The first night I returned to the capital was somehow harder than all the nights spent in my estate, knowing that Reza could not wake me and would not be there to greet me at breakfast with sleepy smiles and excited babbling about magic tricks Erik had taught him. As long as I had had the bustle of my servants, the familiar trappings of a home, I could eventually drift off to sleep. I could convince myself my son would be there in the morning. I lived in a beautiful lie.

In Tehran, nothing brought me the illusion of comfort. Erik greeted me upon my arrival late in the evening and accompanied me to my apartments for some Turkish coffee. He sat and watched as I stood staring out my window at the unpopulated city streets below. I did not have to look to know he was watching. One always can tell when Erik is looking at them. His penetrating gaze can be felt down to the bone, but that night, I was in no mood for scrutiny. I turned sharply away from the window to face him. He did not hide his stare, which somehow infuriated me more.

We had not spoken since we conspired to end Reza's life. He hadn't stayed for the funeral.

The arrogance of him, to demand hospitality from me when I was still in the throes of mourning… to treat me as though nothing had changed! I would expect such unfeeling behavior from the Shah, from my men, from anyone and everyone except for Erik.

"Well?" I snapped. "What?"

"You're trembling," he said evenly.

Before I could protest that I was fine, hot coffee splashed from my cup onto my hand. The offending drink fell to the ground and porcelain shards scattered at my feet. Darius shot from the kitchen with a rag and began to clean up. I crouched to help him, picking up the larger pieces for disposal. Erik's eyes were still upon me and they did not stray. Darius caught my eye as he rose and I followed suit; he looked like he might say something, but my gaze silenced his words. I very suddenly didn't want to hear any voices. Not even my own. But if I did not speak now, I knew that Erik would continue whatever mind game he was playing.

"I see you've finished your coffee," I said. "I must bid you good night, then, Erik. My travel has fatigued me, as you can clearly see."

"You mean to be rid of me," Erik said. "I cannot say that I blame you. I shall leave, if that is what you wish."

Usually, when he said such things, there was a heaviness to his voice. A weariness. It was as if he could not bear being turned out of yet another home. But today, his voice was smooth as glass… as smooth and as easily splintered. I knew suddenly that if I pushed him too hard, he would begin to crack. And strangely, there was nothing I wanted more than to see fractures running through him. I wanted to see him break and run my fingers along his jagged edges. I wanted him to hurt as much as I did and I wanted to bleed because of him. Already I felt my insides would be forever hemorrhaging. Maybe if I cut myself along Erik's sharp pieces, I would be spent and could fade into sweet oblivion. Maybe I could cross the gulf of my loss and rejoin my family. Maybe if I broke him apart, I could hope to be made whole once more.

"I've never heard you speak so reasonably," I said. "But, of course, you have become an expert in leaving. Haven't you?"

"Often men close their doors and hearts to me long before I have a chance to enter." Erik rose. "For your sake, I'm glad to see that you have finally had the good sense to do the same."

"For my sake," I echoed. A laugh tore from my throat. "And I'm meant to believe that everything you have done in Mazenderan for my sake?"

"I take no pleasure in watching you play the martyr," Erik said. He hadn't moved towards the door or towards me. "I take no pleasure in your pain, Daroga. If you have something to say, then you best say it outright."

For a moment that spanned into centuries, I said nothing. He and I merely looked at each other. The well-constructed defenses in his eyes were crumbling. Already, the parapets were crumbling dust, soon the whole of him would collapse and with a well-placed word I could destroy him. The temptation of suffering together, instead of alone as I had done for so long beckoned me. But in Erik's eyes, I saw such exquisite pain… such familiar pain. He reflected me and I staggered towards him against better judgment.

"You didn't stay," I choked out. "You were the only person who might have understood… and by dawn, you were gone."

I must have looked fit to collapse because Erik swooped towards me and seized my arms. His grasp was strong enough to bruise and I got the feeling he meant to keep me from falling. His firm hold on me forced me to look up into his golden eyes. The vulnerability I had seen for just a moment was gone. His fortress was as strong as it had ever been and as it always did, it kept me from getting too close.

"The funeral… of course…" Erik murmured. I could almost hear him chastise himself with those four words. "I had thought… thought that you would not care to gaze upon your child's murderer in your grief."

"We conspired, Erik." My voice was soft, but strong. I didn't dare switch roles with him from comforted to comforter, but I could not in good conscience let him go without hearing this. "I do not blame you. I am… I was... I am his father and in the end, the choice was mine. You would never have circumvented me."

