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Christine

Chapter 18

The Invitation

Erik picked me up from the blanket, my head spinning at the movement. I again wrapped my arms around his neck. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the way the world ebbed and flowed around me as I was carried from room to room, until I was at last set down on a bed. My bed. Rather, my bed in Nadir's house.

My bed was in Erik's chambers.

Wait.

No.

I lived in Nadir's house now.

My chest felt suddenly tight. I wanted to go back to Erik's chambers. I knew Erik. I didn't really know Nadir. I liked Mitra, but I couldn't talk to her. Reza was adorable, but wasn't able to hold an adult conversation.

"Are you going to the room?" I slurred at Erik.

"We're already here, Christine," he answered softly. "We're in your room."

"No," I said, tongue too slow in my mouth, "are you going to the room?"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't entirely-"

I exhaled sharply in frustration. "Your room."

A spark of understanding lit his eyes. "Ah. Yes. I am going back to my chambers."

"Why?" I asked a bit too loudly, stitching my brows.

He looked down. "I need to be rested for tomorrow. There's another execution, and I need to think clearly."

"You can stay," I suggested in a moment of brilliance. "You can stay." I moved toward the window, making more room for him on the bed next to me. I patted the space. "It's...big enough."

He stared at me, expressionless. "No."

"Why?" I near-yelled again.

"Because you're drunk." He lifted his chin, set his shoulders back. "And that's not really what you want."

Tears sprang to my eyes in sudden bitterness. "Yes."

"No, Christine." He paused. "I will go and get you some water and then I must leave."

"You..." I said, and tried sitting up, but my head was far too light to stay steady. "You don't tell me how I am."

He didn't say anything. He only watched me.

"I'm a person," I said slowly, as succinctly as I could (which wasn't very). "I know what I want. You can't tell me...what I want. I know me. Don't tell me how I am." The tears I'd forgotten about fell down my cheeks, and I wiped them away. "I'm a person."

"I know you are."

"I'm a person," I repeated in a whisper. "Not a Flower." I closed my eyes. "I don't want to be a Flower. I want to be a person."

When I opened my eyes next, he was gone.

And when I opened them again, I found a glass of water on the nightstand.

I awoke with a terrible headache, made worse by my refusal to think about what I'd said to Erik the night before. I remembered my words clearly. I hoped he didn't.

Drinking the water helped a bit, as did eating breakfast, but the remainder of the day left me with a slight throb in my skull.

Drawing dulled the ache. It was while I drew that Erik arrived at my bedroom door. As usual, he didn't bother knocking before he entered.

"Good morning, my dear," he said, a glint in his eye. Gone was the melancholy man I'd seen last night. I think I was grateful for it. If he wanted to forget about last night, then so did I. He sat on my bed and tilted his head to the side. "Let me guess: the pain in your head is absolutely wrecking your morning."

"How could you tell?" I asked.

"I watched you drink far more than you should." He shrugged with with an expression of you-did-this-to-yourself-I-only-poured-the-wine-but-you-asked-for-each-glass-honestly-Christine. "Also, you look absolutely miserable."

"Thank you," I grumbled, turning down to my drawing.

He paused. "You know," he said, "if you hold your thumbs to the roof of your mouth and pull your bottom eyelids down with your forefingers, it will help relieve some of the ache."

I looked back up at him. "Really?"

He nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips.

I did as he suggested, placing my fingers exactly where he'd said. It was only when his lips twitched and his eyes flashed that I snatched my hands away from my eyes and mouth. I glared at him. "You made that up, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." Now he was smiling widely. "But it was so worth seeing you make that face." He stood. "Now, are you ready for lessons? I figured we could have them in my chambers this time so that we can utilize the piano."

I agreed to the lessons, deciding that he was only poking fun to ease some tension. He lifted and carried me through the house and into the study, where Mitra lifted the hidden door for us to pass through.

The walk was silent. I didn't know what he was thinking about, but I couldn't stop recalling my drunkenness last night - my invitation for him to share my bed and then my emotional state when he'd refused.

If I held any tiny shredded sliver of doubt about it up until now, that sliver was now obliterated - he definitely had no intention of taking advantage of me. He'd had far too many chances and hadn't taken any of them.

As we drew closer to his chambers, a sudden booming sounded around us. He tensed, stopping in his tracks for a moment, before continuing; but now, it was with a slightly faster, more urgent gait.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Thunder, I believe," he said softly, strenuously. "I hate thunderstorms."

"Why?"

"I just do."

He opened the door at the end of the hall to his bedroom, where Ayesha was curled and asleep on his pillows; indeed, sheet rain was pouring from the sky, and a flash of lightning brightened the room momentarily. It was followed immediately by another boom, prompting Erik to again tense.

"It wasn't raining like this at Nadir's house," I said, watching the window. "It can't be that far from the palace, can it?"

"It's not," he replied, pushing the bookshelf-door behind him with his foot, "but the weather can be quite changeable in Persia." He glanced down at me shortly. "Speaking of Nadir's house, do you find it safer?"

"Than..." But I knew what he meant.

"Here." He looked away. "Do you find it safer there than here?"

