Winter 1852

Tehran/Mazandaran

Erik

It was time.

I was ready. After months and months of suffering, I would be free. I gathered together all the ideas and plans that had been swimming around my head for the past months and placed them in a collective pool, allowing them to sort themselves out. My plan was ready, and so was I.

I was almost appalled at the apparent lack of real security. I snuck easily through the hallways, prowling around the eunuchs who patrolled the halls. There were locked doors to get through, but it was easy enough. I simply followed the elaborate halls – the more elaborate, the closer I was. I was now in the heart of the seraglio, and I could almost smell the hazy perfume, the sweet, sickening scent of hashish and other such things…

The door I desired was at the end of a short hallway. I peered around the corner and saw two eunuchs standing guard with yataghans. No matter. Very softly, I tapped the wall behind me and waited. Heavy, slow footsteps came closer, and I pulled a dagger from my cloak slowly, nearly panting in anticipation. When the first one rounded the corner, I raised it high and let it plummet. It landed in the vicinity close to his heart. No matter how hard I tried to make it silent, I could not stop the loud gasp that came from him. He fell to the ground, blood streaming from his chest.

Now there were hurried footsteps, and I straightened to prepare myself for the second eunuch. Before he could focus on me, my dagger had punctured his lung. He flailed wildly, his large arms battering me, but I still pushed, twisting the dagger farther in. He gave a guttural moan and dropped to the floor. I stood, panting heavily, feeling warm blood stain my hand. I didn't like using knives; they were messy, took an unnecessary amount of time, and such a burden to carry. I had learned much during my earlier years, and I knew all the subtleties that a knife held. But the shah knew I didn't favor daggers, and anything at all to throw him off my scent was going to be helpful. Before beginning to unpick the doors, I dragged the two limp bodies back up the hallway, careful not to let any blood smear the floors.

It took me much longer than usual to unpick the locks. I knew they were of a unique design, and it did hinder me for several moments. But I finally heard a small click of the lock giving way, and I gently, silently, pushed open the door to the khanum's personal chambers.

It was like something from a dream. Gauzy curtains hung from the walls, and the scent of perfume and hashish was overpowering. There were puffy footstools and thick, lush carpets. I had been in here before. The khanum had received me numerous times in here, but each time I entered I felt a blinding rush of hatred and nausea.

But I did not dwell long on that. I was far too interested in the large expanse that served as her personal bed. It was surrounded by more gossamer curtains, and I looked through them to see her form, sleeping peacefully. My head pounded. How dare she sleep peacefully! How dare she sleep here while my Christine was in danger!

I took a deep breath and allowed myself a moment of calm. It would do no good to wake her and have her alerting all of Tehran with a single scream. No, best to do it quietly.

I took a moment to examine her. Through the curtains, I could see her smooth, dark features relaxed and peaceful. Without her usual veil that hid her nose, mouth, and chin from me, I could see that she was a handsome woman, still in possession of the beauty from her youth. Her dark hair was let loose, splaying across the pillows and her shoulders. But I was not softened by this weakness or display of feminism. I felt myself grow angrier. This woman was my sole source of misery here. She had turned me into a living, breathing bringer of death. She had turned me into a monster.

And it wasn't that I cared so much about myself – I had come here for Christine. This…thing tried to kill Christine: pure, lovely, innocent Christine, who had never asked for any of this to happen to her.

With that thought pushing me on, I took off my mask and pulled back the curtains, slipping out my rope. With one swift leap, I had it around her neck and was pulling, tight, tighter…

She had woken soon enough and was thrashing under my hands, unable to scream. Her soft, hennaed hands pulled at mine frantically. The differences were severe and almost comical: her hands unbelievably small and dark, mine large and alabaster. But I did not let go. I would not let go.

Her eyes looked up and locked onto mine – perhaps the first time they had ever done so without some sort of curtain or shield between us. I…did not know what was there: anger, hatred…and something else. Something else I had never seen before. It unnerved me, but I did not let that show. I glared back with all the bitterness I could muster.

Underneath me, her soft body was growing still. Her hands were no longer pulling at mine. She fell limp back onto the bed, but I knew that she was not all gone, and so I held on. I held until I knew for certain that all of her life had been extinguished. I pulled even after that. I could not let her come back. There was no room for mistakes in this.

Finally, after giving one final pull, I jumped off the bed and sighed, long and low. I realized that I had been holding my breath throughout the murder. Shaking, I put the lasso away. Hopefully, it was there to rest for the remainder of the night. Now there was no time to lose. Speed was necessary if we were to get a solid head-start.

