Game of Queens by India Edghill Page A

walked across the room until she stood before me. Her skin gleamed like old ivory and a perfume of cinnamon and roses hung upon the air around her.
    â€œThis is the boy? But he is lovely, my lord Haman. You led me to expect a monster.” She put her fingertips under my chin, turned my head from side to side as if judging my value.
    Haman ignored her jest. “You have one last night as a man,” he told me. “What you do with this night is up to you. But one last bit of fatherly advice, Jasper—if I were you, I would not waste these hours. Remember, dawn follows night.”
    And you have another room prepared, one in which a man and a knife wait for me … Strangely cold, I did not move as Haman laughed and strode out. I heard the bar drop into place, imprisoning me in this lush chamber.
    â€”and then the gleaming, perfumed woman set her hand upon my arm. Her skin burned against mine; suddenly my whole body trembled. Then she gently made me turn until I faced her. After one swift glance, I stared at the floor as my face burned with shame and my stomach seemed to rise into my throat. I thought I would vomit.
    â€œI—I am sorry,” I managed to say.
    â€œLook at me.” Her voice was soft; I found myself obeying her command. When I did, she touched her fingers to my lips.
    â€œHush. There is nothing to fear, and I tell you now that you are not acting foolishly, my young lord.” She stroked my hair; my body trembled at her touch. “My name is Zebbani.”
    I managed to say, “Yes, I know.” For Zebbani was the most famed, most desired, most expensive courtesan in all Shushan. I had seen her once, as her palanquin was being carried past the courtyard gate of Haman’s house.
    She smiled, and somehow gave me the impression that it pleased her that I knew of her—when I considered that night later, I realized how fine an actress a courtesan must be. “Now, tell me your name.”
    â€œJasper,” I said. “My name is Jasper.”
    â€œJasper.” She made my name into a caress. “You are well-named, a treasure indeed.” She slid her hands down my arms, entwined her fingers with mine. She pretended not to notice how my hands trembled. “Now come, for the night is long, but not endless.”
    She drew me over to the waiting bed, made it easy for me to follow her down onto the silks and furs. By the time she had me half-undressed, I was more than half in love with her. My first woman.
    My only woman. Ever.
    Or so I thought on that one precious night. Now, and never again.
    But as in so many other things, I was wrong, although I did not learn that for many years, in yet another life.
    I lay there beside her and wondered if she could see how hard my heart beat. To me, each throb seemed to shake my whole body. This one night will be all I will ever have. This is the only woman I shall ever touch  …
    Then, as despair lay heavy in my bones, something spoke to me. Do not abandon hope. A task awaits you. Will you let evil thrive?
    I do not know which god or goddess chose to speak to me that night. If I did, I would build a temple of gold in that deity’s honor. Those few words strengthened me, gave me purpose.
    I will survive. I will live, and I will pay back to Haman every pain he has ever caused. I looked at Zebbani, who possessed everything that makes a woman desirable to men. My life, if I survived the knife, would be spent as less than a man—I would be seen as a safe servant and guardian of women. If I were strong and clever, I could rise high in such service.…
    â€œTeach me what pleases a woman,” I said to the finest courtesan in all Shushan. “Teach me how to make a woman happy.”
    *   *   *
    She did—and more, Zebbani taught me what I had not even thought to ask: how to please a man. I barely listened to what she said, but my body remembered, later. Sometimes I wondered just how