Thank you so much to Mominator124, Pip and CO, RubenesqueRomantic, FleshofMidnight, Phantomgirl24, Just Me, Pensez-a-Erik, TheGoldenTrio, phanrose, SloaneDestler, Teen543, peanutpup, MarilynKC, and lindaweng for the lovely reviews!

Enjoy!


Erik

Chapter 89

The Oblivion

You were unconscious for days. I thought you would never awaken. I thought you would die there on that bed.

But you did wake up. You lived. Your body, however, remained asleep.

I took you to Nadir's house so that you would be safe. Away from me, away from my chambers, to ensure that it was harder for people to harm you.

I came to visit. Early in the morning, and I recall your annoyance at that fact - but it was during that visit that I heard you sing, and... God, Christine, I'd never heard anything so beautiful. I knew then, right in that moment, that I was falling in love with you. Your voice, so lovely and rich and sweet, touched my soul, and I wanted to be near you.

It wasn't that the sound was perfect. It needed tuning, yes, but it was...pure. Good. A representation of your heart.

When I heard you sing, I stumbled. I lost my footing, mentally and physically, and I needed to leave the room.

I came back later to relay to you what I'd found out - the name of the man who poisoned you.

Amir. Your trainer.

You broke. I watched as you broke down before me. You begged for a friend - a single friend in the entire world.

I offered myself.

You accepted.

And when I gave you singing lessons, when I saw your expression upon hearing my own voice, I saw something fundamental shift in your regard of me. I saw, for the first time, a look of admiration. I saw that you found an element of me beautiful.

I went to bed dreaming about that look. That stirring of care for me.

Even while I chided myself for ignoring what my curse had taught me many times before.

Letting you care was not safe - but I wanted it.

I wanted it so badly.


Amir, regardless of his higher intentions, of his well-meaning reasons, had led you to believe that he was your friend. He'd ignored the trust you'd held for that bond and harmed you anyway; never even having the courage to admit to you that he was the one to harm you.

That was not a mistake I would make. You'd accepted my friendship when I offered it. Considering how you'd feared me before, how I still held a frightening, sickening amount of power over you, your wanting me anywhere near you was nearly laughable. But, for whatever reason, you were now looking past the very natural barrier between us.

So I would not take our unlikely friendship lightly.

I didn't feel guilt for killing him; at least, I didn't feel guilt for his situation. I did, however, feel as though I was tacking on one more tragedy to whatever you had been through up until now. Taken, ripped from your father, forced to train to serve people who couldn't give a single damn for your situation, taken to me - and then immediately made to witness a murder at my hands and a poisoning.

And now, the only person you'd thought you could trust through all of it was to be executed by the person everyone assumed you were serving; all because he tried to execute you.

I wrote the word 'false' on his forehead. I cut his throat so that he could speak no more lies. And I did it all while he was in a wooden box, physically trapped as you were.

When it was done, I went straight to my chambers - not stopping until I was in Echo Hall and on my way to see to it that you had the friend you deserved.

When I entered through the study, Nadir was reading by lamplight, sitting in an armchair. He only glanced up from his novel to look at me, before turning his attention back down.

"You'll be pleased to learn, I'm sure," he said, "that Christine can draw again."

I stared at him. "What?"

"She has the use of her hands now," he said, "she-"

I didn't bother letting him finish. I was out of the study and up the stairs within seconds flat. I opened the door to your bedroom, and was immediately greeted to the sight of drawings - so many drawings - on your bed. I looked at you in shock.

You waved. And smiled.

Smiled.

At me.

I couldn't resist smiling back. "Nadir did say that you regained the use of your hands. Does this-" I waved a hand toward your drawings- "mean you'll no longer be interested in singing, then?"

"I still want lessons," you responded - a bit too quickly, I might add, but I liked it. Your voice. I didn't want to stop hearing it.

My smile grew. "Good." I tilted my head to the side. "So you are now able to draw. But you told me yesterday that you also enjoy fresh air."

"Yes," you said, watching me steadily.

I felt a small uptick in my heart rate and nodded. "I have a bit of a gift for you, then." And I hoped you liked it. I truly hoped you did.

Your brows raised. "What kind of gift?"

