The morning passes with surprising ease. A soft breeze drifts through the open windows, carrying the scent of distant citrus and jasmine, a small mercy in the confines of the harem.
Roslin takes it upon herself to be Joana's guide, leading her through the vast complex with the quiet determination of someone who has already accepted her place within it. She introduces Joana to the other concubines—some warm and welcoming, others distant, assessing her with wary or indifferent eyes. None of this surprises Joana. She had never expected to make true friends in a place where ambition and survival walked hand in hand.
As the morning meal ends, the women begin to separate, murmuring polite farewells to the Gracious Mother before slipping away to their pursuits.
"We may go anywhere within the harem," Roslin explains as they walk, "except for the private apartments of the Mother and the three ladies."
Joana nods, unsurprised. The Mother's quarters are sacred—her power is second only to the Emperor's in this place. The three ladies, despite their uncertain favor, still hold rank above any concubine. Their chambers, too, remain off-limits.
"The consorts have their rooms as well," Roslin adds, lowering her voice slightly. "There isn't a strict rule about entering them, but you shouldn't. The consorts will know, and they won't take it kindly."
Joana makes a mental note of the unspoken hierarchy. The division of rank is absolute, even in a place where all the women share the same fate.
Their first stop is the bathhouse.
It is a grand space, far more elaborate than Joana expected. The floors are made of smooth white tile, cool beneath their feet, while the walls are adorned with golden filigree, intricate carvings catching the morning light. Carved screens divide certain areas, offering privacy where needed.
At the center of the room, deep pools of steaming water await, their heat filling the chamber with a gentle mist. The scent of fragrant oils lingers in the air, mingling with the natural dampness of the space.
Joana steps forward, watching as the water ripples in the soft candlelight.
"How is the water heated?" she asks, fascinated.
Roslin crinkles her nose as if she has never thought much about it. "I think there's some sort of fire before it reaches this room," she says. "But I couldn't say exactly. Only that it's always warm."
"And everyone bathes together?"
Roslin nods. "Before evening, every day."
"Naked?"
"You can cover yourself with a towel if you wish," Roslin says kindly. "No one will judge you for it."
Joana exhales, nodding. Modesty would be difficult to maintain in such a place, but at least there were ways to shield herself if she chose.
"There is a cold pool as well," Roslin offers. "I don't use it, but some of the girls say it keeps their skin tight."
Joana smiles. "I suppose that makes sense."
They leave the bathhouse behind, stepping into the warm sunlight of the inner courtyard.
It is a breathtaking sight—an oasis in the heart of the harem. The space is nearly an acre in size, enclosed by high walls that block out the world beyond. Tall, fragrant flowers bloom in careful arrangements, their vibrant colors softened by the golden light of midday. Thick trees stand like silent sentinels, their wide branches casting dappled shadows over the stone paths. Birds flit between them, their songs filling the air with fleeting echoes of freedom.
Joana inhales deeply, closing her eyes for a brief moment as the sun warms her skin. She had missed this—this simple feeling of being under an open sky.
"We spend most of our days here," Roslin murmurs. "We concubines, I mean. The Mother and her attendants allow us to bring our embroidery wheels so we can sit in the sun while we work. Whatever we make, we can sell outside to earn money beyond our allowances."
Joana's thoughts flicker to what Meria had told her—one hundred coppers a day, with the promise of an increase should she rise in station. It had seemed like a meaningless number at the time, but now she understood. The money was another chain, a carefully measured allowance designed to keep them dependent on the harem's rules.
"How do you sell?" Joana asks, glancing toward the courtyard's towering walls. "If no one can come inside?"
"We can receive visitors from our families," Roslin says, surprised that Joana doesn't already know. "Only women, of course. No one wants to risk someone else getting us pregnant instead of the Emperor."
Joana grimaces at the blunt truth of it. "I see."
She moves toward a cluster of pale flowers, reaching out to brush her fingers against their petals. The softness of them is a quiet comfort, a small reminder of the world beyond these walls.
"I suppose I won't be receiving many visitors myself," she says after a moment. "My mother and father are both dead, and my father's other children never had much love for me."
Roslin's expression softens, and before Joana can react, she gently intertwines their arms, pressing close in a gesture of warmth.
"Oh, how terrible," she whispers. "Then I shall ask my sisters to sell your embroideries as well. They can give you the money, and I won't even tell them they aren't mine."
Joana looks down at her, caught off guard by the kindness in her words.
"You are too kind," she says softly.
Roslin merely smiles, her hold tightening slightly.
"It is only fair," she replies.
Joana does not know whether to trust such easy kindness. But in this place, where every gesture hides a purpose, she finds herself grasping onto it all the same.
The stone benches are warm beneath them, absorbing the morning sun as Joana and Roslin sit with their embroidery hoops. The courtyard, alive with the hum of quiet voices and rustling leaves, seems almost peaceful. Other girls come and go, moving through the garden in a slow, idle rhythm. Joana lets herself bask in the sunlight, but her mind is far from at ease.