The sultana's laughter rang in Erik's ears as he scraped himself clean. The bathwater was fresh and clear, but he could feel the blood on his hands, red as his flaming skin. His stomach writhed.
Monster.
His trade was in death. He chose it, as a mere boy, not knowing it was simply another cage. Who would have chosen differently? To take control of one's fate instead of letting it beat him into the dirt?
Christine thought him changed. He had sworn to become an honest man, and now the blood was dripping from him once again. How could he look her in the eyes and lie? And then remain silent as the sultana performed her little marriage ceremony, like a girl with her dolls?
He rubbed his skin till it cracked. The water reeked of rich perfumes. Was Christine bathing now as well? Being forced into Persian clothing?
His own clothes were lying across a chair. They were black and red, and atop them lay an ebony half-mask with gold etchings. He had not missed it.
They told him that, once he had made himself presentable, he would be shown to his bride's apartment. Bile rose in his throat at the very thought, the thought that would not long ago have made him weep in delight.
She has been prepared for you, they told him.
What did it mean? Prepared? It filled the pit of his stomach with bristling dread.
He had delayed too long. He had to go to her and promise to protect her, swear that she would be free and not bound to him.
He dressed and donned the mask they had given him, then went out to the guards. No less than six led him down the alabaster halls, up stairs lined in mosaic, down rugs of bright oranges, reds, and blues, until they reached a door at the end of one wing, near an open window. A guard withdrew a key and with it, opened up a bright chamber.
Christine was sitting at a varnished table, dressed in coral silk and covered with flowers- a proper Persian bride. Her features were veiled through a translucent sheet of cherry-red.
"Leave me a moment," Erik said to the guards. "I must speak with her."
They turned and shut the door. Erik's stiff demeanor crumbled as he exhaled.
"Have they treated you well?" he asked.
"Yes. I must have been bathed three times since I saw you last… How have they treated you?"
"Like a tiger on a leash."
She had not lifted her veil. Was she hiding from him?
"Do you understand what is happening?" he asked.
"Yes, but…" She exhaled shakily, beginning to tap her knee as a nervous tick. "I asked them for a Bible, for the ceremony, but they said that would be impossible. How can I be married under their religion?"
"You are not being married, not properly, so it matters little. Isn't it better that you wouldn't respect the union?"
"But I've promised myself to you, in earnest. That's why they did this to me," she gestured to her veiled features. "I'm... surprised you're not in more of a state over it, but you must be exhausted-"
"I don't understand you. Why should I be upset? You seem well, are being given proper care at last, and being put where I can ensure your safety. But you won't be my wife in anything more than title. I shall not hold you to anything. When we return to France, or Sweden, wherever we go, you shall be entirely free of it."
She was silent. He noticed her forehead knit together behind the fabric of her veil. Her gaze was unfixed, almost glassy through the red sheet.
"Is something the matter?" he asked. "You seem to be looking just beyond me, not at me."
"They didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what? Might I see your face?"
"Sit down first," she said in a trembling voice. "And take a deep breath as you do."
He bent over the table instead, placing his hands flat on the varnished wood. His heart raged in his chest.
"Tell it to me standing," he demanded. "I refuse to take any more blows lying down."
"I thought they would have told you," she insisted, tears filling the spaces between words. "How cruel of them to not, and leave me with it-"
"With what?"
She swallowed. "You know I only have four people in this world whom I love, and who love me. I was going to lose two if I didn't agree. You must understand-"
"Oh, Christine, by delaying my agony you only drive the knife deeper! Put me out of my misery!"
A sniffle issued from behind her veil. Her eyes were glistening, still unfocused, almost as if... almost...
His mouth filled with sand as he reached out to take hold of the translucent fabric, raising it up above her eyes. His sharp inhale broke the silence. The blue that had before been so clear was now opaque, and pale as the winter sky. The irises were like marbles.
"I gave them my sight," she told him, tears etching her cheeks. "What is color and light for me if you and Raoul are gone?"
He sank into the chair across from her, shaking his head, mouth open but empty.
"They think," she offered, "if I cannot see you, I'm more inclined to love you-"
"That's a lie, all a lie."
"They didn't hurt me, though. Not a bit. They were so careful. I was drugged, and even then, it didn't hurt afterwards. They treated me every morning on the ship, though I don't know in what way, but I swear they didn't hurt me."
"Does it matter?" he retorted hoarsely, extending his hands across the table, empty and shaking. "Your sight, Christine, your... your independence."
