This has been an incredible journey, and I loved writing every moment of it

Thank you to everyone who have come with me to the end.

Enjoy :)


Christine

Chapter 100

The Promise

We'd marry in a French church. I'd buy a beautiful white dress - he would wear a suit. And we would create a life. A lovely, quiet, wonderful life, as a married couple.

But we had to get there first.

The night before we were set to leave, Ibrahim and Shah Izad came to Erik's rooms.

To, of course, say goodbye.

I'd begun to cry with the realization that I'd likely never see Ibrahim, the Grand Vizier and my closest platonic friend, again.

"Oh, Christine," he said, embracing me, "I will write every week. You might not get them for a month or so, but I will write."

"I will write, too," I whispered. "I'll never forget you."

"I will not forget you, either." He turned to Erik, who was watching with a bittersweet expression. "Nor you, my friend. Congratulations to you both - for your engagement and for your escape."

"Thank you. And no, I will never forget you." Erik smiled. "How could I forget a massive needle in my side?"

Ibrahim laughed. "But you will miss that needle when it is gone, yes?"

Erik's smile became sad. "Yes. Always."


"You know that if we go to France," Erik said, late at night, beside me, "I will likely have to be a hermit."

I gazed at him. "What do you mean?"

"I doubt," he explained, reaching for my hand, "that I will be accepted very easily in polite society. With the mask on, people do stare, and they assume the worst about why I wear it. Without the mask, my face is frightening, to say the least - and many in France surely do remember the travelling show with the corpse-like boy...might ask questions if they see my face..."

"You're in luck," I said. "My father has hermit tendencies as well. So this won't be a problem at all."

"Perhaps not, but - well, what will I do once there? Sit in the house all day? My appearance is a problem - and so is, for that matter, my skillset. I don't know how to do much that could land me any kind of ordinary career."

"You know music."

He nodded. "I do know music."

"Write compositions."

"Who would buy them?"

"If my father played them," I said, "then who wouldn't?"

"And what about you?" He looked at me.

"What about me?"

"Will you sing?"

I smiled. "That could be interesting, actually."

"Interesting?"

"You write compositions, my father plays them, and I sing to the music. It would be a family career."

He smiled and kissed my forehead. "I like that. Truly."

"You could also play piano, if you'd like, to accompany him. If the mask is an issue...then we could all wear masks. Make it...make it a sort of signature-"

"No," he said softly. "No, I've had my fill of performing. I'd rather create. Create something good. Music for your father to play and you to sing is an excellent start."


The following morning, we left Tehran. We began our journey back to France. Nadir. Reza. My father. Erik. Ayesha. Me.

Izad offered to take Nadir's service staff into the palace - offering, too, to double their salary for the inconvenience. Only Darius and Parvana were kept - Nadir was used to having a servant and wanted at least one on the journey to France. He could always hire more once there. And Reza would surely miss his nanny. Luckily, with the promise of a raise for them too, Darius and Parvana agreed to the move as well.

It would take time, I think, for me to warm to Nadir. To see if he'd actually had a change of heart. I think Erik felt the same. We were both just happy to have Reza stay in our lives.

We rode in a coach, side by side, watching the boy talk excitedly to my father. He'd been a bit frightened of the journey, at first, at the suddenness of it (Nadir, no doubt, had been quietly planning this move for a while, should he have survived this long) but when my father painted pictures with words for Reza of what Paris would be like, he'd brightened. Besides, his loved ones would be with him.

"And that is all that matters," Reza said, smiling.

I turned to Erik. He nodded at me, wrapping an arm around me.

Reza was right.

Erik, my father, and I had all come to Persia with uncertainty. Loneliness. Fear.

But now, on our return, we had each other.

We'd always have each other.

I knew the journey would take a long time, but we had all the time in the world.

The rest of our lives, in fact.

Because home wasn't a place. It wasn't Paris - not really, not anymore. It was wherever Erik and my father were, combined with the promise of peace and hope and love. That was where I was safe and happy.

So though we were so far away from France, after all this time, I was finally home.

Fin