The ground-shake had woken Peresto, but the tremor had been so light, she doubted it had happened at all. She was deeply asleep again when Mustafa, her trusted helper, gently touched her shoulder. Prince Yusufeddin had been apprehended by protesting softa. Shocked but unharmed, the Prince had returned to the palace with a message for his father, Sultan Abdulaziz: reinstate Midhat Pasha, and make him Grand Vizier.

"Midhat Pasha?"

Mustafa nodded.

She inhaled. "The Valide is...?"

He nodded again. Mustafa was mute. As a boy in Africa, he had been delivered by slave traders to a Copt monastery in Egypt. The Copts castrated and sold him to an Ottoman Pasha. The Pasha then cut out his tongue and offered him as a precious gift to the Imperial Palace. Recognising his potential, Peresto had taken him under her wing. Together they'd learnt ixarette, the ancient imperial harem sign language which had long since been abandoned. In those olden days when silence reigned in the Imperial Harem, deaf and mute servants were less of a rarity, and signalling had been the most common form of communication. She valued his silence, and the difficulty for him to betray her secrets, even under torture.

Now Mustafa briefly explained the situation, signalling with his fingers: the Sultan's mother, the Valide, had convinced herself that Crown Prince Murad and Prince Hamid had orchestrated the softas' demand to bring Midhat Pasha back from exile and make him Grand Vizier. The Valide was beside herself with rage and she blamed the heirs.

"What does she say?"

Mustafa signalled: disloyalty, treason.

She sighed. Murad and Hamid were sons of the Sultan's brother, the late Sultan Medjid – may her sweet husband rest in peace. As the Sultan's eldest male relatives, they were the rightful heirs to the Ottoman throne, for the same reason that Sultan Abdülaziz as the eldest heir, had succeeded his brother Medjid. The Valide had always doubted their loyalty to her son. And in the last decade, as the Sultan's mental state deteriorated, her paranoia was getting out of hand. The heirs had nothing to do with the softas' demands. Not for the first time, Peresto would have to find a way to reassure the old woman of her adoptive son, Hamid's loyalty.

The Coiffure Mistress hurried forth to arrange her hair. Her Maid of the Robes helped her slip into a loose fitting, muslin robe. The blue colour reminded her it was early May. A month the Sultan's mother believed to be unlucky, especially for her son – a month when evil ghosts and spirits roamed abandoned houses.

When Peresto was awake, her servants were awake. Even so, it was the middle of the night, so as she left her apartment she offered each a thankful smile. From deep inside the main part of the harem, where more than nine hundred women resided with their children, clamouring voices could be heard, along with the high-pitched cries of eunuchs herding everyone back to their sleeping quarters. It was notable, because the harem was usually so calm it was hard to detect any movement at all.

Dolmabahçe Palace, the political heart of the empire and the residence of the Sultan and his family, was European in style, but followed an age-old Ottoman tradition in its ceremonial ordering of space. It was organised horizontally around the Sultan, in three concentric spheres, with the outer sphere open to the public for events such as marriages, circumcisions, and births.

The second sphere, a semi-public theatre of government, contained offices of state, archives, salons for ceremoniously receiving foreign ambassadors, and a nearly fifty-metre-long throne room.

The Gate of Felicity led from the second sphere into the Imperial Harem, the sacred vortex of Ottoman power, where the Sultan resided like an oyster in its shell. There he was surrounded by family and staff: boys, mutes, dwarves, women, and children. No adult males who might challenge his reign were allowed.

In this innermost sacred space the Valide ruled, assisted by the Chief Eunuch, referred to as the Kizlar Agha. Access to the harem was severely restricted. Its inhabitants rarely crossed the boundary to the outside world, and the outside world rarely entered the harem. Communication was conducted by intermediaries, the eunuchs and other slaves who governed the empire in the name of the Sultan.

Leaving the commotion behind her, Peresto emerged in the Blue Salon. Automatically, she checked the doors to the Sultan's apartment, a suite of rooms facing the garden. The doors were closed. Across from it, facing the sea, lay the Valide's and Peresto's apartments with an expanse of blue carpet between them. A second salon and the apartments of the Sultan's consorts buffered the sacred area from the rest of the harem, which was located in a perpendicular, garden facing wing.

The Valide, her black hair erect and face unmade, paced the thick, blue carpet, agitated, playing with the lucky hamza around her neck. Black eunuchs with hairless faces and flowing robes attended to her every wish.

