Palace of Tears
<p>I remember the day we came to the Old Palace. It was such a long time ago, but it feels like yesterday. Doomed to exile, we handmaidens gathered our lady’s belongings and hoped for the best. No one had any warning, but somehow we all knew what to do. We began packing our belongings, what few we had, and set about complying with the inventory check of our lady’s possessions. Hers was more complicated. She sat on her throne — dazed, wooden — while her chief of staff berated the treasurer for daring to assume a gift from the previous sultan should return to the treasury. They squabbled for hours, it seemed like, naming forgotten names and recalling old grudges between them personally, saved for just this occasion.</p>
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