Equal of the Sun by Anita Amirrezvani

stiffened in response, like that of a captain receiving his orders to lead a charge. Then he bowed his head in submission. Pari looked as implacable as a general, and I stared at her, astounded. May God be praised! She had just seized the reins of state!
    I returned to fetch the next man in her waiting room and noticed that the crowd was growing. The questions and demands were relentless. Would she say the funeral prayers for her father herself? Where should Haydar’s body be interred? How would she protect the noblemen who had not taken sides in the dispute? What about the wives of the men who had died in the skirmish, what would become of them and their children? Would she advocate for the son of a close friend of her father for a high government posting under the new shah? One after the other, men begged for favors.
    By the late afternoon, Pari’s eyes were weary. “Who is next?” she asked me with a sigh.
    “Mirza Salman Jaberi, head of the royal guilds.” He had just arrived, but as he was one of the fourteen officials closest to the late Shah, I escorted him immediately to the visitors’ side of the lattice, and then I returned to Pari’s side. He was a short, thin man who made the very air around him feel crisp with purpose.
    “And what do you want?” Pari snapped. “Surely the business of the guilds can wait.”
    He didn’t seem perturbed. “Indeed it can. The guilds are fine.”
    “Well, then, what is it?”
    “Nothing, esteemed princess. As a devoted servant of your late father, I came to ask if I might offer assistance to you.”
    Pari raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You have no requests?”
    “None. I merely wish to serve you.”
    Pari whispered, “He is the only one who is man enough to offer some help!” When she noticed my affronted expression, she apologized.
    “Where do I start?” she said to Mirza Salman. “Everything is in disarray. Where is everyone?”
    “Hiding. Waiting. Worrying.”
    “The nobles must return to their posts to keep the government functioning until Isma‘il arrives. I wish to call a meeting to give them their orders.”
    “But only the shah or the grand vizier can call a meeting. No one else outranks them.”
    “There is no such man. What do you suggest?”
    Tahmasb Shah had gotten so tired of grand viziers that he hadn’t bothered to appoint a new one.
    “I will say that a high-ranking member of the Safavi house has ordered the meeting, but not who. The nobles will think it is a prince. Have your uncle preside for you so that everything is proper.”
    The fact that the same Farsi word was used for “he” and “she” would help our cause.
    “It is good advice.”
    “By the way, I have a tip for your ears only.”
    “Yes?”
    “Whatever you plan to achieve at the meeting, don’t rely on the chief of the treasury. I know him well. He will bow only to the authority of the new shah.”
    “What makes him so confident that my brother will retain his services?”
    Mirza Salman chuckled. “True. Some people see their wishes as their destiny.”
    “Do you?”
    He hesitated for the first time. “No. I see my actions as my destiny, in accordance with the will of God.”
    “Well said. We will need men like you. Call the meeting then for tomorrow morning at my house.”
    “Chashm.”
    After Mirza Salman was escorted out, Pari said, “What a surprise! How well do you know him?”
    “Not well,” I replied. He had been part of the second innermost ring of men who served the Shah. Those people kept a tight lip and rarely socialized with their inferiors.
    “I remember Mirza Salman carried out an unpleasant task foryour late father by disciplining a cabal of gold sellers who tried to cheat the court. His guilds have been as clean as a bathhouse since. He would be an excellent ally, I think, and an equally fierce enemy.”
    “We will watch him then and discover how true he is.”
    “What is our chief goal at tomorrow’s meeting?”
    Pari’s hand trembled