I wrapped the body in one of the light silk sheets and pulled her off the bed. After making sure that the eunuchs were situated accordingly, I hoisted the small body over my shoulder and left, ensuring that the door locked behind me.

It was much more difficult to travel the hallways of the harem with the khanum on my shoulder. I was more careful than ever before. If I so much heard the ghost of a footstep, I disappeared. No mistakes – no mistakes were possible tonight.

I finally emerged from the harem and quickly made my way to the Shadow Gardens. The fountains bubbled quietly in the cool evening. Silver moonlight rested peacefully on the garden, but I was a piece of the night itself, creeping in the shadows, cursing the light that might make me seen. When I reached the obscure corner, I placed the body on the ground and moved aside the brush that concealed the pre-dug hole. Quickly, I hoisted the body inside – thanking heaven that the hole was large enough – and filled it back up with the dirt I had sporadically placed nearby. I then covered it with the brush and some other things to make it look like a natural corner. Afterward I stood, dusted off my knees and hands, and stared at the ground. I had successfully murdered the most powerful person in Persia.

I had never wanted to kill a woman. They were vain, conniving, stupid creatures, and I had only the best examples from my past. My mother…Luciana…and the woman buried before me. All of them had shown me more hatred and cruelty than most of the men in my life. And though I hated them all with a passion only I could know, I had never planned to murder the "fairer sex."

Although I hardly counted the khanum among other women, she was one. And as I stared, a rush of disgust in myself overwhelmed me. I thought of Marie Perrault – of all the people in the world – and the kindness she had shown me, even when I was a terrible monster of a child. I thought of Giovanni's face, pulled into a disappointed frown at my actions. But mostly, I thought of Christine. I thought of the terror on her face when she saw mine. I could see it again, her mouth open in fright, her eyes wide with disgust, when she discovered what I had done.

But I did it for you! I pleaded with her desperately.

Her expression was unforgiving. I was so ashamed and revolted that I nearly vomited. Taking deep breaths, I shut my eyes and forced myself to think of what would have happened to Christine had I not committed that unforgivable act. I imagined her on the floor, hardly breathing, the life slowly leaving. And I knew whose fault it was.

When I opened my eyes again, I was ready.

As I made my way to her apartments, I felt my heart begin to pound – not from exhaustion, but from adrenaline. I was there with unimaginable speed, even for me. I opened the front door and raced to her bedroom, though when I entered I was immediately silent. No need to frighten her more than was absolutely necessary.

She was…a vision. Soft moonlight illuminated her bedroom. It spilled over her bed and onto her. I stared at her for a full minute, taking in everything. Her features were soft, perfect, relaxed. Her hair was beautifully mussed; she looked tantalizing, almost enticing. I had watched two beautiful women sleep that night (something I would have never imagined in my wildest dreams), and the polar emotions I felt nearly tired me. Christine – the complete opposite of the woman I had just buried. Christine – the embodiment of light and goodness.

But I remembered why I was here, and I blinked quickly, as if coming out of a deep sleep. Quietly, I went and knelt beside the bed. Trying to be gentle, I stretched an arm out and placed it over her mouth. She woke with a strong start, and I felt her give a scream against my hand.

"Hush," I said softly. "Christine, it's Erik."

She pushed my hand away and sat up. Then she realized that she was quite indecent in her nightgown, and she quickly pulled up her coverlet to her chin. Gasping, she looked at me and said, "Goodness, Erik, you frightened me! What on earth are you doing here?"

"We must leave – right now," I said. "Come, quickly, get out of bed and pack your things."

"What – what are you talking about?" she said, her eyes growing wide. "What are you saying?" She spotted my hands, and her eyes widened. Too late I realized that I hadn't yet washed off the blood from the eunuchs. "Is that blood?" she whispered, horrified. "Erik, what's going on?"

"Tehran isn't safe anymore," I said urgently, putting my hands out of sight. "We must leave immediately."

"Surely tomorrow, when it's light outside – "

"Immediately!" I barked, and she scrambled out of the bed. "Immediately, Christine, do you understand? We are in danger. I shall give you ten minutes to change and pack your things. Do you understand?" I repeated.

Looking small and frightened, she nodded, her arms wrapped around her. Resisting the urge to reach out and bury a bloodstained hand in her tousled hair, I left the room quickly. I then scoured the other rooms, looking for things that would be useful. I saw her copy of Die Zauberflote, and, after a moment's hesitation, I put it aside. I brought a few valuable trinkets lying around that could be used as money, and I also packed some food for Christine. I went back and knocked on her door.

