Spring 1852

Mazandaran/Tehran

Raoul

It was finally beginning to warm up at the palace site. Although it hadn't been frigidly cold, the weather had substantially halted work on the palace. I was lonely and bored and spent most of my time in my tent, rereading letters written to me by Christine.

But by the time the ground was dry and the weather clear, it was apparent that it was time for all the workers to return to Tehran. I was quite shocked one morning to emerge from my tent and see all the men packing up, riding out of the site. I finally found the man who spoke some French and asked what was happening.

"Home," he said simply. "We go home."

"Why? We – we cannot simply abandon this! We're right in the middle of it!"

"You follow," he said, obviously not understanding my previous statement. "You follow."

I didn't want to leave without knowing why, but I also did not want to be stranded up with the unfinished palace. If they were, indeed, heading back to Tehran, that meant I could see Christine. And so, I followed suit and packed my belongings. I mounted my horse and followed a small party of men back down through the Elburz Mountains and into Tehran.

In the city, entire families were cleaning their homes. This was most unusual to me. I saw whole houses put outside while the inhabitants scrubbed away inside. I attempted to ask someone about this, but he didn't understand, and I quickly gave up. In the first few months of being at the palace site, the lack of communication frustrated me to no end. But now I had learned to simply cope the best I could and try to be helpful. It's what Christine would have wanted, after all.

Erik was also not much help, either. When he was up there, I hardly ever saw him. He was always immersed in some large project that demanded much of his time. When I did see him, our conversations were short and impersonal. He would give me a letter from Christine, and before he left I would hand him one to return to her. But Erik had not been at the site in over two months. I assumed it was simply because his services were required in Tehran.

I reached my apartments with growing excited anticipation. I had missed Christine terribly, and she did not know that I was to be returning. There was happy chatter from inside the rooms. Standing outside the door, I straightened myself out slightly and, grinning, knocked. A small pause followed and then moving. I heard Christine call out, "Don't worry, Murina, I'll get the door. It's probably – "

She threw open the door, and the words died on her lips. A look of confusion came over her features, but was quickly replaced by an expression of pure joy. She shrieked and immediately threw herself at me, hugging me tightly and pressing kisses to my cheek. I returned her embrace with equal delight.

"I cannot believe it!" she exclaimed. "Raoul! It's you! You're here!"

"Were you expecting anyone else?" I asked, laughing.

She echoed my laughter. "Of course not," she said. "But you're home! I'm so glad. I had thought you might return for the new year, but I couldn't be sure."

"The new year?"

"Oh yes, it's in a few days," she said, dragging me into the apartments. I noticed that our home was not much different than those I had previously seen. Everything was moved somewhere else, cluttered in random places, and Christine weaved through the jumble, saying,

"Murina insisted on cleaning, isn't that sweet of her? Apparently it's a tradition, to bring in a fresh new year. What's it called again? Let me see if I can remember…I was told its name. It's Nor-something. Norwaze…No, Norooz! Yes, that's what it's called: Norooz. The Persian new year. It's March, Raoul! Isn't that peculiar? I was told it had something to do with the sun…Oh, I cannot remember now, I'm too flustered with your being here! But it doesn't matter. Here, sit down, I'm sure you're exhausted. Let me make you something. Murina just taught me how to prepare – what was its name? – fesenjan. I know you'll love it, Raoul. And then we can – "

"Christine?" I interrupted quickly. She immediately stopped and turned to look at me.

"Yes, Raoul?" she said, her smile so sweet and ardent.

"Please – just sit down with me. I don't want anything to eat or drink. I simply want to speak with you."

She gave a small laugh and sat down next to me. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips.

"I've missed you so much," I said softly.

"I've missed you too," she said, the smile still on her lips.

"How was your time here?" I said.

"It was bearable," she replied. "Murina is such a kind woman; she made things very nice for me. We're getting very good at miming what we wish to say." She chattered on happily for a few minutes, laughing and smiling at me, and when she was finished there was a pause. "I know you aren't enjoying your time at the palace, Raoul," she said quietly. I looked over to her quickly, and she cut me off before I could say anything. "You know you aren't good at keeping secrets or lying. And…I wish there was something I could do for you."

"Let's not discuss this now," I said. "I don't want this to dampen our time together. I'm not sure how long I'm going to be here, so let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?"

"Of course," she said. She leaned over and kissed me. I had missed her so much.

Several days later found Christine dragging me to Erik's apartments. I had objected to this the day before and that morning, but Christine had been adamant.

"It's traditional for Norooz," she said firmly.

She had been following all Persian customs for the holiday, including purchasing traditional Persian clothing for the two of us. She made me try it on the following night, and she laughed as I tripped over the long…robes, I suppose they were. I laughed along with her but quickly changed into my preferred French attire. Christine did look very beautiful in her clothing, however.

She smiled as she spun slowly for me to see. "There are these strange…trousers that they wear underneath this," she said, lifting her long tunic up for me to see. "But it's very comfortable." We put away the clothing and never wore it again.

The servant girl – Murina – had also made us a variety of dishes, some I liked and some I found nauseating. Christine tried everything with gusto, laughing and smiling all the way. Once again, I found myself amazed that I had managed to married her.

