Thank you to thedawncomes, Badpixie06, smrb, Child of Dreams, BehindTheMask31, Batty Dings, peanutpup, Phantomgirl24, Pensez-a-Erik, phanrose, SloaneDestler, TheTenthMuseSappho, MrsDianaBlack, MaFerviolon, amandarhoads1, WolfShadow1
A special thanks, also, to MrsDianaBlack, for pointing out my Italian grammar mistakes! I really appreciate it. I am Italian on my mother's side (Sicilian) but she didn't teach me, so I am learning to speak it. Any edits you give are welcome! Definitely don't apologize, and I hope you correct me in further chapters too!
Enjoy!
Christine
Chapter 44
The Heartbroken
"Is he dead?" Panic rose in me, a tidal wave of alarm, as my mind magnified Ibrahim's body. I couldn't see anything else.
Erik didn't respond. Stiffly, seeming not to breathe, he went to Ibrahim and picked up his wrist, checking his pulse with two expert fingers.
Tears sprang to my eyes. Ibrahim was my friend. We've been friends for years. No, not years. Months. No...wait. I wasn't sure. "Is he dead?" I asked again, voice harsh and broken in my tight throat.
Erik glanced back up at me, and shook his head. "No. Asleep. At least, I hope asleep - and that this isn't a repeat of what happened to you."
But now that the wave had come, it refused to break. The tears flowed freely. I gasped against the sobs, letting myself crumple to the floor, onto my knees.
Erik's eyes closed, sighing. "Oh, Christine. He's alive." His eyes opened again. He cleared his throat and said loudly, looking at him, "Ibrahim!"
No response. I cried harder. "Someone put him here! Someone hurt him and put him here! How else could he be here?"
"He has a key," Erik responded gently. Then, loud again, "Ibrahim!" Still no response.
"Why..." I hiccupped. "Why does he have a key?"
Erik didn't respond right away. Instead, he left for one of the rooms. I couldn't remember which one it was. But he was gone for hours. I cried again. Abandoned. He really did hate me now.
Finally, he returned with a mug of water.
"You left!" I accused him, still on my knees. He stopped in his tracks and stared in surprise at me. "You left for so long, and didn't tell me where you were going!"
He shook his head, now watching me sadly. "A minute, Christine. I was in the bathing room for a minute. Your perception of time is not accurate at the moment."
I hiccupped again.
"And to respond to your question," he said, walking to the Grand Vizier, "he takes Echo Hall to Nadir's house, like me. The Shah expects him to stay in regular contact with me, anyway, so him visiting my chambers frequently is not suspicious. There's normally little reason for him to visit Nadir's house, so regularly visiting the Daroga openly might make the Shah ask questions. So he does so in secret."
Though I heard the words, I didn't process anything past "he takes Echo Hall". "I haven't seen him come here to use Echo Hall." I wiped at my wet cheeks.
Then, to my shock, Erik poured the water directly on Ibrahim's face. He still didn't wake. At the image, my mirth returned and I giggled.
Erik didn't find it funny. He looked from Ibrahim to me in exhaustion. "He arrives early in the morning," he explained softly, "while you've still been asleep. Not every morning, but meetings aren't every morning, either. Of course, when he does come, he's asked me if I am joining him. He hasn't questioned me much when I say no. He doesn't care quite so much as Nadir - or if he does, he doesn't press it."
I heard absolutely none of that.
He brought his hand to Ibrahim's cheeks and slapped it, rapid-fire, roughly. My giggles intensified.
At last, the Grand Vizier stirred. Slowly, his eyes opened. They were unfocused, not realizing Erik was there. Instead, he rubbed at his hit cheek, and his eyes found me kneeling on the floor.
His words were slurred when he spoke. "Rose..." And the rest was in Persian.
A strange thing happened, then. I realized that I couldn't speak Persian. That I was trapped only speaking French. That my brain was locked in that way. In fact, my soul was trapped in this body. I could move, yes, but I couldn't reach across the room while sitting right here. There were so many things undoable and unknowable to me, that it was maddening.
My breathing increased again. "I am trapped inside," I whispered.
Ibrahim looked at me with confusion. "I forgot. French." So slurred. Slow and slurred.
Erik stared at Ibrahim, a growing look of horror on his face. "Are you...drunk?"
A childlike grin spread over Ibrahim's face. "You know me well, my f...friend." He reached his arms over his head in a stretch.
Meanwhile, I was staring at my own fingertips. At how small they were. Oh, I'd never reach the other wall with these. I looked up to Erik. "My hands."
He turned to me. "What, Christine?"
"They're too small to touch the wall."
He looked at me, then at a grinning Ibrahim, then at me. "Well, this is just marvelous, isn't it?"
"Marvelous," repeated Ibrahim, closing his eyes, taking in the bliss of the sound he'd just made. "I like that word."
Erik shook his head and went to me. My hands were still outstretched in front of me. He took them and pulled me up, taking me to sit next to him on the couch across from Ibrahim.
"I...vomited in your toilet," said Ibrahim with a giggle. "I hope that is all right."
Erik's lips thinned. "Ibrahim what are you-"
"Oh!" He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a stark white sheet of paper, swirling letters on it. I couldn't read it, of course. Not that I'd likely have the stamina right now to as it was. He held it out, across the table, his arm a bit drooped. Erik stood and took it, immediately reading it. He looked back up at Ibrahim gradually, concern on his face. Ibrahim nodded his head up and down, eyes still closed. "You can...read it."
"I did."
"Out loud."
Erik glanced at me shortly. I smiled at him when he did. I liked him a lot.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Ibrahim nodded again.
Erik began reading in Persian, but the Grand Vizier cut him off. "No, no. In French. So the Rose can hear. She...she is a friend and we can include her."
"Oh..." I said, feeling sudden deep affection. My eyes filled with tears again, and my voice became high pitched. "Ibrahim, you're my friend, too."
Ibrahim giggled, and I giggled too.
Erik's eyes looked exhausted as he took us in. Poor thing. Maybe he needed another nap. I was about to suggest this when he opened his mouth to read.
"Grand Vizier Ibrahim Jahandir,
I heard of your many exploits into my brother's Palace Garden. How exciting that is! Truly, I am glad that you are taking advantage of such a wonder in Tehran.
On an unrelated note, I will not be returning to the palace this month. I have informed my brother as such, as well.
Take care my friend."
"It's from the Prince," explained Ibrahim, voice slurred as ever. His eyes were opened now, and from here I could see his eyes were lightly pink. They were becoming wet, and he seemed to be taking very deep breaths.
"That was nice," I said, though I'd admittedly only heard the word "exciting".
"He...is saying that he is angry." Ibrahim tried to sit up, struggled, and decided to stay down. He sighed. "He says that not coming is...unrelated. But I...know him. He's upset."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because," continued Erik softly, "the Prince thinks Ibrahim is actually sleeping with Flowers."
Ibrahim nodded, and then burst into tears. His voice, accented and slurred and now pushing through sobs, became difficult to understand. But what I did manage to catch was: "...love him...doesn't understand...have to...pretend..."
And at the sight of him crying, I cried, too. Deeply. I wished I could make him feel better. Ibrahim was sad. So, so sad. I'd never seen him sad.
Erik closed his eyes, putting his forefinger and thumb against his forehead.
