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Enjoy!
Christine
Chapter 76
The Dungeon
Ayesha butted her head against my hand, making the pen's tip slide across the paper, causing a thick trail of ink to spread from one edge to another.
Not that it made much difference. Actually, it was more art than I was able to currently create. At least the page now had something on it.
I put the pen on the paper and closed the book, moving it to the bedside table. After the fiasco tonight with Nadir, I didn't want to spend any time with any human being - not even dear Ibrahim. No, I wanted to be alone in my new bedroom - my third one, no less, in Persia alone - and sit under the blankets with Ayesha, nursing my churning stomach with some tea.
I scratched behind her ears. She closed her eyes and purred, sitting contentedly beside me.
"You have no idea what's going on, do you, girl?" I whispered. "You have no clue."
She merely purred a bit louder and nudged my hand with her cheek, asking me to pet her chin.
"I am a bit jealous. I wish I had that sort of ignorance."
She laid down on her stomach, tucking all four paws underneath her, with her side touching mine. I felt her throat continue to vibrate as I scratched.
"Christine?" Ibrahim's voice outside my door. "Are you still awake?"
"Yes. Come in."
He did. Immediately, Ayesha jumped down from the bed and went to the Grand Vizier, rubbing against his legs. I pulled my legs to my chest, that horrible knot still tightening in my stomach. In my chest. "What is it?"
"I just met with the Shah."
I could feel myself blanche. "He was here?"
"No. I met with him downstairs. Do not worry."
I hugged my legs a bit tighter. "I didn't even realize you were gone."
"I did not want to bother you; I thought you were sleeping. But I did leave you a note should you wonder where I was."
I nodded. "What did you talk about?"
"I had an idea." He gave me the most heartening smile he could currently muster. "Would you like to see Erik?"
He'd told the Shah that he wished to taunt the Angel of Death, who at the moment still hadn't been told I wasn't, in fact, being put to death. Originally, Erik was going to be informed of the new plan, of my transfer from him to Ibrahim, by a guard. But Ibrahim came up with the idea of telling him himself. He'd bring me along, of course, just to rub salt into the wound.
Ibrahim walked me through the halls of the palace. I was in ordinary clothes - I wondered if Ibrahim was telling people, the Shah included, that he simply preferred his concubines in modest dress. I had to assume that no one would question the Grand Vizier's taste; I had to imagine as well that the Shah respected him enough not to make a comment. For all of the darkness in his heart, the ruler of Persia actually seemed to like Ibrahim.
As we passed, servants bowed deeply to him. This had certainly not been the case where Erik was concerned - rather than bow, servants whispered or looked away entirely.
Like with Erik, however, eyes did linger on me several seconds longer than I would have liked them to. I tried to keep my gaze down as much as possible to avoid their stares.
We came to a large stone door, beyond which was the courtyard - a place I'd only seen through Erik's window. Across the courtyard was a small black tile-worked building, shrouded by bushes and trees, guarded by two large men. We approached it. As the guards laid eyes on Ibrahim, they exchanged a few quick words with the Grand Vizier, bowed low, and then opened the door to the building, where I saw with surprise that there was no floor.
Instead, a single wide staircase led down - down what looked like several stories. It seemed, luckily, to be lit by ornate oil lamps on the walls, so we were not about to step into complete darkness.
Ibrahim nodded to the men. We entered, and they closed the doors behind us.
I must have been breathing fast and hard, for he whispered beside me: "Do not fret. You are not in danger here."
But it wasn't myself I was worried for, I realized. I could feel, even from the top of the stairs, the sickness and despair and utter loneliness of this place. I pictured Erik here and thought I might collapse with grief.
He sensed this and put his hand on my back. That small friendly touch centered me, and I found myself able to walk down the stairs alongside him.
At the bottom, we were greeted by yet another set of guards. Ibrahim issued a request, and one of the guards bowed and spoke briefly, then walked, glancing at me only momentarily before he turned. Ibrahim followed, so I did too.
The palace dungeon, it appeared, was as wide as the palace itself. We walked, and as we made dozens of turns, I tried to memorize where exactly I was in this maze of locked steel doors.
"Guard," Ibrahim said suddenly, "do you speak French?"
The guard faltered a bit and looked back at the Grand Vizier in confusion for only a moment. He paused, blinked, and continued walking.
"Guard, if you can speak French, I will personally fuck you in the ass and make you moan all night long with the most intense, euphoric kind of pleasure."
I reddened, but once again the man only blinked in slight confusion. He stopped and spoke to Ibrahim in Persian, looking apologetic, and the Grand Vizier merely laughed shortly and replied, appearing remorseful but lightheartedly so.
"Excellent," whispered Ibrahim when the guard resumed his pace in front of us. When he spotted me looking at him, he winked. "Apologies for the language. Good thing he didn't understand what I said, or I would have some...very quick and clever explaining to do, yes?"