But this – the visit – was a custom I did not want to follow. I had humored her before, but I refused when she said that we were to visit Erik.

"I don't care if it's custom," I said, frowning. "Christine, I simply do not want to have to visit Erik with you. I see him when I'm at the palace. I do not need to see him again."

"Nonsense," she said. "He hasn't been at the palace in months."

"And how would you know that?" I said moodily.

"He has visited me several times," she said, "only to make sure that I am well. He's quite nice, Raoul, and I don't want you to put him in a bad mood when we visit."

"We are not going to visit him!" I said.

"Yes, we are, and you are going to be polite!"

Although I fumed about it, she woke me up and took me to Erik's apartments a few days later. Christine had brought with us a small dish of pastries.

"He won't be expecting us," she had said. "And I know he'll appreciate this."

I doubted that Erik would appreciate much of anything at all, but I didn't say that.

She smiled encouragingly at me and then knocked gently on the door. I bit back a sigh.

A few moments later, there were heavy footsteps, and the door opened slightly. Erik's masked face appeared, and his eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. He glanced behind him into the room and quietly stepped out, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Good afternoon," he said politely.

"Good afternoon, Erik," Christine said, smiling. There was a moment of silence, and Christine glanced at me, her brow furrowed.

"Good afternoon," I said stiffly.

He looked at me with a trace of amusement, but then his gaze went back to Christine.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked.

"We simply came by to visit and wish you a happy new year," Christine said.

There was another minute of silence, and Erik hesitated before saying, "I thank you, but, unfortunately, I have another visitor at the moment," he said. "And I cannot admit anymore."

"We're sorry for disturbing you," I said swiftly, taking Christine's shoulder. "Come."

"Wait!" she said, shrugging my hand off. "Who is it, Erik?"

He looked at her for a moment and said quietly, "If you must know, it's Nadir Khan. His son is very ill, and I'm afraid there's nothing more to be done."

"Oh!" Christine exclaimed. She pressed a hand to her mouth. "How is he?"

Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Not very well. He lost his wife several years ago, and Reza is his only child."

I was moved to some pity for the man, but Christine looked as if she was about to cry.

"May I see him?" Christine asked.

"Vicomtess," I said hurriedly, "I'm not sure that that's appropriate."

They both ignored me. I felt a sting of anger, but I remained silent while Erik contemplated this. He turned around and opened the door. "Wait here for a moment," he said. He then shut the door.

"Christine," I hissed immediately. "What are you thinking?"

"I know Nadir Khan very well," she said, turning to face me. "He's a very kind man, Raoul, and he is about to lose a child. The least we can do is to offer our condolences!"

"But he won't understand!" I said.

"That's not the point," she said, and she turned to face the door once again.

Erik opened it and said, "Perhaps only for a few minutes," he said softly. "It would do him good to have some company other than myself."

He opened the door wider and allowed us to enter the apartments. It was richly furnished and done in good taste. I took a moment to admire it, and then I noticed the Persian man seated on the little sofa. Christine took the spot next to him and gently touched his arm. He looked at her and smiled, though it was weak and obviously forced.

"Shoma chetur hastin?" Christine said softly. I blinked; apparently Christine had done well in the Persian lessons that Murina taught. She had written to me about them.

Nadir Khan still smiled and patted her hand gently. "I'm well, thank you," he replied in clumsy French.

I stood aside awkwardly and watched as the three of them spoke quietly. I wasn't quite sure what was happening; how could Christine speak so casually to these two men? I had spent more time with them than she had, yet I would have never felt comfortable calling on their private apartments to simply visit, and I most certainly wouldn't have insisted on consoling the grieving father.

Christine did not intrude on her welcome. She merely stayed a few more minutes, said some kind things to Nadir Khan, and stood to leave. She said goodbye to Erik, who responded politely, and she then shot me another glare. I muttered a goodbye as well, and then we left.

When we were finally home, lying in bed, Christine sighed and put her head on my shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked softly. "Something's bothering you."

I echoed her sigh. "Nothing," I said.

"Raoul," she said seriously, propping herself up on an elbow. "There's a reason that you do not act. I wish you would tell me what was wrong."

I was quiet for a moment, and then I said coldly, "I want to know why you are suddenly…so friendly with Erik and the Persian man."

She frowned at me and said, "I'm trying to be polite."

"No!" I said, sitting up and looking at her. "No, it's more than that. You know it is. Now, please, tell me what has happened."

There was a moment of tense silence, and she finally said, "Raoul, you were gone for months. I was lonely. When Erik came over to see how I was doing, I couldn't resist talking to him. He brought Nadir Khan with him a few times. I'm – I'm sorry if that hurts you, or if you were hurt at all by this afternoon. I needed someone to talk with, and Erik was there. I've told you this before. Nothing else has happened."

I didn't reply, merely sat there. Christine sat up next to me and wrapped her arms around me. She pressed a kiss to my cheek and then to my lips. "Do you forgive me?" she asked sweetly. She used a voice and pout that I could never stay angry at. I sighed, half-irritated and half-amused.

"All right," I said.