The Kadin - Bertrice Small [142]
The discipline was strong. Diligence and honest effort were always rewarded. Laziness and minor misdemeanors were chastised by the oda mistresses. Major faults were brought to the attention of the valideh. Those who had appeared before the formidable Cyra Hafise had to admit that, though severe, she was fair.
However, the greatest incentive for excellence was the fact that the sultan had only one favorite. To his mother’s chagrin and the frustration of the entire harem, he seemed satisfied with the bland and spoiled Gulbehar. It was the one thorn in Cyra’s side.
The favorite was twenty-two. She had changed in the eight years that she had been with him. Gone was the little girl who had meekly stood before Selim. The innocent sweetness that had so charmed Cyra had disappeared, and in its place was a cloying, clinging sweetness that—it seemed to the valideh—would suffocate her son. Gulbehar was spoiled and apt to be petulant when denied her own way. Worst of all was her stupidity and complacency. Having produced little Mustafa, she was satisfied that nothing else could possibly be required of her. She spent each day in complete idleness, playing with her son and winding garnet glass in her hair.
Cyra could not understand Suleiman’s fascination with the girl, but she suspected that he saw in Gulbehar what he imagined was the perfect young mother. The valideh knew that her son treasured his own childhood memories of the warm and close family at the Moonlight Send. He also adored his own mother and probably believed that with Gulbehar the happy pattern was repeating itself.
Soon enough he would learn how unimaginative the girl was, but in the meantime the valideh decided to get her son off to war. In an effort to keep him safe for the crown, they had insulated him. Selim had seen it too late, but she would correct it now.
Choosing her time carefully, she waited until Gulbehar was unavailable to her lord for several days. Then Suleiman was asked to the Garden Court to partake in a simple family evening with his mother, aunts, and three young sisters. It was an intimate party, as of old. The slaves had been dismissed, and only Marian and Ruth remained to serve them.
Suleiman’s favorite sister was Mihri-Chan, the daughter of Sarina Kadin. She was twelve now and showed every sign of being a beauty—a petite, tawny creature like her mother, with tumbling dark, Gypsy curls and clear golden eyes. The sultan had not seen her in some time and was delighted with the change from little girl to half-grown woman. She danced for him with great grace, and sang like a nightingale while accompanying herself on a small lute.
“We shall have to find you a very special husband, but not quite yet You have such charm, little sister, I am loath to let you go.”
“I want to choose my own husband, as did my sisters,” replied the princess, who, like her mother, was quite outspoken.
“Have you anyone in mind?” laughed Suleiman teasingly.
“Ferhad Pasha.”
Suleiman raised an eyebrow but said nothing further. Instead, he turned to his two little sisters, Nakcidil and Mahpeyker, who were now six and a half. The youngest of Selim’s children knew their older brother only slightly and were in great awe of him. The sultan, however, loved children and easily overcame their shyness. His pockets seemed filled with an endless variety of treats guaranteed to delight little girls. He was also extremely facile at making funny shadows on the wall with his fingers and telling stories to go with the amusing shapes. The two tiny princesses were soon dissolved in giggles of delight and protested mightily when the hour grew late and their nurses came to take them off to bed. Sarina, Mihri-Chan, and Firousi also begged the sultan’s permission to retire. Cyra and her son were alone.
Suleiman smiled at her. “And now that we are alone,