the passageway sounded to me as loud as an army of soldiers sent to hunt me down and kill me.
It seemed like a long time had passed before I heard footsteps above me. I paused, hot with nerves. Fareed could easily have told soldiers to wait at a distance from the pavilion. I listened for voices and footsteps in vain until I had no choice other than to proceed. Lifting the tile gently, I stepped outside, leaving the passageway uncovered in case I had to run. Tiptoeing into the next room, I said, “Salaam aleikum.”
Fareed jumped to standing. “By God above! You are a jinni.”
“Were you successful?”
“The servant who opened the door was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. I thrust the box into his hands, and he took it without asking any questions.”
“All right, then. Let’s go.”
“Where is the rest of my money?”
I handed him a bag, which he stuffed in an inner pocket of his robe. Pulling a long cloth out of my robe, I covered his eyes. I walked him around the pavilion to try to make him lose his bearings, guided him down into the passageway, and quietly replaced the tile.
“Hold on to the back of my robe,” I said.
“It smells of death.”
“Don’t worry, I will lead you.”
“Is this a grave?” he said, his voice rising with panic.
“Of course not.”
“I don’t believe you!” he cried. “I will see for myself.”
He let go of my back and, after a moment, began to shriek. “I can’t see! I can’t see! You have thrown me into a hole.”
He was yelling so loudly I was afraid he could be heard aboveground.
“Choke yourself!” I commanded. “We can’t walk out through the palace gates in full view of the guards, can we? Now grab my robe and hold on so that we can quit this place.”
He began reciting passages from the Qur’an about protection from evil, and I felt his hand on my back again. It was trembling, and I knew he had understood the enormity of what we had done. I tried to soothe him.
“There are horses waiting for you,” I said. “Your work is finished, you are rich, and you will soon be free. I envy you.”
More verses issued from his lips, but he grabbed the back of my robe, and we stumbled slowly through the dark.
“I don’t like this at all,” he said. “How can it be right to kill? Is God already punishing me for my role in this?”
“Of course not. All you have done is deliver a box,” I said. “And what else are we supposed to do? Shall we act like sheep until we all get murdered?”
“May God protect us,” he murmured.
“Listen,” I said. “Let me tell you a famous story. Once, long ago . . .”
I began telling him a tale from the Shahnameh, throwing in the actual lines of poetry where I remembered them, to soothe his nerves. To my relief, the tale worked its magic. Fareed stopped whining and seemed eager to follow the thread of the story.
When we finally reached the end of the passageway, I covered my body in a chador and my face with a picheh and led him outside into the small park. Nearby, I saw the groomsman waiting with two horses, just as Pari had promised. Fareed couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a run. I accompanied him to the Tehran Gate and made sure that he left the city.
The princess’s face beamed like the sun bursting out between the clouds. Her gaze warmed me to my very core, making me feel that all my hard work was worth it. I knew not to speak until she sent Azar Khatoon out of the room for tea and dates.
“All is in order,” I said simply.
“Did anyone notice the lack of a seal?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.”
“Fareed?”
“Gone. He is so frightened I don’t think he will ever leave the imprint of his foot in Qazveen again.”
She let out a long, deep sigh. “May God always keep you safe.”
We discussed our movements during every hour of the last two days and agreed that if either of us were challenged, we would say she had been in her rooms writing letters to her female allies at other courts.
“The Ottomans still haven’t sent an emissary to congratulate Isma‘il on his coronation,” Pari said. “It is such a breach of protocol that I need to write to Safiyeh Sultan, Murad III’s wife, to express my concern about maintaining the peace treaty, and naturally I will also