"Was that where the Moghul first saw you?"
"Of course. Arangbar came to visit all the stalls, riding around on a litter that some Tartar women from the zenana carried, surrounded by his eunuchs. He would pretend to bargain for the handiwork, calling the women pretty thieves, but he was really inspecting them, and the daughters they'd brought. I was there with my mother, and I wore a thin silk blouse because my breasts were lovely." She paused and looked at him hopefully, brushing a red-tipped finger across one nipple. "Don't you think they still are? A little?"
"Everything about you is beautiful." It was all too true. As
he looked at her, he told himself he much preferred her now to how she must have looked at fifteen.
"Well, I suppose Arangbar must have thought so too, because the next day he sent a broker to pay my mother to let me come to the zenana."
Hawksworth paused, then forced nonchalance into his voice. "Did Shirin, or her mother, do the same?"
"Of course not." Kali seemed appalled at the absurdity of the idea. "She's Persian. Her father was already some kind of official. He was far too dignified to allow his women to go to the mina bazaar. The Moghul must have seen her somewhere else. But if he wanted her, her father could not refuse."
"What eventually happened to you . . . and to her?"
"She became his favorite." Kali took out her betel leaf and tossed it aside. "That's always very dangerous. She was in great trouble after the queen came to Agra."
"I've heard something about that." He found himself wanting to hear a lot more about it, but he held back. "And what happened to you after you entered the zenana?"