She whispered frantic prayers to herself as she followed the eunuchs along the cold majesty of the palace hall. They paid her no mind. Ella was a slave and an infidel in the Persian court, and in nine years had done nothing to warrant notice outside the confines of the harem. The women of the harem had long ignored her as being slightly mad – she spent the first year as a deaf-mute with glazed eyes before their language became comprehensible to her European ears – and the whispered English prayers were an old habit. She focused her eyes on the intricate patterns of the inlaid marble floor at her feet as they ventured further and further from the harem, following the weaving lines of black and white marble until she was dizzy.
Dear Lord in Heaven, if it so pleases – give me strength to – please, please…
They had not left her alone to prepare, but attended her closely as she dressed in the silken robes she would be presented in. Ella had wondered if they knew what she was thinking, the thoughts she was still thinking. She knew her father would have died before he would have let her face this horror…her mother, too…but they could not save her now. She thought of them and her words crashed together in a horrible rush, her breath catching brokenly. The eunuchs in front of her turned a corner down a narrower hall, and she fell back to the prayer her mother had taught her so long ago. Our Father, who art in heaven…hallowed be thy name…
She ended the prayer as they entered the magician's chamber, her lips mouthing silent words as she trained her eyes on the floor. "..the power… and the glory…".
"Forever, they say;" a man's voice finished coldly. In English.
Ella felt a deep chill sink into her body as she slowly looked up. The sorcerer stood in the center of the room, dressed in back. His face was shrouded in a black velvet mask, but she could hear the disdain in his voice as he continued,
"but God is dead, girl, so I would not expect him to come to your aid at the present."
One of the eunuchs stepped forward. "His most esteemed majesty, Light of Heaven, Ruler of- "
"every ridiculous title imaginable; yes – the shah obviously sends this half-witted girl. For what purpose?" the magician snarled.
The eunuch frowned as he and his fellow escort inched towards the chamber doors. "She is a gift from the majesty – a wife from the royal harems."
"A gift indeed…" the magician replied. He stood very still, his head turned towards her. Ella realized she could not see his eyes in the shadows of the black silk. The eunuch beside her shifted his weight from foot to foot, then shoved her forward. She quickly stepped back, only to be pushed forward again by her retreating escorts.
"You no doubt know why you are here, and object," the magician addressed her flatly in Farsi. "Before you waste my time and your life, consider this: to refuse me is to go against the wishes of the shah himself, and will be punished by death."
The Sultana's new sorcerer shows no mercy – he is just barely human – no face, no heart, and no soul. Ella remembered the harem girls whispering nervously when the sorcerer first arrived at the court. Already, so many are dead…and in such horrible ways… Ella knew of the terrible fates of those who angered the shah…she had seen many of them first hand.
"I will make the choice easy for you," he added quietly, fiercely, and in English now. "Think. Surely the rest of your life is worth this one night. Perform your duty, and I will release you in the morning. You may go where you like – I will…compensate…you for your troubles. You could go far away from here"
She could not help staring now. Why would he lie? Surely he realized he already had every advantage… The Sultana would kill her immediately before she saw her "gift" released. Besides, it had been years since an English ship had docked in the shah's harbors, and no guide would take her west – Ella knew too well the slavers who prowled the roads, and she was no longer a child. He was toying with her…
"I promise" he added, absurdly, as if it might help. He seemed anxious, suddenly, although he had barely moved. "I swear. Don't be stupid – they will kill you. Most likely after they passed you around whatever scum they can find, and definitely after you will have wished they had."
A jolt of horror passed through her body as she realized he was most likely right. "Will you remain in Persia when the palace is finished?" she asked softly.
"When the palace is finished, I will again be looking for new projects worthy of my time." He made a sudden, impatient gesture, and switched back to Farsi. "I have given you your choice. Decide quickly, before I decide for you."
Ella could not speak. It was a game – whatever she 'decided' surely, surely the outcome would remain the same… Even if by some miracle he released her as he promised, the outcome would be the same…
"Take her away," the sorcerer spat violently, jolting her out of her thoughts.
"NO!" She fell onto the floor in a bow, her forehead strangely warm against the cool tiles. "I will stay…I will stay, but…"
He turned towards her, tensed. "You have a condition?"
