The wazir must have busied himself with the sultan’s work and did not seek out the two daughters of the harem. Five of the strangers’ women and three of their children joined them for the evening meal. One lad, a bit younger than Ara with round cheeks, ginger curls and a surly expression, sat arguing with his mother. The two younger boys, dressed in velvet and silk, had the most amazing golden hair that curled at their shoulders. Ara kept stealing looks at their hair, unable to believe it was real, until Zoriah quietly pinched her and whispered, “Stop staring.” Ara looked elsewhere, glad for the reminder. Layla leaned toward her, “A horizontal symmetry.” And there it was, low to the ground near the floor, a flower pattern that almost crawled across the wall. Ara hugged her cousin and said so only Layla could hear, “We’ll find the broken one soon. We have to.” Ara’s father had introduced the foreign women to his wives and female relatives and offered Ara as interpreter before he left to join the men.
