This was simply meant to be a formality. A small requirement. A modest ceremony. Instead, they are watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes

The great chamber is decked with flowers, winding around the pillars and cascading down the walls so that even the mosaics are covered in tulips and hyacinths and carnations and roses, pink and white and yellow.

The odalisques march inside in pairs, and Bilhah’s heart quickens when she sees the mass of women assembled. A half-holiday has been declared, and instead of their usual duties, the entire women’s palace has come to see them declare their allegiance to Islam.

They are led to the front of the room. They stand, facing the crowd. The imam and the Sufi sage, dressed in robes embroidered with silver, stand at right angles, so that they face both the odalisques and the crowd. In the corner next to the entrance, a woman plucks the tanbur. Bilhah tries to follow the tune, but the notes seem to come at random and she cannot make sense of the rhythm.

The fragrance of the flowers is heavy. Bilhah’s head begins to ache and though she breathes deeply, it is hard to find air.

Azziza walks to the center of the room and she turns to face the odalisques.

“These flowers have been brought here today not only to show what you must aspire to as good Muslims, but to show you that when you do so, there is beauty and harmony.” Her eyes travel along the row, resting for a moment on Bilhah.

“The tulip symbolizes Allah, as it is a majestic flower that rises to the sky alone, thus symbolizing oneness.” She lifts her arms in emphasis and the gold brocade of her sleeves ripples. She continues. “Carnations imply devotion. The bowed violet is a sign of humility and the rose is the beauty of the Prophet’s word.”

Bilhah swallows. A formality. This was simply meant to be a formality. A small requirement. A modest ceremony. Instead, they are watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes.