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Christine

Chapter 28

The Khanum

The night before I was expected to attend an execution by the Khanum's side, I slept restlessly.

I didn't want to see another death.

Despite the fact that several days had passed since Erik told me I was to watch, I still wasn't prepared. How did Erik do this? How did he conduct killing after killing and not completely lose his mind?

I had only been asleep for, I would say, an hour when my mind awoke again to the sound of my door closing shut softly. This light of a noise normally wouldn't have roused me, but I was barely touching the realm of sleep as it was. I opened my eyes to see a shadowy form standing by the door, hand still on the doorknob.

In a panicked moment of sudden clarity, I bolted upright and switched on the lamp.

Erik.

Not some murderer coming after me.

It was just Erik.

"Oh," I whispered. He was watching me with wide eyes. "Hello."

"I'm sorry I scared you," he responded softly, finally removing his hand from the knob.

"You didn't. Not really. I'm just...on edge." I attempted a smile.

He nodded. "Me too."

I sat up a little straighter. "You are?"

His lower lip thinned as he looked down. His hands fidgeted gently at his side. "I'm more than on edge," he explained lowly. "I'm...frightened. Terribly. And I didn't know where else to go but here."

I watched him, and as I did, I indeed spotted in his eyes the same expression I'd seen when we'd entered Mirror Hall, the same look he'd held when it was storming outside. Scared. Unbelievably scared. He wasn't looking into a mirror and the weather was peaceful. So what was he afraid of?

I had a feeling that I knew.

"Why?" I asked. "What's frightening you?"

His eyes lifted to mine again. "I don't want to perform tomorrow." When I didn't respond, only continued watching him, he took a deep breath. "I don't want you to hate me."

I shook my head. "I won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I've already seen you...perform." I said the last word in a softer manner than the others.

"This is different." He stiffened. His eyes held me steadily. "When the Shah asks me, on rare occasion, to kill for him, it's for functionality. Yes, there is magic involved, but that's it. It's not, really, a performance. When it's for the Khanum, it is. I become something else. I put on an act to turn into death. The Shah dislikes it, finds it excessive and contrived - of which I actually agree - but his mother loves it. It's disturbing. It's intentionally disturbing. And I don't want you to see it."

His voice was so full of desperation that my shoulders slumped and I moved the blanket off of me, moving my legs to swing over the mattress. I didn't intend to stand, exactly, but I had the urge to remove barriers between us, even if the barrier was a quilt. "Erik..." I started.

"You used to fear me," he interrupted, voice small, strained, and I closed my mouth. "You were so scared of me. I know you thought I was going to hurt you, that I would live up to the stories you'd no doubt heard. But you don't feel that way anymore. No, in fact, you want my friendship. And I think that if you see me perform - actually perform - for the Khanum, you will rescind straightaway what small affections you do have for me, and you will fear me once more."

I didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't true.

Between the two of us, he was the wordsmith. He was the one with eloquent verbiage, the one who could create a witty response or perfectly crafted thought in seconds flat. I spoke in pictures.

So, perhaps, I'd create a picture with words.

A story.

I looked to the clock. Three in the morning.

He'd taken Echo Hall from his home to Nadir's at three in the morning because he, the Angel of Death, the royal executioner with the face of decay, was scared.

And, in being scared, he'd come to seek comfort from me.

I drew in a deep breath and patted the area of the bed directly to my right. He hesitated only half a moment before taking a seat where my hand had been. He gazed at me expectantly.

Feeling as though my face were only slightly red, I cleared my throat, hoping this idea didn't flat and make me look a fool. So, to combat my own nerves, I held out my hand palm-up. Slowly, Erik took it, placing his fingers gingerly on mine.

"Once upon a time," I started, "there was a prince named Eric. With a C."

His lower lip stretched into a smile.

"This prince," I continued, "heard about a fearsome dragon in a faraway land and set off to kill it. But the dragon was too big, too strong, and so it trapped Prince Eric in its lair. The dragon gave the prince a choice: he could either be eaten then and there, or he could do the dragon's bidding and kill those who might seek to harm the great beast. The prince chose the latter."

Erik's smile had disappeared. He was staring at me with intrigue and terror. I swallowed, and was about to continue, when he spoke:

"Why would the prince choose that?" he whispered slowly, genuinely appearing to want my answer. My input. "Wouldn't choosing death at the dragon's hands be more noble than killing others? Does that not make the prince a villain as well?"