"Christine?" I asked quietly. "Are you ready?"

A few moments later, the door opened, and she emerged, a small bag in her hand and her head bowed.

"Come along, then," I said, turning to lead the way. "And we must go quietly."

She followed me silently, obediently, though perhaps not as quickly as I would have liked. I led her to my horse, which was waiting patiently for me. I took the bag from her, glad it was small, and secured it behind the saddle. I then helped her clamber onto the horse's back. Nervously, she gripped the reins and stroked its mane.

"His name is Oberon," I said quietly.

She nodded but did not look at me. After making sure everything was tied in its proper place, I swung up behind Christine. Immediately, I felt her stiffen at the physical contact, and although the touch caused my heart to skip a beat, it also stung to know how loath she was to touch me in such an intimate way.

I decided not to dwell on this, instead spurring the horse on. It gained speed, and soon we were flying out of Tehran, out of the cursed place. As soon as we were beyond the city, I let out an unheard breath of relief. It felt as though hundreds of pounds were being unloaded from my chest. It was a cleansing feeling as well. No more hashish. No more barbaric tortures. No more.

Oberon thundered down the roads, his powerful legs pounding beneath us. Christine had finally given up with her quest to avoid my touch as much as possible. She was now leaning against me. I was enthralled, but I could not dwell on it too much: I kept a look-out and concentrated on direction.

Suddenly, I felt Christine stir, and she shouted something, but it was lost in the ripping wind. Reluctantly, I pulled on the reins. The horse slowed and then finally stopped. Its breathing was harsh and heavy. I, too, was feeling rather out-of-breath, and I took a moment before snapping,

"What? What is so important that I had to stop?"

"Aren't we – " she panted, "aren't we going for Raoul?"

It was like a slap. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew she would inquire about her husband. But stupidly, I had been too caught up to even spare him a thought. He did not matter to me. All that mattered was in front of my eyes, shivering against me, pale and frightened against the night. I was a fool – a downright fool, and I knew it.

"He will be safe where he is," I said.

"No," she said firmly. "I am not leaving without my husband."

I gritted my teeth. She would come – I could easily make her, but forcing her would never win her over, and so I pulled the horse and we headed to the palace site at Mazandaran. It would take yet more time.

Exhaustion overtook the both of us. The hours blurred. I rode until we could literally ride no longer, and then I would slide from Oberon's back. Christine would be too weak to walk, and so I would carry her and allow her to sleep under the warm sun for several hours. She would then wake, and I would give her something to eat. I was rationing the food I had taken from her apartments, but it would soon run out. She cried often, I knew, though she tried to hide it while we were riding.

It was miserable. The sun was bearing down on us. Christine's fair, pale skin burned, and I knew it was painful for her to move at all. When it rained, she was frozen, and I did my best to keep her dry, pulling my cloak over her or trying to shield her with my thin frame.

But we were at Mazandaran faster than I had ever been before. It only took two days, but I knew the speed had taken its toll on Christine. When we finally entered the site, the sun was sinking beyond the western horizon. I slowed the horse, and it walked gratefully, its head drooping slightly. I led it to Chagny's tent.

He emerged when he heard the horse. When he saw who it was, his face turned white, and he shouted, "Christine!"

Christine slid off the horse and fell to the ground, crying out as she did so. She did not ask for my help, nor did she use any of my assistance. She simply fell. Chagny knelt next to her, and she threw her arms around his neck, sobbing unrestrainedly. Undoubtedly confused beyond belief, Chagny nevertheless wrapped his arms around her. He looked up to me, questions written all over his features.

Chagny spoke softly to Christine for several minutes, and he then half-dragged, half-carried her into the tent, where they remained for several minutes. He finally came out, sighing and running his hands through his hair.

"What in the world has happened?" he asked, looking at me.

Sore beyond measure, I climbed down from the horse and began to pull the saddle from its back, saying, "Tehran isn't safe anymore. I had to get your wife out as soon as I could."

"What?" Chagny said, sounding absolutely shocked. "What's going on?"

"The khanum was murdered," I said.

Chagny sighed and muttered a Christian prayer under his breath. "Who did it?"

"No one knows," I said, finally taking the bridle off of Oberon. He whickered and then wandered off to relax for a few hours. "But the shah will suspect foreigners first."

"That's outrageous!" Chagny said angrily. "What a ludicrous theory! What sort of place is this?"

"It doesn't matter!" I snapped, finally turning to face him. "It doesn't matter at all! Don't you understand? Law will not matter; customs and cordialities are done away with. The shah will take out his anger on anyone whom he pleases. There is nothing to be done except flee."