I stepped forward, slowly. I didn't want to say. I wanted you to see. "Would you mind terribly if I carried you?"

You paused a moment before replying, "No, I don't mind."

I had to hide the nervousness inside me.

I had to hide my fear that you'd change your mind.

I had to remember, too, that I couldn't let this go too far. I knew it was a terrible idea to try to form a relationship with you. Yet, somehow, I couldn't stop myself.

I never could.

And that was the trouble - my damned need to be wanted led to disaster every time.

So I did as I always did.

I put on my mask. Not the physical one I was wearing - rather, the sly tongue I slipped on when I felt too close to feeling something inconvenient.

"And this time, fair maiden," I said, faking a grin, knowing you'd never willingly touch me more than necessary, "you can wrap your arms around Eric's neck."

"With a C." Your eyes shone.

"Now you're catching up."

I picked you up, and to my utter surprise, you actually did wrap your arms around my neck. My every muscle tense, and I looked at you briefly, but your face was entirely calm. I'd have to match that expression. I forced myself to relax.

I brought you to the rooftop, asking you to use your newfound hands to assist in opening doors and latches. I could have done it myself - you weren't heavy and I could have shifted your weight with little issue - but I knew I made the right decision when your eyes lit with delight at the chance to make use of your arms.

I knew I made the correct choice in a gift for you, as well, when you looked at the roof in wonder. I'd asked Mitra the night before to set up the wine and blankets, and she obliged. I'd paid her for the service.

"We have two options," I said softly, watching you take in the space. "We can sit in the chairs, or we can lie down."

"What are we doing?" you whispered.

I paused and said, "Look up."

You did, and I marveled at the stars in your eyes that reflected the actual shimmering dots above. I could, I think, get used to the sight of your relaxed, blissful face.

"Lie down," you breathed.

I was taken out of my small reverie. "Sorry?"

"I want to lie down to look at them."

All right. We could do that.

The blankets were spaced far enough apart that you would feel comfortable. I was glad they were. I think I would have cracked if I'd been lying flush against you.

Before you'd sung, I hadn't felt so desperate - on the verge of losing myself completely - for you to think of me as a man and not a monster. I'd wanted you to see the good, yes, but now...now it was a rabid need. I had to remember that, though you liked my voice as well, it didn't mean you liked me as much as I was finding myself liking you.

And, by God, it had been a mere week that I'd known you.

This was ridiculous.

But I couldn't stop myself.

I brought you down onto the blanket, ensuring that no part of you hit the ground harshly. You were watching me with interest as I did so.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked you when I stood straight again.

"Yes. Very much so."

I looked to the bottle and back to you. "I brought wine." My face heated behind the mask. Too much. The wine was too much. I shrugged, though I lacked my normal ability to really convey nonchalance. "You don't have to drink any, and I won't if you won't. But I thought, perhaps, it could be fun."

You didn't respond for a minute, and I genuinely had the urge to pick you back up and take you downstairs without another word. But then you smiled again. "That would be fun, yes."

The relief I felt was overwhelming.

I went to the other blanket and sat, keeping my hands steady as I poured both yourself and myself wine. You sat, drinking. I drank too.

It was when you leaned back onto your elbow that I felt a tugging on my stomach - it wasn't right. Something about it wasn't right. I was sitting here, enjoying your company, right after I'd mutilated and killed your-

"Christine?" Your name was out of my mouth, quite against my wishes.

You looked at me. "Yes?"

"Before we continue the evening," I said, "I think I must remind you that I executed Amir tonight."

You looked away, a flash of something sharp in your gaze; and, for some reason, it satisfied me. But it pained me as well. I was feeling vindicated for the guilt I felt, but I didn't want to have to feel guilty at all. I simply couldn't sit here and pretend that everything was normal. Not, of course, that anything had ever been normal.

Finally, you asked me, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jesus Christ, no.

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you want to know about it?"

A pause, and then, "I'd like to."

I looked quickly into my wine. I wanted to tell you that I, actually, wanted to forget about it. But it was because of what happened to you that he was killed. Unfortunately, you deserved to know.

