Panther's Prey by Doreen Owens Malek

almost unchanged since the day she had arrived at Orchid Palace as Kalid Shah’s purchase, the latest addition to his harem. Then the quarters of the valid pashana had seemed as exotic and foreign as an opium den: the caged birds, the gilt mirrors, the inlaid furniture and hand painted jewel chests, the ornate rugs and plush hangings the pathetic evidence of mere indulgence. Now Sarah saw that they were the accessories of a life, the life of a woman who had been raised with one goal, to please a man. In the tenth decade of her existence Kosem still dressed every day in the full costume of a harem woman, the cashmere and silk shalwar, the embroidered waistcoats and jeweled curdees , the high heeled pattens and satin yeleks with immense hanging sleeves slashed with crimson and gold. Her jewel collection was rumored to rival that of the Sultana and she inspected the pieces regularly, sending anything dirty or damaged to the palace artisans for cleaning or repair. She still wore the yashmak , the face veil which exposed only eyes and forehead, when she went outside the palace.  
    And she still asked permission of her grandson to enter a room, for he was her pasha, and a man.
    It was true, Sarah thought, as she rose and rang for the servant to return and watch over the sleeping Kosem.
    The world was changing, and the valide pashanawas too old to change.
    There were tears in Sarah’s eyes as she left the room.
    * * *
    When Malik arrived back at the rebel base with Amy on the horse before him, his men came from everywhere to watch their progress through the camp. There was a silence as they dismounted and Malik led her, hands bound and head down, back to his tent. When he emerged soon afterward Anwar was waiting for him.
    “What is it?” Malik said.
    “We have to talk,” Anwar said.
    “What’s happened?” Malik demanded.
    Anwar led him away from the camp where they walked through the trees as Malik learned of Moamar’s visit and the article in the British newspaper. Malik took the paper from Anwar’s hand and scanned the article quickly.
    “Well?” Anwar said.
    “She’s a relative of Kalid Shah’s wife,” Malik said thoughtfully, remembering Amy’s words at the campfire. So there was some truth in what she’d said.
    “His wife?” Anwar said.
    “Yes, he’s married to an American, and this girl is a ward of the wife’s cousin. She was coming to stay with the cousin in Constantinople when we took her.”
    “That’s good news!” Anwar said eagerly. “Forget the slave traders, we can make a ransom demand of the pasha, he’ll be able to afford much more than Halmad. Five thousand at least!”
    Malik said nothing.
    “Don’t you see?” Anwar persisted. “Kalid Shah is immensely wealthy, he has a fortune in European investments made by his father before his death. Shah doesn’t need to be Pasha of Bursa or to do anything else connected with the Sultan. He could take his family and leave at any time, he only stays here because he’s been trying to avoid civil war and a bloodbath for the people of his district.”
    “That’s exactly why I’m reluctant to extort money from him,” Malik said. “The Sultan’s spies are everywhere and when Shah pays us the Sultan will know about it. The story is all over the British newspapers. When the girl is restored to her family they’ll report that too. Hammid knows that Kalid has been sympathetic to our cause. Hammid will think that the kidnapping was a sham we constructed to enable Kalid Shah to contribute to the revolution.”
    “So much the better for us!” Anwar said. “If Hammid sees Kalid Shah as allied with us he’ll know we’re making big inroads in the western Empire.” Anwar stopped. “Of course, you’ll have to give up the girl.”
    Malik didn’t answer.
    “What are you thinking?” Anwar said.
    “Kalid Shah has been a friend to us. I don’t want to put Bursa at risk.”
    “What Kalid wants is not going to happen. Hammid will never