide Zara. He admired her in spite of their mutual distrust. They were similar creatures: both prisoners, both wildly ambitious, both with sufficient survival instincts to beat their rivals.

Perhaps they could start again and she might let the past remain just that? He had hurt her physically and emotionally, but that was life in the harem, she knew that, all the women did. If she would permit him to work with her, together they would be a formidable pair supporting the Zar. Boaz was still so young, it would be up to Herezah to run the realm for him. Oh yes, initially she would rely on Tariq, but soon she would need Salmeo's influence and he would ply it gladly.

He would start by pleasing her with today's event. It was regrettable but necessary. No one appreciated the need for absolute supremacy more than Salmeo. He thought about the harem and the great pity that it would be dismantled. It was one of the finest selections of women in several centuries, and he had had each woman in it in her place.

The sound of approaching children pulled Salmeo from his thoughts. It was time. He hoped Herezah would appreciate the symmetry between the old Zar's injuries and the spectacle he had hastily planned for the execution.

Salmeo met the youngsters in a long-unused pavilion. The slaves, who had been given their sorrowful orders, herded the boys toward the huge Grand Master Eunuch. Salmeo took the baby into his own arms and placed the infant in a crimson velvet sack.

"Is this a game?" one boy asked eagerly.

Salmeo's scar twisted as his mouth widened into a grin, revealing his massive pearly teeth. There was a gapa"as wide as a child's fingera"between his front teeth that never failed to fascinate in a macabre way, for his tongue would flick in and out of the hole and cause a lisp to his speech. "That's right, my prince. It's a new game we've devised just for this afternoon."

"What's it called?" another boy yelled, cheerfully climbing into his own velvet bag.

"It's called Trample," Salmeo replied in his effeminate, lisping way. "Now hurry, boys."

Giggling and pushing at one another, the boysa"even the eldesta"managed to wriggle into their sacks.

"Now we're going to tie you in," Salmeo warned, keeping his voice light. "Just loosely," he lied.

He nodded and the slaves obliged, securing the children tightly into the velvet pouches.

"Everyone be still now," the fat eunuch warned. "The Zar will be present," he added untruthfully, as an unnecessary threat.

Each velvet bag with its precious cargo was picked up by a eunuch slave and carried to a large pond that had been drained of water. Within moments, however, the baby began to cry and this set off some of the smaller boys, who had tired of the heat and the dark of the bags. The game wasn't fun anymore.

4.

Herezah did not need to be veiled within the privacy of the harem courtyards or, indeed, anywhere that was considered the realm of the harem proper. Nonetheless, she wore a piece of silken gauze draped over her head. She knew those present would think it was a sign of respect but her intention was to hide her expression. It was precaution only; Herezah had little doubt that she would handle the spectacle with grace, unpleasant though it was bound to be.

Salmeo had sent a unit of his eunuchs to carry a silken canopy to shade her from the sun, a special honor that symbolized the new royal she had become today.

Striding unhappily behind her was the Spur. She felt sure Lazar was angry by nature. He was abrupt and distant with everyone except Boaz and the hated dwarf. Those two alone won amusement, even the spark of friendship. She knew Lazar had liked Joreb and there had been a closeness between them, but they had not had much to do with each other in recent years as the Zar had slumped into a lazier lifestyle. His slide into more carnal activity had disappointed the Spur, or so she guessed. It was just another reason, she was sure, for Lazar's fury at the world.

He was young to be head of Percheron's security. Joreb had admitted as much one night after she had satisfied his latest in a line of curious fetishes.

The Zar had been relaxing in the pleasant stupor that usually followed a long session of sexual release. Her work was not done, though. Herezah, then just an odalisque, had offered to massage the Zar's spent body into sleep. She always preferred him in this mood, when his mouth was as relaxed as the rest of him.

Herezah took her chance. "Tell me about the Spur."

"Lazar?" Joreb asked in a lazy voice. "What a find he is for us. He was a prisoner, actually."

Herezah knew from Lazar's looks that he was a foreigner. No Percherese had such light eyes or that aquiline nose, the sharp angles to their face.

"Where is he from?" she asked, intrigued.

"Guess," the Zar suggested playfully.

"I cannot, High One. I am not experienced in lands beyond our shoresaI know only life in the palace."

Joreb reached under his silk pillow and slowly withdrew the lightest of sapphires. A smile stretched across his mouth. "If you guess right, this is yours."

She paused in her massage and looked at her Zar somberly. "I don't want jewels, High One."

"What is it you want, then, Herezah, my ambitious slave?"

She hated that word. Odalisque was bad enough but at least it sounded pretty. Nevertheless her expression did not betray her feelings. "I want the status of Zaradine."

And he had laughed with genuine pleasure. "I knew it. Wife you shall be, then, if you guess correctly."

"And the sapphire?"

"Is yours anyway for amusing me."