"I...it's more secure, I think." I wanted to add that, despite that, I'd realized last night that I missed it here because he was here, but a nervous ball in my throat stopped the words.

His demeanor fell in disappointment at my answer.

I wanted to lighten the mood, so I scrambled to think of something he'd find interesting to discuss. "Where did you learn to play music and sing, anyway?"

"A saint of a woman taught me as a child."

His words were somber, not light. "Your mother?"

He snorted. "My mother would have let me rot in my bedroom."

My blood chilled; I dropped it.

We finally went through his bedroom door to the parlor, only to find Nadir sitting on the couch that faced us. His hands were folded in his lap, and his head tilted upward a bit at the sight of Erik carrying me.

"Daroga!" greeted Erik. "What an unwelcome surprise!" He brought me to the couch opposite the one Nadir sat in and set me down. I adjusted myself so that I was sitting upright, moving my legs with my hands so that my feet were planted on the floor. Oh, this felt nice after so long.

"Erik," said Nadir. He looked at me. "Christine."

"So," drawled Erik, taking a seat next to me and putting his feet on the coffee table, "to what do I owe the displeasure?"

Although playfully irked, he didn't seem too shocked to find the Daroga in his parlor. He wouldn't have gone through Echo Hall - he'd left for the palace very early this morning and Erik would have noticed him here had he been sitting for hours. Perhaps Nadir had a key to these chambers - he did say that they used to be his.

"I have come to pass on the Shah's invitation to a party in three weeks' time," Nadir responded, and smiled very lightly before continuing, "put together and hosted by Ibrahim, of course."

"So it's an invitation, then?"

Nadir's brow furrowed. "No, you know that-"

"Because if it's an invitation, this time, I would rather not attend."

"Erik, as usual, you are expected to be there."

He crossed his arms. "And Christine? Is she expected to be there as well?" He mimicked Nadir's voice so shockingly well that I smiled.

"No," he said, "this time, she is not. She is welcome to attend, if she'd like, but the Shah has no use for her there. He's seen her once, and that was good enough for him."

"Well, that's a small relief, at least," said Erik. "Anyway, I still don't want to go."

"Of course you don't," answered Nadir, "and you could certainly refuse."

This piqued Erik's interest. "Really?"

"Of course." The Daroga raised an eyebrow. "And, in doing so, you will insult the Shah, be put into filthy solitary confinement for a month, and emerge smelling of excrement and holding conversations with inanimate objects."

"Hell, I do that already." Erik smiled. "Not the smelling bit, of course, but I find coffee cups to be quite the talkers." He shifted his attention to the cup that sat on the table, likely still there from earlier in the morning when he'd had his coffee. "Isn't that right, Monsieur?"

Nadir rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I know," continued Erik to the cup, "it really is preposterous; I agree. He comes into my chambers unannounced and has the gall to lecture at me about-"

"On top of that," continued Nadir lowly, "I wanted to ensure that you're continuing to work."

The silence in the room then could only be cut with the sharpest of knives, broken only by the sound of rain.

"Excuse me?" said Erik, voice just as low.

Nadir glanced at me shortly, and turned his gaze back to him. "There is an execution tonight."

"Yes," Erik said, enunciating each syllable, "I am very aware of that fact."

"And are you prepared for it?"

"Yes."

"And what about our plans for the Shah? For the Khanum? How much of that have you given thought to this past week?"

Erik looked down at the cup with bitterness in his eyes. "I miss our conversation."

"Erik."

He stood then, hands clenched at his side, eyes spitting venom. "I don't think it's your business what I do."

Nadir stood as well, though he appeared surprisingly relaxed. "I think it very much is."

I wished my legs could work - I wanted nothing more than to slink into the study to my former bed.

"No," growled Erik, "your business is catching rioters and criminals. You are not my puppet-master. No one is."

"And I'm not puppeteering you," he responded slowly, "I'm simply asking you a question."

"The question, friend, implies a certain level of ownership over my actions, does it not?"

Nadir glanced at me again, and cleared his throat. This time, his voice took on a slight stutter. "I-I must say that I think these...these lessons are bit distracting for you. I think if you ceased them and focused on the task at hand-"

"And I think that it is stupid of you to focus so hard on catching every person who tries to assassinate the Shah." Erik was breathing hard. "I know you want his death to be painful. I know you want revenge. But for the love of God - the Shah could be dead twenty times over by now."

Nadir's face was blank, watching him wordlessly.

"Instead...instead you force me into these countless executions, expect me to spend what free time I do have on this passion project of yours..." Erik looked at the floor. "I will work on it. I will get it done. But leave me be for an hour a day. Give me an hour a day to focus on music. That's all I ask."

Nadir stared at Erik for a long time. I stared at him too. I had no idea what project they were talking about - I had no idea what the specific plans were for the Shah or the Shah's mother - but whatever they were, it was causing him pain.

And in that time, I felt that Nadir was profoundly selfish. Selfish for putting his own desire for revenge over Erik's emotional well-being. If what they said was true, he was just as much to blame for Erik's murders as the Shah and Khanum.

At last, the Daroga muttered, "One hour a day." He turned and left Erik's chambers, slamming the door behind him. Lightning struck the moment he left.

Thunder rumbled outside the window.