She replied to him in English. "When you leave Persia, take me with you, take me home, to England.
"That is your condition?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He tilted his head slightly. "When I leave, I shall take you to England." In Persian he added, "You agree to this?"
"If you swear it to be so, I agree," she whispered.
He nodded sharply, suddenly to the men behind her. "Leave us."
She felt numb as she heard them turn and close the door. She looked up at the sorcerer who stood before her, impassive eyes on her own, and an unseen hand clenched down upon her heart and lungs. They were alone.
He took a quick step forward, crouched before her on one knee in a motion so fast and fluid that she had to remind herself that even in Persia, sorcery was only an illusion…
He reached a hand towards her face, drawing his fingers along her jawline with a whisper-soft brush of his fingertips, trailing them down across the pulse that pounded painfully in the contours of her neck. Surely, the gossips of the harem were wrong, had exaggerated the number of dead…
He brought the other hand to her neck, cradling her face. His hands began to shake as his fingers traced over the curve of her cheek.
…and the horrible ways in which they died.
She was suddenly aware of the sound of ragged breaths in the still of the evening. Was it she or the sorcerer who breathed so brokenly? She couldn't tell.
He took his hands from her face and rose suddenly to his feet, his eyes alight with a strange sort of electricity. Perhaps they do burn, as rumor says. They are as yellow as flame…
He spoke to her in English, and her foolish heart jumped at the familiar cadence before shrinking underneath the words. "The washroom is through that door," he gestured. "If you need…anything."
She swallowed hard. "I have been…prepared."
"The bedroom is over here," he indicated with a nod of his head. He hesitated for a moment, then took a step towards it, looking back at her.
By next morning, she thought, I will be a prostitute and dead.
Her eyes welled up with tears and she blinked stubbornly. She had not cried when they told her of her appointment, she had not cried as she washed and dressed and did her hair, she had not cried when she entered the room and first realized all was lost and that she would never see her home again.
The sorcerer noticed immediately.
"I gave you a choice and agreed to your condition," he said bitterly, glaring at her from behind the black mask. His voice rose, the words rushing together. "Why are you sobbing now? Have I hurt you? If you have changed your mind, you are free to leave!"
She shook her head, and tried to steady her voice. "No."
"Then pray explain yourself…or, perhaps, that is not entirely necessary, is it?"
Explain yourself…the words reverberated around her mind, and suddenly the long hours of waiting, the fear, and sorrow of all of Persia hit her with a mad jolt of fury. Explain yourself…
"I am crying," she cried, the anger in her voice blending with her tears and becoming fierce, "because I do not want to be a prostitute, and I do not want to die!"
"You are saying," he stated incredulously, "that you do not wish to lie with me."
He was thinking, she was sure, of his previous prediction of her death at the hands of the Sultana, and his voice sounded accusatory and cheated - like a petulant child. "With anyone!"
"Ever?" He was mocking her now.
"No!"
He laughed suddenly, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls of the room. "This is a fine joke; the Sultana has outdone herself - sending a praying, principled odalisque to an infidel…"
"I am not the odalisque," she whispered quietly.
"What did you say?"
"I am not," she repeated, louder, "the odalisque. I am not a thing or an object, I have a name." She lowered her voice and drew herself up to her full height, angry at herself. As though ten years in Persia had taught her nothing! "Pray forgive my foolishness."
She started to walk past him, into the bedroom, when a hand clamped around her arm.
"No."
Her heart stopped in her throat. She had overstepped her bounds in her temper, in her frustration and in speaking her own language. It took her back, back to when she had been a girl, when women spoke freely. But she was in Persia.
He must have noted the painful way the blood drained from her face, but he merely walked to another door and opened it. "You will sleep here tonight. Alone."
"You are sending me back?"
"No, not tonight or ever. I won't have that bitch make you into her own personal spy."
Ella filed away the description of the Sultana, and spoke cautiously. "We are still agreed?"
He sighed harshly. "Yes, yes…I will take you home…but for tonight you may sleep with your virtue intact."
"I - thank you, sir."
He nodded once, shortly, then disappeared into his own bedroom, and leaving her standing alone in the great room of the chamber.