“Fools all of you. You arrest me, when I am just a messenger from a foreign land. I was duped into this. It was all a plan for my downfall. Me, the printer of Salonika"
Bilhah takes the note between her fingers. Then, she crushes it in her palm. Her cheeks burn, everything feels like it is tipping onto its side. She clutches the note as she walks outside.
He is here.
He is here and she is a fool, for why did she ever leave the palace?
She stumbles over the tufty grass and crouches down by a copse of rocks a short distance from the work tent. She grazes them with her fingers. As if they will protect her.
In Istanbul, the iron gates were her protection. Her veil was her protection. She may not have changed her name, but no one knew who she was. Just a girl in the room of words. Friend of Aisha. Protégé of Yasemin.
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