But the hunting guests are arriving in droves. I run to the men’s pavilion. Shahpour, Father’s most trusted companion, leans against a column, talking. In his hands is a white cup. “A treasure,” he says, holding it before his eyes. He bows in gratitude. “The Shah has none carved so beautifully.” The Indian guest in front of him bows, as well. “Even the most powerful poison is rendered harmless if drunk from rhinoceros horn. A man as powerful as the Shah can use such protection.” What else can rhinoceros horn protect against? And what other preventive measures does this guest know? But my goal now is to find Father as quickly as possible. I pass them and walk through the pavilion, searching. “Orasmyn, is that you?” Ardeshir, a member of the royal family of Ashraf, takes me by the upper arms. “All wet? Don’t tell me you’ve been fighting a water dragon in Lake Urumiyeh.” He laughs and reaches out to a man near him. “This is the Shah’s son. Look, Bahram. Lake Urumiyeh may be too salty for fish, but our Orasmyn has hunted down a dragon there.