"No," I said, "because the people that came would have died anyway. The prince could at least ensure they were given a quick, clean death."

He looked away quickly. I interlaced my fingers through his and squeezed. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, squeezing my hand in return.

"It was known throughout the land," I went on, bringing my gaze to my lap, "that the dragon liked kidnapping maidens from their home and eating them up deep within his cavernous home. One particular maiden, however, the dragon decided would be given to the prince as a gift for doing its bidding all those years. Her name was Kristine - with a K. He suggested to the prince various ways to cook her - suggesting, perhaps, to roast her over a fire, as maidens tasted best this way - but the prince didn't. Prince Eric saw how afraid she was, how lonely, and decided to be her friend instead. And for that, the maiden Kristine was grateful."

I looked up at him and was surprised and saddened greatly to see wetness in his eyes. His throat worked, but he stayed silent. I tightened my grip on his fingers, and he returned the gesture.

"The dragon grew bored one day," I said softly, running my thumb over his. At the motion, his hand started to tremble. "It decided that it would be fun for the maiden to watch the prince kill one of the many knights who came to slay the monstrous thing. And so, without a choice in the matter, she did come. And though it wasn't pretty, the maiden's feelings toward the prince didn't change - because the prince hadn't changed. He was still Eric, no matter what he was made to do. They were both the dragon's prisoners, and just as she wouldn't want to be judged harshly for allowing herself to be eaten, she didn't judge him for becoming the dragon's weapon."

A long silence, the only sound the clicking of the clock as the minutes passed. But it was a comfortable silence. As of late, I was always comfortable when Erik was near. I hoped he felt the same.

"Christine," he breathed.

I turned to him, and nearly gasped at the expression I found there. Tenderness - extreme tenderness - was in every molecule of his eyes. He'd looked at me with friendliness before, happy affection, but this was something different. This I'd never seen in his gaze. The closest I'd observed was the gentle, loving, paternal way he looked at Reza. But it was nothing compared to this.

"Yes?" I said, voice a rasp. I cleared my throat.

"Do the prince and the maiden ever escape from the dragon's lair?" he asked.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted them to have a happy ending. But the truth was, that for all my dreaming and starry-eyed tendencies, I had adopted some of my father's realist mindsets. And so I said, very slowly, "I don't know. I haven't made it that far in the story. But I hope so."

Erik left shortly after my story, bidding me goodnight before turning off the lamp and softly closing the door to my room.

Surprisingly, I slept fairly soundly after that.

That morning, there was no meeting between the men. I took my breakfast with Nadir and Reza. Reza was chatting happily about his dream last night that he'd met, of all things, a tiger. His favorite. I responded enthusiastically, but was often distracted by how quiet Nadir was. He would, quite often, look up at me and stare for seconds at a time. Really, he appeared as though he wanted to say something.

After breakfast, I found out what.

"Christine," he said, as Parvana escorted Reza out of the room. I was currently pushing my chair in, ready to go and draw. "Would you mind staying for a few moments longer?"

"No," I said softly, "I don't mind." I pulled the chair back out and sat, stomach now fluttering with nerves. "What is it?"

He folded his hands in front of him, eyes severe behind his spectacles. "I'm going to ask you something, and I'd like you to be honest with me."

"All right." My heart hammered.

"Do you have the desire to learn Persian?"

I blinked. I didn't know what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't that.

"It would," he continued, "be a natural thing for you to want to learn, seeing as you will be here for several months longer."

I thought about it. Learning could be useful, I suppose, but it wasn't something I was actively desiring. "If you want me to learn, then it wouldn't be so terrible-"

"No," he stopped me, narrowing his eyes, "that's not what I'm asking. I'm not offering to teach you Persian. I'm asking if you already have the desire."

"Oh," I said, "no. Why do you ask?"

"Because," he responded, "my Persian-to-French book of translations is missing."

I glanced at the doorway, picturing his study. Picturing an empty slot where a large tome should be. "Where do you think it went?"

"That's why I'm asking you, Christine."

I snapped my gaze to his. Alarm bells set off in my mind. "Wait."

"Do you have any idea where it might have gone?" he asked patiently.