"It is worth nothing to me without those I love. Raoul is alive, and so are you. I can learn to live well enough like this. Plenty of people do. I-I can. I-"
She faltered as he let his head fall into his outstretched hands. His rage had burned up its wick, and the wax melted over his heart, scalding and bringing tears to his eyes. There was nothing left in him to scream or thrash about in agony.
He threw off his mask and wept openly. There was no time to hide himself away, and no right of him to keep anything from her now. The tears tore through his throat, clawing and burning.
Christine sat across from him still as stone for a moment, not knowing if her touch would console him or only turn his tears to rage. Her heart, however, lunged in her chest, then up into her throat, bringing tears to her eyes as well. Her legs bid her stand, and she felt around the table until she found Erik's shoulder. He inhaled sharply at her touch.
"I'm here," she whispered, rubbing gently. His muscles were taut. "I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you, and I am here."
"You shouldn't be here," he managed out, pushing away her hand with his shoulder. "You shouldn't be here."
"But I am. It was out of your control."
"It was not," he pleaded, as though the words cut into his tongue. "I should have left you with the boy."
"I wasn't happy there."
"And you're happy here?" he demanded, spinning around in his seat to face her. "Happy like this?"
"No. But it's not your fault. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I chose to go with you, chose to run away instead of stand with you-"
"Don't you dare call yourself a coward!" he cried, reaching to cup her face in his hands. "Why should you stand with me? I have done nothing to deserve you. Do you understand how brave you are in the face of all this? You have given more than anyone ever should-"
"And so have you-"
"-and even now you stare it in the face, without fear or trembling. Even when you cannot see! How many times you've said you're afraid of the dark, afraid of not knowing what lies before you or behind-"
"That fear has been replaced by my fear for you."
"I can take care of myself."
"But I'm here, too. Don't forget that. You aren't alone, not now… and, therefore, neither am I."
He shook his head, shutting his eyes. "If only you knew… Christine-"
The door opened. His hands fell from her cheek, and she reached out for him as he rose. He slipped the mask back over his face, still glistening with tears.
"It's time for the ceremony," the guard said in Farsi, nodding his head.
"Help guide me," Christine whispered as she took Erik's hands. Her lips trembled before she added, "I trust you."
She gave his palm a gentle squeeze. They followed the guards out the door, into halls strewn with blazing sunlight.
...
Christine plucked the flowers from her hair as she stumbled back into the apartment. Erik had an arm wrapped around her waist to steady her.
He would have told her not to eat or drink anything presented to her that night, but she deserved to have such fine foods, to have her cup filled with rich Persian wine. The sultana had bid them goodnight with a slight tilt of her head. Oh, if his lasso had been on hand, her neck would have snapped in an instant, regardless of his promises and oaths, regardless of consequence! Damn her!
Christine leaned her head against his arm as he guided her to a tasseled pouf in the sitting room. She steadied herself, blinking slowly and turning towards the window.
"What time's it?" she yawned, rubbing her temple.
"Time for you to be in bed," he replied. "I'm going to see what they set out for you."
"Don't leave," she pleaded as she rose on shaky legs. "Take me with you- oh!"
He caught her as her knees buckled. Forgetting propriety, he scooped her up, letting her legs dangle over his arm as he supported her head against his shoulder. She gave no sign of dissent, so he brought into the bedroom and helped her into the center of crimson sheets and tasseled pillows. She reached down to undo the fastenings of her skirts.
At the edge of the bed was a man's nightshirt and, next to it, a near-translucent nightgown embroidered with red poppies. He picked up the nightshirt.
"Here's a chemise," he said, wrapping her hand around the fabric. "I'll leave you now."
He turned, but she grabbed his arm with a loose and leaden grip.
"Don't go," she pleaded, voice faint. "Stay with me."
"It wouldn't be proper-"
"What use 's propriety now? I'm blind, so I must touch to see. I must touch here," she extended her hand to his chest, then felt her way up to his heart, "and here, to know you."
He swallowed as she rested her ear against his pulse. Could she feel it quickening? The joy of her touch was tainted with revulsion, however, as she was not herself. He tried to push her upright. She refused to budge.
"Stay with me," she whispered.
"Until you fall asleep."
"Then I shan't."
"Very well... Are you not going to dress for bed, then?"
"No. I'm comfortable."
She kept her eyes open for a minute or two, staring blankly ahead, before they drifted shut. He waited for her hand to grow limp against his chest, then a moment more, so as not to disturb her when he left. If she woke to find him in bed with her, and had no memory of the previous night… The idea of leaving her with that was unthinkable.
He managed to slip away, taking care to place her head gently upon the pillow as he did so.
