Page 41 of Silver Angel

When Safiye arrived after being hastily summoned, it was to find Chantelle backed into a corner with a pot of hot melted wax in one hand and the brazier of coals that had heated it in the other.

“And just what do you think this will accomplish?” Safiye demanded. “I have only to summon a eunuch or two, and you will be subdued.”

“They wouldn’t leave me alone,” Chantelle replied angrily, glaring at the now nervous slaves who had refused to listen to her objections.

“So you intend to burn them?”

“Whatever it takes, madame.”

Safiye sputtered furiously at this calm retort. “You’re mad! Mad! What do you think you protect, you stupid girl? Your hair is to be removed, not your hymen!”

Chantelle blushed but did not back down. “I let them remove enough of my hair already. No more.”

“It is not up to you. Your body is no longer your own, and pubic hair is sinful! It must—”

“Who says so?” Chantelle demanded. “My body is as God meant it to be, so how can anything that grows on it be sinful?”

“A very good point,” Lalla Rahine said quietly from the doorway, having come in unnoticed. “And when you learn our ways, Shahar, you may see our point, too. But for now, all this fuss is unnecessary.” Then she frowned, adding reproachfully, “You have burned your hands, haven’t you?” She snapped her fingers, and a slave immediately ran for salve. “Come, Shahar, put those down and let us attend your burns before they blister.”

Chantelle had barely felt the stinging on her fingers. “They’re not plucking any more of my hair,” she insisted stubbornly.

“No, they will not. You will finish your bath and return to your room, where your training will begin.”

“But—” Safiye began, to be silenced by a sharp glance of those emerald eyes.

Only now that the controversy was over did Chantelle realize she had been standing there stark naked with her two meager weapons. “Could I have a robe or something—”

“Of course, my dear.” Rahine flicked a wrist and another slave ran off. “But you really must work toward abandoning this modesty of yours, especially here in thehammam, where many of the odalisques lie about unclothed for the better part of each day. Go now with the attendants and let them finish their duties.”

As soon as Chantelle was led off to the next room, Rahine’s tone changed to frigid displeasure as it lashed into Safiye. “You fool! There is ample time to take care of such things before she is summoned by my son, and ample time for her to adjust to the changes expected of her. There was no point in letting her become so upset that she feels she must fight us. In future if she balks over something, bring the matter to me.” And she swept out of the room without allowing Safiye any defense at all.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Well, what do you think?” Adamma asked.

Chantelle picked up the hand mirror to study her face thoughtfully. She was not surprised that she could hardly recognize herself under so much cosmetics. It was the kohl lining her eyes, giving her an exotic appearance, that would take time getting used to.

“It looks like someone punched me in both eyes.”

Adamma giggled. “It does, doesn’t it. You are just too fair. I think all you need is a very thin line, yes, just enough for emphasis.”

Chantelle would prefer nothing at all. “What’s the point of all this?”

“You want to be beautiful, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“But every woman does.”

“I’m not every woman, Adamma,” Chantelle replied patiently.

“Ah, I see. You want to look different, to stand out—”

“No,” Chantelle interrupted hastily, for that was the last thing she wanted. “Go ahead and do your worst.”

Adamma smiled with satisfaction, thinking she had made her point. Chantelle let her think what she would. She had already discovered it was not easy arguing with Adamma. The girl was just too cheerful and easygoing. Nothing fazed her.

Adamma had been brought to her that morning, before the unfortunate incident in the baths. She was skilled in the art of applying cosmetics, or so she claimed. Her mother was a Nigerian slave who worked in the kitchens. Her father was one of the palace guards, though neither she nor her mother knew exactly which one he was. That this didn’t seem to bother the girl was not surprising. It was just another of the many differences in outlook here that would take getting used to.