Most of this is plot from Kay, although Vasilida changes things a bit. A big thank-you to all my readers; you keep me updating!

I went through the motions of my life in a bit of a daze after that. Building the palace, influencing the shah, performing for the khanum, none of them seemed important knowing that Vasilida spent her nights in the arms of another.

Still, I managed to fulfill all of my obligations. I went through the motions of my life mechanically until one day, after a party at which I performed, I found myself with my face in my room's lovely marble tub, vomiting blood. Obviously, someone poisoned my wine; presumably the vizier felt that he could be reinstated at court if I was removed. Or perhaps it was someone else; I had made several other enemies.

I sent away my servants, but suddenly Nadir was there, staring at the tub.

"Go away," I gasped. "I don't want anyone here…particularly not you!"

He reached out to hold me steady as I heaved; I don't know why. I told him, once again, to leave.

"Stop wasting your strength," he ordered. "Do you have any idea what you may have taken?"

"No," I told him between gasps. "I've made no study…of your crude Persian toxins…I don't make a habit…of poisoning people, as a rule. It's not a form of death I find…esthetically pleasing."

"Ground glass would account for the internal bleeding," he pointed out. "There are various substances with which it could have been combined. Most of them produce a protracted and agonizing death."

"This is my reward…for letting the vizier live, I see. How long…do you think I have?" I asked.

"Those who are lucky die within forty-eight hours," he said quietly, "but I have known a strong man to linger up to ten days."

"Vasilida…" I sighed. "Send Vasilida. Please. I need her to…finish the palace. She's the only…the only one who can."

He brought me to his home. I suppose that he sent word ahead, because Vasilida was there to meet us at the door; or perhaps she met him that way every night, I don't know.

I do know that she gasped when she saw me, looking concerned and frightened, and rushed to put an arm around my waist to support me. I would have savored the feeling had my pain been less intense.

She didn't want to go over the plans for the palace; she wanted me to rest. Nadir quietly explained to her that I was sure to die either way, and she wept. She wept for me—not because of my actions, but for me.

I wondered if I was delirious.

I laid out the plans, and painstakingly explained every detail to her. She refused to leave while I lived, but agreed to go to Mazanderan to oversee the construction as soon as I died.

When I was sure that she understood every point of my instructions, I allowed myself to topple from the chair in which I had been sitting. I heard her call for Nadir as I blacked out.

I was aware of little for the next few days. Vague memories suggest themselves to me; I am fairly certain that I heard Reza crying, asking me to get better so that I could fix the tiny fiddler I made for him. I know that I heard Vasilida crying.

I think that I felt her kiss my hands, and that I heard her say that she loved me, but surely I imagined it.

"As soon as I heard that you were upset by me and Nadir, I broke it off," she told me in my dream. "I was trying to refill the hole that leaving you made in me. He understood. He's a good man…but he's not you. God, Erik, you have to get better. You have to. I love you."

My dreams are so much better than the waking world…at least some of the time. At other times, I wandered through my memories, lingering on my losses.

Sasha, the dog who was more of a mother to me than my own.

Mother, who could not love me, although I think she tried.

Luciana, who thought she loved me until seeing my face sent her to her death.

Giovanni, who taught me all that I know…he was Luciana's father.

Vasilida.

In the end, I decided that I would make the effort and live. Reza needed me, and Vasilida…well, at the very least, my death would make her sad.

Keeping her happy was enough of a reason to live.

I stayed with that household for three months after I recovered. Vasilida wept with joy and threw her arms around me when I regained consciousness; that alone was more than enough to justify my choice to survive. We relocated back to Mazanderan so that I could continue work on the palace; the foreman had made a few mistakes in my absence, but I managed to right them.

As I regained my strength, though, Reza lost his. I realized within a few weeks that he could not last long. Unwilling to abandon him, I bribed the shah's messengers to pretend that they had never found me.

I did not know how best to break the news to Nadir, so I simply told him. He had nursed me through my ordeal, and that was more than enough to make me forgive his affair with Vasilida. She was never truly mine, after all, so he did not steal her.

"Two months?" he cried, disbelieving. "Erik, surely you are mistaken, he must have longer than that—he must!"

"Nadir," I said gently, ignoring his denial, "the child does not deserve to suffer all that will very soon lie ahead of him."

"What are you telling me?" he asked, tonelessly.

"I am telling you nothing—merely asking you to remember that death can come in many shades. Some are harsh and infinitely painful to look upon; others can be as peaceful and beautiful as the setting sun. I am an artist, and many colors lie upon my palette. Let me paint him a rainbow, and give you the means to decide where it ends."

He let me paint that rainbow.

For two months, I poured all of my skill into making that child happy. Vasilida helped me; she said nothing about anything I thought I had heard while I was unconscious, assuring me of the fact that I had dreamed it. Still, despite the tragedy of Reza's illness, I couldn't help but be happy. It was just like having her as my apprentice again.

Her empathy and mothering touch, combined with my skill at manipulating emotions, allowed us to give Reza the best two months of his life. Finally, though, Nadir sought me out.

I could tell, as soon as I saw him, that he had recognized the inevitability of Reza's death. I laced a glass of sherbet with a gentle poison, and handed it to him.

"It will be quick," I assured him, "and he will feel nothing."

He stared at the glass, making no move to take it.

"No," he said, his voice trembling with fear. "I can't do this. I will let nature take her course after all."

"Nature is a cruel and unfeeling goddess," I told him steadily. "Will you abandon your child into her merciless hands?"

"I am his father!" he cried, covering his face with his hands and turning away from me. "How can you know, how can you understand, what it means to take life from your own child?"

I saw what I had to do.

"This is no longer your burden," I told him. "Wait for me here."

I used my voice to take his will, hoping that he could forgive me.

Gently, I held the glass to the lips of the bedridden child. He swallowed happily—it was his favorite flavor of sherbet—then lay back with a sigh.

To my surprise, Nadir suddenly burst into the room.

"There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his Prophet," he whispered hoarsely—the rites of the dying in his religion.

I had not realized until then that some forces could overcome my voice. Apparently a combination of religious fervor and paternal love could do so.

The boy was already dead when I laid him in Nadir's arms.

I was not able to attend the funeral.

The morning after Reza's death, an armed guard came to take me back to Tehran. I could probably have fought them off, but I wanted to get out of that house of mourning. Nadir and Vasilida could comfort each other much better than I could, I was sure.

It seemed, for a while, that I had been forgiven for my desertion. The shah made no mention of it; the khanum made a few sarcastic comments, but that was all. I should have known that they were planning something.