Thanks so much to Batty Dings, BehindTheMask31, EvaLark, Aphaea21, Badpixie06, lindaweng, Teen543, peanutpup, NPennyworth, Child of Dreams, phanrose, SloaneDestler, TheTenthMuseSappho, smrb, Pip and CO, crawfordphantomluvr, and Phantomgirl24 for the lovely reviews!
The last chapter was very difficult to write - I didn't know how attached I would get to those characters until I wrote them. It's bittersweet to see how many of you clearly felt the same.
Enjoy!
Christine
Chapter 70
The Burn
Four months, now, since the letter had been sent to my father.
I couldn't sleep at the thought, even as Erik slept soundly beside me, arms encircling my body. I merely stared at the curtained window, looking at the sliver of moonlight that bled through.
If he was alive, then what had he been doing all these months? Was he lonely? Continuing on as best he could? Had he written back? Had he received the letter at all? And what if he hadn't? Did he think me dead?
Or was he dead?
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I gripped Erik's arm a bit tighter where it wrapped around my waist.
A knock.
I looked to the study door. No, it was too far away to have come from there. But of course it hadn't. We were the only two here. Unless, of course, someone had taken Echo Hall-
A knock again as a bit of panic, as memory of Rahim, took me.
It came from, I realized then, from the door to the palace halls beyond. But it was the middle of the night. Who was trying to visit at this hour?
I shook Erik's arm. He stirred.
"Erik?" I said softly.
I felt him move behind me. "Yes?"
"Someone's here."
He bolted to a sitting position. "What?"
"Someone knocked, I mean."
Erik rose from the bed, turned on the light, and picked up his clothes from where they were folded on the dresser. He put them on.
A third knock, but this time it was coming from inside Erik's chambers.
He stood in horror, staring in the parlor's direction. Then:
"Erik? Are you here?"
Ibrahim.
Erik relaxed. He wiped a hand over his face and looked at me. "Get dressed, my darling. It appears we have a guest."
I rose from the bed and did as I was told. Once I'd put on a nightgown, Erik unlocked the study door.
"Erik!" I heard Ibrahim call from the parlor. Seconds later, he appeared in the study. "I need to speak with you."
"Do you wish for tea, as well, while we chat?" Erik asked, folding his arms. "I just know the servants will appreciate being woken at two in the morning. Almost as much as I do."
"I do not believe you have room to talk," said Ibrahim with a raise of his brows. "Nadir told me how you broke into his house to visit the Rose. At least I used a key, yes?"
"Yes, and now she and I visit every night." He glanced at me, and I surprised myself by my lack of embarrassment - there was little doubt that Ibrahim knew, or at least suspected, what we did when the sun went down. He looked back at him. "So what are you implying, Vizier? Care for a kiss?"
"As handsome as you are, I am taken by another." Ibrahim glanced at me, and I noticed that there was a note of tension in his normally free demeanor. "I am here for a reason. Please consider putting your sarcasm away momentarily to listen."
"Ah, but consider this as well: Christine finds my snark charming."
Ibrahim didn't smile. And I didn't either - especially not when I saw him look at Erik with regret and go into his pocket. He paused, swallowed, and pulled out a slip of paper.
Erik took a step back. "No."
"Erik-"
"No." He raised a hand, palm facing Ibrahim, as if shielding himself from the Grand Vizier. "No, the Shah said that the Khanum's ladies were the last."
Ibrahim held out the paper out for him regardless. "I asked him to rethink his decision."
Erik's eyes closed. He lowered his hand. I wanted to go to him, to hold him, but I knew that it wasn't the time. That this was too dire of a subject to be interrupted, no matter how little I could see that Erik cared for it.
"I asked him," continued Ibrahim in the most sober tone I'd ever heard him use, "to allow you to focus on your chamber, that she could be executed by different hands. But his wrath is unchangeable. He sent me here now to order you to plan her death for tomorrow."
Erik's eyelids slowly opened. "She?" he repeated. "Her?"
Ibrahim went a bit green. He held the paper out further for Erik to take.
"Who is it?"
"Read it and-"
"No." Erik's expression was hard. "I don't want to read it. I want to hear you say it - to say the name of whatever woman you couldn't prevent the Shah from killing."