"Nadir," I said steadily, a bit of fear showing in my words, "do you believe I stole from you?"

He sat up a bit straighter and watched me.

"Nadir?"

"Like I said..." He shrugged his shoulders. "It is a natural thing to want to understand the language of the country one is living in."

"I didn't take your book," I whispered. "I don't know where it went. It may have been a servant...or..."

"My servants are loyal," he said, a bit sharply now, though his face remained cool as a clear spring day. "And they cannot read. I made sure of that when I hired them, too."

"I wouldn't take your book without asking," I said, a hint of pleading in my tone now. "I promise I wouldn't. You can search my bedroom."

He stared at me, reading my expression, for a longer time than I found comfortable. At last satisfied - or dissatisfied, for that matter - he stood from his chair.

"Thank you, Christine, for your time, and your patience in my questioning. Good morning. I must be off to the palace - but, as always, do let the servants know if you need anything. Anything at all."

His stride was stiff as he left the table without a nod goodbye.

When Erik arrived that morning, it wasn't to teach me to sing. Instead, he spent the hour going over everything that he could think to tell me about the Khanum - everything that would be useful to me, anyway. I, myself, had started to tremble at the idea of meeting her, of having to sit next to her, and Erik took my hand as he spoke. It calmed me down immediately.

And these were the things that I did my best to memorize the rest of the day. I'd written them down on paper - but, of course, I couldn't very well bring the paper in with me when I would meet her. What I spent the day reading over and over was this:

The Khanum preferred to be called just that. Khanum. According to Erik, the word meant "Madame". I was to address her as Khanum every single time I spoke to her.

She was extremely interested in me. This I already knew, but Erik elaborated on why. The Khanum was involved heavily with the Shah's personal harem, as they were the Shah's wives, but the Garden was a separate entity that she didn't involve herself with. The girls of the Garden were ranked much, much lower than the Shah's girls - the Garden Flowers were of slave status, while the harem was essentially royalty. It wasn't until she'd learned that Erik was gifted a bride from the Garden that she became interested in me. Before this, she wouldn't have cared less about who I was and what I was like.

She fully believed that I was both frightened of Erik and completely hypnotized by him, making me a kind of submissive love-doll.

She liked to smoke hashish, as this calmed her rapidly maddening mind. Apparently, she heard voices. Constantly. And sometimes, she would talk back to them.

And so, when the clock struck seven in the evening, Erik knocked on Nadir's door to escort me from his house, into the city, and through the Golestan Palace.

I'd asked Erik quietly whether this was truly safer than using Echo Hall - as, right now, they both seemed perilous routes. Echo Hall made me want to check over my shoulder, but any potential threat in Tehran could also discover where I was being kept away. Erik informed me that because the Shah knew I was coming from Nadir's house, it would have been suspicious to use Echo Hall - for I would have seemed to portal from Nadir's living spaces to Erik's, thus potentially causing the Shah to question how, endangering Echo Hall's secrecy.

"Besides," he whispered, as Darius held Nadir's front door open for us, "the Shah believes the threat to be over. We've caught your attempted killer, and so he'd like you to now begin living in my chambers again starting tonight."

I raised my brows at him. I don't think I quite hid the soft pleasure that now lined my face. "Nadir didn't tell me that."

Erik sighed. "Nadir isn't entirely happy about it. He thinks you're a distraction for me."

"Am I?"

"Oh, yes. You are. But I welcome it. He needs not worry so much. I know what needs to be done, and done it will be."

We were flanked by guards as we were walked from Nadir's house to the palace, and continued to be completely surrounded by them as we were walked to the Khanum's living quarters. Her suite.

It looked very similar to Erik's except it was much more lavishly furnished. While Erik's couches were red, hers were silver and gold like the walls and ceiling. The tables, though black, were studded with diamonds. The chandeliers were lit with actual candles - no doubt she had servants extinguish them whenever they needed to be replaced or the wax began to drip over the sides of the holders.

In the back center of the room was one of the couches, and in the middle of the couch was the Khanum.