Chagny glanced back at the tent, in which Christine was resting.

"Thank you," he finally said softly, "for thinking of Christine. You have saved her life."

I ignored his thanks and said, "I plan to return to France. If you and your wife wish, you may travel with me. However, I must warn you that it will not be a leisurely trip. I travel fast, and I do not appreciate unwanted baggage."

Chagny nodded. "Thank you for your offer. If it's not too much trouble, we would like to accompany you. To be honest, I'm sure that we would get lost if we traveled alone and end up in China instead of France." He smiled weakly.

That would be a best-case scenario, I thought darkly. If they traveled alone, they would die.

"I'm leaving in three hours," I said, glancing over his shoulder to the tent. "I know your wife is exhausted – she has a right to be – but we cannot afford wasted time." I stepped closer and lowered my voice. Chagny leaned forward at my confidential tone. "You must listen carefully. There is a very good chance that we will be followed for a good portion of our journey."

"What?" Chagny said worriedly. "Why?"

I stared at him. "Who do you think their prime suspect will be?"

He blinked and opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"You do not have to travel with me, but I suggest you do. There is still the risk that I will be followed. It will be dangerous…but I do not want you to tell your wife unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand? Don't worry her. She will be doing enough of that for the both of us."

Chagny nodded in agreement and said, "I will go tell her that we're leaving."

I took these hours to go examine the palace. It was not complete, nor would it ever be. I had burned the plans before leaving my Tehran apartments. There was too much structural dependence on the secret rooms and dungeons. The builders simply couldn't continue working. They would encounter problems – too many to continue.

I walked through the halfway completed rooms, occasionally fingering the woodwork or stonework. It truly was a beautiful building, if not stunted a little from the demands of the patrons. I was…proud of it, and I felt remorse that I wouldn't be able to complete it. I had slaved on it for over two years, but, in truth, I had been working on it for much longer – many years, in fact. For when I had been under the care of Giovanni, I knew that someday I would build something great, something worthy to be called his. But was this good enough? Would he accept this half-completed shell? I stood in the heart of the palace and felt anger slowly build in me.

I was defeated. I was beaten. The khanum had been the victorious one. She knew…she knew everything. She knew I would leave Tehran, leave my greatest work unfinished. I wanted to scream – cry – yell, do something, but I simply stood there, head bowed, hands clenched tightly. With all my cleverness, I had sacrificed something that meant the world to me. And the palace was my world…even if it was meant for a greedy child-king. Even if those who were to live in it would never understand the beauty of the architecture, I would know. I would remember that I had poured my entire soul into this work. And now, I would leave it exactly like my soul was: broken, shattered, unfinished, left to waste away through the years.

With a bitter growl, I turned away and left, almost ran, out of the palace. I made myself busy for the last few hours. It was dark now, but I could see perfectly, and I collapsed a small tent and packed it up very tightly. Christine was a lady, after all…

Christine. How could I have been so selfish? How could I have stood there and bemoaned the fate of a building when she had nearly died in my arms? It was all for her, was it not? Didn't I love her more than anything else on this wretched earth? And so, who was I to complain over my underappreciated architecture when she was alive just a few feet away from me?

Finally, everything was set. A few workers had come up to pester me, but I shooed them away and said I was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening. They obeyed quickly, and I was left in peace. After inspecting several horses, I selected the one that looked the healthiest (and tamest), and I saddled it up as well. I pulled the horses to the side of the Chagny's tent, through which conversation was drifting.

"…sure, Christine?"

"Of course I am, Raoul. Why would he lie to us?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"If he wanted to go back to France, do you honestly think he would have taken us?"

"Well – no, but – "

"And do you think he would have forced me to ride nonstop for two days? Despite what you might think, he is an incredibly civil gentleman, and I know he would not have forced me to do that unless absolutely necessary!"

My heart was pounding loudly in my chest. It wasn't so much that I was annoyed by Chagny's lack of faith in me – I really couldn't care less – but it was that Christine was actually defending me. I was…overjoyed, really.

I heard a rustling from inside, and I made as if I was just barely coming around the corner of the tent, having heard nothing at all. It was Chagny, and he attempted to smile at me, though he failed dismally.

"We're all ready," he said. "Christine?"

She emerged, still looking tired, though she did give me a real smile. Somehow, I felt as if the evening had taken a definite turn for the better. Quickly, I mounted my horse, and they clumsily clambered onto their mare. Giving them one last glance, I gave Oberon a soft command.

And we left.