“If the Almighty blessed me with money, He blessed me with power, and I have done everything within my power to do His will”

Akey scrapes in the door of the prison cell. The door whines as it slowly opens.

Leonora starts, rises from her stool, and stands in the corner, in the depths of the shadow. Who has come?

It is only a woman. Leonora steps forward. A young woman, light-footed. She carries a lantern in one hand; the light bobs as she walks. She sets the lantern on the stone floor and sits down on the wooden stool.

There are two stools in the cell, a low cot with a rough blanket, and a mattress stuffed with hay. She’s given no desk, no pen and ink, no paper. There’s not even a lantern here, only the light that filters in from the tiny, barred window.

The girl sets down her basket and takes out a pen, ink, paper.

Leonora resists the urge to snatch them from her.

“I have come to collect your account of what has passed, to be delivered to the kadi and, at his discretion, to the Sublime Porte of Istanbul.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tell me about yourself. Why you have been brought here. If anyone else was party to your endeavors. And I will record it.”

“But—”

“You shall talk. And I shall write.”

“Where to begin?”

“Begin wherever you wish.”

Leonora stares at the young woman. Dark eyes and hair. Thin. What makes her remarkable is the life force inside her. Both alive with curiosity and guarded. Suspicious, almost. She is… this woman looks the way Leonora imagined her own daughter would look. She wants to reach out and touch the girl’s hand, her cheek. She sits so close.

But the openness silences her. Where to start? What to say?

Eventually, the young woman — Bilhah, she says her name is — becomes impatient.

“Let me help you begin. We have letters from you, correspondence with the highest personages of the empire. Again and again, it appears, you write, suggest, advise, propose. Who gave you permission to deal with rulers and leaders?”

Who? Leonora blinks, trying to assimilate the question. Permission? This was the mantle of leadership she had inherited from her father. The letters — she no more thought of them than she thought of ordering herself a new cloak. She reaches into her cloak and brings out a small money bag. She empties it onto the floor. The coins hit the stone with a clink, and roll into the cracks between the stone.

“This.”

“Your wealth.”

The girl makes a note on the paper.

Leonora shakes her head. “You do not understand. If the Almighty blessed me with money, He blessed me with power, and I have done everything within my power to do His will.”