while the ladies of the oda swarmed over the lushly colored silks strewn about the room. She was, for once, eager to leave the company of the oda women. All she could think of was returning to the shiney one ... talking to him... asking him things that she had always been afraid to broach with the others she had seen.

The voices of the dazzling array of beauties were no more than background noise, like the chirping of sparrows or the songs of the doves.

"Daliyah, what do you think of this?" asked Yzebel as she held a length of scarlet fabric to her face. "Would this look well on me?"

Daliyah, who was torn between the blazing yellow in her right hand and the sensuous turquoise in her left, looked up briefly. "That's perfect for you, Daliyah," she smiled. "All reds are your color!"

Zdenka, who had wrapped an austere ivory about herself laughed. "Indeed, Yzebel. You didn't even have to ask!"

Silki stood abruptly and opened a fabric sack full of laces, golden trim, embroidered edging, and countless beads of every imaginable shape and color.

"Dear sisters of the oda, please choose among these for the garments I am to make." Silki smiled, a wise expression on her face. "I know that it will take some time to make a proper selection, so I shall leave these with you and return tomorrow to see what you have decided."

The ladies eagerly thrust hands into the large bag, pulling out the glittering array of adornments, chattering amongst themselves as they good-naturedly vied for the best of the treasures.

Silki, seeing the the oda mates well-occupied, slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. She walked quickly down the long hallway, her feet barely skimming the fine carpets which dotted the marble floor. Nearing the place where she had last seen her shiney one, she broke into a near run.

Where was he? She turned and looked round and round, certain that this was the spot where she had last seen him. "Are you here?" she whispered into the empty space.

Silence surrounded her... nothing moved, there was no gleam of soft light, no warm touch upon her hand, no feeling of calm.

Biting back a sob, Silki dejectedly rounded the corner, walking slowly back to her solitary room in the servant's quarters. She had just passed the deep niche in the wall where the statue of the King looked beneficently down at his Seraglio when she heard the voice.

It came from the niche, deep, low, insistent and Silki stood, poised for flight, or perhaps not flight but something else beyond her understanding.

"Maiden," the voice rumbled softly, "come to me..."