He drifted into the sitting room and lied down on the couch, mind flooding with thoughts all tangling together like thread- breaking when he pulled them apart. His eyes refused to shut. What would the sultana want from him next? Another torture chamber? His mind had dried up of such horrible inventions.
His eyelids began to close after a few hours of agonizing thought. As he began to slip into dreams, deep enough to hear the faint voice of a woman and see shadows blending into color, the bed creaked. His eyes snapped open.
"Erik?" Christine called frailly. Her footsteps were steady as she found her way through the dividing curtain into the sitting room, arms outstretched to feel her way.
"What is it?" he asked as he sat up, averting his eyes rather than take in her reaching figure.
She followed his voice until she found his side, then set herself beside him. He shifted away ever so slightly.
"What do you need?" he asked.
"I had a nightmare."
His lips parted. "What about? Do you need something to calm you?"
"No… no, I just need to be certain." She kneaded her palms for a moment. "I'm expected to consummate the marriage. They bound me to such terms."
"And if they must believe that, then I shall be as convincing as need be."
"But in my dream, they came in, in the morning- Shideh and some other women-"
"Shideh?"
"The girl who translates for me. They came in to see if, well, there was proof of it. And they didn't find any… Well, what if they come in, in the morning? To… be sure?"
"I wouldn't put them above it, though I think it very unlikely. But I still don't understand you."
"I know more than I ought, being in the opera… Do you still have the knife I gave you?"
"Yes. But if anyone's blood is to be spilled, I insist it is my own."
"But if they see a wound on you, they might suspect-!"
"I can manage it."
"Just give me the knife," she insisted, extending her hand out in the direction of his voice. "It is mine, after all."
"Giving it to you would be the same as cutting you with my own hand. No."
He rose and started towards the bedroom. She followed, hands outstretched, grasping at the air.
"Erik, please! Don't! You've already suffered enough-"
"And you have not?" He pressed the knife into his fingertip until a red bead formed, then smeared it on the white linen. "Besides, it is done, with hardly a drop spilled."
"If you keep hurting yourself for my sake-"
"You should not be here, should not be blind, and since you are, you shall be spared any and every pain."
"Oh, you wretched, obstinate man!"
She placed her hand upon his cheek, then threw her arms about him, letting out a dry sob on his chest.
Before he could remember to breathe again, before the warmth of her body had even begun melting his frame, she pulled back from him and clutched his head in hers, staring at him with her blank eyes. Without a word, she pulled his lips down to hers with remarkable precision. Her kiss tasted like tears.
He pushed her from him.
"Don't," he insisted, fingers ghosting over his lips.
"Don't?" she sniffled. "Why not? When you are now gentle and-"
"I am a beast! That is what I am here. I am not permitted to behave like a man. I am a dog. The sultana calls for me, I come. She tells me to retrieve something, I bring it back with haste. She tells me to kill a man, I must! If I do not, I condemn you and I to torture and agonizing death. You act as if everything will be all right if you swear to things, obey every word, but you do not matter here. They see you as a thing to use against me, or for me, not as you are. If I step out of line, you will be punished for my impudence. I am the only person who looks out for you here. So yes, I shall bleed for you, lie for you, cheat and steal, because I brought you here... and because you are my only freedom in this hellish place."
"And you are mine," she breathed. "And you are no beast, and not to blame... So let me kiss you."
"I don't deserve it."
"And if I want to? Will you deny me what I want? I have been kept beneath a ship for weeks, able to hear you but not see or touch you. All I have is touch now... Let me kiss you."
He was helpless to stop her hands from cupping his face. She traced his blemishes, mapping them with her fingertips, a faint smile playing over her features. She left an imprint on his skin, and her touch burned like sunlight. She wove her arms about his neck and pulled him to her lips. This time he met her.
When his head cleared from her dizzying warmth, he found himself unable to move from her, as if encased in lead. She placed his trembling hands about her waist until they steadied. Her pulse was high and heavy in her throat and, lost in the dream of it all, he kissed her cheek. She angled her head to place his next at her jawline, and she shivered, though not with cold.
"Erik," she breathed.
The room was suddenly stifling. He traced her pulse with his lips until he met her collarbone, eyes shut in bliss. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. The world was forgotten for a moment, slipping away, and he clung to the dream until his senses returned to him in a great rush of fear. Was she still unaware of herself, though she seemed of sound mind? Did she truly want him to continue? And how far?
"You're confused," he whispered, though he did not remove his hands from her waist, nor his lips more than a breath away from her skin, pale as alabaster. But those white pillars were cold, and oh, she was so warm and soft! Very much alive as she sighed against his ear. Every muscle, every tendon in his body fell slack, but he clenched his jaw in resistance.
