"Where's he now?"
"You won't see him any more. But he's still here. He'll have food sent to us. He loves me like a daughter, and he's happy when I am. And he knows now you make me happy. But you mustn't see him here again, even know that he's here. It would be too dangerous for you. Perhaps someday, if we're all still alive."
He took her face in his hands and held it up to him. "You have as much strength as anyone, including Samad. And I want to get you away from here before your strength makes you do something foolish. I love you more than my own life."
"And I love you. Like I've never loved anyone."
"Not even the Great Moghul? When you were in his zenana?"
She laughed. "You know that was very different. I was scarcely more than a girl then. I didn't know anything."
"You learned a few things somewhere." He remembered the night past, still astonished. The way she had . . .
"In the zenana you learn everything about lovemaking. But nothing about love." She rose and took his hand. Together they walked to the open portico of the palace. Around them the red pavilions were empty in the early sunshine. The morning was still, save for the cries of the green parrots who scurried across eaves and peered down impassively from weathered red railings and banisters. His gaze followed the wide arches, then turned to her dark shining hair. He reached out and stroked it.
"Tell me more about it. How did you learn Turki?"
"In the zenana. We had to learn it, even though Arangbar speaks perfect Persian." She turned to him. "And how did you learn to understand it?"