"I did some research into him," I said, "before I killed him. I don't normally do this, but...given his association to you, I felt...well-" I sighed. "His mother was apparently half-French, which is why he knows so much of it; though I assume she either died or stopped teaching him as he speaks it brokenly. He became a eunuch when he was still a child, training to serve in harems for years before he trained the Shah's courtesans and then you." I found your gaze. "Apparently - and this information was found out by the Echoes listening to him speak to other members of the Violet Dawn - he poisoned the tea by stopping the servant who brought the tray of food, telling her that you prefer a specific kind of sugar, and procuring that very sugar right then and there. He added it to the tea, and the servant didn't stop him. She, and the members he spoke to, are currently being held in prison as they await my punishment over the following days."

Did she know?" you asked. "The servant?"

"No. It sounds like she didn't. Amir himself said she didn't."

"Then why-"

"Because she should have known better than to let another tamper with food," I said bitterly. "It's not her fault, no, but it was careless." I felt sick to my stomach. "I'm not happy that I have to kill her, Christine." I took a drink of my wine

"I know." You drank as well.

I put the glass down, letting out a sigh. "Amir died quickly. He was gone within seconds."

Another pause. "How?" you whispered.

It was my turn to pause. "A card trick," I said, remembering the dark events of the night.

You sat up completely. "A card trick?"

"Yes." I wouldn't - refused to - look at you, not while I was talking about this. "With him shackled, I performed for the Shah's mother, the Little Khanum - the Shah doesn't typically attend the executions, unless he has me perform for guests, as you saw with the taste-tester. I had her pull a card at random, knowing it would be a card I painted and placed in there, titled the Foe, picturing a bloodthirsty knight." I took another drink. "I put Amir into a tall wooden box with a door for several seconds; and when the Little Khanum pulled the card, I revealed I knew the card by opening the box. And inside was Amir, his throat slit and a word carved into his forehead - FAUX." My breath was shallow. You were bound to hate me again, regardless of the fact that he'd betrayed you. "He was dead, of course."

You drank again.

And continued drinking.

I didn't refuse you when you asked for a third glass - though I could see you becoming drunk before my eyes.

I didn't blame you.

For now, I enjoyed the very long stretch of silence that was taking place, letting myself become lost in the vastness of the sky above, and feel selfish pleasure at your nearness - even when I knew I was the reason you were making yourself addle your own mind.

I closed my eyes.

"I was taken while out walking alone," you said suddenly, voice slurred, and my eyes opened again. It took a moment for me to understand that you were referring to your kidnapping. "I didn't see them coming."

My core heated.

God damn it.

If I ever met these sons of bitches, I swear-

"I'm sorry, Christine."

"It's my fault," you claimed. "I shouldn't have been outside."

No. Absolutely incorrect.

"The cruelty of others," I said, "isn't your fault."

But your small divulgence into your own mind prompted me to feel comfortable sharing something myself.

I let another stretch of silence pass, and then told you, "When I was a small child, I used to have a recurring nightmare that I would be gazing up at the stars just like this, and one by one they would all wink out, until it was just endless darkness above me - so vast and empty that I thought I would fall upward into it and never land, just...continue on forever like that. But that dream no longer frightens me. In fact, I think it would be better that way. I like the idea of oblivion. The idea of nothing - no pain, no suffering... Nothing, forever."

And, quite honestly, I didn't know what I expected you to respond with. But it certainly wasn't what came out of your mouth next. Your very drunken, uninhibited mouth:

"You aren't a killer, and I like your face."

Immediately, I felt both intensely warm and strikingly cold. That was alcohol talking. That wasn't you. Of course you hated my face. Of course you thought I was a killer. But your words, though lacking in any kind of grace, sent a spear of emotion through me, and I had to physically fight back tears.

This wasn't fair.

I didn't ask for you to arrive at my door.

I didn't want a concubine.

And I certainly didn't want to start falling in love with one.

But maybe this was my punishment - all the lives I'd taken had to bite me hard one day. I couldn't continue killing forever without retribution.

For all the hearts the Angel of Death had forced to stop beating, who would have thought that a small, quiet, broken-bodied slave would steal his?

I looked at you, and you only looked back at me, eyes glazed over with alcohol. I sat up, corking the bottle with shaking hands. "That's enough wine, I think."