"Christine," he insisted as he separated from her. "It's too late, and you're still not yourself... Did they tell you to do this?"
"No. No, they didn't." Her eyelids were heavy. "I am myself-"
"Please go to bed... I'm going to get some air."
He stepped outside. The guards eyed him beneath their astrakhans, but he was permitted to lean against the wall and regain his composition.
Upon reentering, he found Christine had put on the nightshirt. She was lying on the couch, eyes shut. Obstinate, wonderful woman.
He scooped her up in his arms and brought her into the bedroom, where he deposited her beneath the dark sheets. Her hand found its way about his wrist, and not by accident.
"Stay with me," she whispered. "Please, if only tonight. I don't want to be alone in the dark."
"If that is truly what you want," he sighed, "then I could never deny you."
...
Sunrise began to slip over the windowsill, making the room blush. Erik slipped out from beneath the bedsheets, his joints stiff and his clothes sticking. Christine moaned and turned over in bed, wrapping her arms about the pillow. Her curls were a wild, wonderful mess.
After cleaning himself up a bit, he went out the door, intending to ask for some breakfast for her. The request fled his mind, however, upon taking in the slight form of Darius' murderer. She was speaking to the guards. Curiously, the men had been changed. They were taller. Younger.
"What are you doing here?" Erik growled in Farsi.
"I come whenever the Shah bids me to," Shideh replied without emotion.
"Whenever the sultana bids you to. Her hands are on the strings."
"Exactly. As you are awake and in full command of your senses, I see no point in wasting time. Shall we?"
She gestured to the door. Erik opened it just enough to let in her slight figure in. She then, without asking, sat herself down on a satin pouf.
"Why do you think you have been brought here?" she asked.
"To entertain the sultana."
"That is a ruse." She gestured to a chair across from her. "Sit... Your wife is asleep, is she not?"
Erik glanced back through the dividing curtain, towards the bed where Christine lay with her back to them.
"Yes," he replied, remaining on his feet.
"Good."
"And what is my true purpose here, child. You act as if I'm mistaken, even though that is what I have been led to believe by even you. Am I not only to be the sultana's chained beast?"
"No. As you know, the Shah has little hold of the throne. You may have wondered how his brother died, as he was the Shah you expected to see. He was found dead in his bedroom two years ago, poisoned by a member of his harem. Curious."
"Indeed. I doubt you provide your women with such means."
"A son cannot kill his mother."
"But a mother can kill her son. What significance does this have for me?"
"I am not under the sultana's jurisdiction, but the Shah's. You have not been brought here to entertain the sultana. You have been brought here to rid us of her."
He smiled without humor. "Ah, I see. Is the Shah suddenly lacking in assassins? Why waste his time bringing me here over the course of two months, with numerous moving parts, only for me to rid him of someone he could easily remove by himself?"
"He didn't bring you here. He let the sultana do as she pleased, to use her own favorite against her. After all, why should you not want to kill her now? She has blinded your lover-"
He pulled Christine's knife from his pocket in one swift motion, pinning her against the wall with the tip. Her breath misted over the cold surface. She swallowed against the point, her breath trembling.
"Killing me would not be in your best interest," she said. "The sultana believes I am loyal. She would retaliate."
"If you truly are the Shah's, I could torture you with this very knife, just before the point of death, and you would make an excuse to the sultana rather than incriminate me."
"Very well. Do it, with your wife in the next room."
"She is not my wife! You have forced her to come here and serve my interests against her will!"
"She is to be a torment to you, not a gift. The sultana has planned the most horrible tortures-"
"For Christine?"
The knife relaxed against her throat. She nodded gingerly.
"And in return," she replied, "you… unless you kill the puppet mistress first. So I advise you release me, as I can see the answer in your eyes."
Erik's breathing was in pants. A drop of blood rested at the tip of the blade, but he withdrew. She sank back onto the pouf, clutching her throat.
"Am I given full discretion?" he growled.
"You are, and I am at your disposal."
"Be careful with your choice of words."
The floorboards creaked in the other room. They both turned to the curtain, which Christine had silently parted with one trembling hand.
"What has happened?" she asked. "I heard loud voices."
"I came at the sultana's bidding, madame," Shideh replied in French, rising, "to replace your linen."
Christine's cheeks flushed with color, but she shifted to the side allow it. Erik went to her and brought her from the doorway.
"I'll explain everything soon," he insisted. "But I can tell you now that perhaps things have shifted in our favor."