I looked at him in shock. It wasn't the Grand Vizier's fault. Ibrahim's face appeared as though the words physically pained him. "I tried."
"Who is it?"
A silence, and then he at last put the paper away, quickly, unceremoniously. He pocketed it like it was laced with thorns and touching it further would make him bleed. "The Lotus."
Erik's breath grew shallow as mine grew deep with recognition of the name. "No," he hissed.
"She refused tonight to bed the Shah."
He snarled. "I won't."
"Erik-"
"I refuse!" Erik's voice was uncharacteristically hideous. He took another step back. "I will not." He grimaced, expression matching his tone to perfection. "I will not kill a woman taken from her country, stripped of the family and life she knew. I will not end her life for refusing to be abused by a sadist. I. Will. Not."
Ibrahim's dark brown eyes held all of the sadness I currently felt. "You will be punished if you refuse."
"Then he can punish me. But what if it were Christine, Vizier?" Both men whipped their gazes to me. I looked away at the thought, horrified by it. "What if the Shah decided to never have gifted her to me, and she too dared to say no? I cannot do this."
"If you do not," said Ibrahim gently, slowly, seeming to pluck out his words carefully, "she will be punished as well. I do not say this to manipulate - Allah knows I do not wish for you to do this. But I know the Shah. I know how he thinks. It is my duty to know. And I promise he will go to her first as retribution - punish this Flower since you wouldn't punish that one."
For a moment, Erik continued staring at him with grief-stricken anger. Then his face slackened. His eyes glazed, suddenly emotionless. He turned and went to his desk. Ibrahim and I both watched as he sat.
"Erik?" I whispered, and took a step forward.
"I don't want to do this anymore," he said lowly.
Ibrahim was at my side. He spoke as well. "Erik, I-"
"This chamber," Erik continued, and opened up a drawer. He pulled out stacks of paper with thousands of drawings and writings. "These plans. These deaths. It doesn't stop, does it? It keeps coming, unrelenting."
"I know, my friend, but-"
"I don't want to do it anymore!" Erik roared. He stood and whirled, eyes on fire, a world burning in his irises. "I'm done! I want to stop. I want to stop! But I can't, can I? I must keep moving. Always, I must ignore my own pain, and keep moving. As though I am not human. But I am human, Ibrahim, and there is only so much I can take! When will it end? When can I stop? When am I finally allowed peace - peace that lasts more than the blink of an eye? Peace that doesn't end in disaster? When? Tell me!"
Ibrahim pursed his lips, eyes wetting. He looked down in shame toward the hand that had brought the slip of paper out.
As though exhausted, Erik gripped the desk behind him. He continued, "I'm done. I want to be done. I want to stop. Please. I beg you. I want to stop."
But Erik told me he didn't believe in God. And neither Ibrahim nor I could control the pain he currently felt, the orders he was forced to follow. So I could see, in his face, that his pleas were being sent into the nether; that they were evaporated into mist the moment they left his mouth.
His face twisted. A tear crawled down his cheek.
Twenty. He was twenty. And already he had the entire world on his shoulders.
He slid down the desk until he was sitting. And he cried, quietly. He slumped forward, weighed down by that world that showed, repeatedly, that it did not care how heavy it became. There was always more. More, more, more.
My heart broke with his soul. I went to him, on my knees, and put my arms around him. I felt his hands at my back as he embraced me in return.
Ibrahim was beside him as well. "I understand, Erik. I understand that you are in pain. And if there anything I can do to ease your suffering, I will do it, without a single question. How can I help?"
"Just go," whispered Erik. "Please go. I want to be alone with Christine. It is only when I am with her that I feel a semblance of relief. I appreciate your willingness to be of assistance, Ibrahim...but go."
The Grand Vizier was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed, apologized for the meaning behind his visit, and left us alone.
Erik gripped me. He held onto me like his sanity depended on it.
I think perhaps it did.
So I coaxed him up. Brought him to bed. I propped myself up on pillows and put his head on my chest. As we lay there, I sang to him.
When he started to cry once more, I stroked his hair. Reassuring him that I was here. That I was his and he was mine. And nothing would ever take me away from him.
Not for a single moment.
