Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,1
to desert his court. How could a leader become so deluded?
On the morning of my first meeting with Pari, I donned my best robe and consumed two glasses of strong black tea with dates to fortify my blood. I needed to charm her and show her my mettle; I must demonstrate why I would be a fitting match for the dynasty’s most exalted woman. A thin sheen of sweat, no doubt from the hot tea, appeared on my chest as I entered her waiting area and removed my shoes. I was swiftly shown into one of her public rooms, which glowed with turquoise tile to the height of my waist. Above it, antique lusterware caught the light in alcoves and mirror work shimmered all the way to the ceiling, mimicking the radiance of the sun.
Pari was writing a letter on a wooden lap desk. She wore a blue short-sleeved silk robe covered with red brocade, belted with a white silk sash woven with bands of gold—a treasure itself—which she had tied into a thick, stylish knot at her waist. Her long black hair was loosely covered by a white scarf printed with golden arabesques, topped with a ruby ornament that caught the light and drew my eye to her forehead, which was long, smooth, and as rounded as a pearl, as if her intelligence needed more room than most. People say that one’s future is inscribed on the forehead at birth—Pari’s forehead announced a future that was rich and storied.
The princess continued writing as I stood there, her brow furrowing from time to time. She had almond-shaped eyes, forceful cheekbones, and generous lips, all of which made the features of her face appear to be writ larger than other people’s. When she had finished her work, she put the desk aside and scrutinized me from head to toe. I bowed low with my hand at my chest. Pari’s father had offered me to her as a reward for my good service, but the decision to retain me would be hers alone. No matter what, I must persuade her I had much to offer.
“What are you, really?” she asked. “I see ropes of black hair escaping from your turban and a thick neck, just like a bear’s! You could pass for an ordinary man.”
The princess stared at me in such a penetrating fashion it was as if she were asking me to reveal my very being. I was taken aback.
“It is helpful to be able to pass as ordinary,” I replied quickly. “In the proper attire, I can be convincing as a tailor, a scholar, or even a priest.”
“So?”
“It means I am equally accepted by commoners and royalty alike.”
“But surely you cause consternation among the ladies of the royal harem, starved as they are for the sight of handsome men.”
Panah bar Khoda! Had she learned about me and Khadijeh?
“It is hardly a problem,” I parried, “since I lack the tools they crave the most.”
Her smile was broad. “By all accounts, you are good at gathering intelligence.”
“Is that what you require?”
“Among other things. What other languages do you speak and write?” she asked.
Switching from Farsi to Turkish, I replied, “I speak the language of your illustrious ancestors.”
The princess looked impressed. “Your Turkish is very good. Where did you learn it?”
“My mother was Turkish-speaking, my father Farsi-speaking, and both were religious. They required me to learn the languages of the men of the sword, the men of the pen, and the men of God.”
“Very useful. Who is your favorite poet?”
I groped for an answer until I remembered her favorite.
“Ferdowsi.”
“So you love the classics. Very well, then. Recite to me from the Shahnameh.”
She kept her gaze on me and waited, her eyes as sharp as a falcon’s. Verse came easily to me; I had often repeated poems while tutoring her half brother, Mahmood. I recited the first verse that came to my mind, although it was not from the Shahnameh. The lines had often filled me with comfort:
If you are a child of fortune, every day is blessed
You drink wine, eat kabob, your skin is sun-kissed