The guard glanced back again to make sure Ibrahim wasn't speaking to him, but looked relieved when he saw the whispers were directed at me. Just a man speaking to his slave, nothing more.
I wondered with no small levels of paranoia what would happen if someone in one of the cells spoke French - but then I reminded myself that these were criminals (or deemed criminals by the Shah), and claiming the Grand Vizier said what he said would sooner end in their death rather than Ibrahim's punishment.
We arrived at last at a metal door in the middle of one particularly long hallway. Before the guard could begin unlocking the cell, Ibrahim spoke quietly to him. The guard regarded him with sudden alarm, and started what looked like an insistent protest, when Ibrahim's frighteningly domineering face returned. The guard stumbled over his words, ceased talking altogether, and bowed deeply. He stood, unlocked the door, and allowed us inside.
I guessed that Ibrahim asked him not to come in with us, for he closed it on our backs with an expression of anxious regret, and I heard it lock once more. Ibrahim stood right in front of the door, blocking the small peephole that might allow the guard to look through.
I turned, then, to the cell itself.
There he was.
Back to us, hunched over a wooden desk, in the same clothes he'd worn earlier tonight. The same clothes he'd likely be forced to wear for God-only-knew how long.
Slowly, as though he simply didn't care anymore, he turned in his chair with all of the energy of a man who'd lost every single thing he held dear. His mask-less face held the look of someone who was merely existing for the sake of doing so.
But when he saw me, his body electrified.
His eyes rounded and he took a deep, silent gasp. He stood and went to me, nearly knocking his chair over, and put his hands on my cheeks.
"I thought..." he whispered, breath shaking.
"Are you all right?" I asked him, heart hammering. "Did they hurt you?"
He shook his head. He looked at Ibrahim next to me. "I thought she would be..."
"I am here to tell you that, as per orders from the Shah, her services will be transferred to me. You may have her back, as well as your cat - also in my care - once you finish the plans for the Chamber - which, I see, have already been delivered to you." He nodded to the desk, where papers and pens were scattered. He smiled, but it didn't meet his eyes. "Her transference, of course, was my idea. I expect you to act thoroughly offended to find you must share your closely held property, should anyone else mention it."
Erik gazed at Ibrahim in disbelief, mingled in with admiration and gratitude. "Ibrahim-"
"No need for thanks."
"I must give it, anyway."
Ibrahim nodded, face softening. "I would do it again. It was not any trouble at all."
"And that is why I will forever consider you a friend."
"Oh, careful, Erik - you are starting to sound as though you actually like my presence."
Erik smiled. "I am throwing caution to the wind, then." He looked at me again, smile disappearing. He examined my face. "You cannot imagine my relief, Christine, that you are breathing right now."
At that, he took me into his arms, and I pressed myself as hard as I could into him, trying to merge myself with him. Not ever wanting to ever let him go.
"We cannot come here again, Erik," said Ibrahim softly. "The palace will be suspicious if we visit more than just this once."
His grip on me tightened. "I assumed that."
We held each other in silence, and it was only in this silence that I remembered what Nadir told me of Erik's secret. And though I wanted to keep quiet about it, my mind simply wouldn't let me.
"Nadir said he would take your place in the Chamber," I whispered.
He stiffened. "He told you."
"Yes."
A silence. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Another pause. "I'm sorry I could not tell you. Do you hate me, Christine?"
"No." No, I realized, because the Daroga was willing to sacrifice himself and Erik would not die. And besides, I was too exhausted and sad to even make room for anything less than love and relief upon seeing that Erik was all right. Imprisoned, yes, and alone - but without cuts or bruises. In one piece.
"Nadir wants to take my place?" he repeated.
"Yes, he said as much."
"Hm." But that was all he said on the matter. His next words were directed at Ibrahim. "How long will I be in here?"
"Until you finish the Chamber."
I felt his heartbeat quicken, felt his body wish to recoil. His voice turned to sand - gritty yet soft. "That could take months."
"I know."
"I can't be in here for months."
At the panic in his voice, I pulled away but held onto his waist with my hands. I looked at his face, a terrible grimace taking it over.
"I can't," he said harshly, "I can't be in a cage like this. Not again."
Not again.
I remembered what he'd said he'd been forced to do as a child and wanted to steal him away from here immediately.
"There's nothing I can do, Erik." Ibrahim furrowed his brows, frowning. "There's nothing more I can do. Not without raising suspicion."
Erik closed his eyes. I could see him forcing himself to calm down, knowing as well as I did that he and I had precious little time left here together - that I'd be whisked away soon. At last, he swallowed and opened his eyes to look at me.
He held me in his arms again, crushing me against him, so tightly I nearly couldn't take a breath. I didn't care.
"I will finish this monstrosity as soon as I can," he said, "and I will see you again. That will be my light at the end of this endless, dark, cold tunnel."
I breathed him in, savoring the smell of pine.
Savoring him, imagining that it was only us like this forever.
Knowing well I'd spend days and weeks unable to sleep, unable eat.
Unable to breathe.