Peresto noted that Prince Yusufeddin was nowhere to be seen. Probably been whisked off to his apartment in the adjacent Palace-of-the-Heirs. She also noted that the mother of Crown Prince Murad wasn't there to speak for her son. It was not her problem, she decided. She was Hamid's step-mother, not Murad's. It was her duty to protect him so that he might live, and, God willing, one day ascend to the throne.

Next to the old woman towered the Kizlar Agha, impeccably clad despite the god-awful hour, in a green silk kaftan lined with dark fur. Two symmetrical scars on each cheek contrasted with his soft, black skin. A jewel encrusted whip was tucked inside his belt, rings adorned every finger and, in blatant defiance of the law, he wore a white silk turban.

At the sight of Peresto, the Valide's black eyes narrowed. Her bejewelled fingers opened and closed around the lucky hamza; a ruby ring to ensure protection, jade to safeguard against evil spirits, and diamonds surrounding the stones to enhance their powers. Long gold chains with charms against the evil eye hung on her chest, and coral pins in her unruly hair warded off misfortune and disaster. Unlike the rest of the harem, Peresto did not believe in witches, but even she shuddered to think of the lifelike, waxen, baleful dolls the Valide used to conjure evil spirits, to haunt and destroy her enemies. Enemies like Crown Prince Murad. The Valide might distrust Hamid, but for Murad she had a personal dislike. Still, every time the old woman uttered Hamid's name, Peresto couldn't help but wonder if there was a menacing undertone in her husky voice, or a cleverly concealed trap.

Peresto fell into a deep curtsey and bowed her head in reverence.

"Princess Sultana Peresto," the Valide said.

"Prince Yusufeddin is back at the palace, safe and sound, tabarak Allah, blessings of God. I came as soon as I heard."

The Valide flinched.

"At this difficult time, I want to convey to you the love Prince Hamid has in his heart for his cousin Prince Yusufeddin, and for his uncle. May Sultan Abdulaziz have a long and prosperous reign."

She lifted her head to offer the Valide her eyes, steady and pure. The Valide glanced back resentfully. Her mouth opened in a silent gape. It looked as if she might faint with bottled rage.

With a snort of disdain, the Kizlar Agha waved Peresto away. As she retreated out of the salon she watched them, heads close together, whispering. Had she attenuated the Valide's suspicions? She did not think so. The Valide was scared, like a wounded animal, unpredictable and dangerous. Wounded animals lash out.

Peresto's own, private salon was small and cosy, the walls lined with bookshelves, and a small European style desk. Under the windows was a long line of cushions, Ottoman style, where she now reclined, troubled.

"Where is the Sultan," she asked Mustafa, who had settled on the carpet at her feet.

He signalled: In the selamlik. He has sent for the Russian Ambassador.

She glanced fearfully through the window, and down at Mustafa at her feet. "Again? What poisonous advice will he offer this time?"

She pondered before answering her own question. "To strike back hard at the softa. To show strength and determination. It's what the Ambassador should advise the Sultan to do, as a friend of the empire."

There was a time when the Sultan had met with her every week, enjoying her company and valuing her counsel, but her influence had waned and it had been months since he'd received her.

The Ambassador is a false friend, Mustafa interjected with quick finger movements and a grimace.

"Yes, for sure he is."

What defence was there against delusion? She felt drained. Would this never end? Always on guard, always looking over her shoulder. How much longer could they go on? Everyone was hurting. For years she had watched the empire suffer the consequences of the Sultan's delusional reign. He had built the largest naval fleet in the world, but had no sailors to man the ships. He spent millions building a castle in mother-of-pearl for a three-day visit by the French Empress. He appointed corrupt ministers, whose only talent lay in flattering him. And in the past few months alone, he had spent nearly a million Turkish pounds on gratifying the whims of his young, Circassian favourite. Meanwhile, the empire suffered a famine, the chain of nationalist rebellions in the Balkans intensified, Christians and Muslims were slaughtering each other. No wonder people were discontent. No wonder the tensions in the city were almost palpable.

Suddenly, she craved ayran, that mixture of yoghurt, water and salt which always soothed her nerves. A faint wave of the hand and an odalisque, a palace maid, appeared, served it, and disappeared again.

"Leave me, I'll be fine," she told Mustafa. He left soundlessly. He would settle like a feline on the floor outside her door and wait until she returned to bed before getting some rest for himself. It was reassuring.

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Author's note

The embedded image is a sea view of Hamid's and Peresto's home, Dolmabahce Palace. At the centre the ceremonial hall, to the right the Imperial Harem where the Sultan and his family resided, and to the left the Selamlik, the quarters where affairs of state were conducted, reserved only for men.