She was dressed in lovely pinks and purples and reds, her head wrapped from the crown of her skull to her chin, though her face remained bare. It was a beautiful face - much like the Shah's - with a sharp nose and bright brown eyes. Her lips were curled into a devilish smile as she took me in - clad in, of course, my gift-wrap outfit. On either side of her were two large men - Erik had previously informed me that she would be guarded by eunuchs - and several girls - these, he'd said, were her favorite harem girls. These girls, unlike the Garden Flowers, were modestly dressed like the Khanum. Standing to the side was another man, though he appeared much smaller than the eunuchs. He wiped at his forehead as sweat streamed down his face. It wasn't hot, so it had to be nerves.

The guards dispersed and left the room, their job of escorting us safely at last done.

Like he'd done it a thousand times, Erik removed his mask without a single flinch and held it out for a eunuch to take. The eunuchs didn't react, and the girls did their best not to, but a few of them shifted uncomfortably on their feet. I had a feeling that, though the Shah was amused by negative reactions to his face, the Khanum found it childish. She liked the macabre, and probably wanted her entourage to like it, too.

Erik didn't bow, not even his head. He stood tall and spoke to her. Like before, I assumed that it was part of an act - that he was the great Angel of Death and only bowed to Lucifer himself. The Khanum seemed to genuinely like it. A graceful, confident panther, she turned in her seat and addressed the sweating man. He bowed deeply and approached, taking post behind the couch. The Khanum spoke softly again, and the man spoke to me.

In French.

Accented, but French.

"Rose," he said, voice surprisingly high pitched, "please sit next to the Khanum."

A translator.

I wasn't planning on disobeying anything this woman asked of me, but now that she could effectively communicate, I didn't dare even consider it. I stepped forward, legs numb, and sat next to her. I stared at Erik, and his expression flashed the same emotion I felt.

I would have to be careful.

I remembered that I was supposed to be afraid of him and looked down at my bare knees.

To be true, I didn't know what was supposed to happen next. Erik was standing silently, his hands behind his back, watching the walls absently. It was in this uncomfortable silence that the Khanum at last spoke.

"How are you finding the news of living, once more, with your master?" asked the translator behind us.

I swallowed. I didn't have to pretend at fear. What, I thought, would a broken slave girl answer with?

"It matters not what I think," I whispered shakily. "All that matters is that I please my master, Khanum."

I didn't look at Erik, though I could imagine the way he'd scoff and groan at that response. When the translator brought her my words, however, she seemed pleased. She spoke again:

"It must be terribly frightening - painful - to service the Devil's son in such a way."

Oh, God, I hope she doesn't ask me for specifics.

"Khanum, my master..." I swallowed again, for my throat was dry. I still wasn't looking at her - and wouldn't unless she asked me to. "If pain and fear are what my master desires to give me, then it is what I shall receive."

She was even more pleased by that. I was doing my best to exude frightened-little-lamb energy - knees pressed together, shoulders pulled forward, hands folded in my lap, and voice barely above a whisper - and it was apparently paying off. Satisfied for now, she raised her hands as if to clap, and then slapped her lap with them, pulling forward, snarling.

I did look at her then, shocked at the sudden change.

She looked utterly angry. Eyes wild. Teeth bare. She looked to the right corner of the room and sputtered out a string of hot words, though no one was there. I remembered that she heard voices. That she was mad.

And, just as quickly, she was once again calm. No one reacted. No one acknowledged that anything was wrong at all.

As if nothing had happened, she brought her hands together and clapped five times.

A signal.

I couldn't help but be reminded of the taste-tester as a man was brought into the room by guards, in chains, fear in every quaking fiber of his body. He was placed right next to Erik. He wouldn't look at his executioner, though Erik was staring at him with intense, blazing eyes.

The Khanum spoke to me, and the translator told me what she said: "This servant was caught lying with another man."

I widened my eyes, staring at the shaking man. He couldn't have been more than Erik's age. Soft-featured with kind eyes, I felt a fire begin in my belly even despite the fear.

That was his crime? Loving someone he wasn't supposed to? He was being executed for it?

I thought of Ibrahim, of who his lover was.

If the Khanum ever found out that her own son was...

She clapped twice, and the young man gave a whimper.

At the sound, Erik's blazing eyes took on a dark quality, like a candle illuminating a vast, empty, black space. His shoulders set back, his hands became claws, and his every muscle stiffened. He set his expression into a terrible grimace. I had to remind myself of who this was, for indeed, he became frightening. Cruel.

He turned his firelit eyes to his victim.

And began.