dilşah would not admit to mahidevran’s presence being a comforting one––perhaps, only as soothing as the sight of the axe is to an executioner, but familiar nonetheless––yet there was a certain ease, an irrefutable concord to their routine, that she felt in the company of the sultan’s mother and relatively nowhere else in her life. debt and responsibility to the valide deprived dilşah of moments otherwise engaged in self-reflection; her mistress’ preoccupation with her own fortune and a myriad of ambitions demanding that dilşah’s every waking moment be reserved for mahidevran’s benefaction. it was a but a trifling price to pay, dilşah wagered, for the prestige had been bestowed in spades in return; there were few among the sultan’s imperial entourage who did not either extol or deprecate the cariye’s name, proceeded by motifs of immense fealty and unrelenting service to the throne, and such was undoubtedly a result of her unequaled intimacy with the valide herself. still, she was not so audacious in her role as to voice an untoward thought to the valide ( monarchs valued individuality, so long as it did not eclipse their own ) and thus formed a deft habit of echoing mahidevran’s philosophies. when apt, she recommended counter-measures that would gratify her mistress’ motives, remaining heedful until mahidevran engaged her with an inquiry––dangled like a dusk-purpled jewel before her.
❛ i have seen his grace only fleetingly, and to ensure his well-being with my own eyes. i find him a most adroit conversationalist, though perhaps he remains apprehensive to speak his mind in the company of his büyükanne… ❜ discretion seemed to be an upwards trend amongst rulers, yet dilşah could remember a time when the bedfellows the sultan kept provided both table talk and political ammunition; universal in its interest across the length and breadth of the sultanate. even in the thick of dilşah’s admittedly ephemeral girlhood, she too could boast of a faculty to recall the names of each woman, both native and adventitious to edirne, who sported the boons of the sultan’s affections ( which she deemed equally ephemeral. ) ❛ after all, in the şehzade’s eyes, you are unrivaled in virtuous sentiments; not only a high-octane valide, but beloved blood relation. if it should please your grace, i will increase my contact with the prince, and inform you of our discussions. as for his raven-haired guest, ‘tis only a matter of time before pride and vanity lead pigs to squeal and she may soon grovel at your grace’s feet for a more… permanent position. ❜
with a nod, the cariye sets aside her loom and silk and rose to prepare the valide another dish of tea; directing the eunuch who bid patiently at the door to fetch his mistress another fresh lemon to garnish her refreshment. retrieving a kettle from the hearth, her ears prickle to the valide’s thinly-veiled inquisitiveness. the iron is warm, even beneath her mitten. ❛ the young ladies of court? ❜ voice as light and as clear as a summer sky, preparing for the onslaught of a tempest, she feels a grin curl at her lips as the valide pins a gaze to her spine. ❛ so few stand the test of time, valide, there is virtually no reason to trifle ourselves so––with the exception of şehzade kasim’s mother, of course. yet, with the haseki’s triumphant return to court, mayhap her reign will soon come to an end––‘tis a cycle each woman who enters and egresses the sultan’s harem must come to grips with, is it not? ❜ in saying so, dilşah felt great content that her pride of place in constantinople was not won by virtue of the sultan’s carnal affections for her, volatile as the male gaze was; rather, she had grasped her position by way of cunning and skill, and was determined to maintain it in similar fashion. ❛ better that they learn quickly, than fatally. ❜
dilşah returns to the valide with a dish of tea, lemon lapping gently against dark-brewed liquid. in it, she descries her own reflection: azure eyes standing sharply alert, softened––deceptively so––by the sooty lashes that encumber them. ❛ tsar ivan rurik’s entourage, ❜ the cariye reiterates; this time, curiosity lands in her own net. mahidevran and she have begun a game of sleight-of-hand tricks, volleying secrets and ambitions between each other, with the ladies who encircled the valide none the wiser. ❛ a scheme all too easily carried out, i surmise; what the russians possess in grit and mettle, they lack in wit… what will you have me do? ❜
In possession of a higher power, she ruled all; two children, a small army of grandchildren, servants, masters, vizier’s. Mahidevran moved without apparent effort; her complexion remained sanguine, her eye blue and serene, no symptom of fatigue plaguing her visage. She was occupied, always with a bevy of schemes and tasks -- rarely, was she ever truly busy. Her countenance of blended freshness and severity confused many; for her high, proud forehead, could host such umbrage yet brim with benevolence. And the Valide’s eye, peaceful yet vigilant, was keenly aware, of the fire which could kindle in the hearts of men, either terror or devotion. Power of a particular breed, lined itself in all her traits; a kind of power, she discerned, in her pupil, devotee, and confidante. “Such devoted speech, would earn you a gallant promotion, if you had not arisen to a glorious peak; my grandchildren favour me, devour my praise and cling to my side -- but you, brimming with you and honeyed phrases, enjoy advantages to his confidence. He will indulge in confession, for he covets your praise; men, even endowed with the strength of my blood, shall always cower in want of a good lady’s word. As for our raven-haired mistress, she shall join the growing number of barking hounds....perhaps you shall mark me a hypocrite, for such a sentiment, but as earnestly as I wish to see him matched, I cannot stand half the lot.”
Kasim -- Valide had never thought herself capable of pushing back scorn, as she thought of a dear grandchild; she blamed her, that woman, for her conflicted feelings. “The woman who stands to model herself as my rival, my equal; I buried my share of her lot, and shall shed no tear, when she sinks into the abyss, a useless husk. Her equal, shined brightly in my time, yet as for her, and her child? I would forgo her name with intention, if it had bothered to remain relevant enough to retain. You offer me reason, as always; we shall not dally with the trivial, as we turn to matters most urgent. My son speaks of her so sweetly, doesn’t he? So alike his father -- ambivalent, and blind, to the politics of our harem. I think of how my Hürrem rules her Cordoban ladies....how sweet, the two of you were, sitting side by side to listen to storytellers.”
The Russians thundered into banquet halls, rows of eyes and brows, threatening stormy weather; full of insolence, unblushing as marble. It brought Mahidevran waves of joy, to flavour thoughts with contempt and bitterness -- sweet banter, honeyed sentiments, were for the weaker lot. Dilşah easily consumed her bitterness, parceling in return, retorts packed with temperance. She moved with the grace of a feline, hair like night, features decided in beauty; only the quiet hymn of clinking gold jewellery, betrayed Dilşah’s movements. The Valide had first noticed the girl for this -- the grace with which she conducted even the most menial of tasks. “I wish to discern every aspect of this prospective bride’s person -- the parts of herself she wishes to conceal from public viewing, the most vicious parts that linger in us all, I will know them all. We shall begin with servants -- insert one of our own, into the company of a Russian maid, with a gold piece or two, to hear the secrets of her mistress. And as for you, my fine jewel -- how is your Russian? You, an extension of my own hand, shall make a member of their court, your new bosom pal; what do you make, of the expendable sisters young brothers, and sisters? Certainly, they will be no match for your charms.” Something unseen, stole itself within her heart -- in an unguarded moment, she breached untempered maternal softness, turning to Dilşah, nearing a smile.
“Never have I been forced to tolerate requests from your lips, for furs, trinkets, fineries that lesser girls would have coveted -- yet I am not so far removed from the orbit of mortals, that I cannot fathom, a reward. Come, speak freely - for our hand in enacting my latest schemes, what shall you take? If you seek freedom, I will grant you a day, to make Paris your play-thing. As long as, you kept wanton hands at bay; the men of Europe, rarely do they bathe, yet breathlessly, will they howl at your door.”