Now I gripped his forearms as tightly as I could and we stood in silence, staring. His golden eyes had always fascinated me as much as his magic voice. Only when one was this close, could you see that they were flecked with the tiniest hints of green, silver, and honey-brown. He always claimed that his face held no beauty, but those tawny eyes were utterly bewitching. Even – or perhaps especially – now as they filled with some kind of understanding.

The moment was short lived. He broke from my grasp with ease and released me as gently as if I had been a baby bird cradled in his hands. He looked as though he expected me to fly away, but when I remained rooted on the spot, he sighed.

"It's worse than I thought," he said. "Nadir, you must rest. Go to your chamber."

"What-"

"I shall be there shortly. Go. Prepare for sleep. Bathe, put on your night clothes. I shall be there shortly."

I obeyed his strange bidding without voicing my questions. As I washed, I had the strangest thought… I almost imagined Erik would enter without knocking – as was often his way – and continue to stare with those intense, not-quite-broken eyes of gold. Even in the warm water, I shivered. Not from revulsion, but a strange kind of excitement. Anticipation that he might be waiting for me. It made me feel as unclean as I might have, had I not thoroughly bathed already. I dressed for bed in the marble bathroom and when I stepped into the bedroom, Erik was nowhere in sight. Opening the door of my chambers, I looked out into the sitting area, where he was reading to himself by lamp light. A book of poems by Rumi. He must have heard me enter because he picked up his book and his lamp and came into the bedroom. He looked around for something, but did not appear to find it.

"Well," he said. "Lay down. I'll sit beside you, since you don't have a proper chair for me in here."

"What are you doing?"

"Staying with you until you fall asleep," he said. "You can't have slept well on the road and I know you well enough to know that you haven't slept well since…"

He sat down upon the left side of my bed and I took the right. Illuminated only by the flickering lamp light, Erik looked more otherworldly than ever I had seen him. But tonight he was not the Khanum's Angel of Doom or the court's magician. He was something else entirely, a sentinel over me. He began to read aloud and his melodic voice lulled me to sleep.

I awoke to a strange sensation hours later. My arms were weighted by some strange force. Dawn had not yet crept over the horizon and the oil lamp had long since been extinguished, but in the scant moonlight I could see that I was holding in a tight embrace. Erik's white mask was my only clue, but even without seeing it, I could feel the ridge of his ribcage expand and contract as he breathed, laying snugly in my arms. I had never dreamt of holding Erik. It was something I had never wanted and had only done out of necessity – carrying his poisoned body to his bed in Mazenderan, for instance – but this was not necessity. Instead, it felt like a gift given to me. Our eternal war – the struggle we fought against each other for no apparent reason – had been cast aside in favor of a moment's peace. Something silvery shone on the surface of his mask. I dared to imagine that they were tear tracks. I stifled my own sob and buried my face in the crook of his neck, where I could feel his even pulse radiate a very little warmth. He smelled of smoky incense and the slightly citrusy brightness of poppy. He was not as heady as an opium den, but there was something ecstasy inducing, calming, and addictive about his scent. It caused me to sigh and in his sleep, Erik stirred. For a moment I feared that he would wake and admonish me for touching him, but he neither opened his eyes nor said a word. Soon, nestled up to his back, I fell asleep again.

Morning found me alone and cold in the bed. As I emerged from my chamber in search of Erik, Darius approached me. He averted his gaze from mine in a way I had never seen him do and he offered me a small box.

"Erik had business at the royal harem to attend to, Master," Darius said. "But he left this for you."

From Darius' hands, I took the neatly wrapped package and opened it. A small, jewel-encrusted box fell into my hands. A music box. I wound the key and when it played, it played a song I had only heard in happier days on my Mazenderan estate. The music was evocative of a violin playing from Reza's bedroom, a cheery, cheeky melody that reminded me of a child's laugh and applause. I clutched the music box close to my chest and it was only when Darius touched my arm that I realized I was crying.

I was crying and smiling.

A/N:

This piece is based loosely on the poem "On the Deathbed" by Rumi.

"Go, rest your head on a pillow, leave me alone;
leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,
writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn.
Either stay and be forgiving,
or, if you like, be cruel and leave.
Flee from me, away from trouble;
take the path of safety, far from this danger.
We have crept into this corner of grief,
turning the water wheel with a flow of tears.
While a tyrant with a heart of flint slays,
and no one says, "Prepare to pay the blood money."
Faith in the king comes easily in lovely times,
but be faithful now and endure, pale lover.
No cure exists for this pain but to die,
So why should I say, "Cure this pain"?
In a dream last night I saw
an ancient one in the garden of love,
beckoning with his hand, saying, "Come here."
On this path, Love is the emerald,
the beautiful green that wards off dragonsnough, I am losing myself.
If you are a man of learning,
read something classic,
a history of the human struggle
and don't settle for mediocre verse."